Tila the Half-Cow
"Harder, Tila!" her father shouted, arms crossed. "If you're just gonna hit the air, I'll put a scarecrow in your place!"
"The scarecrow doesn't answer back with sarcasm," she shot back, spinning the club. "Yet."
She lunged forward with force, the impact of the weapon echoing through the yard. Her father blocked the blow with a thick shield, his foot rooted like a tree. He was big, solid, and even at his age could still knock someone flat with a good shove.
"Again. You hesitate before hitting hard. Why?"
"Because you're my dad!"
"I'm your trainer. You wanna respect me for real? Then take me down."
Tila took a deep breath, sweat dripping down her temple. The morning was already hot. Training was always like this—physical, intense, full of scolding that ended in tight hugs.
After a few more strikes, they stopped, both breathless, sitting in the shade.
"You're getting strong," he said, pride hidden in his tone.
"I've been training with Bruno too."
"Yeah, I heard."
She expected a jealous remark or a teasing joke. But he just said:
"He teaches you how to use your head. I teach you how to use your arms. You'll need both."
At lunch, Tila's mother, Minerva, stirred the pot while talking as usual—about three things at once.
"And I told Mrs. Almira her bread's been dry. Dry! How does someone burn bread?"
"Mom…"
"Oh, and that Bruno guy showed up here once with a cake under his arm. Just said 'hello' and left. A mystery, that man."
"Mom!"
"What? I just think he should cut his hair, looks like he sleeps on a bird."
Tila laughed, rolling her eyes.
"He's nice. Just… weird."
"Then he matches you," Minerva smirked. "Want more rice?"
By the end of the day, Tila stopped by Bruno's house. She just wanted to talk, maybe train a little more. But the one who opened the door was Seralyne, holding a glass of juice and a smug smile.
"Hey, coach. Here for Bruno or his body?"
Tila froze.
"What kind of question is that?!"
"A fair one," Seralyne said, leaning on the doorframe. "He's in the backyard, sweating. And only wearing a towel. Wanna see, or should I call him?"
"I'll call him!" Tila marched inside, face burning.
Seralyne closed the door slowly, laughing to herself.
"Humans… so easy."
On the other side of the house, Bruno barely noticed her arrival, eyes lost in thought.
"You're early today."
"Your tenant is a pest."
"She learned from you."
Tila huffed.
"I wanna train. But no jokes today."
"Only if you stop hesitating."
"Now you're asking too much."
They laughed. And the training began again, with a new fire. When the sun sank behind the trees, painting the sky gold and pink, Tila wiped sweat from her brow as she left Bruno's house, club strapped to her back, steps steady after a long day.
"See you tomorrow," Bruno said, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed.
"Only if you're not sore," she replied, pointing to her shoulder with a sly smile.
"I'm sore every day. I learned to ignore it."
"Poetic… and super suspicious," she chuckled.
"Be careful. The forest's been noisy at night."
"Noisy, or… full of redheaded troublemakers?"
Bruno just shook his head.
Tila walked down the trail toward the village, the sun fading behind the hills. She hummed softly, lighter than when she'd arrived. Training with Bruno helped her think, helped her unload what she couldn't say.
When she reached the village, the lamps were already lit. Kids ran between houses, and the smell of fresh bread filled the air.
At the door of her house, her younger sister, Tiria—a fourteen-year-old sprite—sat drawing on the ground with charcoal. When she saw Tila, she looked up and made a face:
"You stink."
"Thanks for the warm welcome."
"I mean it, even your club's scared."
Tila ruffled her sister's hair and walked inside. Her mother was sewing something in the living room.
"Washed your hands?" Minerva asked without looking up.
"I've been training all day, Mom."
"And since when does that count as washing your hands?"
"Since Bruno made me dig holes in the ground for an hour straight."
Minerva raised an eyebrow.
"Training, or punishment?"
Tiria popped her head in with a grin:
"Or both."
"You two think you're real funny today."
Their father appeared from the kitchen, drying his hands on a cloth.
"Leave her be, Minerva. If she trained and still came back with energy to argue, she's doing fine."
Tila sat at the table, sighing, body tired but soul at peace.
"You know, I like days like this. Even if my arm falls off tomorrow."
"We like them too," her mother said. "And even if you stink, it's good having you home."
"You all have a problem with my smell…"
"Maybe stay at that boy's house you can't stop thinking about," Tiria teased, dodging the pillow Tila threw at her.
Night fell with laughter and the smell of good food from the pot. Tila glanced out the window for a moment. Far away, beyond the village, Bruno's house was just a shadow. But knowing he was there—and that somehow, he was part of her days now—warmed her chest.
---
Seralyne the Elf
The room was still dark, even though the sun had been cutting through the window for hours. Seralyne was still curled up, wrapped in one of the most comfortable blankets she'd ever known.
"You've slept long enough," the dragon whispered, bored.
"I'm not ready for life yet," Seralyne muttered, voice muffled by the pillow.
"That's the third time you've said that today," the crow chimed in. "And it's not even ten."
"Actually, it's past eleven," the snake added.
Seralyne groaned.
"You're tattoos, not alarm clocks."
"Tattoos with a conscience and a sense of responsibility," the dragon replied. "A rarity."
"A nuisance."
Still, she rolled over, sat up, and yawned loud, her red hair a wild nest. Last night's ponytail was now just a messy memory. She walked into the kitchen—or, as she called it, Bruno's laboratory.
She opened the fridge and, as always, had a tiny jump scare.
"This thing still creeps me out. Cold, closed, and never empty. There should be a magical law against it."
"It's just a fridge," muttered the crow, rolling its eyes.
She grabbed something that looked edible—or at least not lethal—and ate in silence at the counter. That's when she noticed a handwritten note pinned with a little mushroom magnet:
"Went to the village to take care of a few things. If you need me, find me near the library." —B.
"Hmm… take care of things. Super specific."
"Too vague for Bruno," the dragon commented.
"Too vague is a sign."
"Of what?"
"Of me being too bored and seeing conspiracies everywhere," Seralyne said, biting a half-frozen piece of bread.
She threw on her cloak, tied her hair as fast as possible, and headed out. Daylight nearly blinded her.
"Apparently, the world doesn't respect the drama of nocturnal creatures."
The path to the village was quiet. Some villagers already recognized her, others still whispered behind her back. She didn't care—she even liked it. But today, something felt off. An emptiness, a need to do… anything. And not knowing what.
"I could be a merchant."
"You hate bargaining."
"I could teach dagger lessons."
"You stab first, explain later."
"Bounty hunter it is, then."
"More acceptable."
In the central square, she finally saw Bruno. Sitting in a corner, watching people with that calm-too-calm look. He held a bitten apple he wasn't even eating, staring like he was miles away.
"Okay. Now it's certain. Something's wrong."
She walked up slowly.
"Planning to storm a castle, or just philosophizing about apples?"
Bruno looked at her and smiled—a vague, almost automatic smile.
"Observing."
"What?"
"People."
"Wow. So specific. Congratulations."
"They're predictable when you watch long enough."
"And you? Predictable?"
"I hope not."
She crossed her arms.
"You're acting weird. Quieter than usual. Weirder than usual."
"Thanks. Just… tired. Didn't sleep much."
Seralyne sat beside him, eyes narrowed.
"Don't tell me this is about the tower."
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he took a slow bite of the apple, chewed, and then said:
"Some doors, once opened… never close again."
"Okay, that was poetic, dark, and still ridiculously vague. Not even trying to hide it now."
He chuckled softly.
"And you? How's life as the new end-of-the-trail tenant?"
"Boring. But me and the fridge have reached a mutual tolerance phase."
Bruno nodded, gaze drifting over the square. His eyes lingered for a moment on a man talking to the blacksmith. Then two soldiers laughing near the tavern. Then the skies.
"You planning to make friends in the village?"
"Only if they let me teach their kids to defend themselves with forks."
"Tila trains every day with her father. Maybe you should join them."
"Oh, great. Nothing like waking up early to get taunted by a teenage minotaur."
Bruno raised a brow.
"You two have… complementary styles."
"The word you're looking for is incompatible."
He laughed again. But then the smile faded.
"If something strange happens," he said, eyes lifting to the sky again, "I need you ready."
"'Something strange'? Like what?"
"I don't know yet. But this village is too good to be just… a village."
She studied him in silence for a few seconds. Then said:
"You know, the way you talk makes you sound like one of those old mages who see the future but forget how to speak clearly."
"Maybe I am. Or maybe I'm just getting old."
"You hiding from something?"
Bruno looked at her. Those dark eyes—deep, heavy, always carrying something.
"No. Just hoping it finds me first."
Seralyne didn't push. She stood, stretched, and said:
"When you start naming your riddles, call me. I like good mysteries."
"You're a good mystery."
She winked, teasing.
"I know."
And walked off, tattoos snickering across her back. The dragon muttered:
"He's keeping secrets."
"Everyone does," she replied. "But his… feels like it's pulsing."
By the time she returned home, the sky was melting into gold and rose. Her feet ached. So did her patience. She'd tried helping at the tavern but ended up dropping two trays, intimidating a customer by accident, and was politely dismissed.
"I guess I wasn't born for hospitality," she muttered, kicking a pebble down the path.
"Maybe not saying 'if you don't drink, I'll drink for you' would've helped," the dragon said.
"I was trying to be friendly!" she snapped, pushing the door open with her elbow.
The house smelled different now. Lived-in. Herbs, old wood… and food.
"Evening," Bruno said, stepping out of the kitchen in a stained apron, a spoon in hand.
Seralyne stopped, arching a brow.
"You cooking again? What a blessed day."
"Cooking calms me. And you look like you need food."
"I need a job. But food works too."
She tossed her cloak over the chair, tied her hair carelessly, and sat. The bowl landed in front of her with the care of someone who knew hunger was sacred.
"Root stew, dried meat, and a hint of… what's this?" she sniffed.
"Secret ingredient."
"You poison it?"
"Easier than putting up with your complaints later."
She smirked and dug in. Silence for a few minutes—the good kind. Warm food, quiet house, shared exhaustion.
"You always eat alone?" she asked between bites.
"Usually, yeah."
"Hm. Sad."
"Peaceful."
"You're sounding less and less normal."
"Is that a compliment?"
"Depends. You hide way too much for someone who lives alone in a house with a magic bathroom and cooks better than half the taverns in the capital."
Bruno didn't answer right away. He finished his bowl and stared at the fire.
"It's not about hiding. It's about not burying anyone under my rubble."
The line hit deeper than she wanted to admit.
"That's… beautiful. Poetic. A little sad. But beautiful."
"I figured you'd call me dramatic."
"That too."
They laughed softly.
"You know, Bruno…" she said, standing with her empty bowl, "you're a good temporary home."
"'Temporary'?"
"In case you get tired of me."
"In case you kill me," he countered, taking her bowl.
"Hm. Fair point."
She walked to the sink and paused, staring at the dark windows.
"I don't know if I can get used to this."
"To what?"
"The silence…"
Bruno stopped beside her. His voice was low:
"You don't have to get used to it. Just… stay as long as you want."
She glanced at him, not smiling, but not pulling away.
"And if I want a long time?"
"Then stay a long time. It's that simple."
The dragon tattoo sighed dreamily. The snakes almost made a heart with their tails. The crow… just cleared its throat.
And that's how Seralyne's day ended—with a full stomach, a tangled heart, and, for the first time in a long time… a subtle sense of peace.
---
Bruno the ###
It was still night when Bruno opened his eyes.
The ceiling was barely visible, but he didn't need to see it. He knew every crack in the wood, every shadow the moonlight cast. Sleeping, for him, was like closing his eyes for a second and opening them the next—the fatigue never left him, but it never broke him either.
He rose in silence.
Seralyne was asleep in the guest room. One of her tattoos murmured faintly, as if dreaming too. He walked past the door without lighting a single candle.
In the kitchen, the iron kettle was already in place. He had left it there the night before, as always. Everything was exactly where it should be. And yet, something felt out of place.
As the tea heated over the ember he lit with a simple snap of his fingers, Bruno leaned against the stone counter in silence. Steam curled upward slowly, and he stared at it as if it held an answer to something he couldn't yet name.
Something was wrong with the world.
Or with him.
Or with both.
He finished the tea in short gulps and stepped out the back door, where mist still rested on the grass. The forest trees bent in silence—as if they too were watching.
He began with stretches. Then short-blade movements. Then bare hands. Then eyes closed. Every gesture disciplined. Every turn exact.
But today, something slipped.
His mind wouldn't stop.
Vaedros. The tower. The judgment that judged nothing. The memories that returned broken. The ones that didn't return at all.
"Am I still the same person I was, after so many years?" he wondered.
A voice pulled him from the trance.
"You gonna keep spinning that blade, or let me take a swing at you?"
Tila.
Hair tied any which way, training clothes already wrinkled, and a confident smile trying to hide her fatigue. She had run all the way from the village. And still looked ready to fight the world.
Bruno sighed and tossed her a wooden sword.
"Sleep well?" he asked.
"Six hours. More than usual. You?"
"Haven't slept well in years."
She grimaced.
"You're terrible at small talk, you know that?"
"And you talk too much at the start of training."
She lunged. He parried. The sound of wood clashing was sharp and clean.
"You're slower today," she noted on the second strike.
"I'm distracted."
"With what?"
"With… what comes after."
"After what?"
Bruno didn't answer. He just pivoted, swept Tila off-balance with a kick, and stopped the blade two fingers from her shoulder.
"That's cheating," she muttered. "You used conversation to distract me."
"You spoke first."
"Oh, shut up."
She got up, brushing the dirt from her clothes.
"You've got that silent prophet face today," she said, arms crossed. "If you wanna actually talk, I'm here. But if you wanna pretend everything's normal, I can hit you three more times till you feel better."
Bruno managed a smile. Crooked. Almost real.
"Three times? Confident, huh."
"More than you lately."
He didn't answer. Just tossed the sword back to her.
The training went on. With strikes. With laughter. With teasing. But even as they fought, Bruno's mind kept drifting… to things he couldn't explain.
---
By the time Bruno returned home, the sun was gone.
The path was always the same, yet tonight it felt longer. Training with Tila had been productive—maybe even fun—but the unease lingered. If anything, it grew heavier in the night's silence.
As soon as he pushed the door open, a soft aroma of mist-leaf tea greeted him.
Seralyne was curled up on the couch under one of the blankets he kept lying around, wearing one of his shirts—far too big—and studying an apple like it held a secret to the underworld.
"Trying to figure out if you enchanted the food, or if I was just starving," she said when she noticed him.
"Picked yesterday. Still fresh."
"Guess that's it." She took a bite. "Or loneliness. That makes you hungry too."
Bruno set his blade against the wall and went to the kitchen. He stirred the kettle, reignited the flame with a discreet flick.
Seralyne stayed quiet for a while. But her eyes were always on him.
"You've been quieter," she said at last. "More than usual, I mean. And your usual is already pretty damn silent."
"I've been thinking."
"About?"
He hesitated.
"About everything. About what's coming. And about who I am… when no one's looking."
She tilted her head, the apple forgotten in her hands.
"You've been off since the tower?"
He only nodded, without turning.
"Yeah," she went on softly. "That tower broke me too. In a different way. But… I think I get it."
The kettle began to hiss.
Bruno poured tea for them both and sat in the armchair across from her, eyes still lowered.
"I wish I could just… stop. For one day. Just be a normal person."
"What a nightmare that'd be," she said with a sly grin. "You wouldn't last five minutes as a villager. Picture you selling carrots at the market."
Bruno looked up—and laughed. Brief, dry, but real.
"Guess you're right."
"Always am. People just don't take me seriously 'cause I look like I'd rob them blind."
"And you do."
"Details."
Silence settled between them. Not heavy now. Almost warm.
Her tattoos were calm. The dragon slept. The snakes seemed relaxed on her arms. The raven? Somewhere, listening—but silent.
Bruno finished his tea. It was hotter than he expected.
"Want dinner?"
"Only if you cook. Promise not to steal from the pot," she said with that sharp smile.
"A promise like that, coming from you… might be a miracle."
He stood and headed for the kitchen, but before turning the corner, her voice called out again.
"Hey, Bruno."
He stopped.
"If all that weight you're carrying ever gets too heavy… you can leave some with me."
Bruno froze for a moment. Then, without looking back, said:
"Thank you."
The pot went on the fire. The house now held two hearts beating in quiet. And one of them—though burdened with thoughts and old echoes—was starting, slowly, to feel like maybe he didn't have to carry it all alone.
---
The night sang. Almost time for Bruno to wake, but something was different.
"Bruno…" The voice was soft, like a spring breeze across a field. But it left a chill.
"Bruno." Firmer now, heavy with authority, with time, with ancient decisions.
"Uncle!" Bright, alive, as if life were still simple.
"Son…" Calm. Too calm. Like someone who knew they were leaving.
"Bruninho—" And that laugh—smug, arrogant, almost mocking.
"Bru Bru—" Chaos in a breath, from someone who never took anything seriously.
"Dad…"
And that one… that one came from deep.
Bruno opened his eyes.
He was in his room. Again.
But… it didn't feel the same.
Nothing did.
Sweat ran slowly down his temples, and the sheets were drenched like he'd been fighting in his sleep.
He sat there, unmoving, until:
"You just sent a spike of energy. Shook the mental plane for a few seconds." Kaerlin's voice slipped from the void, slow, almost worried. "That's not normal."
Bruno drew a long breath, elbows on his knees, rubbing his face.
"You don't usually show up at this hour," he murmured.
"Yeah. But when even the old echoes of your soul start shifting, I can't sleep either."
Bruno said nothing. His eyes fixed on something that wasn't there. Or wasn't anymore.
"Dream?" Kaerlin asked, hesitant.
"I think so… Or worse."
Silence.
Kaerlin pressed:
"Since when haven't you had one of those?"
"Since… before you. Three, maybe four helpers ago."
Kaerlin's face darkened.
"That's not a short time."
"It wasn't just a nightmare, Kaerlin."
"I know. Some voices I almost recognized. But not fully."
"I recognized them all. And none at the same time."
Bruno rose, still thoughtful. Grabbed a shirt off the chair and pulled it on almost out of habit.
"Waking like this… always means something."
"You gonna ignore it?"
"I'm gonna deal with it."
"As always, huh?" Kaerlin smiled faintly, almost sad.
Bruno moved past him. At the door, he whispered:
"Some names… shouldn't even be with me anymore. But they were. All of them."
And then he was gone.
The door shut slowly, like it feared waking more ghosts.
---
The forest trail felt old.
Older than memory.
Bruno had walked through thicker woods, climbed higher mountains, braved harsher storms… but nothing compared to this silence.
No wind. No birds. No insects.
The forest held its breath as he passed.
The cave entrance yawned between stones like an ancient wound in the earth's skin—a narrow slit, framed by dry roots and purple moss that glimmered faintly, like a warning for watchful eyes.
Bruno stopped. Closed his eyes.
"If you're still there… show yourself."
Then stepped in.
Darkness swallowed daylight like a living veil.
And swallowed Bruno.
---
Inside the Cave of Echoes, you don't hear your own voice.
It gives back what you never said aloud.
Or what you forgot you did.
"You used to be kinder."
The words rippled before he could think to speak.
He stopped.
"You used to be a better brother."
Another voice. Older. Warmer.
*"You used to be a better ***."
His fists clenched.
"You used to be a worse man."
He walked three more steps.
"You promised to forget."
A child's voice. He knew it. But didn't know from where.
The ground grew rougher. The cave widened, as if waking.
Bruno entered a chamber. A ring of black stone inscribed with marks that turned slowly—as if reading him, not the other way around.
At its center, a fissure exhaled cold air.
Then the cave spoke.
Not in voice. In feeling. In memory. In presence.
· You brought questions.
Bruno breathed deep. Bowed his head.
"I want to know about the screams in my head."
· You are what you carry. What you fight. What you kill. What you die.
"That's an answer?"
· That's you.
Heat coiled in his chest. Almost anger.
"How many versions of me are still lost?"
The answer came in chorus. Voices layered. Male, female, young, old.
· All of them.
The stone trembled.
Then, in the deepest hush, one last voice. Calm. Familiar.
· But you're still here. For now… surviving.
The moss glowed brighter. And then—
He felt a presence behind him.
"What you were."
He saw friends. Family. Lovers long gone. And himself—happy, but different. Yet the same.
The presence was warm. Familiar. Unwelcome.
Bruno turned slowly.
Time dragged. Heart steady, but the world heavy.
And saw.
Himself.
Younger. Before everything. Before leaving for another world—but the eyes… the eyes were his.
"Bad time to drop by," said the other Bruno, scratching his neck like apologizing for existing.
"You my future?"
"A… trace of it."
"Damn."
"Yeah."
Silence stretched. Dense. Like they were reading each other—and hiding between the lines.
Bruno folded his arms.
"You here to give answers?"
"I'm here to remind you what you promised to forget."
The words burned like they came from inside, not outside.
His mind spun—grasping for somewhere to file this. But there was no shelf for this. Not yet. Because it was still being written.
"Not the time," Bruno said at last.
"Never is. But you came here. The cave only shows what you're ready to face."
"Doesn't mean I want to."
The other Bruno smirked.
"We never do. And still…"
"…we keep going."
A nod.
Echoes murmured around them. Names. Dates. Promises. Scars.
"Tell me one thing," Bruno asked.
"Shoot."
"Does anything get better?"
The other Bruno hesitated. Just a second. Enough.
"Some things. Others get worse. But you keep carrying. And you learn where to lay things down."
Bruno exhaled.
"So what do I do now? If I go to another world… was all this for nothing?"
The other Bruno stepped close. Set a hand on his shoulder.
"Remember. But don't drown. Not every weight's yours to bear."
And then—gone. Like mist.
The cave hushed. Marks stilled. Moss dimmed.
Bruno stood alone. Changed.
Not with answers. With better questions.
And for him, that was enough.
For now.
---
The trail back felt shorter.
The air, lighter. Leaves swayed instead of whispering old secrets. Bruno walked without hurry—not from fatigue, but savoring silence. Rare silence. Inside.
His body still ached from memory. But something… had let go.
Some old lock. Some unseen anchor. He was lighter. Not innocent—just less chained.
From afar, the house roof appeared. A breeze brushed his face. He breathed deep, like surfacing after a dive too far down.
The door opened softly.
The house was calm. The kettle whistling low, a note on the table:
"At the village. Back later. Tila stopped by. Raided the fridge. Good luck.
—Seralyne."
Bruno smiled. Small. Worn. But real.
"At least no one blew the house up."
Kaerlin flickered into view—arms crossed, a shade of boredom.
"Weird… you look more put together."
"I am. For now."
"The cave helped?"
"It did."
Kaerlin nodded. Kept silent. Even he knew not to joke. And Bruno… seemed grounded. Present. Like the voices no longer whispered behind him, but beside him.
He washed his face. Ran fingers through his hair. Stared at his reflection in the window glass.
"Does anything get better?"
The question still echoed.
He opened the fridge. Found the stew Seralyne had tried to hide. Set it on the stove. Tapped the counter twice. The sound rang clean. Almost musical.
Later, Tila would show up, hair damp with sweat and shoulders full of complaints. Seralyne would return after, grumbling about being mistaken for "a drunk fortune-teller" by some old man in town.
But for now, there was peace.
Not complete.
But enough for a warm meal. A long breath.
And a man who—for a while—remembered who he was At least.