Beyond the Stars

Chapter 13: The Church of Cassiopeia

The grip on my waist startled me so badly I almost screamed. I spun around, heart racing, and found myself staring into the tear-streaked face of a little girl. She couldn't have been more than seven years old, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide with desperation.

"Help me, Ate..." she whispered, her voice trembling. Her words broke apart as she burst into sobs.

I crouched down to her level, gently brushing her hair from her eyes. "What's wrong? Tell me."

She clutched at my sleeve as though I might disappear if she let go. "My brother—he's trapped! A witch caught him. She lured us with food and promised us warmth, but then she locked him inside. Please, if I don't save him, she'll hurt him."

Her little body shook with panic, and I felt my own chest tighten. Around us, the others had fallen silent. Even Baron and Alon, usually so quick to bicker, were watching her with furrowed brows.

"Where is he?" I asked, my tone steady even though my stomach was twisting.

"This way!" she cried, tugging at my hand before darting off into the trees.

We exchanged quick glances, but none of us hesitated. We followed her deeper into the forest, our boots crunching against damp leaves. The air here was colder, heavier, as though the trees themselves were holding their breath.

As we ran, I asked her questions between gasps. "Why were you in the forest? Where are your parents?"

She slowed enough to look back at me, eyes glistening. "Our stepmother... she told us to pick berries, but when we turned around she was gone. She left us here. My brother tried to keep me safe, but we got lost. We found a hut—it smelled like bread, like home—and we were so hungry that we went inside. That's when she appeared. The witch."

Her words came out in broken sobs, and though I didn't know the full truth, her fear was real. Whoever this witch was, she had taken her brother, and that was enough for me.

At last we broke through a thicket and came upon the hut. It wasn't made of candy as she'd described—thank goodness, that would've been too strange even for Cassiopeia—but it was unsettling in its own way. The walls were crooked, stitched together from mismatched planks. Smoke curled from a chimney, and the air smelled faintly sweet, like something burning.

I didn't need to ask if this was the place. The girl's horrified gasp told me everything.

"All right," I said, my voice firm. "We need a plan."

The others gathered quickly. Baron slammed the hilt of his claymore against his palm, already itching for a fight. Cedric twirled his tomahawk. Danilo checked his spear while Alon spun his. Carmen and Blessica stood beside me with their bows drawn.

"You know the drill," I said. "Baron, you're the shield. Cedric, back him up. Danilo, Alon—you two strike once there's an opening. We'll cover from behind. No one acts alone."

For once, no one argued. The girl pointed to a shuttered window. "He's in there... in a cage."

That made my blood boil.

Baron moved first, bursting from cover with a roar. The door cracked open and a figure stepped out—a hunched woman with sharp eyes and hair like tangled rope. Her grin revealed yellow teeth.

"Ohhh, little mice have come to my door," she crooned, reaching for Baron.

Baron swung, and the clash began. Cedric was already beside him, his tomahawk flashing. Danilo and Alon lunged from opposite sides, spears jabbing, forcing her back toward the hut.

I notched an arrow and fired. It whizzed past her arm, grazing her sleeve. She screeched, fury twisting her face.

"Now!" I shouted.

Baron rammed his shield into her, Cedric slashed low, and Danilo swept her legs. She stumbled backward toward the open oven glowing in the corner of the hut. For a split second she glared at us with a look so venomous I thought she might curse us all—but then Baron shoved her hard.

The witch toppled into the oven with a scream, and the door slammed shut. The hut rattled with the sound.

The little girl ran past us, fumbling at a rusty cage. Inside, a boy—maybe ten years old—looked up with hollow eyes. His sister found the key beneath a loose stone and unlocked it, sobbing as she threw her arms around him.

"You're safe now," she cried. "You're safe."

My chest ached watching them. We had done it—we saved him.

We didn't linger. The hut was beginning to smoke, the oven's heat spreading to the walls. Grabbing what little food we could, we fled into the trees, not stopping until the smoke had vanished from sight.

When we finally collapsed to catch our breath, the little girl turned to me, voice small. "We don't know the way out, Ate."

I frowned. Neither did I. The forest stretched endlessly in every direction. But then, almost as if the goddess herself heard our plea, small stones along the ground shifted. One rolled, then another, creating a faint trail as though guided by invisible hands.

"Follow them," I whispered.

We walked quietly, every step led by those mysterious stones. None of us spoke; even Baron and Alon seemed too humbled to argue.

The trail ended at a clearing. At its center stood a modest stone church, its spire pointing toward the sky. The door was open, and within, a man knelt in prayer.

When he looked up and saw the children, his eyes filled with tears.

"Hija! Hijo!" he cried, rushing forward. The children broke free from us and ran into his arms. They clung to him, their sobs of relief echoing in the still air.

"I'm sorry," the man wept, holding them close. "I was blind. I thought I could trust her, but she hurt you when I wasn't looking. She's gone now. I swear, I'll never let anyone harm you again."

"Father, we forgive you," the children whispered together.

The man turned to us, bowing deeply. "Thank you for saving them. I have nothing to repay your kindness, but I will pray that the goddess watches over each of you."

We bowed back, and he led the children inside.

We stayed in the church after they left, the silence heavy. The altar glowed faintly with candlelight. My friends sat scattered across the pews, eyes lowered.

"Did you see that?" I finally asked. "The children forgave him, just like that. Even after being abandoned. Why can't you forgive each other and stop fighting?"

The silence broke. Cedric crossed his arms. "Because they still call Prince Sinag a monster."

Danilo snapped back, "And they never stop calling Princess Hiwaga a traitor."

The bitterness was raw. I sighed, ready to scold them again, when a voice rose from the shadows.

"Hiwaga? Sinag?"

We turned. A priest stood near the altar, robes worn but his eyes bright with curiosity.

"Forgive me," he said, bowing slightly. "I couldn't help overhearing. You speak of them as royalty... but when I met them, they wore no crowns, no satin, no gold."

My breath caught. "You... knew them?"

He nodded. "A few years ago, a young man and woman came to me. They asked for a blessing. Not of battle, not of power... but of marriage."

The words struck like lightning. My friends gasped, but I couldn't move.

Marriage.

Princess Hiwaga and Prince Sinag—married in secret.

And the kings and queens never knew.