Beyond the Stars

Chapter 15: Whispers of Kindness

The stars had barely begun to fade when we reached the outskirts of another settlement. My legs ached, my stomach grumbled, and the map in my hands felt heavier than it should have. We had been walking for hours after leaving the priest and the church, guided by nothing but hope and a vague direction. The horizon glowed faintly purple, signaling the coming dawn. For once, my companions weren't fighting; fatigue had silenced them.

That was when I noticed her.

A girl sat on the edge of a stone well, her shoulders trembling as she wept quietly into her apron. Her dress was faded green, patched at the elbows, and her brown skirt was stained from labor. Ash streaked her face as though she had spent too long scrubbing fireplaces. She looked in her 20s, maybe younger, but her eyes carried years of sadness.

I approached carefully, my boots crunching against the gravel. "Are you all right?" I asked softly.

The girl looked up, startled, then quickly wiped her tears as though ashamed to be caught crying. "I... I'm fine," she whispered, though her voice betrayed the opposite.

"No, you're not," I said gently. "Tell me."

She hesitated, then let the words pour out. "My father died two years ago. He left his wealth, his land, everything... to me. But my stepmother and her daughters—they stole it all. They keep me here as their servant. I do the washing, the cooking, the cleaning. They forbid me from leaving the house, forbid me from touching anything that once belonged to my father. They even locked away his portrait." Her voice cracked. "I wanted to live freely, to study, to see the world. But to them, I am only useful with a broom in my hands."

My chest tightened. I had heard too many stories of cruel stepmothers in this world. Why were stepmothers always so monstrous here?

"Doesn't anyone help you?" I asked.

She shook her head. "My stepmother has influence. People fear her. They don't want to get involved."

"But someone must care," I pressed.

A faint smile softened her face. "Once, Princess Hiwaga cared. She used to visit me when she was still alive. She comforted me when my stepfamily mocked me. She told me that beauty wasn't measured in gowns or jewels but in patience, kindness, and strength. She said the goddess favored those who endured hardship without letting their hearts turn bitter. Whenever I doubted myself, she would remind me: 'You are worth more than cinders, Selene.'"

So that was her name—Selene.

The mention of Hiwaga sent a jolt through me. Another thread connecting me to the truth. Another person who remembered the princess not as a cheater or a liar but as a friend who lifted others when they fell.

"Why did she stop visiting?" I asked carefully.

Selene's smile faded. "I don't know. One day she simply never came back."

I wanted to tell her everything I'd heard—the accusations, the pain, the conflicting stories—but I held my tongue. It would only wound her further.

"Selene," I said softly, "someday, the goddess will see your strength. And when she does, you'll be free."

Her eyes shimmered with tears, but this time she didn't cry. "Thank you. I can't offer you shelter—if my stepmother found you, she would punish us both—but I can give you this." She reached into her apron and pulled out a small pouch of dried herbs. "They help with fatigue. My father taught me their use before he passed."

I accepted the gift and bowed my head. "Thank you. I'll never forget this."

We left Selene behind, her figure growing smaller as she returned to her chores. My heart ached as I walked away. This world was full of cruelty, yes, but also of kindness. Hiwaga had left a mark on Selene's life that hadn't faded. That had to mean something.