The Shadowbound Prophecy

Chapter 8: Ripples on the Surface

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a soft golden glow over the lake. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and fresh water, as Harry sat quietly on the shore, his gaze fixed on the calm surface of the lake in front of him. The distant mountains, veiled in the morning mist, seemed smaller and further away from this vantage. The world felt impossibly still.

Harry dipped his fingers into the lake's cool water, watching as tiny ripples spread outward, distorting the perfect reflection of the sky. The ripples eventually faded, leaving the water smooth once more—an apt metaphor for his own journey. Despite the chaos of recent events, moments like this had a strange way of feeling serene, almost as if nothing had changed. But Harry knew better.

He sat in silence, lost in thought. The weight of their quest had become heavier in recent days, and the quiet between him and Seraphina had become more frequent. It wasn't the kind of silence born from discomfort, but rather a shared understanding. There were moments in life, especially ones like these, when there were simply no words.

Seraphina sat a little way off, her legs crossed as she absentmindedly fiddled with a blade of grass. She'd been keeping an eye on Harry, but she didn't push him to talk. She had always been able to sense when he needed space. After all, it wasn't the first time Harry had retreated into himself. Since they had started this journey together, there had been numerous occasions when Harry seemed to carry more than just his own burdens.

It was a moment before Harry finally spoke, his voice soft, almost tentative. "Do you ever wonder if any of this would've happened if I'd just stayed in the village? If I hadn't left?"

Seraphina turned her head toward him, her expression thoughtful but calm. "You couldn't have known what would happen," she said quietly, her voice gentle.

"No," Harry agreed, a bitter edge creeping into his tone, "but I left anyway."

There was something raw in his words, a bitterness that had taken root and grown over time. Seraphina could sense it—a bitterness that stemmed not just from the present, but from a past he rarely spoke of. It was as if the weight of his decisions had finally caught up to him, and now, sitting by the lake, he could no longer ignore the questions he'd been avoiding for so long.

"I didn't leave because of some grand purpose," Harry continued, his eyes still fixed on the water. "I wasn't trying to save anyone, or become someone. I left because I was restless. I couldn't stand the village anymore. The same faces, the same conversations... the same expectations."

Seraphina didn't interrupt, sensing that he needed to get the words out. She had heard bits and pieces of Harry's story before, but never in this way. There was something different about the way he spoke now—less guarded, more vulnerable.

"I wasn't like them," Harry said, his voice quieter now. "My parents, my friends... they all seemed content with their lives. They were happy with the simplicity of it all. They'd work, they'd laugh, they'd live quietly. And they expected me to do the same. But I couldn't. I tried to pretend for a while that I could fit into that life, but every day felt like I was suffocating. So I left."

Seraphina's heart ached for him. She had known Harry for long enough to understand that he wasn't someone who shared his feelings easily. He had always been the one who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, who pushed through his own pain without complaint. But now, sitting by this tranquil lake, it seemed as though that burden had finally become too much to bear.

Harry reached down and picked up a smooth stone from the shore, turning it over in his hand before tossing it into the water. It skipped twice before sinking into the lake with a soft plop, leaving behind a ripple that quickly disappeared.