A Realm of Earth and Healing

Prologue

I stepped onto the cobblestone streets, the uneven stones cool beneath my feet. Each footfall resonated softly in the stillness of our town, the silence almost tangible. The sun climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows that danced eerily across the ground. I removed the hood of my cloak, feeling the warmth of the breeze against my skin—a stark contrast to the cold emptiness I felt inside. The air was thick with the scent of decay; nearly all the plants, flowers, fruits, and vegetables in the yards of the houses I passed were withered and dead. The once vibrant gardens, now reduced to lifeless husks, stood as grim reminders of the life that once thrived here.

The surroundings were eerily silent. Not a single soul was outside. The streets, usually bustling with the sounds of daily life—children playing, merchants calling out their wares, neighbors chatting—were now ghostly quiet. The only sounds were the occasional creak of a shutter in the wind and the distant cawing of crows. Perhaps the townspeople were hiding inside their homes, seeking solace in their grief, or perhaps, they were already resting in their final places, their presence now merely a memory.

I wanted to leave this place. I wanted to escape the painful memories that haunted me at every turn. I longed to forget, even though I knew it would be difficult. The weight of my sorrow pressed down on me, a constant reminder of the family I had lost. Just when I discovered the extent of my abilities, I lost them all.

My father had passed away last week, his strong presence now just a memory. My only younger sister had followed him the next day, her laughter silenced forever. And just yesterday, my mother, the heart of our family, had succumbed to the illness. Each loss felt like a dagger to my heart, the pain sharp and unrelenting.

It had been a month since our town was struck by a severe and deadly disease. The doctors were still baffled, unable to determine its origin or find a cure. In a desperate attempt to contain the outbreak, the authorities had sealed off our town. No one could enter or leave. The once open and welcoming gates now stood as barriers, trapping us in this nightmare.

Their efforts had succeeded in preventing the spread of the disease to other towns, but the cost had been devastating. Nearly half of our population had perished. The afflicted suffered from recurring fevers, their bodies gradually weakening until they could no longer draw breath. The town was a shadow of its former self, a place of sorrow and loss. The vibrant community I once knew had become a ghost town, filled with echoes of the past and the heavy silence of the present.

I harbored a deep resentment towards myself and my newfound abilities because it was too late when I discovered that I could have saved them. My family might still be alive and with me today if I had discovered this sooner. Having this power was meaningless if I couldn't use it for them, for the people who were close and important to me. They were all I had here. I wished I could also be afflicted by that disease. The pain of losing loved ones felt more intense in my body, especially in my heart, than suffering and enduring that severe illness.

Therefore, I could not accept whatever responsibility came with having this ability. I would leave this place even if it was not allowed, even if they tried to stop me. I would find a way. I would leave the suffering town where I grew up.

I halted my steps, surveying the imposing trees around me. Their trunks stretched skyward, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind. To my command, the leaves and branches quivered and danced, rustling with a life of their own. I pulled my hood over my head as the wind sharpened and grew colder, biting through my clothes.

As I trudged forward, I stopped abruptly, my gaze locking onto a young girl lying at the base of a sprawling mango tree. Its gnarled branches twisted toward the heavens, casting long shadows over her small frame. Across from the tree stood a humble, weather-worn house, its faded paint telling tales of forgotten dreams. The girl looked to be no older than five or six, her fragile body curled into a ball.