Not silence. Not the scent of old paper. Mina's consciousness surfaced into discomfort. She wasn't curled in the library armchair; she was sitting bolt upright on a hard, unyielding wooden chair. Her back ached. Sunlight, brighter than the library's dusty beams, streamed through a small window, illuminating a simple room with rough-hewn wooden walls and a packed-earth floor. It smelled of woodsmoke, dried herbs, and damp earth – alien, yet strangely grounding.
Where...? The last thing she remembered was the library, the book, the overwhelming wish, and that strange, echoing voice: "Let's try again..."
She looked down at herself. She wasn't wearing her usual soft sweater and jeans. Instead, a simple, slightly coarse linen dress covered her. Her hands, resting on her lap, looked like her own, but felt... different somehow, smaller or perhaps just unused to this reality. Disorientation washed over her, thick and cloying.
A sharp knock sounded on the wooden door, making her jump. Before she could respond, it opened, and a village boy about her own age, maybe slightly older, poked his head in. He had earnest brown eyes and a scattering of freckles across his nose. He broke into a relieved smile when he saw her.
"Hinaria! You're awake then?" he said, stepping inside. "I saw the smoke from your chimney, thought I'd check. How are you feeling?"
Hinaria? The name echoed strangely, like the voice from before, familiar yet utterly wrong. Mina stared at him, confused. Who was Elara? Who was he?
"I... I'm alright," she managed, her voice sounding thin.
The boy shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Good. That's good. Listen, Hina... I was wondering... would you want to maybe... take a walk? Down by the woods? It's a nice morning." He seemed nervous, hopeful.
Mina's mind recoiled. Walk? With a stranger who called her by the wrong name in a place she didn't recognize? "I don't think so," she said, perhaps too quickly. "I'm... not feeling well."
The boy's face fell, disappointment clear. "Oh. Right. Still... maybe just some fresh air? Please? Just for a bit?" His persistence felt uncomfortable, but there was an underlying shyness to him that made it hard to be truly harsh. And maybe... maybe seeing outside would help her understand where she was.
"...Alright," she conceded hesitantly. "Just for a little while."
His face lit up again. "Great!"
She followed him out of the small house into bright sunlight and air so clean and crisp it almost hurt her lungs after the city's haze. They were in a village made almost entirely of wood – sturdy timber houses with thatched roofs clustered around a central well. Smoke curled from chimneys. People – men in simple tunics, women in long skirts and aprons – nodded or waved as they passed, their faces open and familiar with the boy, their glances at 'Hina' brief and unremarkable. Everyone seemed to know everyone. Beyond the houses, a dark green forest pressed close, its edge looking both beautiful and imposing.
The boy – she later knew his name is Finn when others calls him with that name, while pointing out the baker's house – kept trying to make conversation, talking about the harvest, a stray dog, the upcoming village festival. His nervousness was palpable, his words tumbling out shyly. Mina walked beside him, mostly silent, her mind racing, trying to reconcile the impossible sensory input with her memories of the library. Nothing made sense.
They reached the edge of the village, near the path leading into the woods. Finn stopped, turning to her, gathering his courage. "Hina," he began, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I wanted to say you somethin...I...I... I really like you. Would you... would you maybe want to... well, be my sweetheart? Go to the festival with me?"
Mina blinked. This situation was surreal enough without a sudden, awkward courtship attempt. "Finn, I..." she started gently, "I appreciate it, but... no. I'm sorry. I can't." She wasn't Hins, whoever that was, and she certainly couldn't entertain romantic notions while lost in... wherever this was.
Finn's hopeful expression crumpled, replaced by a hurt, stubborn look. "Why not?" he demanded, his shyness evaporating into frustration. "Is it because of my father? Or do you like other one?"
"No, it's not that, I just..." Mina tried to step back, feeling cornered.
"Just give me a chance!" he insisted, stepping forward, reaching out and grabbing her hand. His grip was surprisingly strong. "Just one dance at the festival?"
Panic flared in Mina's chest – the suddenness, the unwanted touch, the loss of control. It felt terrifyingly real. "No! Let go!" she cried out, pulling back, her voice sharper and louder than she intended, echoing slightly in the quiet clearing. She screamed, a genuine sound of fear torn from her.
Suddenly, a large figure emerged from the path behind her house nearby, drawn by the commotion. A man, built like an oak tree, with weathered features, a thick grey-streaked beard, and powerful arms, strode towards them, his face thunderous. He wore the simple clothes of a woodsman or farmer but carried an air of undeniable strength.
"Finn!" the man roared, his voice deep and commanding. "What in the blazes do you think you're doing?" Before Finn could react or let go, the man seized the boy by the collar of his tunic and hauled him bodily away from Mina, tossing him aside like a sack of grain.
Finn stumbled, tripped, and fell hard, his head cracking against a large, moss-covered stone at the edge of the path. He lay still, a trickle of blood starting to well from his temple.
Mina gasped, horrified. The man ignored the fallen boy for a moment, turning to her, his angry expression softening instantly into rough concern. "What was he doing, my daughter?" he asked, his voice still gruff but protective. "Did he hurt you? Are you alright?"
Daughter? The word hit Mina with the force of a physical blow, adding another layer of impossibility to the scene. She stared at the man – her supposed father? – then at the unconscious boy bleeding on the ground.
"He... he hit his head," she stammered, pointing, her earlier fear momentarily eclipsed by a wave of empathy for the injured boy, regardless of his actions.
The man grunted, glancing down at Finn. "His own foolish fault. But..." He knelt, checking the boy's pulse.
Mina found herself moving forward numbly, kneeling beside Finn opposite the large man. The sight of the blood, the stillness of the boy... it resonated with the helplessness she'd felt reading about Aelric's end. Without thinking, driven by an instinct she didn't understand, she reached out and gently touched Finn's bleeding temple.
A warmth bloomed beneath her palm, startlingly intense. A soft, emerald light flickered around her fingers, pulsing gently. The bleeding slowed, then stopped. The ugly gash seemed to close slightly, the surrounding skin losing its angry redness.
The large man stared, his eyes wide with shock. "Hina?" he breathed, his voice filled with disbelief. "That light... can you...? Can you do a healer mage?"
Mina snatched her hand back as if burned, staring at her own fingers, then at Finn, who stirred with a low groan. The green light faded. "I... I don't know," she whispered, the confusion overwhelming her again. Tears welled in her eyes. "I don't know what I'm doing."