Lune’s eyes widened in awe as the scene before her unfolded. A vast forest stretched out, an endless expanse of emerald hues and deep twilight. Each leaf glistened with dew, sparkling like a thousand tiny diamonds, alive with its own inner light. The air was cool and carried the scent of pine and damp earth, mingled with a sweetness reminiscent of wildflowers and honey, a scent that tingled pleasantly on her tongue.

Tall trees loomed overhead, their branches entwined like the threads of a great, living tapestry. Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, painting the forest floor with shifting patterns of gold and shadow. Each beam of light seemed to dance, as though the sun itself was alive, gently guiding her with its warm touch.

The silence was not empty but instead filled with the quiet hum of life. There was a subtle symphony of rustling leaves, distant bird calls, and the occasional whisper of wind through the trees. If she listened closely, she could almost hear the trees speaking in voices older than time, a language that resonated deep within her.

Lune’s bare feet brushed against the soft moss, which cushioned her steps and rose up between her toes, as if the forest itself welcomed her, drawing her deeper into its embrace. Tiny lights flickered at the edges of her vision—mana particles, she realized with a gasp. They danced and twirled, leaving trails of color in the dim light, leading her toward the heart of the forest. But before she could take a step, a searing pain assaulted her senses.

Lune collapsed into the moss, her body wracked with agony. The pain was overwhelming—too intense to move, too intense to scream, too intense to think. Just before darkness claimed her, she caught a glimpse of a small figure out of the corner of her eye—a child, no more than five years old.

When Lune awoke once more, the pain had lessened, though it still throbbed beneath the surface. She found herself sitting upright against a tree. The child must have moved me, she thought, glancing around for any sign of the little one. But the child was nowhere to be seen.

Trying to discover the source of the pain from before, she looked at herself. She was still wearing the simple white dress from earlier without any jewelry. She was barefoot and was only wearing underwear underneath her skirt. None of those things were suspicious, but when she touched her neck, she recoiled her hand. There was something there that was painful to touch, likely made out of iron, sodium chloride, or both.

A sudden snap echoed through the air, and Lune’s heart raced as her gaze snapped toward the source. A broken tree branch lay on the ground, having fallen from above. But what truly drew her attention was the sight of the young girl standing nearby. The child’s wide eyes met Lune’s, filled with innocent curiosity. She clutched a damp cloth in her small hands, the fabric dark with moisture.

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For a moment, neither of them moved. Lune, still dazed from the pain, felt a strange mixture of fear and wonder. The girl, no older than five, took a cautious step forward. Her clothes were simple, a bit tattered but clean. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves around her face, and there was a warmth in her brown eyes that soothed Lune’s unease.

The girl knelt beside Lune, offering the cloth without a word. Lune hesitated, uncertain of what to do. Despite everything, the girl’s presence was comforting, like an anchor in this strange, unfamiliar world.

“Thank you,” Lune whispered, reaching out to take the cloth. Her voice was hoarse, surprising her with its weakness. She spoke in Hue, the language of the human race, hoping the girl would understand.

The child smiled—a shy, delicate smile—and nodded. She didn’t appear afraid, only watchful, as though waiting to see what Lune would do next.

Lune pressed the damp cloth to her forehead, the coolness soothing her aching head. The silence between them was filled with the soft sounds of the forest—the distant calls of birds and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.

“What is your name?” Lune asked, her voice still barely above a whisper.

The girl tilted her head, thinking for a moment before replying. “Mira,” she said quietly. “And you are?”

“Luenstella,” Lune replied with a faint smile, “but you may call me Lune.”

“Are you alright, big sis Lune?” Mira asked, her voice laced with concern. Lune, looking only a few years older than Mira, made her think of her as the big sister that she wished she had.

Lune nodded slowly, though she wasn’t entirely certain. “I believe I will be.” She paused, studying Mira’s face. “Where did you come from?”

Mira pointed back into the forest, her small hand gesturing vaguely toward the dense trees. “I live nearby,” she explained, her voice soft and sincere. “I saw you fall asleep while standing up and… I wanted to help.”

Lune’s heart ached at the kindness in the girl’s words. She didn’t know how she had ended up here or how to return to her family, but this child’s simple act of compassion was like a lifeline.

“Thank you, Mira,” Lune said again, this time with more strength. “I do not know how I came to be here, but I am grateful you found me.”

Mira’s smile widened, her eyes sparkling with an innocence Lune had almost forgotten could exist. “Come with me,” Mira said, standing up and offering her hand to Lune. “I’ll take you to my mom, she will know what to do.”

Lune hesitated, glancing around the forest. She did not know what lay ahead, but she knew she could not remain here. Gathering her strength, she took Mira’s hand and slowly rose to her feet. The trees seemed to watch them as they began to walk, their magic stirring around them as if enveloping them in a protective shield.

As they ventured deeper into the woods, Lune felt a flicker of hope. She did not know where this journey would lead, but with Mira by her side, she dared to believe that she might find her way home.