Two years had passed, and Mira found herself more accustomed to the rhythms of her new life. She was twelve now, her small frame moving easily through the routine of the house. The days blended together, a continuous ebb and flow of tasks that never seemed to end. She had long ago learned how to cook, sew, mend, and clean, and now, the daily chores came almost instinctively. The tasks were a part of the life she lived, and while they didn’t excite her, there was a quiet satisfaction in mastering the little things.
But there were days when the weight of it all felt like too much, when she was tired of the endless cycle of repetition. There were times when Mira yearned for more, for something beyond the walls of the house and the heavy expectations placed on her shoulders. It was a quiet longing, one she tucked away when others were around. It wasn’t a wish to be free of her family—it was just that desire to see more, to do more, to be more. Those feelings were hard to explain, even to herself.
Still, Mira had found ways to find peace in the little moments. She made time for herself when she could, sneaking away to sit by the edge of the forest or out in the fields, where the air was fresh and the sky wide and open. There, in the solitude of nature, she felt as if the world could be anything. She could imagine the possibilities, the vastness beyond the village, and for a brief time, she was able to shed the weight of her role as a daughter, a sister, a girl expected to conform. Those were the moments that felt closest to freedom. And she’d made friends, too—real friends who added a welcome warmth to her days.
Lia and Riley were twins who lived in the village, just around her age. They were as different as night and day, and Mira found herself amused by their endless contrasts. Lia was lively and boisterous, her laugh loud and bold. She wore her hair cropped shorter than most girls and was always the first to climb a tree or dash down a hill, her skirts muddied and her cheeks red from the thrill of running. If someone had asked, Mira would have said Lia was more like a boy than any girl she’d ever met in this life. Lia had a spark to her, a fire that burned brightly in everything she did. She didn’t seem to care about what people thought of her, something Mira secretly admired.
Riley, on the other hand, was her opposite—quiet, gentle, and shy. He was smaller than most boys his age, his shoulders narrow and his gaze often cast down to the ground. Mira could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the way he flinched when other boys called him weak or teased him for being “soft.” That teasing was why he often preferred to play with Mira and Lia. They didn’t judge him, and with them, he could be himself without fear of ridicule.
“Race you to the old oak!” Lia shouted one day, her voice cutting through the still afternoon air.
Mira and Riley exchanged glances, but before either could respond, Lia was off, tearing down the path in a blur. Mira laughed and chased after her, pulling Riley along as he stumbled to keep up. Lia was already clambering up the old oak tree by the time they reached it, her nimble limbs swinging up as she perched herself on a low branch, looking down at them with a grin.
“Come on, slowpokes!” she taunted, kicking her feet back and forth.
Riley’s cheeks flushed, but he managed a shy smile as he climbed up beside her, taking a seat just below. Mira joined them, leaning back against the rough bark, her gaze drifting out over the field. Moments like these—free from duty and expectation—were what she cherished most. Here, she wasn’t Mira, the girl expected to fulfill the traditional roles of her gender. Here, she was just herself, enjoying the simplicity of the present, surrounded by friends who didn’t care about what society told them they should be.
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“So, Mira,” Lia said, breaking the silence, “what do you want to be when you’re grown up? I mean, besides the boring stuff they say girls are supposed to do.”
Mira hesitated, choosing her words carefully. She wanted to give an answer that didn’t raise too many eyebrows. “I’m… not sure,” she said finally. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t know if I want to be anything they expect.”
Lia grinned, nodding in agreement. “Same here. Why should we just be what they tell us, right? I mean, who says boys get all the fun things?”
She ruffled Riley’s hair playfully, making him blush. “I’d rather be a soldier or a hunter like Lior than some housemaid.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “I want to fight, to hunt, to be out there, doing something real.”
Mira smiled, admiring Lia’s boldness. She understood the pull of that freedom. The desire to be something more than what the world told them they could be was universal, even in this small, confined space. And then her thoughts drifted to her older brother, Lior. He was fifteen now, already a young adult in this world. When he’d turned fourteen, he’d gone through the system’s rites and had been granted a unique mix of classes—half soldier, half hunter. It was an unusual combination, but it suited him perfectly. Lior had always been strong, with a steady gaze and a sense of duty that went beyond his years. Mira respected him, even if they didn’t always see eye to eye.
She thought of the other boys in the village, too—the ones who teased Riley, who laughed at his gentleness as if it were a flaw. She clenched her fists, her chest tightening at the thought. Why couldn’t they see that being kind and gentle wasn’t a weakness? That being strong didn’t mean being cold or cruel?
But she didn’t want to ruin the moment with those thoughts. Instead, Mira leaned back against the tree, her thoughts drifting.
Riley, his feet dangling just above the ground, spoke softly. “I don’t know… I don’t think I’m strong enough to be a soldier. I’m not like Lior.”
Mira’s heart ached when she saw the self-doubt in his eyes. Riley didn’t deserve to feel like this. She wished she could take away the fear that held him back. But rather than voice the frustration she felt about how unfairly the world treated him, she stayed quiet for a moment, letting the silence stretch between them. She wasn’t sure what she could say that would make a difference.
Lia, ever the bold one, grinned again and nudged him playfully. “You don’t have to be like Lior, Riley. You don’t have to fit into any box. You just have to be the best at being yourself.”
Mira nodded slowly, looking at her friends. “She’s right, Riley,” she said gently. “Don’t listen to them. The ones who make fun of you—they don’t know you. You’re not weak. You’re kind, and that’s something this world needs more of.”
Riley looked at her, surprise flickering in his eyes, and then he gave a small, uncertain smile. “Thanks, Mira.”
Lia punched him lightly on the arm. “What she said. Besides, I’m going to be so great that nobody will dare laugh at us!” Her voice was full of fire and mischief, and Mira couldn’t help but laugh.
The conversation flowed into lighter topics after that, the heavy thoughts from earlier drifting away like the passing clouds above them. For a while, they simply enjoyed the comfort of each other’s company, letting the sun warm their faces and the breeze tousle their hair. In those moments, Mira didn’t feel like a girl trapped by the roles the world expected her to play. She didn’t feel like someone who had to constantly prove herself. She was just Mira, a friend, a child, someone who could enjoy life without the weight of expectations pressing down.
When the evening grew darker, Mira reluctantly stood up from her perch. “We should probably head home. My mother will worry if I’m not back before dark.”
Lia groaned but stood, stretching her arms above her head. “Fine, fine, but next time, I’m winning for sure!”
As they made their way back to the village, the trio laughed and joked, the weight of the world—of all the roles it expected them to play—feeling a little lighter. They were still young, still figuring things out, but together, they felt stronger. They would face whatever came, and Mira knew that with friends like them, she could take on anything.
As they approached the village, Mira couldn’t help but look over her shoulder, just one last time at the tree where they’d spent the afternoon. For a moment, she felt the fleeting sense of freedom that had filled her heart that day, and she promised herself that no matter what the world expected of her, she would hold onto that feeling.