Two years. Two cycles of seasons had painted the Oakhaven woods in vibrant greens and fiery golds since Mina had found herself inexplicably thrust into the life of the village girl, Hinaria. The initial panic and disorientation had slowly softened, replaced by a quiet rhythm of acceptance and adaptation. The hard wooden chair was still hard, the small timber house still simple, but now they felt like hers.
She swept the packed-earth floor, the familiar motion soothing. Outside, the morning sun filtered through the tall trees surrounding the village, carrying the scent of pine needles and damp earth. Life here was uncomplicated, grounded. Daily chores – tending the small herb garden, 'father' had helped her plant, mending clothes, helping prepare meals – filled her time. Sometimes, Borin, the gruff, protective man the world insisted was her father, would take her foraging in the woods. He moved through the forest with quiet confidence, pointing out edible mushrooms, warning her away from shimmering, beautiful-but-dangerous sprites flitting near certain ancient oaks, and occasionally fending off grumpy, boar-like creatures called Grumblescrags with a well-aimed throw of his hand-axe.
It was on those walks, watching Borin's steady presence beside her, that the ache for her old life felt both sharpest and most distant. She missed her mother terribly, wondered constantly if she was worried, if her college studies had simply evaporated into nothingness. Could she ever go back? The question lingered, unanswered. But here, she had father. His quiet protection, his gruff affection – it was a different kind of warmth than she'd known, the feeling of having a father, someone strong standing between her and the world's dangers. It was a good feeling, even knowing, deep down, that he wasn't truly her father, that this life wasn't truly hers by birth.
This world, she now knew beyond doubt, was Eronith. The world of Aelric the Last Flame. She was Hinaria, living in Oakhaven village. And the timeline placed her squarely in Year 739. Three years. Three years until the book's narrative crashed into this peaceful village. Three years until the raiders came. Three years until Aelric arrived.
The knowledge was a constant weight, a secret she carried alone. But it wasn't just a burden; it was a purpose.
Later that afternoon, Hinaria sat by the hearth, carefully studying a worn, expensive-looking book bound in dark leather. Principles of Restoration: An Introduction to Healing Mana. Borin had bought it for her on his last trip to the nearest city, spending far more coin than they could easily spare. Her heart had swelled with gratitude. He didn't understand the strange green light she could now sometimes coax from her hands – the light that had first appeared when Finn hit his head – but he saw it didn't frighten her, and he supported her quiet efforts to understand it.
She focused, extending her hand over a wilting flower she'd placed on the table. She tried to recall that instinctive feeling from two years ago – the surge of empathy, the desire to mend. Slowly, she reached for that internal reservoir of energy called 'mana'. For Hinaria, it felt more like a pool of warm light deep inside. She drew on it gently, visualizing the light flowing down her arm, into her palm, and towards the flower. A soft, emerald glow emanated from her hand, bathing the drooping petals. It took intense concentration, but after a long moment, the flower seemed to perk up slightly, its color deepening almost imperceptibly.
A small success, but nowhere near enough. She practiced every day, poring over the complex diagrams and archaic text in the book. Healing wasn't just empathy; it was control, knowledge, precise application of mana. She knew what was coming. The book had detailed the raid on Oakhaven – the fire, the chaos, the injuries. The healers mentioned in the text had been overwhelmed. Hinaria wouldn't let that happen again if she could help it. She had to be ready. Ready to heal, ready to save who she could. Ready, perhaps, to finally meet the hero whose story had inexplicably become her reality.
She looked out the small window towards the forest path, the setting sun casting long shadows. Three more years of this peaceful, borrowed life. Three years to prepare for the day the story began. She would be ready.