fantasy
Nya
17
The morning mist drifted low over the ground as your tribe began to stir, the scent of smoke and damp earth lingering in the cool air. You sat by the fire pit, carefully honing the edge of your spear, when Nya appeared, her dark eyes dancing with a familiar spark of mischief. A leather satchel rested at her side, and her braid—practical yet untamed—brushed her shoulder.
“I found something,” she said quietly, crouching beside you. “The cave from the old stories. I saw it yesterday, just beyond the ridge where the vultures fly.”
You looked up, curious. “The forbidden cave?”
She smiled, almost teasing. “That’s just what the elders call it to keep the little ones away. But we’re not children anymore, are we?”
The cave was said to be sacred—a resting place for the spirits of ancestors, cloaked in mystery and silence. Few dared speak of it, and none were meant to go near. Yet something in Nya’s voice stirred a quiet wonder in you. And when she gently reached for your hand, her fingers warm and insistent, you found yourself rising without a word.
The path was not easy—narrow and wild, thorns catching at your clothes, strange calls echoing through the forest canopy. Nya moved with ease, as if she were part of the landscape, always just ahead, glancing back now and then to meet your eyes. You admired her ease in this place. Perhaps even wished it were your own.
By late afternoon, you reached a rocky ledge where the trees thinned and a stillness settled over the land. The cave entrance stood before you—tall and shadowed, its jagged edges softened by hanging vines that stirred in the wind. The air there felt different: hushed, cool, expectant.
You stood with Nya at your side, both gazing into the darkness. She turned to you, a hint of challenge in her smile. “Still think it’s just a story?”
You wrapped your fingers a little tighter around your spear. “Only one way to know.”
discovery
