At the farthest edge of the universe, there lies an unnamed planet, forgotten among the twisted folds of space and time. There, the lowest forms of life, known as humans, lived cramped together under the ruthless rule of divine beings who claimed themselves as justice and peace.
In a remote village, plagued year-round by natural disasters and war, two children grew up together, Nastaria and Votax. They were cousins, born from the same impoverished bloodline. Each day was a struggle, their family surviving on leftover food, sometimes stolen from the market, sometimes scavenged from piles of trash.
Nastaria's father was killed during a peaceful protest against the war. Her mother was arrested for supporting him and thrown into a dark prison when Nastaria was just two years old. Every day, she was forced to do hard labor in a quarry owned by a god.
From a young age, Nastaria never got a chance to live with her parents. She relied on the family of Votax, staying with his mother, his father, and their grandmother.
Although they were poor, the family lived with kindness and love. Some days they were hungry, some days they were full, but the house was always filled with laughter. Someone once said, "As long as there is hope, we can find light in the darkness." But a flicker of hope could never change the brutal fate of those who had nothing.
The Night of the Massacre
In the 918th year of the Cycle of Light, at 3:30 in the morning, an army of tens of thousands descended upon Nas's village without warning.
A place once believed to be the most peaceful in the universe turned into a battlefield soaked in blood within moments. Fire, corpses, and screaming filled the air.
"Flatten everything. Kill every living thing. From now on, this area will become military territory. This is a supreme order." The commanding officer's voice echoed without hesitation.
Two children, not even six years old, were caught in an unthinkable genocide. Within three hours, all buildings, roads, and trees were reduced to ash by spears, swords, guns, and magic.
The elderly, the children, the farmers, the teachers, the deaf, the blind, everyone. No one was spared.
Votax's family died before their eyes. Nas's aunt was shot through the head while holding Nas and Votax tightly. Her uncle was cut down while trying to lead them to safety. Their grandmother was crushed beneath the iron claws of a monstrous beast.
In the midst of despair, the two children screamed and ran in terror.
Under the storm of bullets and blazing skies, the two six-year-olds held each other's hands and fled into the forest. Hunger, cold, wounds, and a deep mental scar that would never heal.
That night, both Nastaria and Votax lost everything. Even the smallest fragments of hope.
They ran until the sounds of war behind them faded into distant echoes. Their feet were bleeding, their breaths came in broken sobs.
Nastaria collapsed first. Then Votax. No more strength. No more water. Not even tears.
The sky turned gray with smoke. Rain began to fall, as if mourning the fate of the two children and the innocent lives lost.
The wind carried the scent of earth mixed with the stench of rotting corpses hidden beneath the leaves. Ancient trees, thousands of years old, burned and groaned as if they too were crying for this land.
Their skin now carried only the sting of burns and the smell of blood.
Nastaria looked up at the sky and could only pray to the gods. The two of them lay motionless in a pool of blood.
In his final breath before losing consciousness, Votax whispered, "Nas... are we... going to die... here?"
Nastaria, voice trembling like a dying flame, whispered, "No... I believe... in gods ... they... will protect us."
The Treehouse
Nastaria awoke. Pain arrived instantly, simmering like embers beneath ash. Every breath stabbed her chest. Every muscle tightened from cold and exhaustion. But this pain felt bearable.
She did not know how long she had been asleep. The last thing she remembered was Votax's voice, flames behind her, the smell of death, and her hand dropping lifelessly among black trees.
Now, she was surrounded by a space that felt warm, soft, and glowing, like it was woven from twilight. There was no sound of guns. No stench of blood. Only the scent of wood, sap, and something ancient and alive.
Each breath still caused her pain, but she was no longer afraid.
She turned her head. Votax was lying beside her. His body was wrapped in strips of bark as soft as silk. The swelling in his veins had faded. His lips were no longer pale. He had not woken yet, but he was breathing steadily. Alive. That alone was enough to calm her.
Somewhere, the gentle sound of dripping water echoed like the breath of the house.
Then a figure appeared. Thin, graceful, like a ripple across the surface of water. A forest fairy stepped from the trunk of a tree, holding a stone bowl filled with a glowing green liquid that shimmered like ancient tree sap.
Niel.
She sat down, placing the bowl beside Nastaria. She dipped a large leaf into the liquid and began cleaning Nastaria's wounds. Every motion was measured, as if she had done this a thousand times before.
The light from the treetop above lit her face.
She was beautiful. Her white eyes radiated purity, reflecting the simplicity of the forest. Her long white hair flowed like a silver waterfall. Her skin was pale as mist. Not a god. Not a human. A fairy.
"Who... are you?" Nas whispered, her throat dry and hoarse.
Niel did not answer immediately. She gently squeezed the leaf, letting drops of the liquid fall onto Nastaria's swollen burns. The skin calmed. The breathing eased.
Then Niel spoke, her voice soft and slow like wind passing through leaves.
"Niel. I am a guardian of this ancient forest. This is my home. I found you unconscious in the woods."
Nastaria turned her face away. Her eyes reddened, and tears fell silently into the straw pillow. Not from fear. But because, for the first time since the nightmare began, someone treated her like a living being. Not something meant to be discarded.
A few hours later, Votax woke up. He tried to sit up, but cried out from the pain in his chest.Niel gently placed her hand on his shoulder. Without saying a word, she eased him back down, as if the forest itself had willed it.
"Don't strain yourself. The fact that you are still alive is already a miracle," she said.
"Thank... you..." Votax gasped. "But... why... did you save us?"
Niel tilted her head, eyes full of warmth. "Fate, perhaps. Or coincidence. One does not need a reason to save a life."
7 days later
When their bodies were strong enough to stand, Nastaria and Votax were led by Niel out of the treehouse.
The sunlight outside forced them to squint, not from its brightness, but because their eyes had grown used to a world drowned in darkness and blood.
Niel brought them back to the village.
The once-familiar dirt path was now buried under layers of gray ash. The bamboo fences had burned away. The houses had collapsed into piles of rubble. The river at the edge of the village was nothing more than a black hole in the hardened earth.
The wind passed through the ruins of simple huts, carrying with it an eerie sound that felt like the cry of children, torn apart by war.
There was nothing left. No survivors. Even the corpses were no longer whole.
Only ashes remained, and memories that could never be buried.
Nastaria stood frozen. Tears streamed from her eyes. Her hands clenched so tightly that they bled as she held the lifeless remains of her loved ones.
Votax knelt down, picking up a piece of charred wood, all that remained of his old front door. He said nothing. The pain of returning to a place once called home, only to find nothing left to hold, was too great for words.
Niel stood behind them, silently watching. She did not touch their pain. She did not speak to ease it. She understood. Sometimes, letting a fruit fall is the only way it can grow again.
As the sun began to set, she turned to leave.
But then, a small hand gently tugged at the edge of her robe.
Nas looked up, her face pale and still.
"Please... don't go."
Votax stepped forward too, his eyes swollen red.
"Please let us go with you. Even if it's just to be your servants ... to sweep, to help, or to gather firewood."
Nas said
"Yes yes, we can do anything. We will be good. We won't ask for anything," Nas said, her voice steady.
Niel looked at them for a long moment.
"You are not afraid of me?" she asked, half teasing, half serious.
Votax shook his head.
"If you were someone bad... you wouldn't have saved us."
Niel said nothing. Something ancient passed through her eyes. Something only the forest could understand.
"Very well. But I have no interest in playing caretaker for children."
"You will both have to learn how to protect yourselves."
The Monastery
From that night on, the two of them found shelter in the Monastery of Light in a small village, taken in as apprentices. This place lay hundreds of kilometers from Nas's village, hidden deep within mountain valleys, concealed by thick forests, and built through the magic of Niel.
It was nothing like the grand monasteries of the West. This place was just a small village, with simple wooden houses tucked close together. They were built from stone, wood, moss-covered walls, and a lots of hope.
Hundreds of children lived here. They took care of one another, watched over each other, and stood together like a family.
What they all had in common was a past destroyed by war. They were children who had lost everything. Families. Homes. Even the will to hope.
When there was nowhere left to return to, this humble monastery became their only refuge. It was the only place where they could hear laughter again, where they could breathe again, where they could learn to rebuild their lives from the shattered pieces of their past.
Because of her boundless compassion, Niel had, perhaps against her own wishes, become a godmother to them all.
And so, from that day forward, Nastaria and Votax began with a broom.
They swept fallen leaves, cleaned the hearth, and gathered firewood. No one told them to do it. No one forced them. But they did it anyway, because for the first time in their lives, they felt that even though they were small, they were still alive. And they could still hope.
Peace lingers here, yet fate remains beyond our grasp..