Chapter 6: Something that is uncertain

RUKE 14, AD141

The sound of creaking wheels echoed, followed by vibrations from below. That’s when I realized—I was inside a moving horse-drawn carriage (wagon). 

From the opposite direction of the man’s voice earlier, the fabric cover swayed gently in the wind. Through the small gaps between the folds, fleeting glimpses of the outside scenery appeared and disappeared.

Carefully, I freed myself from Mother’s tight embrace and crawled slowly toward the fabric’s opening. My eyes were fixed on that narrow slit—on the light that seeped through from the outside. For some reason, my heart just wanted to know… what was out there.

I didn’t try to stand, since the carriage was moving quite fast and my balance wasn’t good. So, I kept crawling slowly until I reached the edge, where sunlight leaked through the folds. My hand grasped the fabric, pulling it open little by little, trying to see what lay beyond.

A stone-paved road came into view—its pattern strange, shaped like a wheel but not perfectly round. At the road’s edges, the ground looked different—smoother, as if made of finer stone. I couldn’t make out the details clearly, as the carriage kept moving.

My eyes lifted to the dark blue sky—the remnants of night still lingering. When I looked around again, I saw tall buildings, larger than any house in my village. The atmosphere felt bright, foreign, and magnificent.

Along the streets stood poles radiating white light. 

Where was that light coming from— Suddenly, I was pulled back inside. A soft hand covered my mouth, preventing any sound from escaping. 

Panic surged through me; my eyes darted wildly, searching for who had grabbed me. My heart pounded fast, my breath nearly stopped. Slowly, with hesitation, I turned my head— and saw the face of a woman I had never seen before.

I froze in place.

Since when had there been someone else inside this carriage? All this time, I thought it was only Mother and me. I must have been too focused on the scenery outside to notice my surroundings.

Her eyes were empty, her face expressionless. Slowly, she removed her hand from my mouth.

“Ssttt…” she whispered softly, pressing her index finger to her lips.

I fell silent, then nodded slowly. I understood—she wanted me to stay quiet. After that, the woman crawled back toward the dim corner of the cabin, near several stacked boxes and suitcases.

She sat there, hugging her knees, resting her head against the wooden wall. Her gaze returned to me briefly, then she patted the wooden floor beside her—quietly signaling me to sit next to her.

I crawled over to her and sat down. My eyes stayed fixed on Mother, who was still sound asleep. After a few moments, I gathered the courage to glance at the woman beside me.

She was slightly taller than me, her shoulder-length hair loose and soft. She wore a long gray dress that covered her legs completely, with long sleeves that hung loosely at her wrists.

While I was still quietly observing her, her eyes suddenly turned to meet mine. I instinctively looked away, avoiding her gaze.

But then, my cold cheek suddenly felt warm—her fingers touched my face, pressing it softly… once, then once more.

After two gentle pokes, she stopped.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I turned my head toward her again.

“Um… what are you doing?” I asked softly, still puzzled.

She turned her gaze to me, her expression unreadable.

“Poking. I once heard that poking someone… can make it easier to become friends.”

So… she wanted to get closer to me by poking me? That means… she wanted to be my friend, right? I thought to myself.

“Sinhart… Sevilla… Sinhart…” she repeated softly, pronouncing every syllable of my name with care.

“That’s a nice name. Who gave it to you?” she asked.

She knows my name?

“Oh, sorry… it’s rude to ask without introducing myself first.”

She brushed her hair aside, tucking a few strands behind her ear.

“My name is Ascella Sevilla.”

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Without hesitation, Ascella reached for my hand. Her grip was firm, as if she wanted to make her presence known. Her gaze was deep, holding mine so intensely that I couldn’t look away— as though she wanted to say something without words.

I fell silent, my thoughts spinning in confusion. So… there was another woman who also carried the surname Sevilla?

“I’ll ask once more,” Ascella said softly.

“Who gave you that name?”

Her hand tightened around mine, demanding an answer.

“I… don’t know who gave it to me,” I replied quietly, trying to be honest even though my chest felt heavy.

“I see… then maybe it was Aunt Fyna who gave it to you,” Ascella murmured.

She finally released my hand, then went back to sitting in the corner, hugging her knees tightly.

Who is she, really? Why does she have the same surname as me? Could that mean… she’s family?

“Sister? Ascella… are you my sister?” I asked her.

Ascella’s eyes widened slightly—she looked surprised. But soon, her lips curved into a faint smile. She chuckled softly and looked deep into my eyes.

“Yes… I’m your sister. And you’re my little brother, Sinhart,” she said gently but firmly.

So… she’s my sister? Then why does everything still feel confusing? 

“If you’re my sister… then why are we only meeting here? I mean… why haven’t I ever seen you in the village?” I asked.

“That’s because I don’t live in that village,” Ascella answered with a small laugh.

“I am your sister—but not your real sister. I’m your cousin.”

Cousin?

“My cousin… what does that mean?” I asked carefully.

Ascella looked at me, her eyebrows lifting in disbelief.

“hm, Sinhart… you don’t know what a cousin is?” she asked, sounding surprised.

“Your father is my mother’s younger brother… that’s why I’m your cousin,” she explained while glancing toward my sleeping mother.

Her words slowly helped me understand—like recalling a memory I had long forgotten.

“Thank you, I understand now,” I said to Ascella.

She didn’t reply, only listening quietly without turning her head.

“I’ve actually wanted to meet you for a long time, Sinhart,” Ascella said softly.

“How old are you now?” she asked, turning to me again, her gaze more serious than before.

Her sudden question brought back memories of my life in the village. That’s also when I met Ceryn, Nyra, and Tyerven. I think I'm six now, at least that's what my mom says.

“I’m six years old now,” I answered.

Well as I recall About five months ago, Mother told me I had just turned six. Ascella listened to my answer, her eyes studying me closely.

“I see… Grandma will be so happy to see you, Sinhart.”

Her serious gaze softened into a slightly forced smile.

“Um, Ascella—”

I stopped mid-sentence when her smile faded. Maybe I’d said something wrong.

“It’s Sister Ascella, Sinhart,” she corrected firmly.

“S-sorry, Sister Ascella,” I quickly apologized.

Her smile returned.

“That’s better. So, what is it you wanted to ask?” she said, her thumb lifting to signal that I could continue.

Ever since I woke up, I’d been confused about my situation. Why were Mother and I in this carriage? As I remember, my father said I would go to my grandmother's house when I was eight.? And who was the man’s voice coming from the driver’s seat? But perhaps it wasn’t the right time to ask too many questions.

“When I woke up, I heard a man’s voice from over there. Who is that?” I asked, pointing toward where the sound came from.

Ascella glanced in that direction briefly. “The man’s voice, huh? Then that must be Uncle Grats,” she replied.

Another unfamiliar name. “Uncle Grats? Is he related to me?” I asked again.

“Uncle Grats… in short, he’s our uncle,” Ascella answered, her tone slightly irritated as she added,

“But it’s better if you don’t get too close to him.”

Why shouldn’t I get close to him?

“Uncle Grats is… careless, unreliable, and the worst thing about him—”

Without me asking, Ascella began listing his faults.

“What is it?” I asked, waiting for her to finish.

“He’s twenty-eight years old and still not married!” Ascella said sharply.

I just blinked, confused. 

Why was not being married considered his worst trait?

“The ideal age to marry is eighteen. That’s why Grandma always scolds him,” Ascella continued, clearly more talkative when the topic turned to Uncle Grats.

While Sinhart and Ascella had been talking, the sun had already risen. The carriage had passed through the western district, the eastern district, the main district, and was now entering the special district—the area of elite residences inside the city of Vlaghju.

This neighborhood wasn’t open to just anyone. Only families who had contributed greatly during the first Dungeon Calamity, that dark event known as Radice—were allowed to live here.

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Thank you for reading this :3