There was a hill where the winds never whispered joy, a pce where sorrow had long since taken root. The earth there was damp with the weight of old stories, and the sky, often grey and veiled, seemed to weep with the secrets it held. It was in this pce, where the nd mourned and the sky held its breath, that she was born. A girl, her hair like flowing red rivers that seemed to carry the grief of generations within each strand. Her name, if it was ever spoken, had long been forgotten by those who came before her.

  Her childhood was spent under the shade of the hill's crooked trees, where shadows pyed tricks on the eyes and the ground seemed to hum with restless memories. It was a pce of quiet decay, where the ruins of old shrines, now forgotten, were swallowed by creeping ivy. The girl would wander among these ruins, her small hands brushing over the ancient stone, as if trying to piece together a history she could not understand.

  One day, with a heart full of questions and a mind weighed down by the unanswered, she decided to leave. The winds were thick with grief that day, swirling around her, but the girl didn’t flinch. She gathered her red hair into a tight braid, leaving strands of it tangled in the earth behind her. With only the faintest trace of hesitation, she began her journey.

  As she walked through the fading ndscape, the sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky with a deep, almost crimson hue. It was then that she saw him—a boy, swallowed by the encroaching darkness of the night. His figure was barely visible against the deepening void that surrounded him, and his eyes, clouded with an unknown sorrow, gazed into the abyss as if he had already made peace with it.

  She approached, her steps tentative but steady. There was no fear in her heart, only a quiet recognition that something had been lost, something important, something that could never be returned. He was lost, but she understood. She too had felt the emptiness that had taken hold of him.

  For a moment, she stood beside him in silence, watching as his form dissolved into the shadows. In that fleeting moment, she saw not just the boy, but herself—her own dark reflection mirrored in his despair. Yet, there was something more, something beyond the shadows: a flicker of a promise, an echo of a story, a flickering light of hope.

  She had heard of a pce—a spring that could heal the wounds of the world. The old stories spoke of it, passed down like faded songs, whispered by those who still remembered the ancient ways. They said it y hidden somewhere far beyond the hills, guarded by a creature of myth—a dragon, whose breath could cure any illness and whose scales glimmered like the stars. It was a pce that could undo the past, if one was brave enough to seek it.

  But she was not sure if she believed in miracles. She had seen too much of the world’s cruelty, felt the weight of it in her bones. Still, she felt the call of the spring, as though it were pulling her toward it, and so she continued to walk, her steps guided by something invisible.

  The vilge was small, a quiet pce on the edge of the world. The houses were crumbling, their walls covered in ivy, and the fields were overgrown with weeds. Yet, there was a strange beauty to it, a mencholic charm that made her feel both at peace and unsettled. The people here spoke little, and their faces were worn with the same sorrow that clung to the earth. They too had heard the stories, but none dared to venture beyond the familiar. None, except for the girl.

  She wandered further into the vilge, where the ruins of an old shrine stood on the outskirts, half-buried beneath the weight of time. The air around it was thick with the echoes of forgotten prayers. She stepped into the shrine’s hollowed-out walls, where the remnants of ancient symbols were carved into the stone, worn by centuries of neglect.

  As she ran her fingers over the faded carvings, she heard a faint sound—a soft fluttering, like the wings of a bird. She looked up, and there, fluttering just beyond her reach, was a golden butterfly. Its wings shimmered in the dim light, as though they had been painted by the sun itself. The butterfly beckoned her, its delicate flight drawing her gaze toward the cave beyond the shrine’s crumbling walls.

  There was something about the butterfly, something ancient and wise in its stillness. It did not seem afraid of her, nor did it urge her to follow with haste. It merely floated in pce, waiting, as though it knew something she did not.

  Without a word, she stepped forward, her feet sinking into the earth with each step. The cave was dark, its entrance small and narrow, like the mouth of a secret. But the golden butterfly led her onward, its wings painting the shadows with light. She felt the weight of the world lift slightly as she moved deeper, the promise of something greater drawing her ever closer.

  The air in the cave was cool, almost alive with the breath of something ancient. The walls were slick with moisture, and the sound of distant water echoed faintly through the stone. The deeper she ventured, the more the darkness seemed to fade, repced by an ethereal glow that pulsed with quiet rhythm. The world outside seemed to disappear entirely, and all that remained was the girl and the cave, alone in the dark, with the golden butterfly as her guide.

  And then, in the deepest part of the cave, she saw it—the dragon. It y nestled in a bed of glowing stones, its massive form coiled around a pool of water that shimmered with an otherworldly light. Its scales were like molten metal, gleaming in the dark, and its eyes, when they opened, were the color of the very sky itself—blue and deep, like the calm before a storm.

  It looked at her, its gaze not unkind, but filled with a sadness that mirrored her own. She had no words, no questions, only a quiet understanding. She knew this creature, though she had never seen it before. It was the keeper of the spring, the guardian of the miracle she sought. But its power was not to be taken lightly.

  The dragon spoke, not in words, but in thoughts, its voice like the rustling of leaves, ancient and wise.

  “What do you seek, child?”

  Her voice trembled as she answered, her words carried by the weight of everything she had experienced.

  “I seek healing,” she said softly. “For the wounds of this world, for the pain I have seen. I seek the spring that can cure what cannot be undone.”

  The dragon regarded her for a long time, its blue eyes searching her soul. Finally, it nodded, a slow, deliberate motion, as though it had been waiting for her all along.

  “The spring exists,” it said, its voice reverberating in the cave. “But its power comes at a price. The past cannot be undone without the sacrifice of the future.”

  The girl hesitated. She had come so far, and yet, she had never expected such a price. Was she willing to pay it? Would she surrender the future to heal the past?

  But then she remembered the boy, the one who had been swallowed by the darkness, his figure disappearing into the night. She thought of the vilge, the ruins, the golden butterfly, and the promise that lingered just beyond her reach. She had come too far to turn back now.

  “I will pay,” she said, her voice steady, her resolve unbroken.

  The dragon lowered its head, and with a single, powerful motion, it swept its tail through the pool of glowing water. The water shimmered and rose, swirling in a spiral around her, as though it were alive. She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the spring surround her, its power seeping into her skin, into her very soul.

  And in that moment, she understood. The future, the past, and the present—all were one, and all were connected by the choices she made. The healing she sought was not the end of the journey, but the beginning. A new promise had been made, and it would carry her forward, into the world beyond the hill of ment.

  When the light faded, and the cave was silent once more, the girl stood alone, her red hair trailing behind her like the st breath of a dying wind. She had no words for the world that y ahead, no answers to the questions she had carried for so long. But she knew one thing: the journey was just beginning.

  And somewhere, in the distance, she heard the faintest sound—a boy’s voice, calling her name.