CHAPTER 4 — “The Girl Who Stayed” #4
She’s observant, Johnson notes. Dangerously observant.
“I grew up… isolated,” I say. “Not many people to talk to.”
“That explains the rabbit, then.”
“Johnson is a recent acquisition.”
Acquisition. Like I’m furniture. But there’s no real heat in his voice. He’s too busy watching Mira, who has returned with another rock—this one shaped vaguely like a heart.
“For you, Mr. Bunny,” she says solemnly, placing it on his growing shrine.
Mr. Bunny. That’s… actually worse than bunny. Somehow.
Mariella is watching me again. That same assessing look.
“You’re different,” she says finally. “Different from anyone I’ve met.”
“Good different or bad different?”
“Haven’t decided yet.” She takes a bite of bread, chews thoughtfully. “You’re kind to children. You talk to your rabbit like he understands you. You cleared a dungeon floor alone at Level 1. And you offered a stranger a job without asking anything about her past.”
“Is that unusual?”
“In my experience? Very.”
She’s testing you, Johnson says. Trying to figure out your angle. Everyone has an angle, in her worldview.
“I don’t have an angle,” I say, and I’m saying it to both of them. “I have a dungeon to clear and a village to protect and…” I pause, trying to find the right words. “And I’ve been betrayed by everyone I ever trusted, so I’m not really in a position to judge someone else for having secrets.”
Silence.
Mariella’s expression shifts—surprise, then something that might be recognition. The same recognition I saw in her eyes when I mentioned running.
“Everyone you ever trusted?”
“Every single one.”
“Even the rabbit?”
I haven’t betrayed him yet, Johnson offers. Day’s still young, though.
“Johnson’s new,” I say. “I’m cautiously optimistic.”
Optimism. Adorable. And stupid. But adorable.
Mariella sets down her bread. Looks at me with those sharp green eyes.
“You really don’t care about my past?”
“I care about the present. And the future. The past is…” I gesture vaguely. “The past. It got me here, but it doesn’t define what happens next.”
Another silence. Longer this time.
Then she laughs again—that same surprised sound, like joy is something that keeps catching her off guard.
“Alright, Velthar. You’ve got yourself a farmhand.” She stands, brushing crumbs off her clothes. “Now let’s fix that roof before it rains and your rabbit shrine gets destroyed.”
The shrine is important, Johnson says seriously. I’ve grown attached. Emotionally.
I don’t believe him. But I help fix the roof anyway.
By evening, the barn has a roof again.
It’s not pretty—more patches than structure, held together by rope and prayers—but it’s functional. Rain won’t get in. Animals could theoretically live there, if I had any animals.
Mira left an hour ago, called home by a worried mother who gave me a look that was equal parts grateful and suspicious. Mariella stayed, working alongside me until the light faded, and now we’re sitting on the cottage porch watching the stars emerge.
Johnson is asleep on my lap. Or pretending to be asleep. Hard to tell with him.
“I’ll need somewhere to stay,” Mariella says. “If I’m going to work here.”
“The cottage only has one room.”
“I noticed.” She doesn’t seem bothered. “I’ve slept in worse places. A corner with a blanket is enough.”
She really has slept in worse places, Johnson observes, apparently not asleep after all. I can smell it on her. Fear. Exhaustion. Relief. She’s been running for a long time.
“You can have the bed,” I say. “I don’t sleep much anyway.”
“Nightmares?”
“Memories. Same thing, sometimes.”
She nods like she understands. Maybe she does.
“I should tell you something,” she says after a while. “About why I’m running.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know. But—” She hesitates. “You said you’d been betrayed. By everyone you trusted. I believe you. And I want you to know that I… I’m not going to do that. Whatever else I am, whatever I’m hiding, I’m not a betrayer.”
“That’s a big promise from someone I met this morning.”
“Yes.” She meets my eyes, and there’s something fierce there. Something determined. “But I mean it. You offered me shelter when I had nowhere else to go. That means something.”
She’s sincere, Johnson says. Genuinely sincere. Which doesn’t mean she’s not hiding things—she definitely is—but the loyalty is real.
I look at this woman—this stranger with secrets, this runaway with sharp eyes and practical skills and something broken in her that recognizes the broken things in me.
“Then don’t tell me,” I say. “Not yet. Not until you’re ready.”
“And if I’m never ready?”
“Then I’ll never know. And that’ll have to be okay.”
She stares at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, she smiles.
“You’re very strange, Velthar.”
“I’ve been told.”
“I think I might like it.”
This is getting dangerously close to flirting, Johnson observes. Should I leave? I feel like I should leave. But also I don’t want to move because I’m comfortable.
“Go to sleep, Johnson.”
I’m an ancient creature of cosmic significance. I don’t take orders from—
“Johnson.”
Fine. But I’m judging you both. Silently. In my dreams.
Mariella laughs softly, and I realize she can’t hear him—the telepathy is just between us—but somehow she’s picked up on the dynamic anyway.
“He’s really not an ordinary rabbit, is he?”
“Not even close.”
“Good.” She stands, stretching. “Ordinary is boring. And I’ve had enough boring to last a lifetime.”
She goes inside, and I sit on the porch with a sleeping rabbit in my lap, watching the stars wheel overhead.
Tomorrow, I’ll clear Floor 2. I’ll get stronger. I’ll take another step toward reclaiming what was stolen from me.
But tonight, I have a farmhand who doesn’t ask questions, a partner who eats faces, and a little girl who calls me Mr. Flower Man.
It’s not much.
It’s more than I had yesterday.