Save Two

The breeze swept the whisperings of the woods down the dewy stone lanes the same way it had for countless lifetimes. All living things had taken to a rhythm shaped in silence, worn smooth by the turning of many seasons. That was just how Rustlyn had been since the very beginning.

Olivia woke before the sun. It was a regular Tuesday, but days barely matter for every one of them had been the same as long as anyone could remember. The dark held steady in the windowpane as if waiting for her to give it permission to fade. The hearth was cold. She lit it by feel. Water into the kettle, set over the flames. A bundle of crushed mint and old chamomile thrown in. Herbal tea helped fight the chill.

Near the rafters, morning air was rich with the scent of crushed green things and oak smoke. The yarrow was dry as paper. She snapped one head off clean. Good for stopping bleeding. The scarlet petals of the bee balm had dulled to a deep rust, but the smell still held sharp, with a citrus bite that caught in the back of her throat. Best for clearing the heavy vapours of a melancholy heart. Rosemary’s needles were stiff and fragrant, the thyme hanging beside, brittle and crumbling at a touch. Both worked their own magic, but more than anything, they made plain food taste like someone had tried.

Olivia loved the fragrance of sage. She pressed a bundle to her face and drew a long breath. The grey-green leaves, soft and tightly bound, looked mild enough, but burn them, and they ward off evil spirits and negative energy. She moved on to the lavender. Rows of it, ashy purple curling at the tips. Rustlyn villagers swore by it for better sleep, but Olivia always recommended the mugwort. All pale and crumbly with an earthy sweetness accompanied by a bitter note at the end, the herb bore the power of the moon. A tiny pinch steeped in the tea before bed would grant you a night of lucid, prophetic dreams.

Speaking of dreams, she’d been having strange ones herself. Each night, she floated through a dark, empty space, with blue glitches flickering like distant stars. Thin strings bound her limbs like a puppet, pulling, tightening, until she bled. But each night, she fought back, snapping them one by one. She couldn’t figure what it meant, but everything would eventually fall into place once the time comes. Like Rowan. He used to be terrified of animals after Cynthia’s hound bit him, wouldn’t go near the barn for weeks. Now he helped her tend the cows every day, calm and steady as a fencepost. One of the few real comforts since their parents passed.

As she stepped out into the pre-dawn hush, Rowan had already finished cleaning the barn. Olivia joined him. Together, they washed the cows gently, speaking their names like small spells. Buttercup, always impatient. Lo, with the limp. Bertha, who kicked if you wore red. They milked them one by one, chitchatting as the eastern sky bruised from indigo into blue. Rowan, staff in hand, stood at the gate with the light behind him, off to watch Marlin’s and Old Fenn’s sheep, on top of their own cows. Olivia checked Lo’s hooves one last time. Beyond them, the pasture stretched to the horizon in a soft, mystical shade of lilac. Suddenly, Olivia remembered, as a child, she used to mistake it for the ocean she’d never seen before, wide and full of things she couldn’t name, teeming with adventures not yet written.

With the first strands of daylight piercing through the windows of their timber house, Olivia stepped back inside, her arms full, eggs still warm from the hens, a bundle of herbs balanced against her hip, a bucket of water fresh from the well. The scent of straw followed her in.

She crouched to stir the hearth back to life. The kitchen still smelled faintly of last night’s stew, now gone cold in its pot. She reached for the bread—two thick loaves she’d baked yesterday—and began slicing, setting them on a wooden board beside the stove.

‘Rise and shine!’ she called toward the back room, where two suspiciously still humps were curled beneath a patchy quilt.

She cracked the eggs into the hot pan. The yolks sizzled as they hit the thick pat of butter just beginning to brown. She laid slices of hard cheese over the eggs, watching them melt almost instantly into the whites. Then, thick slices of bread were tossed right on the top. With a quick motion, she flipped the whole stack, letting the bread toast and soak up what was left of the butter.

‘You’ve got five minutes, or no breakfast for you!’ She made sure to rattle the pans a little louder than necessary. One of the lumps under the blanket stirred. That was progress.

Olivia set the breakfast on the table quickly. Without pausing, she wrapped one portion in a maple leaf and tucked it into Rowan’s lunch bundle: two thick sandwiches filled with leftover root mash, boiled egg, and a few pickled greens. A wedge of cheese, a sliver of dried apple, and a sprig of thyme nestled in the corner. Sometimes, she snug a book or two in the basket. She still felt a pang about Rowan leaving school early to help her run the household. Their parents would have wanted him to keep learning.

At the old gate, she hooked Rowan’s lunch and breakfast on the nail hammered into the post. Milo and Thom would join her after breakfast. Together, they’d walk towards the village centre and split at the third forking path. They always turned around to say goodbye—Thom jumping and spinning mid-air, Milo waving with both arms. But they didn’t turn around that day.

By the time Milo and Thom started school, Olivia would already be at her usual spot in the market. She sold milk, eggs, remedies for headaches and for husbands who snored too loud. Chamomile, valerian, and other herbs were mixed with tea leaves and packed into cloth sachets. Sage and mugwort were sewn into colourful amulets, or bundled neatly to burn at home and cleanse the air. Salves and ointments made from ground yarrow and hyssop lined the edge of the stall in clay pots. Customers came and went. Between them, Olivia sorted herbs. Twine. Resin. Her hands moved like they belonged to someone older.

The market disbanded around noon. Before heading home, she slipped into the woods with her satchel, walking the familiar path to the meadow beyond the birch grove. She gathered herbs by feel as much as by sight. By the time Milo and Thom were due home, she’d already returned. Herbs washed and strung up in rows. The kettle would be on. Tea ready.

***

‘They weren’t here today.’ Father Ebin looked up from his copybook, blinked behind his spectacles.

‘But we left together this morning,’ Olivia replied, her voice tight. ‘I watched them go.’

‘Figured they were helping you at the farm.’

She’d checked the barn. The pasture. The hen coop. Their favourite spots in the village for hide and seek. Nothing.

By the time she let herself panic, she was already in the woods. She followed the trails they might have taken. She called their names, over and over, each shout unraveling just a little more. Then she found a scrap of fabric, caught on a thorn. Thom’s shirt. The sleeve. A smear of blood. Not old.

She turned and ran.

***

A few villagers glanced at Olivia. Then looked away. Rustlyn’s village square was fell into uneasy silence for a long while. Three more children were missing, someone finally murmured.

‘It’s the traffickers again.’ Chief Waller sighed.

‘The what?’ Olivia watched the chief rubbed his face like this was a headache, not a crisis.

‘Human traffickers. Happens every couple years. Kids vanish. No one sees who takes them. That’s just how it is around here.’

‘You knew this was happening?’ Olivia’s voice cracked.

‘They don’t exactly leave a return address. And they're heavily armed. Sometimes even raid carriages. It’s not like we’d stand a chance.’ The chief stared at her, ‘I don't suppose you've got a better idea?’

Olivia thought of her parents, gone two years now. A mysterious carriage accident on their way home from a nearby town. A fourteen-year-old forced to grow up overnight. An eleven-year-old denied a future. She clenched her fists.

Then came the hero. Sparrowhawk.

***

[NEW MISSION] The Cost of Two

Objective: Defeat the human traffickers hiding in the Northern woods.

Requirement: Rescue at least 2 children to complete mission.

Reward: 1000 coins

Bonus Condition: If one of the rescued children is Milo or Thom, Olivia will join your party as a Healer-class companion.

(Note: Olivia’s class may evolve or change under specific conditions.)

[CHATROOM]

SPARROWHAWK2001:

new mission. save 2 kids, get gold.

USERNAME_37691:

the herb girl? she any good?

SPARROWHAWK2001:

no idea. already got healing skills. teammates cost food resources.

DARKMATTER_03:

get stuff if both brothers die. girl buries bros with special charm.

SPARROWHAWK2001:

lol. for final boss?

DARKMATTER_03:

saw streaming. charm protects you from mental control.

USERNAME_37691:

lmao so either save her bro or loot his corpse and still win?

DARKMATTER_03:

no need to save her bro.

USERNAME_37691:

sick.

SPARROWHAWK2001:

options, I guess.

What happened next?

Sparrowhawk…

1. defeated the traffickers and saved all of the children.

2. defeated the traffickers and saved Milo and Thom, leaving the rest to starve to death.

3. defeated the traffickers but saved only Milo and another child, leaving the rest to starve to death.

4. defeated the traffickers but saved only two children, neither of them Olivia’s brothers, leaving the rest to starve to death.

5. left the village without saving any children.

Ending 1: The Hero

Sparrowhawk returned with all five children alive. For the first time in weeks, the village exhaled. The numbness that had hardened around tragedy dissolved into tears.

Olivia didn’t speak when she saw her brothers. She knelt in the dirt and held them. Milo wouldn’t let go of her. Thom didn’t say anything at all, just handed her a broken piece of string he’d kept in his pocket. She tied it around her wrist.

‘I owe you,’ Olivia said.

Sparrowhawk handed her a satchel and a second map. ‘We depart at dawn.’

They reached Vorlag’s fortress as a team. And when the final blow was struck, it was Olivia who closed the distance first, who broke the spell that kept the others frozen in place.

She never called herself a hero, but neither did she look away. The world was cruel. But not impossible.

Ending 2: The Righteous Betrayal

Milo and Thom survived, but no one else.

The chief clapped him on the back. The village called it a miracle. Olivia said nothing. She held her brothers close that night. At dawn, she left with Sparrowhawk as promised, but what she saw beside her was no hero. A man who let children starve didn’t deserve her loyalty.

She watched him rush into battle without a plan. Watched him chase glory over caution. Ignore wounded strangers. Talk over villagers. Move on before consequences could catch up.

With every battle, Olivia grew. The adventures she once dreamed of as a girl became the forge where her real strength surfaced. By the time they reached Vorlag’s keep, she was no longer just a healer. She had maps Sparrowhawk had never seen. Allies he hadn’t noticed. And magic that he couldn’t begin to understand.

She let him fight the first wave of the final boss alone, while she unlocked the spell circle beneath the altar. When he staggered back, drained, blade shaking in his hand, she stepped forward.

They called her the Witch of Rustlyn. The true victor. The one who rose after watching the world crowned the wrong hero too many times.

Ending 3: The Tethered Flame

Milo and Sasha came back, but the rest were left to die. The chief hailed it a success. Olivia said nothing.

The chief called it a hard-earned victory. Olivia said nothing.

That night, Thom’s bed was empty. It would stay that way. Olivia sat beside it until dawn, awake and unmoving. She was still there when the knock came.

Sparrowhawk treated his companions like tools. She acted the part. Quiet. Useful. Obedient. But something within her stirred. Grief didn’t hollow her. The power that had lingered in her herbs and whispers finally took shape. She saw herself clearly now. She’d been a witch all along.

So did Rowan. He rallied what strength he could. Milo stood at his side. Together, they toppled the chief, found the collapsed cave, and clawed through the rubble. The others were barely alive, but alive.

News reached Olivia in dreams. She knew what had to be done. One night, as they camped beside a cracked old well, she sent Sparrowhawk to fetch water. He never returned. When the party asked, she said he must’ve wandered off. He’d be back soon. But he never did. He was still down there, trapped in the dark, calling out for help that would never come.

Let him feast on what he’d sown, she thought. Some flames flicker, some smoulder, but all of them, in the end, burn.

Ending 4: The Witch's Justice

Sparrowhawk returned with only two children. The village still called him a hero. Olivia said nothing. Neither of the survivors was Milo nor Thom. Something inside her tore loose.

She tracked the cave herself, found the other three barely alive, Thom and Milo included. The village pretended it had always hoped for the best. The chief claimed he’d ‘authorised a backup plan.’

That night, he disappeared.

Weeks later, Sparrowhawk woke up at the clearing where Olivia had meant to bury the dead. But there were no children in the grave. Only the chief, burned beyond recognition. The guards came fast. The village faster. All eyes turned to the outsider.

Olivia didn’t accuse him. She didn’t need to.

No one cared to listen when he protested. Not after what he'd left behind. He’d saved two, but forgotten the rest.

Now Olivia would never let him forget.

Ending 5: The Making of Nightmare

Sparrowhawk left without a backward glance. The villagers returned to their routines fast. A few muttered something about fate. Most just averted their eyes. Tragedy was just a part of living this village life.

Olivia seemed to have forgotten herself. She went into the woods with a blade and no plan. On the thirteenth day, on the brink of death, she finally found the cave, hidden behind a landslide of broken rock and twisted roots, half-collapsed. She dug with her hands until her nails tore and her knuckles bled. Maybe Milo and Thom were just waiting for her. Maybe everything could still go back to the way it was.

Inside, five small bodies lay still, bound at the wrists, half-crushed beneath the weight of stone. No signs of struggle. They hadn’t stood a chance. Something snapped.

Grief opened a door she hadn’t known was there. The power flowed into her fingers and breath, like a river thawing under moonlight. Olivia finally realised why her charms worked better than anyone else’s: she’d been a witch all along.

She hunted the traffickers down one by one.She left their bodies strung across trees, nailed to posts, slumped on chapel steps. Every corpse a warning. The Legend of the Great Witch Olivia spreaded. In some regions, she was a hero, a well-loved goddess who punished evil, who avenged the stolen, who defeated Vorlag the Soulreaper with no help from others.

Years later, when Sparrowhawk passed through Rustlyn, there was no village left. Only smouldering ruins. The fire still burned, no matter how much water it drank. He still reached the final tower. Still faced Vorlag’s throne. But the figure that waited wasn’t what he expected.

Slender. Graceful. All the more terrifying.

[CHATROOM]

SPARROWHAWK2001:

final mission. sth’s off.

DARKMATTER_03:

what?

SPARROWHAWK2001:

herb girl.

A voice echoed through the dark.

‘Do you miss me?’