Chapter 300: What's in the Cabin?
The cabin’s interior was a mess—its wooden walls warped, the floorboards creaking underfoot. After hastily restoring its original form, the cabin looked nearly as it had before the transformation. But despite the ease of reshaping it back, the cabin’s natural magic remained dormant. There was a moment when the cabin had briefly resisted being restored, as if it didn’t want to be brought back to life—yet the magic had ultimately obeyed. The cabin had no memory of what had happened, and neither did he.
Once the human form was fully restored, he no longer cared about the hidden name carved into the wall. The old cabin’s magic had been rekindled, and with a flick of his wrist, he pulled out a small pouch of coins. He had to leave quickly—there was no time to linger.
—Still, the transformation had taken longer than expected.
The cabin’s magic was still unstable. It wasn’t strong, but it was enough. The old cabin’s core had been reawakened, and its essence was now tied to him. He was the one who had restored it, and he would be the one to protect it.
—But the truth was, he had already missed his chance.
The cabin’s magic had been rekindled, but he had lost the opportunity to make it truly whole. The moment had passed. He had been too slow.
He stepped outside, the wind brushing his face. He looked around. The old cabin stood alone, silent and still, the trees swaying gently in the breeze. The nearby woods were quiet, and no one had come. Not even the old witch who used to live here had returned.
He glanced at the cabin’s door, then at the ground nearby—where, just hours earlier, a small figure had vanished into the earth. It had left no trace.
He sighed. The cabin had been restored, but something essential was missing. The magic felt hollow, incomplete. The light in the cabin’s windows flickered faintly, like a heartbeat that had slowed.
“Is that right?” he said aloud. “I was still the best.”
He turned to face the forest, then back at the cabin. “But my new story isn’t about being the best,” he said. “It’s about being real. Not a name, not a title—just a story that’s true.”
“Truth?” the voice from behind him asked.
He turned. It was Cornelia, standing there with her arms crossed.
“Truth?” she repeated. “You really think that’s what matters?”
He looked at her. “You’re the one who said it. You said truth is the best story.”
She smirked. “And you still believe that? After everything?”
He smiled faintly. “You said I was the best storyteller. You said I could write stories that made people believe. But if the story isn’t true… what’s the point?”
She paused. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe the best stories are the ones that are real.”
He nodded. “But what if the truth is too painful? What if the story isn’t what anyone wants to hear?”
She looked down. “Then it’s still the truth.”
He stepped forward. “So you’re saying I should write the truth, no matter what?”
She shrugged. “I’m saying you should write what you believe. Even if it hurts.”
He looked back at the cabin. “Then I’ll write it. I’ll write it all.”
She nodded. “Good.”
He took a deep breath. “I’ll write the truth. No matter what.”
And with that, he turned and walked toward the forest.
(End of Chapter)
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