The Black Hermit

The cave remained cloaked in gloom. Crimson light filtered down from the upper crevice like blood leaking through a fractured sky.

The sacred tree's roots wrapped the walls and floors like the veins of some slumbering beast, pulsing faintly as if feeding on the silence.

Layra sat slumped beneath its massive trunk, her back pressed against ancient bark, her limbs bound no longer by rope—but despair.

Her breath was shallow, her throat dry, her muscles weak. Yet her mind—once frantic—was now eerily still.

Only the black butterfly moved, tracing delicate loops in the air before settling on her outstretched palm. Its wings shimmered faintly, as if catching fragments of light that weren't really there.

"The Black Hermit?" Layra asked, her voice cracking with disbelief. "That's… that's a myth."

The butterfly's wings paused mid-flutter.

"No," it answered, in a voice soft and unmistakably feminine. "It was made to sound like one—intentionally. The stories were twisted, rewritten, obscured… so that people like you would dismiss it."

Layra's brow furrowed. "You're saying our ancestors… hid the truth?"

The butterfly didn't reply immediately. It merely hovered, then descended slowly back onto her hand.

"Right now, you must eat. You must drink. And then decide."

"What?"

"There's food here. Water. Fresh clothes. And two exits."

Layra blinked. "Two? I thought there was only one—the upper crevice. That's too high for me to reach. Especially now."

"There's another," the butterfly replied. "Beneath the roots of this tree lies a hidden tunnel. It leads to the sea. If you can swim due southeast—toward the 5 o'clock direction—you will find a rescue vessel.

It was built for nobles, in case of war or disaster. If you reach it, you'll sail to Mechron City—a place beyond caste, beyond monarchy. A city of machines, not men. There, no one will chase you. You'll be… free."

Layra's heart raced. For a moment, she was speechless.

"Y-you mean… I could escape? And no one would stop me?"

The butterfly nodded gently.

"He's the one who made sure of that."

Layra's face twisted—not with joy, but confusion. "Then why… why did he tie me up like this?!"

"Because he knows how reckless you are," the butterfly replied without hesitation. "If he let you go, you would've run straight back into danger. Back to the palace. Back into their judgment."

"I wouldn't have gone there like that! I… I would've found a safe way—warned them, told them what I knew!"

"And what do you think they would've done?" the butterfly asked, voice colder now. "Rewarded you for your loyalty? Do you want to know what the court has declared?"

Layra's eyes narrowed. "What… what do you mean?"

"You've been declared a traitor. The girl who broke the seal. The girl who stole the scroll. The girl who brought the eclipse upon them."

Layra sat frozen.

"They've placed a bounty on your name," the butterfly continued. "They believe you acted with a foreign agent—an unknown man in black. And they believe you've doomed the kingdom with your actions."

"Wait—what?!" Layra shook her head violently. "That's not true! I didn't break any seal! There was just… a rusted lock! It came off when I forced it. Anyone could've done it!"

"That's where you're wrong," the butterfly said softly. "The seal was already undone. Someone removed it before you arrived."

Layra's blood ran cold.

"You were led there," the butterfly continued. "Your role was not to open it. Your role was to see it. React to it. Touch it. Carry it. Speak of it. Be blamed for it."

Her breath caught in her throat. "Y-you mean I… I was used?"

"You were manipulated," the butterfly said. "Your intentions were pure. But someone else made the decisions for you long before you stepped foot in that shrine."

Layra's mouth trembled. "Who would do that? And… why?"

"Ask yourself," the butterfly replied, "who brought the Brothers of Destruction to Terra Neralis? Who offered forbidden relics as tribute? Who, among all the nobles, smiled while trading death in exchange for power?"

Layra stared blankly into the dark. Her stomach turned.

"No…" she whispered. "This can't be… I… I never hurt anyone…"

"You didn't," the butterfly said gently. "But your path was shaped by someone who wanted chaos. The question isn't whether you're guilty. The question is—who is truly behind all of this?"

Layra didn't respond. Her eyes were wide. Her body trembled.

Then her knees gave out. She collapsed forward, her forehead resting on the cold stone.

"What can I do?" she whispered. "I'm a Tula. A nobody. A shadow among shadows. What can someone like me possibly do in a world where gods and monsters play games with human lives?"

The butterfly hovered over her, its voice no longer soft—but firm.

"Once, there was a boy who asked the same question."

Layra looked up.

"He too was powerless. Human. Alone. The world called him foolish for standing against the Grand Ones. They told him rebellion was suicide. That humans should kneel. That resistance was pointless."

The butterfly circled her once, then landed on her shoulder.

"But he didn't kneel. He didn't run. He fought—without blessing, without weapons, without allies. And in the end… he won."

Layra swallowed hard. "The Black Hermit…?"

"Yes," the butterfly whispered. "The man who stood against all the Grand Ones."

"But… that's just a story. A fairytale. There's no proof—no evidence…"

"It doesn't matter if you believe it," the butterfly said. "What matters is this—he believed in something more than fear. He believed that even the smallest soul can change the fate of the world.

That humanity is not a mistake. That freedom is not a privilege. That every creature has the equal right to exist. No one can take it from them."

The cave fell silent again. Layra's sobbing slowed.

Then stopped.

"You're not meant to be used, Layra," the butterfly said one last time. "You were meant to live freely. As all living beings are."

The butterfly flew once more around her head—then gently landed on a twisted root near her side.

And at that moment—

The vines holding her wrists loosened. The roots around her ankles pulled back. The bark seemed to breathe… then retreat.

Layra sat motionless.

She was free.

But she didn't run.

Not yet.

Her mind swam through what had just been said—what had been revealed. Her heart was heavy. Her lungs trembled. Her thoughts felt like broken glass cutting through her chest.

They used me…

I was never the one holding the match. I was the one handed it.

And now… they want me burned for it.

The cave was quiet. But the red light outside was growing darker. A deeper red. A red that screamed.

Layra rose slowly.

"What do I do now…?" she whispered.

"Listen," the butterfly said softly, "to your own voice."

Her hand clenched.

Tears still on her face.

But something else was there now.

Conviction.