Mira-sama departed early in the morning.

  Mist hung between the trees like a spider’s web, and it felt as if, if we reached out, we could catch a piece of the past.

  Our whole family stood together—I, Selia, Feris, Tyrel, Mirnan, Lienna, and little Rien—watching her carriage disappear around the bend.

  When it vanished, the forest grew quieter.

  Too quiet.

  General Reim stood beside us, shoulders squared like a granite statue.

  But I saw how his fingers trembled on the hilt of his sword.

  — The strong do not cry, — he said, his voice rougher than usual.

  And then… he turned away too abruptly, as if ashamed that someone might see a single spark of moisture roll down his weathered cheek.

  Not rain.

  Gray Shadow—the senior scout—snorted softly:

  — The strong cry in silence.

  Then it was just us.

  And the forest.

  And the feeling of emptiness.

  Zenhald-senpai said:

  — You’ll manage. Not for yourselves. For her.

  We nodded.

  And for the first time, we felt that we were on our own.

  Without Mira, even the air felt different.

  As if she had taken half the wind with her.

  Selia stopped smiling.

  Feris trained his strikes until he collapsed face-first into the moss.

  Lienna gathered herbs, but more slowly than usual.

  Even Tyrel—the one who never stopped talking—fell silent.

  We tried to follow Mira’s old schedule:

  morning meditation,

  complex breathing techniques,

  circular combined magic,

  evasion drills,

  evening error reviews.

  But without her voice, everything felt… empty.

  Zen tried to help, but he was different too.

  Quiet.

  Focused.

  Slightly sad.

  But he told us the most important thing:

  — If you want Mira to return stronger, you must become the kind of people worth returning to.

  And then Selia spoke for the first time in two days:

  — Then… we have to become better.

  That was the beginning.

  Construction began ridiculously.

  Very ridiculously.

  We didn’t know how to build.

  At all.

  The first house stood crooked.

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  The second collapsed.

  The third collapsed on Rien, who then spent a week telling everyone that he had “saved the house with his body.”

  But day by day, under Zen’s guidance, and later under General Reim’s, everything began to change.

  We built:

  a training ground,

  a tree platform,

  a dormitory house,

  a crafts workshop,

  a small forge,

  shelters for the young,

  and a meditation circle.

  And Zen, before leaving, wrapped everything in an illusion:

  the Forest Hamlet became invisible to those who were not welcome.

  When we lit the first firefly-runes in the windows, it felt as if the forest itself was smiling.

  They came quietly.

  Five of them.

  Tired, ragged elves who had been driven from their old home after a human attack.

  At first, we were afraid.

  We didn’t know how to speak to adults.

  We were children.

  But Lienna stepped forward first.

  She placed her hand in the palm of the healer woman and said:

  — You may stay. The forest does not drive away those whose hearts are hurting.

  They stayed.

  A month later, more came.

  Then more.

  The Forest Hamlet became a refuge.

  And we understood:

  we were a family.

  But now it was growing.

  We didn’t know much.

  But what we did know—we did well.

  It happened a month later.

  They came along a single road:

  two men and a woman, exhausted, with wounded hands, tools on their backs.

  Blacksmiths.

  They were crossing the forest, fleeing the baron’s tax collectors.

  At first, we were frightened.

  We were children.

  But the woman smiled through her fatigue:

  — We are not enemies. We’re looking for a place where we won’t be robbed.

  Lienna stepped forward first:

  — The forest accepts those who do not harm its children.

  So the blacksmiths stayed.

  Helping us. Teaching us.

  And from those skills was born what would later be called:

  “The Empire of the Silent Forest.”

  Sova and Tyrel created the simplest runes:

  heat,

  light,

  noise suppression,

  camouflage,

  wind force,

  water filtration.

  At first, we made them for ourselves.

  Then we began to sell them.

  Village markets bought everything we brought.

  We started earning money.

  Under the guidance of an adult elven healer, Lienna became the finest young healer in the region.

  People came to us in secret.

  First one.

  Then three.

  Then a carriage.

  They said:

  “Elves heal as if they listen to the forest itself.”

  The blacksmiths proposed an idea:

  — Why don’t you open trading shops?

  We didn’t understand what that meant.

  They explained:

  — Sell goods. In towns. At fairs. To people.

  And so the first shop was born:

  “Forest Spark.”

  We began transporting goods to nearby villages.

  At first, people were suspicious:

  — Elves? Trading?

  — Come on, they only exist in legends.

  But once they tried our goods—

  oil for cuts,

  runic clips that repelled insects,

  reinforcement plates for tools,

  amulets for minor good luck—

  lines formed on their own.

  Three months later, we opened two more shops:

  “Green Path” (herbs and remedies)

  “Forest Flame” (metal and tools)

  These shops became so popular that:

  merchants came to the forest themselves,

  villages argued over who would receive goods first,

  even minor nobles sent servants “to buy something real from the elves.”

  We began earning a great deal.

  And most importantly—the forest gained respect.

  Led by the White Wolf.

  Yes, he was funny.

  But he became a master of silence.

  His unit escorted caravans at night.

  Even without magic, we could:

  sense danger,

  set traps,

  neutralize bandits,

  protect the weak.

  People whispered:

  “If the road is calm tonight…

  then the Silent Shadows are nearby.”

  When Edgar visited, he trained two adult elves.

  We began producing:

  weapons,

  tools,

  artifacts,

  durable forged plates.

  And most importantly—rune-metal, a method of reinforcing steel with runes that Raynar developed together with Arlis.

  This metal became a rarity.

  And we were its only suppliers.

  Half a year passed.

  There were one hundred and fifty of us.

  The Council of Branches was formed:

  General Reim — Head of Defense

  Sova — Head of Economy

  Lienna — Head of Medicine

  White Wolf — Head of Security

  Arlis — Head of Intelligence

  And we became…

  not just a community.

  We became:

  the Forest City.

  With its own system of laws, shelters, and workshops.

  We became a power.

  Hidden—but real.

  Zen left the forest almost silently.

  Yes, he hugged us.

  Yes, he said many words.

  But the forest itself seemed to hold its breath.

  He said:

  — Don’t cause me problems.

  — Don’t start a war.

  — And please… don’t build an empire.

  White Wolf nodded.

  Gray Shadow nodded.

  The General nodded as well…

  And Selia whispered:

  — We will become stronger, so that one day we can protect him.

  That same evening, the Council of Branches gathered for the first time.

  And we decided:

  We will grow.

  But quietly.

  Silently.

  Until one day, the forest itself becomes a state.

  Every evening, I—Arlis—sit by a tall tree and look at our hamlet.

  Houses in the branches glow with soft runes.

  Children practice strikes on the training circle.

  Healers bind herbs.

  Blacksmiths sharpen metal.

  Scouts whisper to owls.

  I write my final entry for today:

  “Mira-sama… Zen-senpai…

  If you ever return, you will see a forest that grew alongside you.

  We are your legacy.

  We are those you gave a chance.

  We are the Forest.”