Branches and shrubs bruised and sliced Ara’s arms and legs.  She had never been in the Forest before, yet she ran straight into the unfamiliar with a wary heart.  Her pale summer blue dress was torn.  The white ribbon that tied her blonde hair snagged on a bough further back, leaving her usually neat hair in a tangled mass.

Still, she ran.  Her rapid heartbeat pounded in her ears and pulsed in .  Her chest tightened and she gasped for air.  Her right foot hooked onto a protruding root, sending Ara sprawled on her hands and knees.  Wincing in pain, she examined her injured palms that were covered in dirt.  Tears stung her eyes, but she stubbornly held them back.  It was not the time to break down and cry despite the prickling pain. 

A faint echo of angry shouts pursued her in the distance.  Ara’s heart lurched as she scrambled back to her feet.  Gods, were they still after me?  Her legs, leaden with fatigue, somehow found a jogging pace.

Ara had recognized from afar the regalia on their armor from the Palace.  They wanted her just because she was a healer.

An apprentice healer, she thought angrily.  And for what?  A bloody legend?  Something a coo coo soothsayer spat out? 

Her parents, however, were the real healers; well-known doctors and herbalists who have often been sought after by other neighboring villages, especially within the past two years.  The recent years have exhibited a steady decline in health and sustenance.  Reports from neighboring villages warned of illnesses, disease, and of fatigue ravaging in waves, along with the concurrent failure of crops, stripping families of nourishment, work, and loved ones.  Yet, there were no harsh whispers questioning why the King did nothing except sat on his throne. 

Ara remembered the day Lord Jihoon had visited her village.

At the youthful age of seventeen, anyone would believe he was as innocent and gentle as his appearance portrayed.  He was petite, stunted with childlike proportions and a round face, and baby fat still nested in his cheeks.  His smile was like a cherub’s glow, people chanted.  His eyes were tender crescent moons that fulfilled dreams, people sighed.  Ara did not see what her companions proclaimed.

Though young and fresh on the throne, Lord Jihoon exuded power and knowledge that made Ara shudder.  Her chest tightened when his lips curved into a sinister smile, and she witnessed wide-eyed in fear, for a brief moment, when his normal dark brown eyes flashed red.

.

Ara leaned her weary body against a tree, catching her breath.  Her legs trembled from overexertion and refused to take another step.  She slid down the base of the tree, her knees giving out.  She slumped to the ground with a whimper.

“Fine, take me,” Ara relented with gasps of air.  She her cracked lips with a dry tongue.

Her hands rummaged for her pack, looking for her canteen of water.  It wasn’t there.  Ara panicked.  Surely she had packed one of the most important sources of survival?  Her mind racing, she traced back her steps from the moment she had heard word of her parents being taken away to the Palace. 

Ara had been in her family’s apothecary store at that time, managing it ever since her parents had to travel frequently.  A handsome pony-tailed messenger, ragged in breath and travel worn from haste, burst through the door.

“A-ara!”  He gasped.  “Your parents…”  He leaned his weight against a table.

Ara’s eyes widened.  He was a childhood friend, and currently the main courier for the South villages.  She rushed to him with concerned eyes.

“What is it, Jun?  What happened to them?” she inquired, using a cloth to wipe away the sweat that beaded on his for