Chapter 10

Fall has arrived in Forget-Me-Not Valley, and its presence is felt in the chill that greets Keira as she stirs from slumber. The bed feels cold, but Keira is bundled with her nice and thick blanket. With a sleepy stretch and a quiet yawn, she rises from beneath the cozy sheets.

As Keira stands before her wardrobe, she marvels at the colorful array of clothing now adorning it. Each piece was thoughtfully chosen by Mark, ensuring she could enjoy a fresh ensemble every day. She runs her fingers over the fabric, selecting a dark, rich-colored yukata, a perfect choice for the cooler seasons. She changes into the yukata, then deftly ties the sash around her waist, savoring the feeling of being wrapped in warmth and comfort.

With her attire chosen, Keira departs her room, her soft footsteps echoing through the quiet house. The scent of curry rice wafts through the air, drawing her attention to the dining area. There, she discovers a table set for her, steaming plates of curry invitingly placed at her side of the table. Beside the food, a handwritten note lies on the table.

With a curious tilt of her head, Keira takes the letter into her hands, her eyes scanning the words Mark left for her. "I'm out this morning. Please enjoy the curry, I'll be back later." A gentle smile graces her lips as she reads the message. It's evident that her husband's thoughtfulness extends even when he's not present.

However, a hint of concern flickers in Keira's eyes. Mark rarely ventures out so early, it feels odd for Keira to not see him when she wakes up. She ponders the mystery of his whereabouts, a sense of worry tugging at her heart wondering if Mark is okay.

Far off on the quiet border of Forget-Me-Not Valley, Mark kneels beside a simple yet solemn gravesite. His hands clasp a bundle of incense sticks, and with reverence, he lights them. The fragrant smoke spirals upward, mingling with the morning mist, creating an almost mystical ambiance. This is his ritual, a moment of deep reflection and respect for the man who had left him not only a farm but also a legacy of hard work and responsibility.

As Mark prays over the grave of his father, he can't help but think about how distant his relationship with his dad had been. His father had been a stoic figure, a man of few words for him, and Mark had spent much of his youth not truly understanding the depths of his father's character. Their interactions had been brief and their conversations limited. He only met him briefly after the passing of his mother. In a way, he wished he spent more time with him.

With each incense stick he places in the cold marble, Mark offers a silent moment to the faint memory of his father. The valley, with its colorful landscapes and quiet charm, was a place Mark had never anticipated coming to after his father's passing. Takakura had been the bearer of unexpected news, revealing that the farm was being passed down to him. He had no intention to stay in the farm, but fate had it’s own way to alter Mark’s life and pave the road for him to meet Keira and live the life of a married man.

As Mark opens his eyes, he's transported back to that fateful day when he first set foot on the farm he'd inherited from his father. The memories flow in like a rushing river, vivid and nostalgic. The farm had been nothing more than an empty expanse, a quiet and forlorn place with only the remnants of his father's toil—a massive solitary field and a small, weathered house. There were no barns, no stables, no chicken coops, just the echo of his father's hard work etched into the land.

It was Takakura, the keeper of the farm, who had delivered the news that the farm now belonged to Mark. He'd offered his support, an outstretched hand of guidance should Mark decide to embrace the legacy his father had left behind. Mark, however, had initially declined the offer. The weight of the farm and its history felt too heavy, too unfamiliar. He'd made his intentions clear—he wanted to sell the farm and move on with his life, far from the agricultural lifestyle he had never known.

Takakura had respected Mark's decision, even though disappointment flickered in his eyes. He understood that one couldn't force a connection to land that had never truly been a part of Mark’s life. Thus, Mark had left the farm that day, thinking that he'd put this chapter behind him.

Yet, fate had a way of guiding Mark to stay in the valley. As he walked away from the farm, something inexplicable tugged at his curiosity. A strange aura seemed to emanate from the road leading deeper into the forest by the farm. An irresistible urge prompted him to explore further. At the end of the winding path, Mark stumbled upon an enchanting pond, surrounded by vibrant, blooming flowers and shaded by a magnificent tree. The pond itself was unlike any other, shrouded in an eerie, mystical glow.

Mark's eyes continued to wander, and that's when he discovered the source of his fascination—an exquisitely detailed statue of a woman. She stood frozen in time, lifelike in her appearance, and yet, something about her bore an otherworldly quality. The fine intricacies of her sculpted skin, the flowing gown that seemed to defy the passage of time, the pain etched into her features—everything about the statue was uncanny, capturing Mark's attention like nothing else ever had.

"Are you the son of that farmer?" an unfamiliar voice, laced with an otherworldly tone, interrupted Mark's contemplation. He turned around, startled by the sudden intrusion, and found himself face to face with the enigmatic Witch Princess. Her appearance was a stark contrast to the gentle folks he had briefly encountered in the valley. Her long, unkempt dirty blonde hair flowed like wild tendrils, and a tattered leather skin cape clung to her form, giving her an eerie, almost ghostly presence. But what struck him the most were her crimson eyes, which seemed to radiate an unsettling aura of malevolence.

Mark was taken aback but managed to stammer, "Um, yes. Who are you?"

The Witch Princess's grin widened, revealing a set of teeth that glistened with an almost unnatural sheen. Her expression was fiendish, sending shivers down Mark's spine as she responded, "Guess what, pal? You work for me now!"

Mark's confusion and unease deepened as he tried to piece together the bizarre situation. This mysterious figure was unlike anyone he had ever encountered, and the sense of foreboding that hung in the air only intensified his apprehension. He attempted to leave, his voice trembling as he stammered, "Look, I don't know who you are or what you want. But I need to return home and—"

Before he could finish his plea, Witch Princess snapped her fingers with a flicker of dark power. In an instant, sharp spikes of rock began to shoot up from the ground, encircling Mark one by one. Panic gripped him as he watched himself becoming trapped within a cage of cruel, jagged stone. The realization hit him like a thunderbolt — magic was real, and this mysterious person before him was undeniably a witch.

His heart raced, and fear coursed through him as he cried out, "Who are you?! What do you want?"

Witch Princess approached him with an air of dominance, her crimson eyes gleaming with an unsettling confidence. She answered in a tone that sent shivers down Mark's spine, "You may call me Witch Princess. And I have a job for you." Before Mark has a chance to interject, Witch Princess grabs him by the collar and slams his face against the rocky cage to show how serious she is. With another snap of her finger, she summons a fireball and says, “please don’t try to escape. If you even dare, I’ll fry you like a chicken! Are we clear?”

Mark nodded fearfully, absorbing the bewildering information that Witch Princess had just revealed. His life had taken a sudden and unexpected turn into the realm of magic and curses. He felt the weight of her words as she explained, "Look at this statue. It's not some kind of work of art. It's the Harvest Goddess; I had a little accident and turned her into stone. I can't undo the curse on my own, and the Harvest Lord is pretty pissed about it. The only way to undo this curse is to have a farmer work on the land and unseal her Harvest Sprites to break the curse. And that's where you come in. Your dad kicked the bucket before I cursed the goddess. Now that you're here, I order you to take over the farm and bring back the goddess. Do you understand?"

Mark nodded nervously, realizing the enormity of the task thrust upon him. From that moment on, he became the newest farmer in Forget-Me-Not Valley, compelled by forces beyond his control. Despite his initial reluctance and the strange circumstances that had brought him to this point, he embraced his role as a farmer in the valley. Over the years, he had worked tirelessly to cultivate the land, build new structures to raise animals, and forge bonds with the residents of the valley.

As time passed, Mark's life transformed from one of uncertainty and reluctance to a fulfilling existence. He had helped many of his fellow villagers find love and start families, and, against all odds, he found a little bit of happiness when he married Keira. It was a life he had never anticipated when he first arrived in Forget-Me-Not Valley, all because his father had left him the farm, setting in motion a chain of events that would forever change his destiny.

"Mark?" Keira's voice broke the silence, drawing Mark's attention as she approached. Worry creased her usually composed features as she neared him.

"Keira! What's the matter?" Mark asked, surprised to see her venturing out on her own. Though it was becoming increasingly common for her to explore the valley without him, he couldn't help but feel protective.

"My apologies," Keira explained, her tone calming as she spoke. "I was unsure where you were, so I asked Lady Muffy, but she hasn't seen you. Then I was headed to the dig site, and I found you here. I am glad that you are well."

Mark offered her a reassuring smile. "You don't have to worry, the valley is pretty safe."

Keira breathed a sigh of relief, her earlier concern dissipating. Her gaze shifted toward the grave that Mark stood beside. "Someone you knew?" she inquired, her curiosity piqued.

Mark nodded solemnly. "Yeah, my dad is buried here. He used to be the farmer before me in the valley."

Keira's gasp of surprise was audible. In all the time they'd known each other, Mark had never mentioned his father. He'd spoken more about his mother, but learning that his father had run the farm before him was a revelation. "Were you never close with your father?" she ventured.

Mark contemplated the question for a moment before answering, "Not really. My parents never married, and it was just me and my mom for a long time. I met my dad after my mom already passed away. I think I was like seventeen when I met him. He wasn't a bad guy, just never was the marriage kind of person."

As the conversation dipped into somewhat melancholic territory, Mark chuckled sheepishly, eager to shift the mood. "What about your dad? What kind of man was he?"

A warm, nostalgic smile graced Keira's features as she began to speak of her father. "My father was a wonderful king," she began, her voice carrying a fondness for her late parent. "He was kind and loved by the people of our kingdom. At least that's what Mother would tell me. I never saw him outside the castle walls, but my mother spoke highly of him. He could only visit me sparingly because he was often busy protecting the kingdom, but he was always a wonderful father when he was home. I miss him dearly."

Mark nodded, his own expression reflecting understanding. "Sounds like a great guy," he commented warmly. "I would have loved to meet him."

Keira's eyes seem to hold a touch of sadness as she responded, "Yes, I wish you could have. I think you two would have gotten along quite well. Of course, to marry me, you would have to fight for my hand. If you lost, he would cut your head off and mount it on a pike to be displayed on the castle walls."

Mark's face paled with fear, the idea of facing Keira's father in battle seemed like a terrifying prospect. Keira, ever perceptive, noticed the unease on his face and let out a gentle laugh. "Please, Mark, you needn't worry," she reassured him. "I'm sure that if you had lived during the time my kingdom still existed, you would have been a great warrior."

Mark was taken aback by her statement. "What makes you say that?" he inquired, genuinely curious.

Keira offered him a warm smile. "It's in your name," she explained.

"Mark?" he questioned, surprised by the connection.

Keira shook her head. "No, I meant your birth name, Makku. In the Hanabishi language, Makku means 'Shiny Black Stone,' much like an onyx."

Mark's eyes widened in surprise, contemplating the newfound meaning in his name. "Shiny Black Stone?" he repeated, absorbing the significance. "I had no idea that was a Hanabishi word. I thought my mom made it up."

Keira nodded with a kind smile. "Names often carry hidden stories and meanings," she remarked. She then gazed up at the sky, lost in the memories of her past. "When I was a child, my mother told me an old folktale of the Onyx Warrior. A brave ronin warrior who served no king, but his might in battle was never matched. Legend has it that he wore black armor forged from Mythic Stone and wielded two blades, one in each hand. He traveled the world, fighting against the tyranny of corrupt kings and liberating the people he encountered."

Hearing her story, Mark closes his eyes, allowing his imagination to transport him into the role of the Onyx Warrior. Clad in black armor with twin swords at his sides, he felt a surge of excitement. The idea of being a hero of the people, fighting for justice, brought a warm smile to his face. He began to wonder if perhaps he was named Makku because he had once been a brave soldier in a past life. Such thoughts led him to consider whether he and Keira would have crossed paths in a past life, destined for a different kind of love story.

Keira continues her tale, her voice soft and reminiscent. "I remember that when I was sleeping in my castle, I would dream of meeting the Onyx Warrior," she began. "He would come to my castle and kneel before my father, asking for my hand in marriage. But my father, being a strong and proud king, was not about to allow a ronin to have me. He would stand tall and declare, 'If you want my daughter's hand, you must first defeat me in battle!'"

Mark listened intently, caught up in the vivid imagery of her story. He could almost see the grand castle and the imposing figure of her father, the powerful king.

Keira's voice grew more animated as she continued. "So, we would move to the arena to watch my father and the Onyx Warrior fight to the death. I would sit beside my mother, my heart racing, as my father and the warrior clashed in a fierce and ruthless battle. Swords would cross fiercely, yet neither would yield or surrender."

Mark couldn't help but feel a rush of anticipation, as if he were watching the epic showdown himself.

Keira smiled softly. "I would secretly cheer for the Onyx Warrior, so impressed by his bravery and strength. In my dreams, I would imagine my father succumbing to his age, dropping his weapon in defeat. My father would then offer his neck to the warrior and claim his prize as the new king. The Onyx Warrior would emerge victorious, yet kind-hearted. He would spare my father's life, and in gratitude, my father would give his blessing for our marriage."

The tale was enchanting, and Mark found himself caught up in Keira's world of dreams and fantasy. "And when it was time for my father to step down as king," she concluded, "the Onyx Warrior would become a kind and wise king, and I, his queen."

Mark couldn't help but smile at the story. "It sounds like a beautiful dream, Keira," he said softly. "A tale of honor, and destiny."

Keira nods, “but I like our story better. Makku, my Onyx Warrior!”

Mark's heart swelled with warmth at Keira's words. He reached out and gently holds her hand, looking into her eyes with a deep affection. "And I like our story too," he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "It may not be as grand as the tale of the Onyx Warrior, but it's our story, and it's real."

Keira smiled, "Yes, Mark. Our story is real, and it's filled with moments that are far more precious than any dream."

As they stand there, holding hands beneath the open sky of Forget-Me-Not Valley, they knew that their marriage is a story that continues to unfold with each passing day. The valley, once a place Mark had tried to escape, had become the backdrop for their journey together, a journey filled with friendship, unexpected feelings, and the magic of new beginnings.

With a shared smile, they turned and began to walk back toward their farm, their hearts connected by a bond that transcended time and place. Their story, imperfect and beautiful, was uniquely theirs, and it was one they cherish above all else.

As they approached the familiar landscape of their farm, Mark couldn't help but think that sometimes the most extraordinary adventures could be found in the most unexpected of places, and the most treasured stories were the ones written together, day by day, in the simple moments of life.

And so, hand in hand, Mark and Keira continue their journey, ready to face whatever challenges and joys the valley had in store for them, knowing that their lives together is the greatest story of all.