It is important not to say anything if no one is asking. If someone did ask, avoid giving direct answers. Oddly enough, that is how it works with humans. Silence was the cure. But it can also be hurtful.

Aia does not hate humans. But she prevents herself from dealing with them.

Every morning, Aia would walk and buy bread at the bakery.

She covered her eyes with an old bandage before she left her house. Aia would walk blindly but confidently, for Aia was too familiar with the road toward the village and back to her dwelling. She could sense the presence of other people or living beings. Sometimes, people would be kind enough to guide her, for they knew her routine too well. At that moment, fewer people were out despite the time of the day.

Aia felt the warm ray of sunshine on her skin beneath her cloak. Nothing was amiss except she could hear some people at the bakery guessing her age. There was tension in the air. Even the baker who put the ordered package in her hands is anxious. It was uncommon for the villagers to gossip about her. However, Aia also knew it was usual for people to find it as a source of entertainment to talk about random people they suddenly find intriguing or terrifying.

She could only hope she was not the latter.

“Is it true that you are the oldest person who lives in our village?”

Aia smiled. She would have looked at the boy who approached her if her eyes were not closed and covered.

“Why do you ask, little one?”

“Well… you look older than my grandmother. And my grandma used to say she knows better than me because she is older,” the boy answered as if giving it some thought. “She has thinning white hair, too. But she already died last month.”

“And?”

“And some say you might know about the past more than anyone unless your mind fails you. Does your mind fail you?”

Aia laughed. “No. My mind is still sharp as ever.”

“Were you blind since you were born?”

“No, I wasn't blind when I was born.”

“Oh, good. Then, is it true that immortals used to live here among us? Have you ever seen one before? And did they leave?”

Her amusement was gone. Aia could not answer.

It was the same question she often thought about but was left unanswered. And now, she understood why the boy approached her. They wanted to know the past that they knew she was part of. For they guessed she was a hundred-year-old woman. And indeed, she was.

But memories are a tricky thing. After a hundred years, what was once necessary would seem irrelevant and dull. It was those who reminisce and would not let go that could retell what has been part of history. But history has its secrets and biases. The villagers only knew bits of information passed on to them. And Aia is not someone who likes to dwell in the past.

It was common knowledge that during the earlier time, humans and immortals inhabited the world. However, it's been decades since Aia last saw an immortal. It was inevitable to think that immortals were becoming scarce. These days, humans only knew of the gods and goddesses as a source of tragedy or miracles. Monsters still lurk in the forests. Curses and spells are still common. But the gods and goddesses rarely appear.

Where would the immortals go? And what would make them leave or disappear?

“I do not know if they left,” she replied honestly to the boy. “Or if they are simply vanishing.”

The boy scratched the side of his head and looked away.

“I guess you may be the oldest here. But you're not the smartest—Aww!”

The boy flinched when his father smacked the back of his head.

“Is my son bothering you?” asked the barber. He saw her while she was talking to the boy. The barber seemed concerned with how the boy spoke to her. But Aia does not mind how the boy conversed.

“Oh, no. Not at all,” Aia answered. I agree with what your son said. Being the oldest does not mean being the smartest.

“Do you need us to walk you home?” the barber offered.

“Thank you. But my feet are still working fine.”

The boy gasped. “But… you are blind! And alone,” said the boy.

She laughed again at his remark.

“That is why I have this,” she showed them the wooden stick she often carried with her. It made her appearance seem weak and in need of constant support. But no. She can still walk as fast as the young people in their village if she wants to. She brings the stick for a different purpose.

The barber pinched the boy in his ear and apologized to her.

“Please do forgive my son. He was only worried about the ongoing war. Other villagers were also leaving. They fear we would get caught in a crossfire.”

Aia did not respond.

“We need to sacrifice to the gods so they can give us a miracle!” the boy insists.

“But what sacrifice would satisfy them?” asked Aia.

“How am I supposed to know? I am only a child. That was why I asked—Aww! Father! That hurts!”

Aia guessed the father of the child pinches the boy harder this time.

In their small village, life seemed dull and unchanging. Despite knowing the ongoing conflict between kingdoms, the war seemed like a myth people only heard from random folks.

But now it was causing terror.

Four kingdoms arise as humans procreate faster than the immortals. But even if they outnumbered the deities, monsters, and shapeshifters, the humans remained the weakest clan.

It was lingering on the thought that being at the top meant being powerful enough to get anything that made people selfish and greedy. They wanted to prove to themselves they could do more. But they forgot to set a limit on how much more.

When a war ignited between two kingdoms, the other two kingdoms both had a different reaction to it. One prepared to defend, while the other chose to hide and not be involved with the conflict.

It was not due to a lack of compassion that they remained in the village. Only they did not know how to stop the pain and suffering of others. Especially when they also struggle with how to deal with their fears and doubts.

So the villagers will do their business as usual. The marketplace will open as soon as sunlight touches the land. Barters are common. But despite the good nature of the villagers, Aia knew they were helpless.