Soul of Wanderlust

In the heart of the Quelani Highlands , nestled within misty valleys and towering cliffs, lay the small village of Cuaraqui . Surrounded by lush forests, waterfalls, and winding rivers, Cuaraqui was hidden from the rest of the world, as if held within nature's embrace. Only one ancient rope bridge connected Cuaraqui to the outside—a bridge woven by the village ancestors and carefully maintained through the ages. One autumn morning, a young traveler named Nico arrived at Cuaraqui, drawn by tales of the legendary bridge and the beauty of the highlands. He had spent years exploring distant lands, but something about this remote, mystical village called to him. Cuaraqui’s villagers lived a humble life, farming terraces of golden corn, gathering herbs, and weaving vibrant cloths that reflected the colors of the surrounding hills. But as Nico approached the cliff where the bridge hung, his heart sank. A fierce storm had blown through the night before, and the bridge had taken the brunt...

The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting a warm, golden hue over the bustling streets of Riverton. On a quiet bench overlooking the river, an elderly man named Thomas sat, watching the water ripple and flow under the old stone bridge. The bridge had always been his favorite spot, a place where he could sit for hours and let his mind drift. It was where he found solace, and more often than not, it was where he found the courage to remember. Thomas had lived in Riverton all his life. He had watched the town grow from a sleepy village to a lively community, yet, through all those years, the bridge had remained the same. It was as if it held onto the past, just as he did. As he gazed at the water, lost in thought, a faint sound broke through his reverie—a soft, hesitant cry. He turned his head to see a young boy standing at the edge of the bridge, tears streaming down his cheeks. The boy couldn’t have been more than ten years old, with scruffy brown hair and wide, fearful eyes. He clut...