I crashed through the second-floor window, glass shattering like gunfire behind me. Time felt slow for a moment—the weightless second before I hit the ground.
Thud.
Pain didn't come.
I opened one eye, then the other. My body was intact.
No broken limbs. No splattered organs.
"...Wow. I didn't go splat. I must be a genius."
The disbelief in my voice was real. I stared at my limbs as if they weren't mine. The adrenaline rush masked the pain, but reality wasn't as merciful as it seemed.
Then I laughed. Too loud. Too recklessly.
"They're not chasing me? Lucky they're lazy—HAH!"
I should've known better.
The moment I looked back at Ma's room, shadows surged behind the broken glass.
Then—
Crash!
Bang!
Footsteps. Heavy. Fast. Brutal.
From the front door, like charging beasts, the men burst out of the house.
"Oi. Oi. Oi. That doesn't look funny at all…"
My laugh died mid-throat.
"If I don't run now, I'm gonna be tomorrow's minced meat special."
I sprinted. No destination. Just anywhere but here.
Street after street blurred past me. I couldn't go home. I couldn't go to Iz. I couldn't even breathe properly.
The exits had been sealed.
They were smarter than they looked—every road blocked, every alley crawling with brute-force mercs. But I was smaller. Faster. Angrier.
I squeezed through every crack and crevice I could find, dodging footsteps and slinking through shadow. This wasn't escape—it was survival.
A fugitive in my own city.
Time lost meaning. A day passed. Then another. Maybe more. My body begged for rest. My stomach burned with hunger. But I couldn't stop.
They stopped chasing me.
But I knew better.
Assassins don't give up. They hunt. Quietly. Constantly.
So I didn't let my guard down.
Eventually, I found it—an abandoned house on the outskirts. Crumbling walls, moss-stained windows, broken silence.
I searched it. Every room. Every floorboard. Every whisper.
Empty.
I collapsed into a dusty chair that looked older than me.
"Persistent bastards," I muttered, wiping sweat from my brow. "If not for my teachers' hellish drills, I'd be toast by now... Next time I see them, I'll buy them tea. If I don't run away first."
My breath slowed. My mind didn't.
"Iz must be worried sick… I'm such a bad friend."
I looked around. The air was thick with silence. The kind that echoed.
Then I saw her.
A familiar silhouette—the girl from my dreams.
She peered out from behind the wall like a scared kitten.
"Oh, it's you," I said, blinking. "Wait… am I dreaming again?"
She shook her head so violently her hair bounced.
"Alright, alright, calm down. I'm not gonna eat you."
The girl shrunk back.
"I'm joking. Mostly."
I pulled up a second chair and patted it. "Come. Sit. I don't bite unless I'm starving."
She floated forward, as if unsure whether she still belonged in this world.
She was ethereal. Real. But not.
A ghost.
"A ghost," I whispered to myself.
She tilted her head in confusion.
"At least she's cute. Not the horror-movie type with the backward neck and weird contortions."
She sat across from me—nervous, reserved. I watched her like a puzzle waiting to be solved.
"You got a name?"
She shook her head.
"Wanna pick one? Easier than calling you 'little girl.'"
She nodded. Sparkles appeared around her. Actual sparkles. Like flowers in spring. My jaw dropped.
"Alright, full disclaimer: I suck at names. If you don't like one, shake your head. If it's good, nod. Deal?"
Nod.
"Okay... how about Gizelle?"
Shake.
"Mia? Anna? Raven? Charlotte?"
Shake. Shake. Shake.
"Not into English names?"
Shake.
The girl picked up the pen and paper nearby. With elegant strokes, she wrote something down.
I blinked at her handwriting. "Wait... you can write?"
She held up the page.
"I'm a boy."
"..."
System Error.
I stared blankly.
"You're joking... right?"
He shook his head, solemn.
"Your long hair! It was covering your—"
Before I could finish, his hair vanished into short, soft curls.
He looked...
Stupidly beautiful.
Fair skin, round eyes, delicate features—he looked more radiant than any girl I knew.
"You're a boy?"
He nodded, then lowered his head. His expression darkened. Like a shadow rising from beneath the surface.
"I no like my face," he mumbled. Tears welled in his eyes.
I reached out instinctively, wiping his cheeks.
"What? Why not? Your face is adorable! So soft, so pretty—like marshmallows wrapped in snowflakes!"
I pinched his cheeks without thinking. "I wanna eat you."
His face turned pale.
I coughed. "I mean metaphorically. Probably. Anyway—food."
I left him there and snuck outside to find food.
[Outside the Abandoned House]
I checked both sides of the street. No movement. No soldiers. No dogs.
"The coast's clear. Guess they gave up on turning me into stew."
My neighbor's garden was a jungle—bananas, papayas, mangoes.
Jackpot.
I climbed the wall, snatched a few fruits like a seasoned thief, and returned.
"Hey, I'm back! Miss me?" I dropped the fruits on the floor.
The boy didn't respond. He handed me a stack of papers with downcast eyes.
I read.
And what I read shattered something inside me.
A boy. Born beautiful.
Hated for it.
By his sisters.
Ignored by his parents.
Beaten. Starved.
Abandoned. In the middle of winter.
Locked in a cabin.
Left to die.
He wandered in the dark, for centuries. Alone.
Until he met me.
My hands trembled. My chest ached.
"Sniff…"
I hugged him. Tight.
He hugged back, small arms clinging to me like I was the only warmth he had left.
"I'm okay now," he whispered. "Because I met you."
I pressed my forehead to his. "Even if no one else loves you... I will. Always. That's a promise."
I kissed his head.
He smiled.
"Name! Name!" he shouted excitedly.
"Alright, alright... Something light. Cheerful. Something like... mine?"
His eyes sparkled like galaxies.
He pointed at me. "Llyne. Blood."
"Huh?" I looked down. Blood dripped from my arm. I winced.
"Must've scraped it earlier. No biggie."
The boy ran up, panicked.
I wiped the blood. "Hey, don't worry. I just thought of a name."
His eyes lit up. His invisible tail wagged like a puppy's.
"It's... Lyndall."
Silence.
"You hate it?"
Then—
"I love it!" he squealed, bouncing around the room. "What does it mean?"
I paused.
"Well… it doesn't really mean anything. But I took 'Lyn' from me, and 'Dale' which means valley. So... you're like a valley where spring starts again."
Lyndall beamed. His joy filled the broken house like sunlight through cracked glass.
"Alright," I said, yawning. "Tomorrow's going to be busy. Let's sleep."
He nodded and darted upstairs.
I followed soon after.
He didn't sleep though.
All night long, I could hear him whispering to himself.
"Lyndall. Lyndall. Lyndall..."
Like he was making sure the world wouldn't take it away.