A hand dug a hole, large enough for a small plant — one that would one day grow to become a tree.A tree that might live for decades, or even a century.Who knows when death comes?We humans can only predict it.
The weather was downright lovely, as usual — the kind of day where the air feels alive. The wind carried the scent of fresh earth and melting frost, the kind of cold that brushed against the skin softly. Yet, the ice was melting at many points; the mountains once covered entirely in snow were now barely dusted with white. Even the land below held patches of snow that would soon vanish with the start of summer.
Aron was fixing the spots on the ground, making them even. He held a pickaxe firmly, pounding the earth and leveling it while removing the extra soil. The sun reflected off his pickaxe, shining bright as he lifted and swung it again and again.
"Aron!" a voice called. It was Wood.
Wood shouted again, walking toward him. "Where were you? I need your help."
Aron stopped, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and replied calmly, "What kind of help, Mr. Wood?"
"Come with me," Wood said, his tone serious but gentle.
They both walked a little distance toward the back side of Mr. Wood's house. There stood an old, broken house — lifeless, still, and cold. Aron glanced at it carefully. Even in its ruin, he could imagine it standing tall again, alive. The thought struck him — this could be fixed for Master.
"This house," Aron said softly, "it's exactly like yours."
Wood nodded, sighing. "I know. If that idiot had told me before, I would've built a new one from the start. But we just need to renovate this. Once we do, it'll look like a new home. Plus, it's close to mine."
Aron walked toward the door and pushed it lightly — it creaked and fell halfway. The wood was soft and damp, eaten away by years of rainwater. The floor groaned beneath his steps, and suddenly — crack!
The wood gave way, and Aron fell into the food storage area beneath the floor. Dust and debris clouded the air.
"Aron! Are you okay?" Wood shouted from above.
"Yes, I am," Aron replied, coughing slightly as he pushed the splintered wood off himself. He climbed out, dusted his clothes, and looked around. "When are we going to start working on it?"
"Today," Wood said, nodding with a grin. "I just got the woods. Go grab Carlos and come back with them, alright?"
Aron nodded again. He started walking down toward the village, the cold wind brushing through his hair. He reached Carlos's house and knocked on the door. After a moment, Carlos appeared, yawning and rubbing his eyes.
"Come on," Aron said. "Mr. Wood said he needs your help to repair the home for Master."
Carlos groaned, half-awake. "Oh man... probably need to pick woods, right?"
Aron smirked and nodded. "You're right."
Carlos sighed but smiled slightly. "Fine, give me a second." He grabbed his thick coat, closed the door, and they began walking together toward the cart. After a while, they loaded the wood — thick, heavy logs and planks of all shapes and sizes — onto the horse cart. The sound of hooves echoed through the cold morning air as they made their way back to the broken house.
"Good job," Wood said when they arrived. He handed them tools — a hammer, a saw. "Cut out the woods that are destroyed and remove those that are dissolved. We'll start from the front."
The work began.
The first target was the door — completely wrecked and hanging off its rusted hinges. While Mr. Wood was checking measurements, Aron stepped forward and kicked the door hard. It slammed down with a loud thud, shaking the dust loose.
"Easy with it!" Wood said, chuckling. "Now come here."
They both walked to him. Wood pointed at the frame. "I've inspected everything. We'll need a new door, some wall repairs, and a new window frame. The roof and floor too. Once that's done, it'll look brand new."
Aron and Carlos nodded.
Carlos went to work pulling out the broken windows, his hands moving quick and sure. Aron focused on the floor, tearing away old planks and clearing debris. Wood came with long, strong boards and began placing them one by one, hammering nails gently but firmly.
The sound of hammering filled the air — steady, rhythmic, almost musical. The sun began to dip behind the hills, painting the sky orange and gold. After hours of labor, the floor was set firm and strong, the windows replaced, the air inside the house lighter and warmer.
Wood stepped back, admiring the progress. "Good job. Now only the roof and doors remain. We'll finish that tomorrow." He smiled, pulling a few coins from his pocket. "Here, go and enjoy."
Aron and Carlos exchanged looks and grins. "Thank you, Mr. Wood," Aron said, taking the coins.
As they walked down toward the village, Carlos yawned again, his coat swinging with the breeze. Aron broke the silence.
"Carlos, what do you think — a man with power... is he really the strongest?"
Carlos glanced at him. "I think it depends on what that man does with his power. My grandpa used to say — power is evil. It buries you, burns you from inside, and breaks you from outside."
Aron looked at the sky for a moment, the colors of dusk fading. "Then, according to you, who's the strongest?"
Carlos smiled faintly. "A man who can forgive. Someone who stands against destruction and war. My grandpa told me once — the greatest thing a man can do is to forgive someone... truly, from deep down in your heart. It's an extremely powerful choice."
Aron smiled gently. "I guess your grandpa was telling the truth. Because someone told me the exact same thing."
Carlos looked curious. "And who's that person, brother?"
Aron's eyes softened. "My father."
Carlos smiled wide. "Then your father must've been a wise man."
Aron nodded quietly, eyes filled with a distant calm.
They walked together until the village split into two paths. The wind carried the faint sound of laughter and life — villagers closing their shops, children running, the sky now dark violet. They parted ways soon after, each heading home under the evening light.
The next morning brought a new day — a brand-new sunshine that filled the air with gold. Aron was already on the roof, hammering the wood planks one by one, while Carlos helped Wood with the doors below. The sound of hammering echoed for hours, steady and strong.
When it finally stopped, the house stood tall once again — new roof, new doors, new walls. A home reborn.
Wood stood back with pride. "Thank you, both of you. A week's job done in two days. You guys are strong — really strong."
Aron and Carlos smiled. Their faces were covered in dust and sweat, but their eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
"Now," Wood said, "only the courtyard remains. I'll plant flowers and herbs for him. It'll be beautiful."
He handed them a few more coins. "Here — take this."
Aron accepted them with a grateful nod. "Thank you, Wood."
Wood waved his hand. "No need to thank me. You boiled your blood working hard. These coins are merely metal for trade… but what you've built, my friends, that lasts for eternity."
Aron and Carlos listened quietly — the kind of silence that carries meaning.
After a while, Carlos left to buy herbs, waving as he disappeared down the path.
Aron walked alone, following the road from the mountain to the village, and from the village toward his house. The air was calm, the sun slowly falling behind the ridges, shadows stretching long across the land.
But as he walked further…he saw someone standing.A figure.
Still.
Silent.
And the presence — chilling.
The air turned cold again, the way it feels when danger watches from afar.
And Aron stopped walking.