From that day forward, the old woman called him Felix. They spent their days together—gathering firewood from the forest atop the harbor hills, selling or bartering it for food. Though communication between them was limited at first, the old woman patiently taught Felix the human language, guiding him through the basics of speaking, counting, and understanding human customs. Felix was a quick learner—sharp, attentive, and bright. Before long, he had absorbed all she taught with remarkable ease. Their bond deepened with each passing day. To the old woman, he truly became the grandson she never had.
"Felix," she said in afternoon as they rested under the wide shade of a tree, "life isn't just about surviving. People depend on one another. And so does nature. Everything has its place."
Felix looked up at her, his clear, piercing eyes reflecting a distant truth.
"But where I come from," he replied, "everyone lives only for themselves. They take only what they need to survive. No one bothers to understand the feelings of others. There's no reason to. The only law is nature—eat, or be eaten."
The old woman smiled and gently brushed her hand through his snow-white hair.
"Maybe that's what makes you different, dear boy," she said. "You have something rare—something not many are given. You understand them. You hear their voices. You feel their pain. But you're human too, Felix. You have the power to choose how you want to live."
Felix fell silent. He had never known affection like this before. For as long as he could remember, he had lived like any other creature—fighting, surviving. He understood that life was an endless web of dependence. But what had always haunted him was the truth behind every bite of food he took: it came at the cost of another life. Every fruit he picked meant a tree had lost a part of itself. Every fish he caught and ate would scream in anguish—and he could hear it. Always.
"Grandmother…" he said in a trembling voice, "…how do humans eat without feeling guilt?"
"I can hear them," he continued, eyes wide and fragile. "Even before I touch them, I feel their fear. I hear their cries."
The old woman looked at him with the kind of tenderness that only comes with a lifetime of loss and wisdom.
"Felix," she said softly, "life always comes at a price. Every being in this world gives so that others may live. But what makes us truly human is the gratitude and respect we offer in return. We don't eat just to survive—we eat so we can live. So we can do good for others."
Felix clenched his hands tightly in his lap, as if feeling the weight of the truth he had carried alone for so long. Her words reached a place deep inside him, like water to dry earth. Perhaps this was what Bora had tried to teach him. That living wasn't just surviving—it was about understanding, appreciating, and choosing what kind of life to lead.
From that moment on, though doubt still lingered in his heart, Felix began to see the world with new eyes. He started to realize that not every loss had to bring suffering, and that there could be beauty in both giving and receiving. With the old woman by his side, Felix began to uncover a deeper meaning in his life.
The days passed quickly, stirring a deeper curiosity within Felix. Though the old woman wanted to shield him from the harsh truths of the human world, she understood that Felix possessed an intense desire to learn. Yet, her heart remained anxious—Felix had yet to fully grasp the boundary between good and evil, and she feared the day he would be forced to confront the brutal realities beyond their small world.
On the third day of that week, the old woman decided to buy Felix a proper set of clothes. She knew he couldn't keep wearing the threadbare garments that once belonged to her long-lost grandchild—now faded, tattered, and far too small for his growing frame. With determination in her heart, she gathered all the coins she had saved and prepared to head for the market. Meanwhile, she asked Felix to head into the woods as usual to collect firewood, hoping to spare him the burden of seeing the hardship she was about to face.
As she walked to the market, her thoughts swirled with worry.
"Two more weeks," she murmured silently, "and the tax collectors will come for my home. I'm old… where would I go if they take it too? Why does growing old feel like being chased by suffering that never ends?"
When she finally arrived at the market, she sold her firewood—only to be offered an absurdly low price. The buyer even mocked her to her face, saying she'd be better off dead than dragging her misery through life. She forced a bitter smile and, swallowing her pride, accepted the meager payment.
With those few remaining coins clutched tightly in her hand, she made her way toward the clothing stalls. But she didn't notice that a group of thugs had begun trailing her from a distance. Sensing danger, the old woman quickly split her money into two parts—hiding some in the thick folds of her hair and slipping the rest inside her shoe.
Her steps grew slower. She knew that running would only provoke them further. At last, she stopped walking. She had made her decision—to surrender to whatever fate awaited her.
"Stop her!" barked one of the thugs, pushing her frail body to the ground.
"Hey, you miserable hag! Hand over the money, or you'll never leave here alive!" snarled the gang's leader, a brawny man with a scar cutting across his cheek.
With trembling hands, the old woman handed over the empty pouch she had prepared. But the thug wasn't fooled. His eyes flared with fury.
"Don't mess with us, old witch! Search her clothes!"
The others grabbed her roughly, patting her down without a shred of dignity. When they found the money hidden in her shoe, the leader's face contorted with rage.
"Seventy-five rot?! That's it?! I told you this hag wouldn't have anything! You said she was hiding something valuable—she's just another useless beggar!"
Without a second thought, he turned and kicked one of his own men in a fit of rage.
"Idiots! We're wasting our time. Let's go!"
And with that, the gang of thugs vanished, leaving the old woman battered and broken, her body bruised and bleeding. Clinging to the last of her strength, she staggered to her feet and began to walk—desperate to return home before Felix came back. But every step grew heavier. Her vision blurred. Her legs trembled beneath her.
Still, she pushed forward. Her mind held to one single thought—she had to buy clothes for Felix.
She reached the row of shops. Her eyes scanned the storefronts, reading the worn signs one by one. Finally, she stepped into a clothing shop.
"Get out! We don't serve beggars!" barked the shopkeeper before she could even speak.
She turned away, forcing herself not to cry, and tried another shop—only to be met with the same rejection. Some didn't even speak. They simply looked at her with disgust and slammed the door shut in her face.
Swaying on the edge of the sidewalk, the old woman bit back her tears. She was on the verge of giving up. And then, her eyes met those of a middle-aged man at the far end of the street. He had been watching her for some time, as if he'd been waiting.
She entered the modest shop with slow, hesitant steps. The man, broad-shouldered with eyes full of sadness, greeted her gently.
"Ma'am," he said kindly, "you looking to buy something? For whom? Everyone in this town knows you live alone."
The old woman took a deep breath, her voice trembling as she answered.
"Today is my granddaughter's birthday… The one who was taken from me two years ago, when the pirates raided this town. They took the children—turned them into slaves. And I… I could do nothing."
Tears streamed down her weathered face.
"Every year, I promise to buy her a gift. Just in case… just in case I see her again."
The shopkeeper stood frozen, his expression suddenly heavy with grief.
"My youngest daughter was taken then too," he said in a low voice. "My eldest son… he died fighting them."
His voice cracked. But after a long pause, he took a deep breath and managed a faint, knowing smile.
"Come in. Pick out something for your granddaughter. I know what it's like to lose someone."
The old woman nodded with quiet gratitude. With care, she selected an item of clothing. But to the shopkeeper's surprise, she didn't pick something for a little girl—she chose a boy's shirt.
"Ma'am, didn't you say you were buying a gift for your granddaughter?" he asked, puzzled.
She gave a faint smile, her eyes shimmering with emotion. "I want to give this to someone who's stood by me during my hardest days. Someone who reminded me… that there's still hope in this world."
The shopkeeper nodded slowly, though he didn't quite understand her meaning. "This shirt is fairly expensive, but... I'll give you a special price. How much do you have?"
"I only have 125 Rot," she said softly. "I had 200… but 75 was taken by those thugs earlier."
The man clenched his fist, his jaw tightening with anger at her words. But then his face softened. He picked up the shirt she had chosen and handed it to her gently.
"Take it. Call it a big discount," he said. "And if you ever need anything else, come back here. I'll help however I can."
The old woman's eyes widened, overwhelmed by his kindness. She looked at him with heartfelt gratitude. "Thank you... I'll remember this. Someday, I might come to you—for someone else."
The shopkeeper gave a quiet nod. "Whenever you need me, I'll be here."
In the distance, dusk had begun to fall, wrapping the sky in golden crimson hues. But for the old woman, the sunset carried only a question—did she still have enough time to make it home? Or had fate already decided a different ending?