Meanwhile, in the common room of Rivermoor, Anna sat patiently as Lily carefully cleaned and bandaged her scrape.
"Hold still for a bit, okay?" Lily said gently, her movements practiced and sure.
"Oww!" Anna squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to wince at the sting of the antiseptic.
"Ugh, that ungrateful old man!" Grey paced back and forth like a caged wolf, throwing shadow punches at invisible enemies. "Not only is he freeloading here, taking up space and eating our food, but he dares to hurt Anna? If Grandpa hadn't stopped me, I would've beaten him until he couldn't stand!"
"What exactly happened, Anna?" Lily asked, pausing in her work to look at her friend with concern.
Anna tilted her head thoughtfully before answering. "Well... I just gave him a hug. He looked so sad, Lily. Like... like he'd lost everything in the whole world. I wanted to make him feel better."
"WHAT?! A—A—A HUG?!" Grey's voice cracked with indignation, his face turning red. "YOU HUGGED A COMPLETE STRANGER?!"
"Haha! Anna, you can't just go around hugging random people!" Lily sighed, though her tone was more fond than scolding. "We don't know anything about him!"
"But he was crying," Anna said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "And when I hugged him, he stopped crying for a little while. I think... I think he really needed someone to care about him."
"ARGHHH! THAT USELESS OLD MAN!" Grey roared, his protective instincts making him see threats everywhere. "HOW DARE HE—"
"Grey, can you shut up for once? We get it, you're jealous because Anna hugged someone else!" Another boy had entered the room—Ling, with his quiet confidence and mature bearing that made him seem older than his fourteen years.
"W—W—WHEN DID I SAY I WAS JEALOUS?!" Grey sputtered, his face going even redder.
"Sure, sure." Ling rolled his eyes with practiced ease. "Anyway, Lily, is Anna's wound treated properly?"
"Yes, it's just a small scrape. She'll be fine." Lily secured the bandage with gentle efficiency. "Why?"
"Good. Grandpa's calling everyone," Ling replied, already heading toward the door.
When they arrived at the designated area, the other children were already gathered, ranging in age from four to fourteen. This was their family—orphans all, but bound together by something stronger than blood.
Just then, Ethan emerged from the house, looking around with lost, bewildered eyes. The sight of children gathered together, laughing and encouraging each other, seemed to cut through him like a blade. It was everything he'd never had—a family, a sense of belonging, a place where people cared about each other.
*A house in the middle of the wilderness?* he thought, taking in the strange sight. *And all these children... with just one old man to care for them?*
"Isn't that the guy from earlier?" Lily muttered, her voice carrying across the group.
The moment Grey spotted Ethan, his protective fury reignited like a flame touching oil.
"YOU! How dare you show your face after hurting Anna!" Grey shot toward Ethan like an arrow released from a bow, his fist clenched and ready to finish what he'd started.
Ethan had no time to dodge, no energy to fight back. He instinctively raised his arms to shield himself, preparing for another beating he felt he deserved.
SWOOSH!
But the blow never came. Before Grey's fist could connect, the old man appeared between them like a ghost, moving with speed that defied his apparent age. He caught Grey's wrist mid-strike and, with a fluid motion that spoke of decades of combat experience, redirected the boy's momentum and sent him tumbling harmlessly to the ground.
"OUCH!" Grey yelped, more surprised than hurt.
Ethan slowly opened his eyes, realizing he was unharmed. The old man stood before him like a guardian, his presence radiating quiet strength and unshakeable calm.
"Where do you think you're going?" Garrick asked, his voice gentle but firm.
"I need to leave immediately," Ethan said, trying to summon what little dignity he had left. "I've imposed on your kindness long enough."
"Your home was burned to the ground. Where exactly do you plan to go?"
The words hit like hammer blows. *Home.* The cottage where he and Emberlyn had been so happy. The garden where he'd grown herbs for their meals. The bed where they'd held each other through long winter nights. All of it reduced to ash and memory.
"I'll figure something out," Ethan said, his voice hollow. "You don't need to worry about me. I'm nobody's responsibility."
He turned and walked away, each step feeling like he was leaving another piece of his soul behind. But as he reached the edge of the forest, he hesitated. *Left? Right?* The trees all looked the same, an endless maze of green shadows and hidden dangers.
Pushing aside his doubts, he chose a direction at random and plunged into the wilderness.
*I need to find proof,* he told himself desperately. *No matter how small, no matter how unlikely. Something, anything that proves Emberlyn and I were real. That our love existed. That I'm not just a madman clinging to delusions.*
The deeper he ventured into Greenhaven Forest, the darker it became. The thick canopy blocked most of the sunlight, creating a twilight world of shadows and whispers. Every step took him further from the warmth and safety of Rivermoor, further into a labyrinth that seemed designed to swallow hope.
With each passing minute, the sounds of the forest grew more ominous—rustling leaves that might hide watching eyes, distant howls that spoke of predators awakening, the subtle creak of branches that could be footsteps or something worse.
*Please,* he prayed silently. *Please don't let me run into the monsters that live here. I'm too weak, too broken. I wouldn't survive.*
He walked for what felt like hours, his feet following paths that led nowhere, his heart growing heavier with each dead end. The forest seemed infinite, a green hell designed to trap lost souls like himself.
Thirty minutes passed. Then an hour. Still nothing but trees stretching endlessly in every direction.
Just when despair threatened to consume him completely, he saw it—a faint glow flickering through the trees ahead.
*Light!*
His heart leaped with desperate hope. Without a second thought, he sprinted toward the brightness, crashing through undergrowth and stumbling over roots in his haste. *This had to be the way out. It had to be.*
WHOOSH!
Ethan burst through the treeline and into brilliant sunlight, temporarily blinded by the sudden change.
"Finally... I made it—"
But his words died in his throat as his vision adjusted.
He was back at Rivermoor. After an hour of desperate struggle through the forest maze, he had somehow come full circle.
"Why..." The word escaped him like a death rattle. "Why am I back here?"
"Hahaha! What is this old guy even doing?!" Grey's laughter rang across the area, cruel and delighted. "Did he get lost in our backyard?"
"Grey, enough!" Garrick's voice cut through the mockery. "Ling, bring him some water and show him the proper way out."
"Alright, Grandpa!" Ling disappeared into the house, returning moments later with a cup of fresh water.
But Ethan's pride, what little remained of it, wouldn't let him accept defeat so easily. He turned back to the forest, determined to find his own way out.
Again and again he tried. Each attempt ended the same way—back at Rivermoor, more exhausted, more defeated, more broken than before. The forest seemed to be mocking him, a living maze that delighted in his suffering.
His strength gave out gradually, like water draining from a cracked vessel. Hunger gnawed at his empty stomach. Thirst made his lips crack and his throat burn. But worse than the physical discomfort was the growing certainty that he was trapped—not just by the forest, but by his own inadequacy.
Finally, after his fifth failed attempt, he collapsed to his knees at the forest's edge, too weak to try again.
That's when one of the youngest children approached him—a boy no older than four, with serious eyes and an air of quiet determination.
"Here, mister," the child said, holding out a cup of water with both small hands.
"Thank you," Ethan whispered, accepting the gift with trembling fingers. The water was cool and clean, the most wonderful thing he'd tasted in days.
"Let me show you the way out, mister!" The boy started walking without waiting for a response, his small legs carrying him confidently into the forest that had confounded Ethan for hours.
*How?* Ethan wondered as he followed. *How can a four-year-old child navigate what I couldn't?*
In less than ten minutes, they emerged at the true forest edge. The sight of open road and familiar landmarks beyond the trees filled Ethan with wonder and shame in equal measure.
"We're out now, mister!" the boy announced proudly.
"I... how did you...?" Ethan stared back at the forest that had imprisoned him for so long, hardly believing how simple the escape had been with proper guidance.
"Thank you," he said finally, but when he turned to express his gratitude properly, the child was already gone, disappeared back into the green shadows like a forest spirit.
Ethan took a shaking breath and began the journey toward what had once been his home, his heart heavy with dread at what he might find.
When he arrived at the site of their cottage, the devastation was even worse than he'd remembered. Nothing remained but blackened timber and ash, the very ground scarred by the intensity of the fire that had consumed their sanctuary.
But hope—fragile, desperate hope—still flickered in his chest.
*There has to be something,* he told himself as he fell to his knees in the ruins. *Anything that survived. Anything that proves she loved me.*
He began to search through the debris with his bare hands, lifting charred beams that should have been too heavy for someone in his weakened state. Ash coated his skin, turned his clothes black, filled his lungs with each breath. But he didn't stop.
Under the scorching sun, he searched. Through the cold mountain nights, he searched. When rain turned the ash to mud and soaked him to the bone, still he searched.
For three days and three nights, Ethan neither ate nor slept. His body screamed for rest, for food, for basic human care, but his heart refused to listen. Every shovelful of debris cleared was another step closer to vindication, another chance to prove that his love for Emberlyn had been real.
From the distance, Garrick watched this display of desperate devotion with growing concern and grudging respect.
"What is he looking for, Grandpa?" Ling asked, standing beside the old man as they observed Ethan's relentless search.
"Something precious to him," Garrick replied quietly. "Something worth destroying himself to find."
On the third day, as the sun reached its zenith and Ethan's strength finally began to fail him completely, something changed.
He stopped.
His body went perfectly still, as if he'd been turned to stone. His eyes fixed on something in the debris, and slowly—reverently—his trembling fingers reached down to pick up a small object.
Tears began to flow down his ash-stained cheeks, but these weren't tears of sorrow. For the first time in days, Ethan smiled.
"I found it, Emberlyn..." he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion.
He held the object up to catch the sunlight, and it gleamed like a captured star. Emberlyn's wedding ring—the symbol of their secret love, the proof he'd needed that their happiness hadn't been a dream.
The ring was tarnished but intact, its simple band of gold unmarked by the fire that had consumed everything else. As he held it, memories flooded back—the day he'd placed it on her finger, the tears of joy in her eyes, the whispered promises they'd made to each other.
"At last..." he breathed, clutching the ring to his heart. "My efforts weren't in vain. You were real. We were real."
Then, his body finally surrendered to exhaustion. Three days without food, water, or rest had pushed him beyond all human limits. He collapsed onto the scorched earth, the ring still clutched safely in his fist, unconsciousness claiming him with the gentleness of an old friend.
"Grandpa! He's collapsed!" Ling shouted in alarm.
Garrick approached the fallen man and carefully lifted him, noting the peaceful expression on Ethan's face despite his obvious suffering. Whatever he'd found in those ashes had given him something he'd desperately needed—hope.
As they carried him back to Rivermoor, the ring remained hidden in his closed fist, a small circle of gold that represented the greatest treasure any man could possess: proof that he had been truly loved.