I've always wondered about the future of humanity.
What is freedom?
Is freedom something we are born with—granted by our very existence? Being born more intelligent, stronger or gifted? Is it the opportunity to rise above others, or the courage to defy the chains that bind us?
Is freedom the ability to walk where our hearts lead us?
I suppose the answers are out of my grasp for now.
We all should be equals… shouldn't we? Alone we can do so little; together we can overcome any obstacle. Together we can protect one another. Live long and prosperous lives…
Then why…?
Why does unity seem impossible?
Why is humanity seen as the weakest race? The prey to be hunted, killed, slaughtered like animals? What did we do to deserve being born weak?
The Elves are revered for their serene grace and unmatched mastery of astrological magic.
The Demons are feared for their destructive power and ruthless behavior.
The Beastkins are the physical rulers famed for their overwhelming strength and speed.
The Dragonborn reign supreme over the skies heirs to the might of their ancient requiem bloodline.
The Sylaris, fairies born for nature itself and create illusions to trap and mislead other races.
The Dwarfs are the most intellectual race known for their visionary crafting. I've heard they even made flying machines.
Lastly…
The Archons—the most feared race of all. Capable of destroying everything at their sight. Their strength is adept of annihilating before them, following the power-hierarchy of the seven deadly sins.
They are known as The God of War.
I feel goosebumps crawling up my skin just thinking about them. I've never seen an Archon with my own eyes… yet I know—they bear wings that let them soar above us.
Could I ever talk to one? Ask why they see us humans as the weakest? Maybe every race gets the same verdict. Why do we fall so low in their eyes…
Is it because we can't wield magic like the elves? Or wield destruction like the demons? We're weaker than beastkin, more fragile than dragonborn. Fairies trick us like children. Our minds don't reach dwarven heights. Or maybe… we're just ants beneath the Archons.
Every race believes it's above fascination—too proud to be curious about any other but itself.
The strong enter every situation with the advantage, while the weak tremble in fear for their lives. The weak stand around helplessly. The weak get humiliated…looked down upon.
It doesn't matter how kind or useful you are—
The weak always lose.
Humanity always loses.
But I had a dream once. Just days before my birthday—so vivid, it felt as though I stood inside the future itself.
A dream where all races were one.
Where there were no beliefs to divide us, no ethics to judge us, no religion to separate us or grudges to chain us. Just... the feeling of unity.
I lay on my stomach, sketching the images from that dream. Curiosity pulled my hand, a smile tugging at my lips. Maybe, like Mother said, some dreams aren't just dreams—they're glimpses of the future, whispered hints from what's to come.
I want that future.
"There, done!" I said, setting down my pencil.
The drawing showed every race—elves, demons, beastkin, dragonborn, Sylaris, dwarfs, Archons, and humans—all holding hands beneath a starlit sky, gathered around an ancient tree.
And right in the center was me. Holding their hands. Humanity's savior.
I lifted the paper closer, squinting to catch every detail. My nose twitched, then suddenly—achoo.
I gently held my nose—maybe it was already a little red from the cold. I glanced out the window. The blizzard was raging again. I hated this unnatural weather.
It had always been this way. March brought blizzards; April, endless storms. The borderlands' climate was strange, stubborn.
Why did Father think it was wise to settle us so close to the elves and demons? I asked him once.
"It's so we're not found," he said simply.
Father believed hiding like animals was the only way for humans to survive. I couldn't blame him. Compared to other races, we were nothing. No power to fight back—only to run.
Fear was all humanity had left.
I held my nose as the cold stung, then felt a presence behind me.
"Drawing again, boy?" His deep voice cut through the room.
I turned to see Father standing there—Kaelric Everhart. His face was as serious as always, eyes sharp but quiet, watching me with those deep eyes.
"Just… drawing something from a dream," I said, holding up my sketch.
He glanced down at the paper. "Why didn't you draw other people? Why all those other races?"
I smiled, eyes bright. "Because in my dream, we were all united!"
Without a word, he reached out and ruffled my hair—messing it up like he always did. Then he took off his scarf and wrapped it gently around my neck.
"That's quite the dream you had."
I grinned, warming under his touch. "Dad, if it could become real... then what would happen?"
He sat down on the edge of my bed, the cold wind howling outside. Then, without breaking his calm, he lifted me into his lap, holding me steady.
"If that were true," he said softly, "we'd be living in a future where peace isn't just a dream. No war. No hate. No fights over blood or race. Just harmony. Happiness—for all creations."
I looked up at him, curious and hopeful. "Then why isn't it possible, Dad? Why can't we all just unite and work together?"
His hand stopped brushing my hair. His eyes darkened, heavy with the weight of everything he'd seen.
"It's just not possible, Kaiser."
"Why can't we all just be equals?"
"Do you believe humans can be equal with other races?"
"Why wouldn't it be believable?" I smiled, certain.
"Hmm? Why don't you tell me about it then." I smiled, certain.
I sat up straight, voice firm. "We walk beneath the same sky, draw breath from the same air, and share in the same hunger and care. They protect their own, just as we do, Dad.. so how can we be anything less than equals?" —
He chuckled, a deep, quiet sound. "Hahaha… You're truly something else, Kaiser."
I nodded, worried. "Did I say something wrong?"
He shook his head. "Kids your age don't think like that, I suppose. But to answer your question…" His voice grew colder, heavier. "We can never be equals. Even if we walk, talk, eat the same. I think you already know that."
I did.
I wanted to ask more, but I stopped myself. Still, one question burned in me.
"Dad… is there anything at least common to all races?"
He sighed, staring out into the blizzard.
"The only thing equal for all races…"
"Death."
His words hit harder, I stood there, stunned and my drawing still in my hand. He wasn't wrong. This was just the world he'd seen.
"To be equals? That's a fantasy we all dream of. Death is not the opposite of life, but a part of it."
"People may leave this world, but not our hearts. Grief is the last act of love we can give to those we care for. That's true for other races too. It's something all of us share." His voice softened with a faint smile as he spoke.
He patted my head gently. "You don't need to worry about that, birthday boy. It's not your age for such thoughts."
I nodded, trying to calm myself. But deep down, I knew—one day, I'd have to think that way.
We all feel the pain when someone leaves us. Everyone—no matter who they are. But death… it's something no one can run from. It doesn't care if you're scared. It doesn't ask if we're ready, or if we've said goodbye.
Maybe that's the only true equality we have—a silent reminder that no matter who we are, we are all just passing on slowly, bound by time's relentless tide until our inevitable end.
I wanted to ask more, but before I could, Dad lifted me up to look me in the eyes.
"Are you excited for your birthday today?" he asked.
I nodded, trying to be more eager. "I'm a grown boy now."
He chuckled, low and warm. "You're just turning eight, kid."
I pouted, crossing my arms. "I am a grown boy. And I'll lead everyone, just like you do, Dad."
He set me down beside him and patted my head. "You'll be a great leader one day."
"Will I ever surpass you?" I asked, eyes wide.
For once, he smiled—a genuine, rare smile.
"You will, Kaiser. I believe you'll change the world… change humanity for the better."
"What do you mean by that?" I pressed.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he grinned and said, "That's for you to figure out, birthday boy."
Then a voice called from another room—Mom's. "Kaiser! Honey! The cake's ready! Come quickly!"
Serenya's voice followed, teasing and sharp: "Kai, come quick or I'm cutting the cake without you!"
Aw, man, she can't be serious! I thought, already grinning.
Dad climbed off the bed and said, "Let's go. Can't keep your mother and sister waiting."
I nodded and jumped down, and together we ran down the hall—just like a family.
While sprinting to stop Serenya from cutting my cake, my mind raced faster than my feet. I hoped—no, I wanted—for all of us. Me, Dad, Mom, Serenya.
For us to live happy lives, together, even if it meant hiding in the forest like animals. From the rest of the world and races.
But was that future real? Could there truly be a day when all races set aside their beliefs? When loving each other isn't a dream but a choice? When our hearts didn't walk separate paths but joined on the road to happiness? When staying together wasn't just a hope but the only way forward?
Or would an endless ocean always rise between us—too wide to cross, too deep to bridge?
Are we really the weakest? Or have we spun a lie so convincing that even we believe it?
Did we deceive them—or was the greatest deception the one we told ourselves?
… were we the ones we fooled all along?
I'd always known humanity was alone.
But—
How alone was I?
—------- Chapter 1: False Freedom —------
11:23 AM, 18 June, Year 1342 EoR - Era of Requiem
The weather for the week had been nothing but snow and storms. The kind of storms that didn't care if it was morning or night—white winds swallowing the sky, snowflakes so sharp they stung your cheeks. Life near the borders was like that… unpredictable, unnatural, like the seasons themselves had forgotten how to behave.
The forest here had a way of making you feel small. Not just because the trees rose so high their tops vanished into pale fog, but because they made you realize how unimportant you were to the world. Even the air carried that reminder—it wasn't cold, yet not warm either. Just balanced, sitting somewhere between comfort and discomfort, as if nature couldn't decide whether to let you breathe easy or freeze you.
The weather during the morning was normal and sunny. It should have been peaceful.
But peace rarely lasted with Serenya nearby.
For the past two weeks, she'd made a sport out of teasing me. Sometimes it was harmless—mocking the way I tripped over roots or flicking snow in my face. Other times, it was worse… like today, when she'd yanked my scarf clean off my neck and bolted into the forest.
She was fast—faster than I could ever hope to be. I'd learned that lesson enough times to stop believing I could outrun her. Serenya didn't just move; she slipped away, like the wind decided to play favorites. The forest even seemed to bend for her, each root and hollow guiding her steps.
I used to hate chasing her, panting until my chest burned while she laughed from somewhere just out of reach. But after two weeks of this, I stopped trying to beat her at speed.
I learned something else instead—speed is only useful if you're running in the right direction.
The snow muffled my steps as I crouched by the narrow trail, brushing aside damp leaves until I could see the thin twine stretched just above ankle height. Tied tight between two young trees, it was nearly invisible in the mist. Perfect. It wouldn't hurt her—just give her a little surprise and enough of a stumble for me to close the gap.
I didn't care if she got snow on her coat. I did care about her falling hard or cutting herself on ice, so I picked the softest patch of snow I could find for her to land in. This was my revenge, not cruelty.
For the last hour, I'd been setting this up.
For the last hour, she'd been waving my scarf like a victory flag.
Somewhere behind the fog, I heard her laugh—sharp, bright, and aimed squarely at me.
I smiled.
It was almost time.
"You're getting slower, brother!" Serenya's voice rang out from somewhere ahead, light and teasing. "Are you finally admitting I'm better?"
I didn't answer. Not yet.
A shadow flickered between the pale columns of trees—her silhouette, quick and sure-footed, the forest practically clearing the way for her. When our eyes met for a second, she was grinning, cheeks flushed with the thrill of the chase.
Then she was gone again, swallowed by the fog.
I waited.
I listened.
There it was—the faint crunch of boots over snow-packed earth, the rhythm I'd come to know as well as my own heartbeat. She was closing in, certain she'd streak past me, snatch my scarf back for herself, and leave me in her snow-dusted wake.
She never saw the twine.
"Ah—!" Her sharp cry broke the quiet as her foot caught. She pitched forward into the snow, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to paint her in a fresh scatter of white.
I stepped from my hiding spot, a grin tugging at my lips. "Gotcha."
She looked up, strands of hair clinging to her face, a smudge of snow clinging to her cheek. "You cheated."
"Not cheating," I said, offering a hand she promptly ignored. "Thinking ahead. That's different."
She pushed herself up, brushing snow from her tunic with an exaggerated huff. "If you can't beat me fair and square, you haven't beaten me at all."
"That's what losers say," I shot back, my grin softening into something warmer.
Before she could respond, a voice floated from somewhere beyond the treeline—Mother's voice, calm but edged with that warning tone she used when she wasn't sure if she should be worried yet.
"Kaiser! Serenya! Be careful out there!"
The misty fog seemed to thin as we stepped into the clearing where the hut sat, its dark-wood frame glistening faintly from the day's moisture.
Inside, the world changed.
The air inside was warm, with the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. I could smell herbs, onions, and something sweet mixing together. Mother stood at the stove, stirring a pot, her apron covered with spots of flour.
I wandered closer, drawn by the smell. Steam rose in soft clouds, almost mixing with the forest mist that had slipped in through the open window.
I dipped the wooden spoon before she noticed.
"…You forgot the salt," I said after tasting.
She blinked, then chuckled softly. "I did, didn't I? Well, better to learn from mistakes than to never try."
"You say that every time you mess something up, Mom."
"And I'll keep saying it," she said, unbothered. "Because it's true. Now go wash up before dinner. And tell your sister to leave the snow outside."
Serenya groaned from the doorway. "Brother started it."
Mother just smiled faintly, not taking sides. But her eyes lingered on me a moment longer than usual, as if memorizing something.
"Serenya just can't take a loss. Can you blame for trapping her?" I told them casually.
I heard Serenya let out a scoff before heading into a room to fix herself. I just shook my head quietly. She is quick to take offense, even though she carries herself like she doesn't have a care in the world.
My gaze returned to my mother, still busy adjusting the seasoning of the dish she was cooking — she'd forgotten the salt. But in her eyes and every careful movement, it was clear that even in failure, she saw a lesson. A quiet determination to improve, to set things right.
"Are you looking for your Father?"
She spoke without looking back at me, still focused on stirring whatever she was cooking. Maybe she could feel that I was still standing there, watching her.
Speaking of Father… I wonder what he's up to.
"Yes," I replied.
"He's in the other room. You can go check on him," Mother shifted her gaze at me and smiled sweetly.
I returned her smile, then walked toward the room where Father stayed. I could only guess what held his attention this time.
The next room was dimmer, lit by the steady glow of a single oil lamp and the orange flicker of the fireplace. Hedric sat opposite Dad at the small wooden table, the chessboard between them.
Hedric wasn't just my father's friend. He was the man who stood beside him when hard choices had to be made—the co-leader, the one who could calm tempers when Dad's words cut too sharp. People listened to him. Sometimes, even my father did.
Dad was patient, deliberate, moving his pieces as though they were soldiers on a real battlefield. Hedric, on the other hand, leaned forward, his eyes sharp, his fingers drumming the table when it wasn't his turn.
I stood behind Father's chair, arms folded, watching them circle each other without saying much. My father didn't believe in wasted words.
He taught me the same: Never speak more than necessary. Win through actions, not arguments.
"Hmm," Dad murmured, sliding the Knight forward with careful precision to F6. He didn't even glance at Hedric—just studied the board like it might change if he blinked.
Hedric's gaze followed the move, slow and calculating. "You're building a wall, Kaelric," he said under his breath. Then his hand shot out, moving a pawn forward to bait the defense.
Dad didn't take it. Instead, he countered on the other side of the board, his rook gliding down like a sword slicing through the fog.
It went on like that—patient siege against aggressive strikes. Hedric would push forward, and Dad would peel his moves apart like threads from cloth. But each time Dad looked close to cornering him, Hedric found some sly little maneuver to slip free.
Then, without warning, Hedric slid his queen forward—straight into Dad's bishop's range.
Father frowned. "That's reckless."
Hedric just smiled faintly, like a man who knew the next three moves before his opponent even saw one.
Two moves later, Dad's king was trapped.
"You sacrificed your queen," Father said again, still sounding faintly disbelieving.
Hedric leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "Sometimes you give up what's valuable to win in the end. The trick is knowing what's worth losing."
I caught myself holding my breath. Those words stuck to me like a ringing—quiet, but hard to shake off. I didn't know why yet, but they felt heavy. Maybe it was the way Hedric told them, not as advice, but as a truth he'd learned the hard way.
Dad didn't speak, but his gaze flicked briefly to me—just long enough to say, Pay attention.
I stepped closer to the table, eyes dropping to the board. "You set that up on purpose," I said to Hedric.
He raised a brow. "And here I thought you were only half watching."
"I was watching," I said. "You made him think he had the upper hand. Then you turned it around."
A slow grin tugged at Hendric's mouth. "Good. You're learning." He glanced at my father. "You taught him to see traps coming?"
Dad's expression softened—just a fraction. "Not well enough, if he still walks into them sometimes."
"Better to walk into them now," Hedric said, pushing a pawn toward me, "than when the stakes are real."
I picked up the piece, turning it in my hand. It was smooth and worn, like it had been part of a hundred other games. "So… in a real fight, you'd throw away something important just to win?"
Hedric's eyes narrowed, though not unkindly. "In a real fight, you don't think about winning. You think about surviving—and making sure the right people survive with you."
Dad pushed the chessboard aside and began resetting the pieces. "Enough philosophy. If you're going to stand here, Kaiser, sit and learn something."
I sat. This time, I watched every move, not just to see who would win, but to see the little unspoken language between them—Hedric's feints, Dad's counters, the way both of them seemed to be playing two games at once: the one on the board, and another in their heads.
"Surviving? Winning? If I had to choose, I didn't know which I'd rather carry… for now," I whispered behind my breath.
"You're thinking too hard again, Kaiser," Hendric said, a small grin tugging at his mouth. "You'll wrinkle before your time."
"Better than blundering my queen," I shot back.
"That's the spirit." He began resetting the board. "Care for a game?"
Before I could dwell on it, a small voice spoke behind me.
"Uncle Kaelric, you almost had him that time."
I turned to see Hedric's younger son, clutching a carved wooden horse, who I hadn't even realized had been watching the whole time, just like me. His eyes were fixed on my father, not his own. It wasn't disrespect—it was admiration. Dad had that effect on people. Even those who barely understood the games he played still felt the weight of his presence.
My father gave a rare half-smile. "Almost."
"He's… really calm," the boy whispered to me suddenly, as if speaking too loudly might shatter it. "Dad says your father never panics, even when he's losing."
I looked at my father—sitting steady, studying the board like every move still mattered, even as Hedric's trap closed in. "Yeah," I murmured. "He doesn't waste words. Just keep playing."
The boy nodded, almost in awe. "I wish I could be like that. Not… afraid of losing."
"Oh, little boy. Don't you want to be like your father, pulling surprises when the moment's right? Hedric patted his son's head laughing.
For a moment, I didn't know what to say. Praise for my father from someone else always felt strange, like it reminded me that even in defeat, people saw something worth admiring.
Surviving… Winning… Not afraid of losing… those again.
The boy grinned before slipping back toward the kitchen.
That was when the knock came.
It was quiet, just a soft knock almost drowned out by the crackling fire. We all looked toward the door. Outside, the mist stuck to the window like someone breathing on glass, making the forest look like blurry ghosts.
The knock came again—steady, patient. That's when we realized it was just because of the howling winds.
Father was already pushing back his chair, reaching for his coat.
"You promised him," Hedric said, standing as well. It's like they remember something really important.
Kaelric nodded once. "He said tonight. No matter the weather."
"I'll go with you." Hendric's voice left no room for debate.
"I'm coming too," I blurted without thinking.
They caught my attention, even if I didn't know where they were headed. I figured, why not follow? Maybe I'd find something new… something worth my time.
Three pairs of eyes turned toward me.
Mother stepped out from the kitchen, drying her hands on a flour-streaked apron. "It's late. And the mist's heavy. The snow will only get worse."
"I'll be fine," I said quickly.
Before Mother could answer, Serenya poked her head in from the other room. "Fine? You can barely stand the cold long enough to chop wood," she teased.
I gave her a look, she is so wrong with that, I was about to counter Serenya when Hendric's younger son stepped in behind her. The flicker from the hearth caught in his eyes, but there was no spark of excitement—just a tightness in his jaw.
"You're both going?" he asked, looking straight at his father. His voice was steady, but the way his hands curled slightly at his sides gave him away.
Hendric walked over and set a hand on his son's shoulder. "It's just a short walk."
"In this weather?" the boy said quietly, his gaze dropping before shifting to Dad. "If something happens… you'll watch his back, right?"
Dad gave a single nod. "I'll keep your father safe."
That seemed to ease him a little, but not much. He stepped back, eyes following them.
Mother's gaze softened, but she still moved closer to me. Her hand rested on my shoulder—not stopping me, but not quite letting go either.
"Stay close to them," she said.
Then she looped her red scarf around my neck, pulling it snug. The wool was warm from her hands.
"Come back as soon as you can," she added, tucking the ends in neatly. "And don't catch a cold out there."
I nodded, though I wasn't sure if she was talking about the cold or something else entirely.
Serenya crossed her arms, her eyes bouncing between Hendric and Dad as if trying to decide which one worried her more.
We didn't leave right away. Hendric was already pulling on his heavy coat, the thick wool one with the worn leather patches at the elbows, while Kaelric opened the chest by the door.
"Take the lantern," Kaelric said, handing it to Hendric. "And spare oil. If the wind rises, we'll need the light more than the heat."
Mother moved quietly between us, setting a small cloth-wrapped bundle into Kaelric's hand. "Bread and smoked meat," she said. "You might not need it, but I'd rather you had it than not."
While they spoke, I slipped to the workbench by the window and grabbed a coil of thin cord, a pouch of nails, and one of my smaller snares. If something followed us back or waited for us on the return trip—I wanted options. The cord went into my coat pocket, the nails into the other. I checked the snare's trigger twice before tucking it into my belt.
Hedric's son reappeared from the back room with a pair of wool scarves and thick gloves. He handed one set to his father, then hesitated before giving the other to me.
"You'll want these," he said, trying to sound casual. "It's colder outside..."
"Thanks," I said, taking them.
That's when Mother stepped in front of me. Her hands were still warm from the kitchen fire.
"Don't lag behind," she murmured. Her tone was soft, but her eyes searched mine with quiet worry.
"I won't," I promised.
Serenya padded over, hugging dad's arm like she always did when he was leaving. She didn't let go right away, even as she glanced my way.
"If dad comes back with frostbite, I'm telling everyone it's your fault," she said, jerking a thumb at me. Then, with a warm smile, "Try not to get lost. You're annoying, but…" She trailed off, frowning just a little. "Just… come back, okay?"
"Yeah," I said. "You too. Don't wreck my stuff while I'm gone."
She just blinked her eyes but didn't answer. As far as I remember, I am much older than my sister, why does she get a pass on teasing me? Her hand stayed on Father's sleeve until the last possible second.
Hedric's son stayed by the door, his hand resting lightly on the frame. "Come back quick, Daddy… okay?" he said. "The storm will get worse…"
Hedric ruffled his son's hair without a word, and Mother stepped aside, though her fingers lingered on the edge of my sleeve until the last moment.
Dad slung a small satchel across his shoulder, checked the clasp of the hunting knife at his belt, and then looked at me. "Stay behind us. Step where we step. And if you see something, don't say anything—tap my shoulder."
When we stepped outside, the world was white in motion. Snow drifted sideways in the wind, blurring the line between earth and sky. Trees stood like faint shadows in the mist, their shapes bending with each gust. Every step made the snow crunch louder than it should have.
The lantern carved out a small circle of light, but beyond it, the forest stretched into nothing.
The wind knifed through my scarf, sharp and thin. Snow was already filling the footprints Dad and Hedric had left, so I followed close, pressing my boots into theirs before the trail vanished.
For a while, no one spoke. The only sounds were the steady fall of snow and the muted rhythm of our boots.
A cluster of bushes to the right caught my eye. Heavy with snow, but tall and sturdy. If we had to run back, I could have a cord strung there in less than a minute. Enough to slow anyone chasing us.
"So dad, what makes you come out so late?" I asked after a while. "It must be very important."
Dad didn't look back. "It's something about an old friend. We worked together before."
Hendric's breath puffed white in the lantern glow. "The kind you keep promises to, even when the weather tries to tell you not to."
The snow fell harder as we moved deeper into the forest, soft flakes clinging to my hair and lashes. My hands were already numb, but I kept them buried in my pockets.
"Not much farther," Dad murmured after a while.
"How can you tell, Dad?" I asked.
He didn't look back. "I've walked these woods more nights than I can count—when most people wouldn't dare step outside. You learn every sound, every bend in the trail when your life is at risk.."
Hedric gave a faint chuckle. "That's our leader for you."
I wasn't sure if he was joking, so I checked my cord again, just in case.
Finally, Dad and Hedric abruptly stopped. I stepped back and stopped too.
"Someone's there," Hedric said quietly.
We looked ahead, and under a massive tree sat a girl. A lantern flickered next to her, casting soft light over her white coat. She was curled up, knees to her chest, head bowed low, sobbing quietly in the cold.
It didn't make sense. Why would someone be out here alone in this weather?
Dad pointed toward the ground, next to the lantern. There was a folded note resting there.
Hedric took slow, careful steps forward.
"Hey... you there. Are you okay?"
Her head lifted, trembling. Her hair was snowy white—almost like the snow itself—and her eyes were red from crying. She looked younger than me, maybe eleven. No strange marks or anything unnatural like other races.
She was human.
Her voice trembled as she stuttered through tears. "P-please… don't h-hurt me…"
She looked at Hedric with wide, panicked eyes and sobbed harder, curling tighter against the cold.
"Hey, it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you," Hedric said softly, crouching a little to seem less threatening.
"P-please... don't… n-not m-make me go b-back…" she whimpered.
Hedric stayed calm, speaking slowly, gently, "We just want to help. Can you give me the letter?"
She hesitated, fear flickering across her face, before she slowly reached toward the note, then pulled back.
"I… I'm scared," she said, voice breaking.
Hedric nodded. "I understand. Just for a moment, okay?"
Carefully, he reached out again. She flinched but didn't pull away this time.
He took the letter, unfolding it carefully as she watched him, still trembling.
Hedric stood, glancing back at Dad and me, then moved toward us with the letter in hand.
Dad then unfolded the letter slowly, his eyes scanning the worn paper.
"Hey old friend. If you're reading this, it means I'm no longer alive in this world."
The words hit him like a stone. A hollow ache bloomed in his chest.
"I'm sorry I can't return the gold pieces I borrowed, or the stew and clothes I took out of necessity. I can't give you anything back anymore."
Dad muttered softly, almost to himself, "That moron..." The sadness in his voice was thick—bitter and weary.
He read on.
"The girl you see there… She's my daughter. Surprising, huh? You knew I wasn't married or had anyone. Yet, here she is, proof that love can break even the strongest chains."
His fingers clenched the letter tighter, paper crinkling under the pressure.
"The gold I borrowed was for her well-being. Her mother… She's not human. She was an elf—from the Elvian race."
The cold weight in Kaelric's gut tightened, a silent storm raging behind his eyes.
"She can't go back. Her own people… they had her hanged for having an affair with a human. It's against their laws, their code."
He swallowed hard, breathing shallowly.
"I loved her. More than life itself."
The next lines were worse—like a final surrender.
"And soon, they'll chop off my head. Any other race would have killed the child too, but the elves don't stoop to the cruelty demons do. So they spared her."
Kaelric's voice caught as he read the last request.
"Please, if you can, Kaelric… take care of my daughter. That's my last wish. She is the last piece of me left in this world."
His hand trembled as he let the letter fall, eyes drifting back to the trembling girl huddled beneath the tree.
The weight of loss and desperation hung heavy in the air—an unspoken promise forming in the quiet between them.
Dad's jaw was tight, his eyes dark as he folded the letter back up. Hedric stood beside him, his face drawn and pale, the kind of tiredness that doesn't come from lack of sleep but from carrying too much.
"We can't take her in," Dad said quietly, voice firm but cracked beneath. "It's impossible. She's not one of us."
Hedric nodded slowly, swallowing hard. "It might even be a trap. Elves are cunning—using the girl to lure us out. If that's true... we risk everything for a stranger."
Dad's gaze didn't waver. "We're the weakest race. We can't afford to gamble our people's safety on hope or pity."
I wanted to argue, to say there's always a chance someone deserves help, but the look on their faces told me they already knew the price of that choice.
Hedric's voice was softer now, almost a whisper, but full of bitter truth. "I hate that this feels like the right choice. But if we bring her in, the risk is too high. We don't have the strength to fight off what could come."
Dad sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Our priority is survival. We're no heroes."
The girl must have heard, because I saw her step back, trembling. Her eyes were wide, searching theirs for a different answer.
I swallowed, then found my voice. "Why can't we take her?" I asked, the words coming out small but steady.
"Because, Kaiser... she's not human. Not one of us." Dad looked at me, pain flickering in his eyes.
That's all? Fear holds us back again—just to help someone?
I looked at her—shaking from the cold, eyes wide with hurt and betrayal. We were her last hope.
Dad and Hedric weren't wrong. Elves were clever, ruthless even. They'd killed many humans before—some were Dad's comrades, others our closest allies.
But still…
I couldn't let it end like this.
Slow steps carried me forward, eyes down so Dad wouldn't see my resolve yet.
"Kaiser," Dad muttered, surprise thick in his voice.
She took a step back, trembling, voice stuttering in panic.
"P-please… s-stay back... d-don't h-hurt me…"
"I'll g-go away, I p-promise… p-please…"
Her words tumbled out, full of fear.
I closed the distance between us until she shut her eyes, bracing herself.
Carefully, I took off my scarf and wrapped it around her neck—tight and neat, just like Mother did for me, to keep me safe and warm.
She had no one now. I would be that someone.
"Kaiser, what are you doing?" Hendric's voice was sharp, unsure.
I said nothing. I just looked at her—surprised, teary, trusting.
"It'll be okay," I whispered. "What's your name?"
She hesitated, then stammered, "It's… i-it's… Celia."
Slowly, I reached for her hand and took it gently.
"I'll keep you safe."
I turned to face Dad, feeling her press close behind me, seeking protection.
Dad and Uncle Hedric stood across from me, their eyes heavy with years I hadn't yet lived.
"Dad, Uncle Hedric, I want to ask... please, let us bring Celia along," I said, voice steady but small.
Dad's face tightened, irritation flickering in his gaze. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because I want to help someone," I answered simply.
"Kindness isn't a luxury we can afford, Kaiser," Dad said, voice sharp. "She's not human—"
"I know that. So what?"
The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy.
"You're going against my decision?" Dad asked quietly, almost bitterly.
"A coward judges all he sees by what he is," I said, squeezing Celia's hand tighter.
"We're all cowards, Dad. You, me—we hide in fear. But I don't want to argue. I want to talk to you."
Dad's eyes darkened with anger. Hedric stepped forward, placing a hand on Dad's shoulder. "Calm down, Kaelric. He's just a kid."
"Even if he's a kid," Dad said, voice low, "going against your own father is wrong."
"I'm not going against you," I said, my voice shaky but firm. "I'm doing what's right."
Dad looked me dead in the eyes. "What do you believe is right? What right is there to take her with us? Her own people abandoned her. Her parents are gone. She has no one, Kaiser. And the truth you can't escape—she is an elf. The same race that hunts us for simply walking these forests."
"We are weak, Kaiser. If they find where we hide now—it's over."
I sighed, the cold air catching in my throat.
He was right. Dad was the leader, the strongest and smartest among us. And I was just a child.
Celia's grip on my hand tightened as she whispered, voice trembling, "P-please don't risk yourself... for me."
I looked back at her, steady. "I'll take care of it."
I won't give up. Even if it's my father against me, I'll change his mind. I'll keep her safe. Because if no one begins to help, no race ever will.
Let it be the weakest who starts it all.
Humans.
You have to bend the truth sometimes to tell the right story. People are blind to anything outside their world—Dad and Hedric, they believe only in themselves.
But I'll tell a story that changes everything.
Behind the bushes, barely visible through the thick snow and mist, two demons crouched low. Their claws dug into the frozen earth, eyes glowing with cold, cruel hunger.
One hissed, voice low and guttural:
"𐑡𐑁𐑚𐑜𐑛𐑁𐑝𐑟𐑀𐑛𐑝𐑡𐑁" - "Humans... they look tasty."
The other growled, baring sharp teeth:
"𐑆𐑜𐑁𐑙𐑗𐑓𐑟 𐑜𐑏𐑁 𐑁𐑔𐑓𐑛𐑞" - "Let's kill them."
They were on the hunt.