"The first lie is always the smallest flame. But it burns the final bridges between us and the world."
The next morning, Mother Theona was the first to discover the leather shoes, placed neatly in a corner by the door. Her reaction was a mixture of amazement, joy, and a deep skepticism. In this world, anonymous kindness was often a cover for some other motive. But when she saw Lyra try the shoes on her small feet and squeal with delight, she temporarily set her worries aside.
"It must have been a kind passerby," she whispered, trying to believe it.
When Orpheus and Theona asked Lycaon, he just shrugged and acted as surprised as they were. The lie was unspoken, but it erected the first invisible wall between him and his family. He felt no guilt, only the weight of the protector's role—a role that demanded solitude.
The brief morning peace was quickly shattered by Kretos's furious screams. He ran through the village, his face red with anger.
"Which bastard stole my son's shoes?! If I find him, I'll break his legs!"
The village was in an uproar. People poured out to watch, their eyes glancing at each other with suspicion. Kretos, in his rage, grabbed a beggar huddled at the end of the village and interrogated him, but the beggar could only shake his head in fear.
Finally, he came to Lycaon's house. He had no proof, but the poverty of Orpheus's family made them the most likely suspects in his eyes.
"Orpheus!" Kretos roared at the doorway. "Where are my son's shoes?"
Just then, Lyra toddled out from behind her mother, the new leather shoes on her feet.
Kretos's eyes immediately locked onto the shoes. "There they are! My son's shoes! You thieves!"
Theona, terrified, quickly pulled Lyra into her arms. Orpheus, an honest man, turned pale, flustered and unsure how to explain. He knew his family was innocent, but the shoes were right there.
Just as Kretos was about to charge forward, Lycaon stepped out from the house, blocking his parents. He was not afraid at all.
"You say these shoes are yours?" Lycaon asked, his voice cold and clear.
"That's right! Those are them!" Kretos growled.
Lycaon nodded calmly. "Then that's terrible. Someone stole your shoes and then threw them at our door. A theft in the village is a serious matter."
He turned to his father. "Father, we should report this to Overseer Hector. The Overseer will surely investigate this thoroughly, perhaps even search every house to find the thief and ensure the safety of the whole village."
Lycaon's voice wasn't loud, but all the curious neighbors gathered around heard it clearly.
Kretos froze. Report to Overseer Hector? An investigation from the lord? A search of every house? That was a nightmare. The Overseer wouldn't just look for shoes; he'd find excuses to levy fines, to demand more wheat, to take more men for forced labor. No one in the village wanted that, including Kretos.
"You..." Kretos was speechless.
Lycaon looked him straight in the eye and continued, his voice still even: "You are a freeman with property, Kretos. You must know the lord's laws better than we do. A theft is no small crime. If we don't report it, who's to say the thief won't come into your house tonight and take something else?"
Kretos's face went white. Lycaon wasn't threatening him, but every word the boy spoke was like a knife, pointing out all the trouble he would face if he made a scene. He looked at Lycaon, then at the neighbors who were whispering amongst themselves. He understood that if he continued, he would become the troublemaker for the entire village.
"Hmph... Perhaps... perhaps I was mistaken," Kretos ground out through clenched teeth. "They're just an old pair of shoes. Forget it!"
With that, he turned and stomped away resentfully, not daring to look back.
The crisis was temporarily resolved.
Lycaon turned back into the house. He saw his father and mother looking at him with a completely new expression: a mixture of relief, confusion, and even a little fear. They couldn't understand how a fifteen-year-old boy could respond with such coldness and cunning.
Lycaon had protected them, but that sophisticated lie had created an invisible crack, separating him from the very people he loved most. He had chosen the path of a protector, and it was an incredibly lonely path.