The night wrapped the house in its silent shadows, and the wind whispered softly through the loosely closed shutters, making the floorboards tremble. The moon cast its cold light on the walls, forming shifting, eerie shapes. The house seemed to breathe in rhythm with the still-racing hearts of the brothers. The flames in the fireplace gradually died down, leaving a flickering glow that danced across their weary faces and the bowls of soup on the table.
The boys woke slowly, their muscles aching and minds haunted by the chaos of the day. The kitchen, silent and motionless, felt strangely vast. The bowls were there, lined up and steaming, a comforting reminder of the ordinary life that now seemed so far away.
Eduard startled, noticing their father's absence.
"Where's Dad?" he asked, his voice trembling and tense.
Malton, sitting beside him, turned his head and noticed Sacha. She was sitting on the floor, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes reddened from tears. Gently, she wrapped her arms around Eduard.
"I'm sorry…" she murmured, sobbing softly.
Malton sprang to his feet and ran toward the living room, his footsteps echoing on the floorboards, leaving behind an almost reverent silence. Fin, meanwhile, remained still, focused on the bowls, serving the soup with measured precision, each movement deliberate, almost ceremonial. The moonlight glided over his face, revealing an impassive, contemplative expression.
"Wait!" cried Sacha, noticing Malton's sudden departure.
She leaned over the table, curious and worried, observing Fin.
"You're not saying anything?" she asked, incredulous.
Fin placed a final ladle into Sacha's bowl.
"Here, this is for you," he said simply, his voice calm and deep.
Sacha shook her head, tears glimmering in her eyes.
"I don't want your soup!"
Fin set the bowl in front of her, eyes fixed on hers.
"Why not?" he asked, measured but firm.
"They just lost the last member of their family…" Sacha explained, her voice trembling.
Fin nodded slowly, his expression cold and impassive.
"This experience will make them stronger."
Sacha frowned, shocked.
"How…?"
"In the world we live in, this had to happen sooner or later," he murmured. "Murders, tragedies… they happen every day. This will solidify their minds. If they endure it, they will become stronger."
"You are… without pity," stammered Sacha, astonished by his cold clarity.
"He's right," intervened Eduard, fists clenched, gaze firm.
Sacha looked at him, moved and perplexed.
"I want to become stronger… I will never live through this again, powerless in the face of danger," Eduard said, determined.
"Don't say that," sacah murmured, calm but firm.
"I don't want to be afraid anymore!" Eduard exclaimed, eyes shining. "Thank you for saving us!" he added, bowing slightly before him.
"You're welcome," Fin replied, without a smile, but with restrained kindness.
"You are a swordsman, aren't you?" asked Eduard, curiosity and admiration blending in his voice.
"Yes, I am."
"I want to come with you," Eduard insisted, eyes bright with determination.
"No, you will stay here," Sacha replied, protective and firm.
"I'm going with him," Eduard added, tone resolute.
Fin studied him for a long moment, gaze piercing, assessing the boy's courage and tenacity.
"Listen, kid… sorry, I can't let you do that. You're too young. Eat your soup."
The moon bathed the room in cold light as the three remained silent, each carrying the weight of the night, of battles and losses. The wind still whispered through the shutters, a reminder that the outside world was cruel and relentless, yet courage and determination could endure it. The two brothers and Sacha sat around the table, bowls steaming before them, and in that quiet, each felt a spark of strength grow within, ready to face whatever lay ahead.