The dilapidated house on the outskirts of the village stood as if defying time. Its walls were made of thin, already fragile planks, and its roof was patched up haphazardly with dried leaf weaving. There, a boy named Alaric lived his days with an old, frail, and often sickly grandmother.
The grandmother was the only family he had. Both his parents had long gone, no one knew where, leaving Alaric in confusion and loneliness. Since childhood, he had never known a mother's love, let alone a father's strength. All he knew were the wrinkled hands of his grandmother, who always tried to gently stroke his hair, even though they trembled from age and illness. Their life was far from sufficient.
Every morning, the grandmother would hobble to the market, not to buy, but to look for leftover food discarded by vendors. Sometimes she would return home with only a handful of wilted vegetables or hard, unsold bread. In the evenings, they would eat small portions, often less than they should. However, amidst all that, the grandmother never stopped teaching Alaric. Her voice was hoarse, but her words always stuck in the child's memory. "Alaric... life is indeed hard. You can be poor, you can be weak... but never stop dreaming. Be a knight, my child. A true knight is not one who wears a sword or armor... but one who protects others, even if it means getting hurt themselves." Those words kept repeating in Alaric's head every time he looked at his grandmother's pale face. He didn't fully understand what "knight" meant yet, but he knew that one day he wanted to be one.
to become strong. He wanted to protect his grandmother, just as his grandmother always did for him. But reality was not on their side. Alaric was still young, and hunger often forced him to do things he shouldn't. He started stealing fruit or bread from the market. His tiny hands were nimble, but guilt always haunted him every time he saw his grandmother coughing while looking at him with questioning eyes. "Where have you been, child?" "I... just walking around, Grandma," Alaric replied nervously, hiding a piece of bread behind his shirt. His grandmother probably knew, but she never scolded him harshly. She just smiled bitterly, then lay back down on her thin mat. Those days kept repeating, until finally rumors began to spread in the village. People accused Alaric's grandmother of being a bringer of bad luck. They said her illness was contagious, they whispered that the family's poverty was a disgrace. Some even.
The days kept repeating, until finally rumors began to spread in the village. People accused Alaric's grandmother of being a bringer of bad luck. They said her illness was contagious, they whispered that the family's poverty was a disgrace. Some even linked it to dark things that never really happened. Alaric was still too young to fight against the words of adults. He could only hold his grandmother's hand tightly every time people looked at them with disdain. In his heart, he swore: "When I grow up, I will become a knight. I will protect my grandmother. I will protect all the weak." He never knew that the oath would actually be born from tragedy. A tragedy that made him witness firsthand how the world snatched away the only person he loved.