Aiden had never felt the warmth of the sun on his face in the mansion. The marble floors were cold, the curtains heavy, and even the fire crackling in the hearth felt distant, like a thing he could not touch. But the carriage ride to the village was different.
The air smelled of earth and green leaves, of wet soil and wildflowers. Birds sang in the trees that lined the narrow, winding road. The mansion, with its silent walls, faded behind him.
"Don't be shy, Aiden," said his aunt, a gentle smile on her face. "This is your new home… for a while."
Aiden had never had anyone call him by name like that, with warmth. Most voices in the mansion had been hushed, cold, careful. But here, the words were soft and inviting.
The village house was small, humble, and bursting with life. Chickens clucked near the doorway, a dog barked lazily from the yard, and the air smelled of fresh bread. Inside, the walls were lined with pictures—family portraits, colorful tapestries, and even a small shelf with toys and books.
Aiden's aunt knelt beside him, her hands warm on his small shoulders. "You're safe here. You don't have to be afraid."
The words sank in slowly. He had heard "safe" before, but it had never meant much. Here, it felt different. Real. Tangible.
Over the next few days, Aiden began to notice small things he hadn't known he had missed. His aunt's gentle humming as she cooked, the way his cousins laughed while running barefoot through the courtyard, the soft evening breeze rustling the mango trees.
For the first time since the fire, Aiden felt something strange—belonging.
One evening, after a long day of exploring the village, his aunt handed him a small, homemade sweet.
"You've been so brave," she said. "Here… for you."
Aiden looked at the sweet, then up at her. Something in his chest loosened, something he hadn't realized had been tight for so long. He nodded silently, feeling a small, cautious smile tug at his lips.
His cousins crowdedaround him, curious and lively. They showed him their favorite hiding spots, their secret games, and their small world of joy. Aiden didn't say much, but he listened. He watched. And slowly, carefully, he began to let the warmth in.
At night, lying in a small cot near the window, Aiden watched the stars through the open shutters. The village was alive, breathing, and for the first time, he didn't feel completely alone.
Maybe… just maybe… he could learn to feel again.
The mansion had taken everything from him, but here, in the village, love wasn't measured in wealth or power. It was in laughter, in gentle hands, in small, tender moments that didn't demand anything in return.
For the first time since he had survived, Aiden allowed himself to hope.
Because even a boy with nothing to lose could find something worth holding onto.