Dion reached his house on his cycle.
The moment it came into view, his smile slowly faded. The house itself felt wrong—silent, heavy, as if it despised everyone inside it.
He opened the door.
"Mom… I'm home."
Footsteps came from the kitchen.
His mother stepped out, wiping her hands on her clothes. She looked like a woman in her forties—sunken, dark eyes, slim cheeks, black hair tied loosely. She was almost the same height as Dion.
"So late?" she said, her voice sweet—but empty.
"Did you sell the fruits?"
She walked closer. Too close.
"Where is the money?"
Dion swallowed and pulled the coins from his pocket, placing them in her palm.
"Only this much…"
Her fingers tightened around the money.
"That's it?" she asked quietly.
She let out a short, bitter laugh.
"I heard your friends got blessed today," she said. "All of them."
Her eyes locked onto his.
"And you?"
"Nothing, huh?"
Her smile twisted.
"You really are useless," she said coldly.
"Even the gods don't want you."
She slaped dion on his face
The sound echoed through the room.
"No food for you tonight," she snapped.
"You bring nothing, you eat nothing."
Dion's eyes filled with tears.
Mom...whats wrong with me?
The doorbell rang.
His mother stiffened. Panic flashed across her face.
"…He's drunk again," she muttered and hurried into the kitchen.
The door creaked open.
His father staggered in, the smell of alcohol flooding the room.
"My son…" he called lazily.
"Where are you? Come here. Come to daddy."
Dion touched his burning cheek. The mark of five fingers was still there. Trembling, he slowly stepped forward.
His father squinted at him.
"…Did she hit you?"
Before Dion could answer, his father's voice exploded.
"If you ever slap him again, I'll kill you, damn *itch!"
The house went silent.
Then his father suddenly grabbed Dion and searched his pockets.
"No money?" he growled.
"Where is it?"
"You know your father needs drinks to live."
"M-Mom took it," Dion whispered.
His father froze.
His expression twisted.
"You have school tomorrow, right?"
Dion nodded weakly. "Yes…"
"You're not going," his father said coldly.
"You're coming with me to work."
"D-Daddy…" Dion said in a low, trembling voice.
"Please… I want to study."
In the next moment, his father's hand shot out and wrapped around Dion's throat, lifting him slightly off the ground.
"Study?" he snarled.
"Do you think studying will fix your cursed life?"
Dion gasped, clawing at his father's wrist.
"You were born to suffer," his father hissed.
"You even killed your own mother the moment you came into this world."
He shoved Dion away violently.
"Life was peaceful before you."
Dion crashed onto the floor.
"Get out of my sight."
His father staggered back to the chair, took another drink from the bottle, and collapsed unconscious.
Dion lay there, choking back sobs—then ran outside.
He grabbed his cycle and rode straight into the rain.
*Why am I like this?*
*Why am I always scared?*
*Is this why I'm not blessed?*
Even my real mother left me when I was born…
Stepmom and dad only care about themselves.
Soaked and shaking, Dion reached the tree house. He curled up inside, the cold floor pressing against him, and fell asleep.
---
Next Morning
Dion woke up suddenly.
*They must be leaving today,* he thought.
I have to go to Panther's house.
He jumped into the pond behind the goredt,washed himself quickly, then ran back to his cycle.
Without looking back, Dion pedaled hard toward Panther's home.