The words did not leave his mind.
I will never let anyone I love disappear again.
Rayan Moren stood there for a moment longer, his sister still clinging to his arm, his best friend beside him, the village moving gently around them as if the world itself were breathing in a slow, peaceful rhythm.
The morning sun painted the stone roads in soft gold. Merchants were opening their stalls. A few children ran past them, laughing. Somewhere nearby, a bell rang faintly.
Life was going on.
"We should go," she said softly.
He nodded.
And together, they started walking.
His sister tightened her grip around his arm as if she might be swept away by the wind if she let go. She was technically older than him, yet she behaved like a child whenever she was with him—pressing close, humming quietly, sometimes peeking up at his face just to see if he was still there.
"You're walking too fast," she said, even though he wasn't.
"I'm not," he replied.
She ignored that and leaned against him anyway.
On his other side walked his best friend—the girl who had been beside him since they were small, since before he could remember a world without her. Their mothers had been close, and their houses stood almost next to each other. Before either of them knew what friendship even meant, they had already become inseparable.
She glanced at him as they walked, a soft smile on her lips.
"You didn't sleep well," she said.
Rayan blinked. "Was it that obvious?"
"Only to me."
His sister looked between them. "You two are weird."
His best friend laughed quietly. "Maybe."
The village was small, but warm. People greeted them as they passed. Some waved. Some called Rayan's name. A baker handed his sister a piece of bread without asking, as if it were simply natural.
"Thank you!" she said brightly, already nibbling at it.
They walked through narrow streets lined with wooden houses and stone walls, sunlight slipping through hanging banners and roof beams. The air smelled of herbs, fresh bread, and something warm simmering somewhere deeper in the village.
At one of the central stalls, steam rose into the morning light.
Rayan's sister tugged on his sleeve. "That one."
He smiled faintly. "You're hungry again?"
"I'm always hungry."
His best friend stepped closer, their shoulders brushing. "We should get some. It's been a while."
The vendor handed them wooden bowls filled with the village's simple national dish—warm broth, soft grains, herbs, and thin slices of meat. It wasn't special. It wasn't rare.
But it tasted like home.
They sat on a low stone ledge near the square. Rayan watched his sister eat with far too much enthusiasm, almost spilling half of it on herself.
"Slow down," he said gently.
"But it's good."
His best friend smiled at the scene, then looked at him again. For a moment, their eyes met—just a little too long. Heat crept into his face before he could stop it.
She noticed.
And smiled.
His sister followed his gaze, then frowned. "Why are you red?"
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm not."
His best friend laughed softly, her voice warm. "He always does that."
Rayan looked away, embarrassed.
The moment was small.
But it felt precious.
After they finished eating, they wandered without any real destination. Past the well. Past the small shrine at the edge of the village. Past the road that led outward—toward places Rayan had never seen.
For a moment, he stopped.
At the far end of the square stood a tall man in worn armor, a long blade at his side. People whispered when he passed. Not in fear—but in awe.
A hero.
Someone who had fought beyond the village. Someone who had seen the world beyond these quiet streets.
Rayan stared.
His sister tugged on his arm again. "Come on."
He moved, but his eyes lingered.
That night, lying in bed, the village quiet around him, the ceiling dark above his eyes, the warmth of the day still in his chest—
One thought remained.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just honest.
One day… I want to be someone who can protect what I love.
He closed his eyes.
And the world, for now, stayed gentle.