After learning what Olian and her mother had endured, Elifero began to understand, at least to some extent, why Olian behaved the way she did. Her sharp words, her distant eyes, and the way she seemed determined to push people away before they could get close no longer appeared to be simple acts of cruelty. Perhaps her hostility was a form of protection, a shield she had built around herself to keep others from hurting her again.
The realisation weighed heavily on Elifero's chest. He couldn't pretend to understand her completely when he barely understood himself. His own memories remained scattered somewhere beyond his reach, leaving him unable to recall his family, his home, or even his own name. Yet, after hearing Olian's story, her anger seemed a little less senseless than before.
Eventually, Elifero stepped outside, leaving the house for the first time since waking up in it. A cool evening breeze brushed against his skin, carrying the faint scents of wood, damp soil, and distant cooking fires. Houses lined the road, their windows glowing softly as dusk settled over the village. People continued moving about, going on with their evening routines, while the laughter of children drifted from farther down the street. Elifero stood still for a moment, taking in the ordinary scene. Everything around him was unfamiliar, yet the people who lived here moved through it with the ease of those who had never known anything different.
Then he noticed Olian sitting alone on the porch.
Her elbows rested on her knees, and her gaze was fixed somewhere beyond the houses, seemingly absorbed in thoughts she had no intention of sharing. From where Elifero stood, she looked strangely small, isolated despite the home only a few steps behind her. He hesitated, uncertain whether he should approach her, until she noticed him and turned her eyes towards him.
She glared.
Elifero stopped in his tracks. Whatever courage he had managed to gather promptly deserted him, leaving him standing there without the slightest idea of what to do. Julie had asked him to try befriending her daughter, but the task seemed considerably easier when Olian wasn't looking at him as though his mere existence irritated her.
What am I supposed to say?
He considered walking over and offering his condolences.
Sorry about your brother?
No. That sounded terrible.
Your mother told me everything?
Even worse.
Elifero scratched his cheek nervously, reconsidering the wisdom of approaching her at all. What if she didn't want to talk to him? Judging by her expression, that seemed highly likely. And what if his attempt to comfort her only made things worse?
In the end, he abandoned the idea of starting a conversation and quietly sat down a short distance away. He didn't sit beside her, nor did he choose a spot so far away that his presence would seem meaningless. Instead, he settled somewhere in between, close enough to show that he wasn't immediately leaving, yet far enough to avoid intruding on her personal space.
Olian glanced at him. Elifero kept his gaze forward.
Silence stretched between them, heavy and distinctly uncomfortable. He could practically feel her irritation pressing against the side of his face, but he couldn't think of a better way to begin. Several moments passed before Olian finally broke the silence.
"What do you want?"
Elifero's shoulders stiffened. He glanced towards her, but she hadn't changed her position.
"Nothing."
"Then why are you sitting there?"
He opened his mouth to answer, only to discover that he had nothing to say. Olian scoffed at his hesitation.
"I know my mom told you about my brother and my deadbeat father. And I'm guessing she also said something about you being my friend."
She finally turned towards him, her expression hardening.
"So now you suddenly feel sorry for me."
"No, I—"
"But tell me something." Her eyes sharpened as she held his gaze. "If she hadn't told you anything... would you still give a damn?"
Elifero didn't answer immediately. He considered her question, trying to find a response that wouldn't sound like another empty attempt at comforting her.
"Yeah," he eventually said. "She told me."
Olian turned away again, apparently unimpressed.
"But not everything."
That caught her attention.
Elifero continued, explaining what Julie had told him about her father and brother. "She said your father died two years ago while on duty during the war. And that your brother died a year later because of an illness."
Olian stared ahead for a moment before letting out a short laugh. There was no amusement in it.
"Of course she did."
Elifero frowned, unable to understand her reaction. Olian lowered her head slightly, and when she spoke again, some of the sharpness had left her voice.
"My mom is too kind. She's like a flower. Something you have to treat gently, because if you don't..."
Her fingers tightened against her knees.
"...it'll break."
The evening breeze stirred her hair as she continued, her gaze fixed on the road.
"After everything that happened to my brother and him, she keeps trying to convince herself it was all just bad luck."
Her voice wavered for the briefest moment before hardening again.
"But everything she told you was a lie."
Elifero stared at her.
"A lie?"
Olian gave a faint nod.
"Why would she lie?"
"Because you're a stranger." Her answer came immediately. "Why would she tell a stranger—one of them—the real story?"
Elifero's eyebrows drew together. There it was again: that strange phrase she kept using.
"One of them?"
Olian didn't respond.
"You keep saying that," he continued, shifting towards her. "What do you mean by one of them?"
This time, Olian turned fully towards him. Something about her expression made him uncomfortable. He might have preferred it if she had been angry; anger was something he could understand. Instead, her face was unnervingly calm, and her eyes seemed empty of everything but a distant, buried pain.
"The one who killed my brother."
Elifero's breath caught. For a moment, the sounds of the village seemed to fade into the background, leaving him struggling to process what she had just said.
"What...?"
Olian looked away and began telling him the truth.
"The village has laws," she said quietly, her eyes fixed on the empty road ahead as though she were no longer speaking to Elifero, but to something that belonged to the past. "One of those laws doesn't allow outsiders into the village unless the chief approves them."
Elifero listened carefully.
"There are exceptions," she continued, "but my family was never one of them."
A faint breeze passed across the porch. Olian took a slow breath before speaking again.
"My father's name was Daniel C. Boulevard."
She fell silent for several seconds, leaving his name hanging between them. It was as though even speaking it required her to decide whether the man deserved to be remembered.
"He used to work outside the village," she eventually continued. "Back when things were... normal."
Her gaze lowered.
"At first, he brought money home. Not much, but enough."
Enough to buy food, keep the household running, and allow the family to spend quiet evenings together without constantly worrying about what tomorrow might bring.
Then Daniel started stealing.
"Small things," Olian said bitterly. "At least, that's what he called them."
He stole materials and equipment from work, taking whatever he believed would go unnoticed. He sold the stolen goods to strangers and kept the money for himself. The more he got away with it, the greedier he became, until people eventually began to notice.
Word spread, as it always did. Daniel's name became known to employers for all the wrong reasons, and before long, nobody wanted to hire him. Not in the village, not in the nearby towns, and not even farther across the border. Wherever his name reached, doors closed.
"So my mother had to work instead."
Julie found employment as a nurse in a nearby town. The pay was poor, and some months it barely covered the family's needs, but she somehow managed to keep everything together.
"She came home tired every day," Olian said. "Her hands always smelled like medicine. Sometimes her clothes were stained from work."
Despite her exhaustion, Julie continued to smile. She smiled when there wasn't much food, when the days had been especially difficult, and when she had every reason to give in to despair.
Daniel hated that smile.
Elifero's expression shifted.
"He hated it?"
"He hated everything," Olian replied coldly.
She slowly curled her fingers against her knees.
"He complained about her job. About how much she earned. About how little money we had. He'd talk about how much more he used to make."
Eventually, Daniel's complaints seemed to fill the house more than his presence ever did. And when he wasn't complaining, he was drinking.
Bottles began accumulating around the house. Friends came and went, and loud laughter filled rooms that had once belonged to the family. Sometimes Olian and JJ saw their father openly flirting with other women. Sometimes things went further.
Olian stopped elaborating. She didn't need to.
"That's when we started hating him."
Her voice remained steady, without even the slightest tremor. Elifero stayed silent, allowing her to continue.
"One evening, he drank too much."
Daniel had been at his favourite tavern.
Shanks.
Nearly everyone in the surrounding area knew the place, and many knew Daniel as well.
"He tried hitting on another man's wife."
Olian's fingers curled into fists.
"Witnesses said she told him to stop."
She paused briefly.
"He didn't."
Elifero's expression tightened as he listened.
"They said he touched her. The husband made him stop."
A bottle came down against Daniel's neck.
Once was enough.
Daniel C. Boulevard died on the tavern floor.
"The husband was arrested," Olian continued. "There was a trial."
She swallowed before explaining that the chief had disapproved of what both men had done. Her father had been in the wrong, but the woman's husband had still killed someone. A punishment was decided, though Olian offered no further details.
And just like that, Daniel C. Boulevard was gone.
The porch fell silent. Elifero couldn't think of anything to say, and Olian didn't seem to expect a response. After a while, she resumed her story.
A year passed after Daniel's death, but life didn't suddenly become easier. Julie continued working, money remained scarce, and eventually, JJ decided to stop waiting for things to improve on their own.
He was only fifteen.
Most boys his age were still worrying about school, friends, or what they wanted to do with their lives. JJ, however, went looking for work. It wasn't glamorous, and the employment wasn't always stable, but it was honest. He became a transporter, moving food, materials, and other supplies between villages and settlements.
"I never really understood everything he did," Olian admitted with the smallest shrug. "I just knew he was always travelling somewhere."
JJ eventually left school, with only three years remaining before he would have finished. His teachers tried to stop him, and some villagers told him he was throwing away his future. After all, JJ wasn't an ordinary student.
"He was smart."
Something changed in Olian's voice when she spoke about him. For the first time, a trace of warmth emerged from beneath her guarded expression.
"Really smart."
People called him gifted. Some even called him a genius, someone blessed by their God. Whatever JJ tried, he seemed to learn quickly; whatever he promised to do, he found a way to accomplish it.
"He could've done anything."
Olian smiled faintly.
"But he chose us."
The smile faded. JJ hadn't cared about what everyone else believed his future should be. What mattered to him was home.
For several months, things began to improve. Whenever JJ returned from travelling, he brought food and sometimes little treats: sweets, trinkets, and inexpensive things that Olian treasured simply because they had come from her brother. Julie no longer had to carry the family's burdens entirely on her own, and the exhaustion in her eyes began to soften. Slowly, their home grew warmer again.
To Olian, JJ wasn't merely her older brother.
He was her hero.
Then, one afternoon, everything changed.
During one of his deliveries, JJ came across several men surrounding a girl roughly his age. She was frightened, cornered, and alone. He could have continued on his journey, pretending he hadn't seen anything, but he didn't. Instead, he intervened. When talking failed to resolve the situation, he paid the men to leave her alone.
Then he did something far more dangerous.
He brought her home.
Into the village.
Without permission from the chief.
That evening, Olian received a surprise unlike any of the little gifts JJ usually brought back from his travels. Her brother returned with a girl named Miranda.
At first, Olian didn't know what to make of her. Miranda was soft-spoken, polite, and grateful. She helped Julie around the house, ate with the family, and gradually began laughing alongside them. Days turned into weeks, and as time passed, the family's suspicions faded. Miranda became part of their lives. Julie trusted her. Olian trusted her.
And JJ fell in love with her.
For a brief period, their home felt whole again. Olian had her brother, Julie seemed happier, and Miranda appeared to belong with them.
Then came the morning everything fell apart.
The village bank's holdings had been emptied. Money was gone, valuables were missing, and Miranda had disappeared.
JJ refused to believe it.
"No," Olian whispered, recalling what had happened. "He kept saying there had to be another explanation."
He defended Miranda, telling Julie and Olian that there must have been a misunderstanding, that Miranda wouldn't do something like that, that he knew her. Convinced there was more to the situation than they understood, JJ went looking for her.
Before leaving, he made them a promise. He would find Miranda, discover what had happened, and return home.
Olian stared into the distance.
"He always kept his promises."
Her voice grew quieter.
"Except that one."
Two days later, JJ's body was found, abandoned after everything valuable had been taken from him. His belongings, his money, and anything else worth stealing were gone. A gunshot wound had ended whatever answers he might have found.
Elifero stared at Olian, but she didn't cry.
"No one knows exactly what happened," she explained.
Perhaps JJ had found Miranda. Perhaps he had found whoever she was working with. Perhaps Miranda herself had killed him, or perhaps someone else was responsible. There were questions and suspicions, but no answers.
Miranda was gone.
And JJ C. Boulevard never came home.
For a while, neither Elifero nor Olian spoke. The village continued its evening routine around them. Somewhere nearby, a door closed, and voices drifted from another house as the breeze moved gently through the street. Life carried on as though Olian's story meant nothing to the world beyond that porch.
Elifero looked down at his hands. He had wanted to understand her, but now he wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel. Sadness? Anger? Pity? None of those emotions seemed sufficient.
He looked towards Olian.
"I'm sorry."
Her expression hardened immediately.
"Don't."
Elifero fell silent.
"I don't need you feeling sorry for me."
"I wasn't trying to—"
"I know."
Olian turned her gaze towards the road.
"That's why I told you."
Elifero frowned, unsure what she meant. Slowly, Olian rose to her feet.
"If I ever see her again..."
Her voice