The night in the Mist Village smelled of fresh, metallic blood.
Heavy rain lashed against the roof, but Kyaw Htin Min Soe heard something far more unsettling than the storm. Through the mountain pass, amidst the rhythmic thundering of hooves, came the sound of ragged, heavy gasps. He quickly blew out the oil lamp, plunging the room into darkness, and stood as still as a stone statue.
His fingers tightened around the iron chisel he used for woodcarving.
'No one should be coming to the village at this hour. If they are, it's either an enemy or trouble,' his over-anxious mind calculated instinctively.
Thud.
Something heavy slumped against the shop door. It wasn't a knock; it was the sound of a body collapsing under its own weight.
"Min Soe... what's happening out there?" His mother's voice from the bedroom made his heart leap as if it were trying to escape his chest.
"Mother... stay quiet. Someone is outside. I can smell the blood seeping through the cracks of the door. It's best if we don't move at all."
His voice was a mere whisper, barely audible over the wind. Inside his head, ten thousand thoughts were racing. Was the person outside truly in need of help, or was this a sinister ploy by bandits?
Crash!
Another heavy sound followed as the person outside slid down to the muddy ground. Then, everything returned to a haunting silence, swallowed by the roar of the rain.
"Let's go see, my son... he'll die if we leave him like this. A human life is at stake," his mother said, brushing past him to reach for the door.
Kyaw Htin Min Soe couldn't stop her. Before unlatching the bolt, he grabbed a heavy block of timber as a makeshift weapon. As he eased the door open, the chill of the night air hit him, carrying a scent of blood so sharp it stung his nostrils.
In the rain, a massive black horse lay dead. Beside it, a man in tattered armor was sprawled face down. Despite being unconscious, he gripped a blood-stained sword with the terrifying intensity of a dying man.
The first thing Kyaw Htin Min Soe did wasn't helping the man up—it was using his timber block to violently strike the sword out of the man's hand, sending it skidding away.
"The sword... I have to move the sword first. If he wakes up, he'll kill us."
His paranoia was at its peak. As he and his mother dragged the man inside, his eyes never left the pitch-black shadows of the main road, watching for any sign of pursuit.
In the days that followed, Kyaw Htin Min Soe cared for the soldier while watching him like a hawk. The wounds on the man's body weren't ordinary gashes; they were the scars of a seasoned warrior who had survived countless slaughters.
'Who is this man? A common border guard couldn't afford armor this fine. And that sword... that's no ordinary blade. Is he a General? Or a fugitive on the run?'
Suspicion grew in his mind, but he kept it to himself. On the third day, the soldier finally regained consciousness. He opened his eyes slowly, scanning the room with a gaze that dissected every detail.
"My... sword... where is it?" The voice was raspy, yet carried an undeniable authority that made Kyaw Htin Min Soe's heart sink.
"It's... it's over there, under the woodpile in the corner, sir. We helped you, we mean no harm," Kyaw Htin Min Soe replied coldly. The soldier stared at him and let out a faint, chilling smile—a smile that seemed to say, 'I know you've been theorizing about me.'
"Kyaw Htin... why are you always so afraid? Do you think my sword will bite you?"
"I wouldn't know, sir. I'm just an ordinary person. I don't know how to swing a sword like you. I just want to live in peace and stay out of danger."
The soldier narrowed his eyes. He had realized that this boy was far more than a simple villager; he was a youth possessed by a terrifying level of vigilance.
"Swinging a sword isn't enough, Kyaw Htin. In this world, there is something far more frightening than a blade—it is the 'Truth.' Do you intend to spend your life hiding from it like an old fox in a burrow?"
Kyaw Htin Min Soe didn't answer. He focused on grinding the medicinal herbs, but inside, his suspicion had only grown into a mountain.