Morning came softer than the previous days, but that did not mean it was peaceful; rather, it carried a quiet urgency that pressed gently against her thoughts the moment she woke. The children were still asleep, their small forms curled together instinctively, seeking warmth and comfort in each other's presence, and for a brief moment she simply watched them, her gaze lingering longer than she intended as she took in the subtle changes—less tension in their faces, less fear in the way they slept. It wasn't much, but it was enough to tell her she was doing something right, and that alone gave her the resolve she needed to move forward.
Carefully, she stood without making unnecessary noise, her movements practiced now despite the lingering soreness in her body. Her eyes flickered briefly toward the door, beyond which she could already sense two presences she had grown increasingly aware of. They didn't hide anymore—not really—and while neither of them crossed the boundary she had set, their existence alone was enough to shift the balance of her daily life. Still, she ignored it for now. Food came first. Everything else could wait.
"I'll be back soon," she murmured quietly, though she knew the children were still asleep, her voice more a promise than a warning. After a brief pause, she added under her breath, "Stay inside… and don't open the door for anyone."
Then she stepped outside.
The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and leaves, and without wasting time she headed straight toward the forest, her pace steady and focused. Unlike before, she no longer walked blindly; her eyes scanned the surroundings carefully, her mind actively recalling bits of knowledge from her past life—things she had once thought useless, now becoming essential for survival.
As she moved deeper into the forest, the sounds of the village faded, replaced by the natural rhythm of rustling leaves and distant animal calls. Her attention sharpened, scanning for anything edible, anything sustainable, anything that could provide more than just a temporary solution.
Then—
She spotted color.
Bright.
Unnatural against the green.
She crouched slowly, her gaze locking onto a cluster of small, round fruits growing on a low bush. They were a deep reddish-orange, smooth-skinned, and clustered tightly together like berries, though slightly larger.
"…interesting," she murmured, reaching out but stopping just short of touching them.
Her mind worked quickly.
Color often meant danger.
But not always.
She leaned closer, examining the leaves, the stem, the texture of the fruit itself. No strange smell. No visible toxins. Still—
Not enough.
She plucked one carefully, turning it between her fingers before bringing it closer to her lips. A pause followed, her instincts warring with necessity, before she finally took a small bite.
The taste burst across her tongue.
Sweet.
With a slight tang.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"…good."
Relief settled in her chest, followed quickly by satisfaction as she began gathering them efficiently, her movements quick but controlled. "You'll work," she muttered softly, placing them into a makeshift bundle. "The kids will like this."
She continued moving, her confidence growing with each successful find, and it wasn't long before she discovered more—broad-leafed greens growing near a damp patch of soil, their texture similar to spinach, and a cluster of thick, pale roots partially buried beneath the ground.
She crouched again, brushing away the dirt carefully. "Root vegetables…" she murmured, her tone thoughtful as she tested one. Firm. Clean. No bitterness when she scraped a small piece and tasted it.
"…this is perfect."
A small smile touched her lips.
For the first time since arriving in this world, she wasn't just surviving.
She was building something.
---
Back at the hut…
The children were awake.
And they were not alone.
The door had been opened.
Carefully.
Cautiously.
And now—
Two grown men sat inside a space that was very clearly not designed to hold their presence.
The atmosphere was… strange.
Awkward.
Unnaturally tense.
The oldest boy stood near the wall, arms crossed, staring at them with open suspicion, while the middle child sat quietly but alert, his eyes moving between the two men as if trying to predict their next move. The little girl, however, was half-hidden behind her brother, peeking out with wide, curious eyes.
The hunter was the first to speak.
"…so," he said, leaning back slightly, though his posture still carried its usual confidence, "this is how you've been living."
The oldest frowned. "Why are you here?"
Straight to the point.
The hunter smirked faintly. "No greeting? That's rude."
"You didn't greet us either," the boy shot back.
A brief pause.
Then—
"…fair," the hunter admitted.
The second man, seated more calmly to the side, watched the exchange with quiet interest before finally speaking. "We're here to talk," he said, his tone smoother, more measured.
"About what?" the middle child asked quietly.
The two men exchanged a brief glance.
Then—
"About you," the hunter said.
"And your mother," the second added.
The children stiffened slightly.
The oldest narrowed his eyes. "What about her?"
The hunter leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he looked directly at them. "Tell me," he said, his tone shifting slightly, becoming almost casual, "do you like living like this?"
The question caught them off guard.
"…what do you mean?" the middle child asked.
"This place," the hunter gestured around, clearly unimpressed. "Small. Broken. Barely enough food. Doesn't seem comfortable."
"It's fine," the oldest replied immediately.
The hunter raised an eyebrow. "Fine?"
"Yes."
"…you're lying."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm not!"
"Your face says otherwise."
"…it doesn't!"
The little girl blinked, looking between them. "…it kind of does," she whispered.
The oldest froze.
"…you're not helping," he muttered.
The second man let out a quiet breath that might have been amusement before speaking again. "What he's trying to say," he said calmly, "is that this isn't the best situation for you."
The middle child tilted his head slightly. "Then what is?"
A brief pause.
Then—
"You could stay with us," the hunter said.
Silence.
"…what?" the oldest asked.
"Not separately," the second man added quickly. "Together."
That—
Confused them even more.
The little girl stepped forward slightly. "Together… how?"
The hunter scratched the back of his head, clearly not used to explaining things like this. "…like a family," he said.
Silence.
Then—
The oldest blinked.
"…you mean all of us?" he asked slowly.
"Yes."
"With… you?"
"Yes."
"And him?" he added, pointing at the second man.
"…yes."
Another pause.
Then—
The middle child spoke, his tone thoughtful. "That sounds… complicated."
The hunter frowned. "How is that complicated?"
"You don't get along," the boy replied simply.
The hut went silent.
The hunter glanced at the second man.
The second man glanced back.
"…we can tolerate each other," he said calmly.
"That's not the same as getting along," the middle child pointed out.
The little girl nodded seriously. "Mother says that too."
The hunter frowned deeper. "…since when does she say things like that?"
The oldest crossed his arms again. "Since she changed."
Another silence.
Then—
The hunter leaned back slightly, exhaling. "…right."
The second man spoke again, his tone softer now. "We're not asking you to decide anything right now," he said. "We're asking you to… talk to her."
"About what?" the oldest asked.
"About letting us stay closer," he said.
"…you already are," the middle child pointed out.
"…closer than this," the hunter added quickly.
The children blinked.
"…you want to move into the hut?" the little girl asked innocently.
Both men froze.
"…no," the hunter said immediately.
"…not exactly," the second added.
The oldest looked unimpressed. "Then what do you want?"
A pause.
Then—
"…we want to be part of your lives," the hunter said, slightly more serious now.
The words landed differently.
Less awkward.
More real.
The middle child looked down slightly, thinking.
The little girl tilted her head. "…you mean like… father?"
Silence.
Then—
"…yes," the second man said.
The oldest looked at them for a long moment.
Then—
"…you should tell her yourself," he said.
The hunter frowned. "That's not how this works."
"Yes it is."
"No, it's not."
"It is."
"…why?"
"Because she's scary."
The hut went completely silent.
Then—
The little girl nodded seriously. "Very scary."
The middle child added quietly, "…especially when she's angry."
The hunter blinked.
Then slowly looked at the second man.
"…you go," he said.
The second man raised an eyebrow. "Why me?"
"You're calmer."
"You're stronger."
"You're bigger."
"You're more intimidating."
"You're more likely to survive."
"…that's not reassuring."
The children watched this exchange with growing confusion—and amusement.
The oldest sighed. "…you're both scared of her."
"We're not scared," the hunter said immediately.
"We're cautious," the second corrected.
"…same thing," the middle child muttered.
The little girl giggled.
And for the first time—
The hut felt… light.
---
Outside—
Footsteps approached.
And all at once—
The laughter died.
The door opened.
And she stepped inside.
Her gaze swept the room once.
Took in everything.
The children.
The men.
The atmosphere.
Silence fell.
Then—
"…explain," she said.
And suddenly—
Two grown men who could face danger without hesitation…
Did not know where to start.
---
End of Chapter 9
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