Nighttime.
Aurora leaned against the doorframe after checking on her son.
"I made food for him… and forgot to ask if he'd eat." She pressed a hand to her forehead and let out a deep sigh.
Though she had shown a calm face in front of her son, inside, the worry gnawed at her.
"I need to hold myself together. Panic won't help anyone," she whispered to herself and quietly entered her room.
But no mother could sleep peacefully seeing her child suffer. Aurora tossed and turned, sleep refusing to come. Then a sudden thought struck her.
"I forgot to tell Attu not to go outside at night. Hans had warned us. It's night now—surely he hasn't left? Either way, I need to check on him."
She rose and crept to her son's room, opening the door slowly to avoid waking him—only to find the room empty.
He wasn't there.
She rushed inside, searching every corner.
"It's midnight… Where did he go?"
Frantic, she began checking other rooms.
"I have to find him!" she cried, standing in the middle of the house, covering her face with trembling hands.
Then she lifted her hands to her ears and whispered:
"Ability: A Thousand Echoes of Silence."
Aurora was one of the rare few—an esper, gifted with supernatural perception.
Though her body remained still, her mind extended beyond her—searching, listening. Her thoughts slipped through walls, scanning the home's every corner like a drifting spirit.
But Attu was nowhere inside. He had gone out.
"He's not here. That means he left the house. I have to find him—now."
Her perception passed through walls, through the door, out into the night.
Through her unique ability, sounds formed images in her mind—like she could see using echoes. This was how she found her son.
Aurora rushed outside and ran to where her mind had seen him, pulling him into her arms.
He stood frozen, face pale with terror, staring toward the village.
She turned to look—and saw it.
The demon.
Baskervill.
Slaughtering villagers. The hounds tearing at corpses. Houses ablaze.
Aurora's blood ran cold.
She grabbed Attu's hand and screamed, "Run!" pulling him with all her strength.
Her ability was still active. She heard the whistle before she saw the danger. The hounds, drawn by the sound, were now chasing them.
But then… her ability stopped working.
"I need a plan—quick. They'll catch up. I have to find a way out."
And then she saw it.
The river.
It flowed fast, swollen by recent floods.
"If we can reach it, we can escape. The current might carry us away."
Attu, still in shock, followed her lead. But she could hear the hounds closing in. Their snarls and paws grew louder behind them.
"If they catch us, it's over. No matter what—it's Attu I have to protect."
Aurora pleaded silently to the heavens as tears welled in her eyes.
"Just a little more… Please, God… just a little more!"
She gripped his hand tighter. They were almost there. Just two steps from the river.
She turned, ready to celebrate—when she saw it.
The demon.
He was far, but not too far. And his spear was already in his hand.
He was aiming.
At Attu.
"No…"
He's going to throw it at Attu.
"I won't let him."
Aurora stopped.
As I ran, my mother suddenly moved behind me.
"Why did she stop?"
I turned.
The demon had already thrown the spear.
My mother didn't hesitate.
She became my shield.
Everything happened so fast. Too fast.
But I saw her face.
I couldn't read what she felt. I didn't understand.
But she did.
Aurora thought, "This feeling… I've felt it before."
She was happy.
Happy to give her life for her child.
She remembered the first time she held me in her arms…
The day I was born…
The joy when my tiny hand wrapped around her finger…
She smiled now—just like then. Soft and warm. Loving. Even with tears in her eyes, her gaze remained filled with peace.
"I love you…"
The spear pierced through her midsection. Its tip burst out the other side.
The pain was unbearable—yet she endured it.
And with the last of her strength, she finished her sentence.
"…my son!"
Then, with all she had left, she pushed me into the river.
Those words…
The final words from my mother…
I felt them deep in my soul.
My heart shattered.
The scream tore from my throat.
"Mother!!!"
And the river swallowed me whole.
As I fell into the river, I instantly realized how fast and cold the water truly was. The current surged with relentless force, dragging me away while I fought against it, struggling to resurface and swim back—back to my mother.
It felt like the river itself was trying to stop me.
But I didn't give in.
With every ounce of strength I had, I forced myself up to the surface, gasping desperately for air. And the moment my head broke through the water, my eyes darted toward the shore.
That was the first thing I did.
I looked for my mother.
And I saw her.
Still lying there… the spear still impaled through her body. And then—they came.
The hounds.
They were already upon her.
Tearing at her with their teeth, dragging her broken body across the ground like a doll. Like something meaningless.
The roar of the river was thunderous—yet I could still hear her scream.
She was screaming from the depths of her pain.
That sound pierced through the current, through the chaos.
And all I could do was watch.
Useless.
Helpless.
Powerless.
She was the one who raised me, who loved me, who protected me. And now, she was being ripped apart before my eyes—and I could do nothing but float, cry, and scream into the water.
I can't describe the storm that raged inside me in that moment. It was grief, it was rage, it was guilt, it was despair.
And then… she saw me.
Our eyes met.
Even with her body mangled by pain and blood, she screamed at the top of her lungs, so I could hear it over everything else—
"Live! No matter what—
—Live!"
Those words…
They were meant to save me.
But they hurt more than anything else.
I reached out toward her, tears streaming down my face, and cried—
"Mother!"
But the river didn't care.
It pulled me under again. The ice-cold water wrapped around me, muffling my sobs. My tears dissolved into the stream. All I could feel was cold. Endless, drowning cold.
I forced myself back to the surface once more.
This time… when I looked toward her, he was there.
The demon.
Standing over her.
That sight reignited the fire in my chest. I tried again, desperately, to reach the shore.
I couldn't.
The most I could do was cling to the surface.
Then—a rock.
I struck a smooth, mossy stone, barely managing to grasp it. I held on as the current tried to tear me away again. But the stone was slippery—too long in the water. My grip failed.
The river dragged me further.
Eventually, the current slowed. The river widened, its rage lessened. I saw a chance and pulled myself toward the shore.
Crawling.
Soaked.
Exhausted.
Broken.
By then, the sun had risen. The sky was lighter now, but my world had never felt darker.
As I reached dry ground, I collapsed.
And I cried.
Not the kind of crying that fades with time. No. This was the sound of something breaking inside me. I pressed my forehead to the earth, clenched my fists into the soil, and screamed with all the pain that filled my soul—
"Mother!"
I screamed so loudly that a bitter pain flared in my throat. And yet, the tears kept coming. I don't know how long I stayed there, collapsed on the riverbank, crying until there was nothing left.
By the time I had no more strength to sob, the sun had already risen. Morning had come.
I forced myself to my feet—barely. It felt like the very soul had been drained from my body. Every step was like dragging stone.
I began walking upstream along the river, back toward my village. Only then did I realize just how far the current had carried me away. It took over an hour of slow, trudging steps before I finally saw it in the distance.
My village.
But I didn't head straight into it.
First, I ran toward the place… the place where Mother had pushed me into the river.
Deep inside, I still wished she might be alive—that I might find her standing there, calling my name. Even if I knew it was impossible, I couldn't bring myself to accept it. I couldn't.
When I reached the place… blood. It was everywhere. So much of it, it had run down into the river and stained the flowing water.
[Where is she? She should be here.] I scanned the area desperately.
I didn't want to believe she was gone. To admit that meant losing her forever. I begged silently, Please, God, let her be alive.
But life was crueler than I had ever imagined.
As I searched the area, I spotted a hand—barely visible, sticking out from the grass.
A right hand.
I recognized the bracelet immediately. It was hers. My heart dropped. I rushed over, ripped away the weeds, and reached to pull her into my arms.
But there was no body.
Only her right hand remained.
The sight knocked the breath from me. I fell to my knees without even realizing it. My mind went numb.
[At the very least, I have to bury what's left of her.]
I took off the shirt I was wearing and carefully wrapped her hand with it, trembling as I did.
It wasn't warm anymore.
Not like I remembered.
Not like the hands that used to hold mine.
I clutched the bundle and sat there for a long time.
I didn't want to move.
To stand up meant to accept she was truly gone.
But even so… I had to bury her.
Summoning all the strength I had left, I rose to my feet. That first step felt heavier than anything I'd ever carried. But I kept walking—shirtless, barefoot, clinging to the only part of my mother I had left.
[Hans will help me bury her,] I thought. I made my way back to the village.
As I walked through the center, I noticed more and more eyes on me.
But not the kind of eyes filled with pity or compassion.
No… these eyes were full of fear.
Terror.
Hatred.
They stared at me as if I were some kind of monster. An omen. A curse.
And then… I saw Hans.
He was doing his best to help others, despite having lost one of his arms. When he spotted me, he dropped everything and rushed over.
"Attu! Are you alright? What happened? Where's your mother?"
I wanted to answer him. To cry in his arms. To tell him everything.
But the words wouldn't come.
So instead, I gently opened a corner of the shirt in my hands—just enough to reveal the wrist. The bracelet. Her fingers.
Hans froze.
His face said everything.
He understood.
Before he could say a word, something struck my head. A stone.
It hit my left temple, knocking me to the ground.
But even as I fell, I refused to let go of my mother's hand.
Blood trickled down my face—not much, but enough to run into my eye.
And then a woman screamed.
"This is your fault! You brought the demon here! Because of you, all these people died!"
I lifted my head.
Her words were meant for me.
And she wasn't alone. People were beginning to gather.
Their eyes no longer held just fear.
Now it was rage.
Hatred.
"You brought this on us!"
"Demon child!"
"You should've died instead!"
"It's his fault the demon came!"
More voices.
More accusations.
Hans stepped in front of me.
"This isn't his fault!" he yelled. "He didn't do anything! It was the demon—he had nothing to do with it!"
But they didn't care.
Their minds were already made up.
"Kill him!" someone shouted. "If he dies, the demon won't come back!"
A stone flew and hit my shoulder.
Then another.
People picked up whatever they could and hurled them at me.
Each hit stung—but none of it compared to the pain I carried inside.
One rock struck the shirt in my hands. In a panic, I curled around it, shielding the last piece of my mother with my body.
Hans finally lost it.
"Stop it! Enough!" he roared. "He's just a boy! How can you blame him for this!? This is madness!"
But someone in the crowd sneered.
"Look at his eyes! Normal people don't have eyes like that."
"He chased the demon out of the village—he brought it here! That's why he has to die!"
The crowd murmured in agreement.
Another voice: "Let's drag him to the forest and tie him up. That way the demon will take him and leave us alone."
They were serious.
And I—
I wanted to scream.
To tell them how wrong they were.
What did I do!? Tell me! What did I do!? Is it because I look different from you? Is that why!?
But my voice was gone.
And Hans… was running out of options. He looked around desperately, trying to think of a way to save me.
There had to be a way.
"Then let's just leave Attu in the forest," someone said to the gathered villagers. "The demon will find him. And the farther we send Attu, the farther the demon will stay from us."
They didn't see a child anymore.
Only a scapegoat.
Hans stood between them and me, his jaw clenched. He knew—whatever happened next, he had to protect me.
"I'll take responsibility!" he shouted. "Everyone, go home. I'll make sure he leaves the village."
The crowd hesitated, eyes filled with doubt and distrust. But one by one, they turned and began to disperse.
When it was finally quiet, Hans walked over and helped me up.
"Follow me," he said. His voice was low, distant.
He didn't say anything else as we walked.
No teasing. No light-hearted jokes.
He didn't even glance my way.
Usually, he would've said something silly to cheer me up—even if I was crying.
But now... he was silent.
When we reached our house, Hans knelt by the front yard and started digging with his one good hand. Even with one arm, his strength was undeniable.
I just sat there, watching.
I knew I was useless to him now.
I couldn't help.
I couldn't speak.
And Hans didn't ask me to.
Two or three hours passed like a blur. When he was done digging, we buried what was left of my mother.
Just her hand.
Hans finished covering the grave, then walked to the front of the house and waited.
I remained beside her grave.
Still.
Broken.
And for the first time in my life, I felt completely disconnected from the world—as if I no longer existed within it.
Like a shadow…
cut off from the light.
After that, I returned to our house. Hans tried to stand but stumbled forward. I caught him just in time before he fell—he was completely drained.
"Pack your things," he said weakly. "You have to leave. If you stay any longer... they might kill you."
I climbed to my room and changed out of the wet clothes from the river. Then I began gathering the few things I thought I might need.
When everything was packed, I headed back down. Just as I stepped out of the room, a familiar smell reached me from the kitchen—a sweet, warm aroma.
I turned toward it and saw Hans placing food on the table.
"Come. Sit. You haven't eaten anything, have you?"
"I don't really feel like eating," I muttered, but my stomach growled in protest.
Hans gave the faintest smile, the first I'd seen since the chaos.
"You're not leaving until you eat this."
I looked at the food and blinked. I didn't remember Hans cooking.
"When did you have time to make all this?"
"I didn't," he replied. "Your mother made it yesterday. She cooked it for your birthday."
The moment he said it, I took a spoonful of the soup. It was sweet, comforting... almost too perfect.
It tasted like the warmth of home.
I'd never had anything so delicious in my life. Tears welled in my eyes.
"It's... really good, Mom," I whispered.
When I was done, Hans walked me to the edge of the village. I still couldn't forget how the villagers had looked at me—how they'd tried to erase me.
"If you follow this path, you'll come to a fork in the road," Hans explained. "Turn left—it'll take you to the nearest city. One day's walk from here. And take this."
He handed me a small pouch of silver coins.
"You'll need them."
"Thank you. For everything," I said, pulling the black cloth from my pack and tying it firmly over my eyes. "I won't ever let anyone see these eyes again."
Hans gave me a long, sorrowful look.
"Did you take something to defend yourself?"
"I have a knife."
"Take this too," he said, unfastening the sword from his left side. He tossed it to me.
"I can't use it anymore—not with one hand. Better you have it. It might actually save your life."
I drew the blade from its sheath. It gleamed—well-cared-for and barely used.
"Thank you," I said, my voice heavy with emotion. "I won't forget your kindness."
"Take care of yourself," Hans replied, then turned away in silence, watching as I disappeared down the path.
I left the village behind and walked straight into the forest.
This...
was the beginning of my new life.
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