The small wooden house bore the scars of the recent raid, one side of its roof had caved in deeply where the broken pine tree still lay. The walls, however, held. Climbing onto the intact part of the roof, I carefully removed the shattered branches while he swept away the lingering debris below.
Though the flames of war have long gone, their lingering echoes still cling to this land, like the unyielding dust of time refusing to let go. Night dew rests in the leaf crevices, its cold seeping into calloused hands. And still, life goes on, even as hardships pile high.
A pair of shoulder poles, heavy with bundles of fragrant herbs, followed my slow steps as I left the familiar slope leading into the early market. The damp earth mingled with the gentle herbal scent, a familiar smell that had followed me through all these hard years. Finding my usual spot under the old tree, I carefully spread out the worn tarp and arranged the herb bundles as always. Customers came, each wanting something different, the elderly buying a few handfuls of guava leaves for deep sleep, the young asking for a bit of basil to make their hair silky.
In the distance, the cheerful sound of the school bell echoed. My gaze drifted, following the crisp uniforms and colorful backpacks skipping down the red-earth path. A pang of melancholy crept into my heart. I knew, that road wasn't meant for me, those neat rows of letters, those fragrant pages of books, would forever remain a distant dream.
Yet, the thirst for knowledge in my heart never faded. Whenever spare moments arose, the old library at the village's edge became my haven. Within its crumbling walls, among old, tattered books and meager offerings, lay an entire world for my hungry soul. In the hushed silence of the library, amidst the scent of aged paper and the dust of time, a place where the wounds of war and the weight of poverty seemed to dissolve, I lost myself in books on medicinal herbs, meticulously noting each remedy and method of preparation. And sometimes, when fortune smiled, I would find ancient chronicles whispering tales of mighty sorcerers and the enigmatic legends of the 'Lost Eyes'.
In the dawn of time, when heaven and earth took form, majestic dragons reigned, known as savage beings. Colossal creatures with wings spanning wide enough to eclipse the sky and eyes of burning fire, they churned the seas, scorched the forests and sowed terror across all lands. The darkness of their destruction shrouded the mortal realm endlessly.
The first dragon, greatest of them all, bore scales of deep crimson, like clotting blood, with eyes blazing gold as twin suns and moons. His breath burned hot enough to melt the sturdiest stone. His name echoed through all realms and no living thing dared to defy him. Such was the dread king he once was.
One day, from distant lands came a white wolf, its pristine snow-fur luminous against the wilderness. Its deep blue eyes, like a vast ocean, shone with a strange purity. Something tender, unknown before, bloomed in his hardened heart.
A love story, as beautiful as an old dream, a soft melody echoing between two distant worlds.
Yet fate, ever cruel, allowed no love to linger. One frigid winter night swept their tale into the abyss of tragedy. The dragon's anguished roar tore through the night, a sound of utter despair, as his eyes were gouged out, plunging him into eternal darkness. And the wolf suddenly vanished, like a drop dissolving into the ocean, leaving not a ripple behind.
The great dragon, now blind and tormented, thrashed in madness. Staggering out of his cave, his massive body twisted in blind fury. Lost in his grief, he burned everything around him. A raging inferno swallowed half the Southern forest, its ruins remaining even to this day. Betrayed and heartbroken, he roared endlessly in despair, tears flowing until his last breath. Red blood and fire merged as one, forming a crimson river that still flows, forever marking the forest's pain.
The legend left behind a curse upon future generations of dragons, condemning them to never feel warmth in their hearts, forever enduring a chilling pain for a thousand years.
Legends say the world owes the wolf a debt of gratitude. Thanks to the wolf, the dragon's devastation slowly faded with the endless flow of time. Sunlight once again bathed the world, finding solace in peace.
And because of that, wolves and dragons have always been enemies, the Dragons despise us. They believe that somewhere in this frozen land, the stolen golden eyes still hide, waiting to be found.
The dragon, a creature of eternal flame, is the complete opposite of the Wolf, the symbol of everlasting ice.
Mages, often revered, are exceptional individuals with the ability to use magic. There are many types of magic, offensive, defensive, healing, and even forbidden magic. The majority, however, only have the ability to shapeshift into their own animal form. Currently, they stand as the strongest line of defense against the dragon threat, the empire's last unbreakable shield. Yet over time, mages appear to be slowly vanishing.
I kept losing myself in stories of the distant past until the sun hid behind the mountain range. Twilight painted the village in soft colors as small lights began to glow along the paths.
Evening was when the village grew quieter. Though the streetlights still twinkled, almost no lively activity took place. Everyone had returned to their homes, leaving only faint laughter echoing from the last few taverns at the edge of the village. Today, I spent the little money I had to buy a loaf of bread, a small luxury compared to the usual bland potatoes. A vague warmth rose in my heart when I thought of his bright smile, knowing that tonight he would be treated to a proper meal.
We hadn't had a proper meal since last year.
The walk home didn't take long after all. But as I got closer to the wooden house, I suddenly realized it was pitch black inside. No firelight, no sign of life, just an echoing silence.
"Kian? Where did that brat go again?"
Hurrying inside, I called his name, looked through all the rooms, trying to find any trace of the mischievous boy. He wouldn't usually go out after seven in the evening, not without saying a word.
Three heavy hours slipped by. I circled the village again, scoured every narrow alley, questioned everyone I knew, all in vain. Fear corroded my thoughts, as if he had vanished into thin air, leaving no trace behind. The thought of loss drove a cold blade through me, because Kian was all I had left, the only meaning the word 'family' still held for me.
The darkness slowly enveloped the landscape, yet there was still no sign of the boy. Then, from the shadowed alley at the village's end, came the faint but unmistakable sound of sobbing, a familiar cry shattering the stillness. Though an ominous chill ran down my spine, I still decided to go inside.
And there was Kian, curled up on the cold ground, hot tears streaking his flushed cheeks. I rushed to him, dropping to my knees beside his trembling form.
"Kian! What happened?!"
He looked up at me, his sobs broken. Dust covered his clothes and fresh scratches marked his face. As I gently helped him stand, I saw him favoring one leg, his knee scraped and bleeding.
"T-They hit me..."
With the corner of my shirt, I gently wiped the cold tears from that battered face.
"...Did you steal again?"
"...No, it wasn't me! Those damn bastards, they hit me!..."
It's those rich kids bullying again. Not the first time, but worse, this time it happened to Kian. Those damn dukes, nobles and all the cowardly bullies in the village, they always find ways to pick on the weak.
Perhaps the deities truly despise us, with these misfortunes just crashing down so unfairly.
"...You shouldn't have left without saying anything like that. Things could have turned out worse..."
Embracing the small, shivering form, I softly ran my hand down its back, trying to reassure him.
"...I-I wanted it to be a surprise for you..."
"Surprise?"
From his pocket, Kian pulled out a silver necklace, a delicately crafted teardrop pendant of lapis lazuli. Its surface shimmered with a pure blue radiance, made even more dazzling by the ethereal moonlight. A beauty so enchanting it stole one's breath away.
"...Happy birthday..."
"For me? Where did you get this? How?"
"...I saved up. It wasn't too expensive..."
Sitting up straight, he wiped away the last traces of tears with a quiet sniffle. All year long, the boy had run errands and scraped together every penny just to buy me something nice. Now that I knew, those evenings he slipped away, only to return late at night, were for this. Tears welled in my eyes as I thought of his silent devotion, a child with such a compassionate heart.
"I don't know how I can ever thank you enough. It's truly beautiful."
"...I know there have been many difficulties and hardships, but you've always pushed through and handled everything alone...T-Thank you...for always trying..."
Even when no one remembered my birthday, Kian still cherished it. He never forgot, even when I stopped caring about my own arrival in this life.
Returning to the wooden house, I helped him up to his room. Settling him against the bedframe, I gently wiped the still-bleeding scrapes on his face and knees with a warm cloth before beginning to bandage his wounds.
"We're out of antiseptic and bandages. I'll go buy some, you should rest."
There was just one small medical clinic in our village, owned by Oliva. Her gentle eyes held both the wisdom of a healer and the warmth of home. Once the pride of the whole area for getting into the famous medical academy, she had left behind a promising future in the city to return here, shouldering the burden of looking after the health of the struggling villagers in a place where the lack of medical help was a constant concern. To me, Oliva was more than just someone who helped, she was an ideal, someone I always wanted to be like in the future.
"Oliva...Are you there?"
The wooden door creaked open, revealing Oliva in her simple everyday attire. The warm amber glow from the fireplace danced across her kind features, while the familiar scent of herbal medicine wafted through the space.
"Lia, is everything okay?"
"...I-I need some bandages and antiseptic."
No questions came, just a knowing nod, her eyes pools of quiet care. Perhaps she had grown accustomed to my visits begging for medicine. I can still picture myself the first time I met her, a filthy child sobbing by the canal, heart heavy with cruel taunts. With tenderness, she had brought me to her clinic and treated me without ever demanding anything in return.
Soon after, she stepped out from the medicine room with a roll of pristine white bandage and a little bottle of antiseptic in her hand. "Here you go."
"I'll pay you back later."
"Don't worry about it. Helping others is simply the right thing to do."
Each syllable caught in my constricted throat, refusing to form coherent words. With my head bowed deeply, the weight of my gratitude pressed upon me. If only these hands could give rather than always receive.
When I reached home, Kian had already fallen into deep slumber, his pain and sorrow momentarily forgotten. Kneeling beside the bed, I cradled his loosely curled fingers and began dabbing antiseptic on his raw injuries. His body tensed instinctively at the medicine's bite, his features flickering with transient pain, yet not a single whimper escaped.
Perhaps he had grown accustomed to this, once then again, until such hurts seemed ordinary.
Beyond the rickety window frame, night rain began to fall. Each droplet pattered down from the leaky roof, tracing concentric circles on the damp earth like solitary tears in the empty night. The howling wind crept through the cracks, carrying with it a biting dampness that stole what little warmth the oil lamp could offer.
Having finished everything, I quietly retreated to my room. Thoughts whirled with endless worries. The burden of daily survival, food, clothing, rent grew heavier each day.
In these circumstances, selling common herbs won't sustain us much longer. We need another way out, but what options remain? No one will hire children for a fair wage, and there will be days when we can't even earn enough to eat. At this dead end, we may have to enter the orphanage, abandoning this house and everything within it. This dilapidated wooden shack, worn and aged, cradles our last fading memories of parents long gone.
I don't want things to be that way.
Hopeless. The room offered nothing. Then, in the stillness beside the flickering lamp, were those crimson Torbica. During a harvesting trip, captivated by their strange, fiery beauty, I had gathered them from the shores of a small lake in the pine forest.
The Torbica, a strictly prohibited herb throughout the empire. While its dangers remain poorly documented, it commands exorbitant prices on the capital's black market. Word on the street says they brew into killer drugs, though official records contain virtually no information, only that it is an exceptionally rare plant. Varieties exist, with rarer specimens fetching higher prices.
Maybe...there really is no other way.