"Lizzy! I'LL SAVE YOU! FOR I AM THE HERO, HENRY!"
Little Michael shouted, raising his wooden sword high, the ragged cloth around his neck fluttering like a real hero's cape.
He always imagined himself as Henry, the legendary hero who saved the world. When he played with Lizzy, he really believed it.
Lizzy laughed, spinning in the grass. "Then I'm the Goddess! Save me if you dare—"
Suddenly, shadows fell over them. Bigger kids—older boys, tall and smug, closing in.
They were the main bullies of everyone. Both Michael and Lizzy knew that. If anyone resisted... They'd get beaten. Bad.
"Well, well, the hero and the goddess." One of the boys grinned, coming up behind Michael and shoving him to the ground. The others barked with laughter, circling around them.
"Go on then, hero," another boy jeered, glancing at Lizzy with a mock bow and forced politeness.
"Save your goddess. Or maybe you'd rather watch her come play with real men?"
'What...? Why... I... W...' He looked up at them. They were bigger than him—he knew if he challenged them, he'd only get hurt.
They puffed out their chests, voices too deep for their age, putting on airs like little princes for Lizzy's sake.
Even as a child, she was popular with everyone. Being the daughter of Amoria Veil, one of the wives of the current hero, Magus Veil, she was always the center of attention. She would come to realize it herself, especially after this day.
Michael tried to get up, reaching for his sword, but his arms wouldn't move. His heart pounded in his chest.
This happened after his mother and sister were taken away, when they suddenly left him and his father with nothing but a cold explanation that they'd "found someone new." Back then, he had no idea about the slave mark that influenced them to leave.
But it didn't matter, the damage was done. No matter how hard he shouted or tugged at their sleeves, they kept on walking away. No matter how much he tried, he was powerless before the one who had charmed them away...
...and now he saw the same power in these boys. They were stronger, too. If he tried anything, he believed they'd just hurt him more.
'She's going to leave too, isn't she? ' The thought came.
'I... I can't do... anything...'
"Come now, Lizzy," one of the boys said, holding out his hand with a show of gentle chivalry.
"You don't want to waste your time with a boy who can't even stand for you, do you?"
Michael tried to speak, to shout, to do anything. Nothing came out. He just sat there, knees in the dirt, frozen.
Lizzy looked at him, then at the boys.
She knew they wouldn't take no for an answer.
She only offered a tired, understanding smile and turned toward the boys.
"If I come, you'll leave him alone?" she asked quietly.
"Of course," one of them murmured smoothly.
Lizzy nodded and followed them, giving Michael one last glance. The boys strutted off, laughing louder than ever.
Michael stayed where he was, fists clenched in the grass, shame burning in his chest. He watched Lizzy disappear with the others, unable to move, unable to call after her.
He wanted to be a hero.
Instead, he did nothing.
From that day on, Michael would always turn Lizzy away when she came looking for him. Claiming he was too tired, too busy, anything to avoid the helplessness he'd felt that afternoon. He told himself he'd play again when he was strong enough to protect her.
But by the time he had the strength to fend off bullies of their age, Lizzy had learned to stop asking, to stop... Looking for him. Even after they "rekindled" their old bond, he was, by then, a nuisance she no longer needed.
------------------------------------------------------
"Why am I even thinking about this right now...? And telling it like some tragic tale from a dusty old book?" Michael grit his teeth. "As if thinking on it or dreaming of it would change what happened back then. As if it would give that scrawny child the courage to stand."
"Like anyone gives a damn."
Then, uninvited, a thought slid into his mind.
Did Lizzy even want him to stand up for her? Or... Be courageous for that matter?
She had come looking for him after that, again and again. Maybe she hadn't cared about strength. Maybe... she just wanted to be with hi—
"STOP!" He slapped himself.
This wasn't a game.Not some field for make-believe.Not a child's quarrel.
'This is Initium. I screw up here, I die. So shut it. Just—shut it, and move. Let's just leave that memory as it is, damn it!'
"HENRY!"
A voice called just as Henry returned to the stables where he slept, his shirt hanging to dry on the beams.
"Henry, I heard what—"
She came around the corner, her steps halting as she caught sight of him bare-backed. His slender frame was wiry, skin pulled over lean muscle; and 3 big scars all over his back, sunlit through the open barn.
She swallowed hard.
Henry hastily snatched up the damp shirt and tugged it over his head.
"A-ah... Miss Chapskate, what brings you here?" he stammered, fumbling with the buttons.
"... I've told you to call me Gilla," she murmured, eyes downcast as she stepped forward. Her voice rose. "I heard what happened at the well today. That isn't like you!"
"You're right," Henry muttered, avoiding her gaze. "I've been a fool. If that's all, I mean to cool off after a short walk. Your father... granted me the day."
A pause. Gilla's fingers knotted in her skirts.
"You've always been quick to admit your faults."
Henry merely nodded once and looked away.
A moment of silence as he finished buttoning his shirt.
"Why are you like this?" she asked quietly, biting her lip.
"Sorry?"
"Avoiding me. Avoiding every girl in the village. Especially... the prettier ones." Her voice quivered slightly.
Henry cleared his throat. "No reason, Miss. I... I suppose I'm not comfortable around you. None of it is your fault. It is just who I am."
"..."
"I'm getting engaged, you know," she said after a moment, stepping closer, sunlight catching in her hair.
Henry nodded.
"To the tailor's son... your father's old friend's boy. Yes, I know," Henry replied, his voice quiet but quick.
Another pause.
"He's a brute," she sighed. "You're really not going to say anything? Even with how he pushes you around whenever he's here?"
Henry scratched his head, giving a half-hearted smile. "I'm just an outsider, Miss. If I act out, I risk ending up with a rope around my neck. Even when it's against someone who might be... irritable."
She let out a sharp breath.
"MIGHT BE Irritable, is he? Come now, you know he's a scoundrel. I won't tell a soul if you admit it." She let out playfully.
Henry wouldn't respond.
She then scoffed and shook her head, the smile vanishing from her face.
"How dull. So, the gallows are enough to make you keep quiet? Or is it really just that you're scared of him?" She sat down on a pile of hay, grinning.
"...I guess I'm afraid of both him and the rope in equal measure," Henry admitted, forcing a smile.
She stared at him a little longer, eyes narrowed.
Then she let out a sigh and flopped back on the hay. "So dull. I honestly wonder; why won't you act like a man?"
Henry leaned back against the wall.
'I really don't like talking to her... but if I leave now, she'll probably take offense. Better just answer and be done with it.' He thought.
"Maybe it's because I'm not much of a man at all, Miss," he said, keeping his tone flat.
She tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "What do you mean by that?"
He swallowed, taking a quick breath. "Just the truth. I'd rather avoid things that could get me killed. I'm a coward, a weakling. You wouldn't see a real man stumble into your village half-dead, would you? I'm hinting your suspicion of me is rather accurate."
She watched him for a beat, seeing how he kept his gaze away, shoulder pressed to the wall, eyes on the ground.
"Is it, now?" She pursed her lips.
Another moment of silence where she scrutinized him.
"You might be right," she sighed at last. "But the way you say it annoys me. I thought there was some hidden depth to you, but maybe you're just like all the rest—dull and useless. To think you were that wounded from a simple wolf attack three years ago. Even one of the town boys could have fought a mere wolf off, no magic needed."
Henry didn't answer, only managing a tired smile.
A few moments of silence passed.
At last, she sat up and looked at him again. "So, this 'day off'. That's just my father's way of letting you go, isn't it?"
"Most likely," he said quietly, resignation in his voice.
She stood, brushed the hay off her skirt, and stepped closer—just three paces between them now. Instinctively, Henry took a step back.
They both froze.
"Look at me." She said.
"...Why?"
"Because if you don't," her voice dropped to a sharp whisper, "I'll call for the guards. I'll say you tried to force yourself upon me."
Henry smiled faintly, gaze falling to the dirt. No crack, no panic. Only something sad beneath the surface.
"Isn't that fine?" he murmured under his breath.
"What?" Her brows furrowed.
"Never mind." He lifted his head, met her eyes. "I'm looking."
Another step. Then another.
He held himself still, breath shaky as her presence loomed inches from him.
"Three years we've known each other," she whispered. "And not once have you spoken to me beyond pleasantries. I'd understand if you were... inclined toward men. But I know you aren't."
Slowly, her hand rose to his cheek. He flinched, breath catching, but didn't pull away.
"Who hurt you before you came here?" she asked, her voice suddenly soft.
Her touch brought it back.
The final hug his mother gave him before he told her what he'd done. The final time he felt the warmth of an embrace.
'Michael...' He heard her voice in his head.
Then, he rashly and swiftly slapped Gilla's hand away.
She gasped and backed away, looking at him with her eyes widen.
"No... No one hurt me," he said softly, stepping back once more, gaze turning away. "Not a single soul wronged me, Miss."
She swallowed hard, her brows knitting at the sight of him. His face — a faint frown, his eyes lowered, cold with a disgust meant only for himself.
"I was the one who did the..." The words caught in his throat.
Silence stretched between them.
At length, he reached for the sword resting against the stable wall. Without haste, he fastened it to his belt.
"Now... if you will excuse me."
He moved past her with a steady gait, his face unreadable.
"H-Henry!" she called after him, her voice catching.
He stopped a short distance from the stables, head half-turned toward her.
"You can do it, you know," he said quietly.
She opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure what to say.
"Tell everyone I've... forced myself upon you. If you'd like. It..."
"Henry, I was only jesting—"
"It would really..." He cut her off, looking away.
"It would really be fine. I mean it."
He finished. She narrowed her eyes at him as he continued walking.
'Did... Did I push it too far?' She thought to herself as she looked at her palm. 'Just... Who are you, Henry?'
His path led toward the mountains.
Behind the stables, outside either's notice, Mr. Chapskate sighed deeply as he leaned against the wooden wall.
'Stupid brat,' he thought in resignation, watching Henry disappear before heading back to his tavern.
ELSEWHERE...
"...As for the final report, Lord Straton," his assistant murmured beside him.
The lord's mansion stood tall at the northern edge of the village. On the second floor, Straton sat at his desk, overlooking the fields through a large window as he sifted through parchment and ink-stained ledgers.
"Get on with it, Harvey," he mumbled, eyes fixed on the leather-bound documents, his quill dipped deep in black ink.
"...There have been sightings of a ranked beast in the area over the past few weeks. I believe we must announce a curfew and increase patrols." Harvey swallowed hard.
Straton's hand trembled. His fingers tightened around the quill.
"...And why am I only hearing about this now?" he snapped, his eyes flaring with sudden anger as he looked up at Harvey.
"W-well... I assumed it was merely the ravings of the cursed villagers—part of their hallucinations. But when multiple reports described the same shape, size, and behavior... we realized it had to be real."
Straton took several deep breaths.
They didn't help.
With a roar, he slammed his fist repeatedly against the desk, sending papers flying across the room. The sharp echo of the blows filled the air. His face flushed red with fury.
"CURSES!!! BLOODY CURSES!" he growled, snapping the quill in half and flinging it across the room.
Harvey calmly stood and began collecting the scattered documents.
"...I apologize, Harvey," Straton muttered at last, slumping into his chair, his hand trying to tame his now-unkempt brown hair. "I understand why you didn't tell me sooner. Though, from now on, I expect to hear even their ramblings. Their safety is my duty."
"Absolutely, and no need to apologize, sir. I doubt anyone could remain calm under your current burdens." Harvey replied calmly.
Straton rubbed his face with both palms.
"Is that so...?" he murmured, loosening his collar with a sigh as he leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
A long silence followed. The only sounds were Harvey's soft footsteps and the gentle rustle of parchment being gathered.
"What do you think will become of them, Harvey?" Straton asked quietly.
"...Sir?"
"The villagers. After I sell Initium. To that buyer Ainsley and Bran brought—before this place rots away entirely, and my family ends up poorer than the wretches we preside over."
Harvey straightened, arms full of scattered papers. "I cannot say for certain, sir. Only that I still do not trust those two. Ainsley and Bran. They've always felt... off. I would advise against anything they bring to our table."
Straton gave a faint chuckle, casting a sidelong glance toward the village through the window.
"You've despised them for six years now, Harvey. Even after they proposed the well, which, I'll admit, brought no small measure of comfort to Initium. We tested the water and its source more times than I can count. Nothing amiss. Now they return with a buyer, just when no one else will lay claim to this blighted land... and that buyer just happens to offer a generous sum. Enough to keep my house from collapse."
He paused, voice lower.
"A viscount, no less. With the means to bring real aid to this place, if he chooses to bother. Truly, the offer could not be more convenient."
"Then, sir... why ask me what will become of the villagers? You've seemingly thought it all," Harvey said as he placed the stack neatly upon the desk.
Straton's smile was bitter. His eyes remained on the window.
"Because of my father. And this cursed thing called pride." He exhaled. "The villagers suffer their madness... and I suffer mine."
He leaned forward, gaze distant.
"Infected with the foolish need to care for this goddess-forsaken village and its dirt-poor people. I guess I'd like to dwell on it... Just a bit more. On these villagers."
"Not yet," He added under his breath.
He scratched at his moustache, chuckling under his breath, but the smile didn't last.
"The buyer will arrive with the contract in two days' time. If things worsen before then... I'll have no choice but to sell and pray they'll take the villagers in." He turned his gaze toward Harvey.
"You understand that, don't you?"
Harvey paused, halfway to retrieving the broken quill.
"...I do, sir." He let out a quiet sigh.
"Regarding the beast... very well. Harvey, inform the head guard to announce a stay-at-home order. He may set curfew at his own discretion until the creature is dealt with. Do we have an estimate on its rank?"
"...Judging by its size and reported appearance... somewhere around C or D-rank. A squad of six guards should handle it with minimal injuries."
"Then tell them to take seven... A C rank in this area... Just how did that bastard get here?"
Harvey nodded.
"As you wish, sir."