The mountain road moved slowly under the weight of night.
Snow had not yet fallen, but the air was sharp—cold enough not to cut the skin, but the bones beneath it. Each breath left the mouth as pale vapor, scattering into the darkness and vanishing after a few steps.
As if even the night itself did not wish to remain.
Varlin Velhamortgh tightened his cloak slightly, shielding the baby in his arms from the wind.
Kaien.
The baby was silent.
But this silence was not born of peace.
Newborns either cried or slept. Kaien did neither. His eyes were closed, yet he was not asleep. His chest rose and fell steadily, but his breathing was…
too controlled.
As if the world did not yet belong to him.
Or perhaps he had not yet decided whether it did.
Varlin slowed his steps. He did not wish to disturb this silence.
If it broke… he felt that something would never return.
On the slope of the mountain, a house appeared—smoke rising faintly from its chimney.
It was made of wood. Well kept, but not ornate. The fences were sturdy, the door worn. Not the home of an old friend…
but the home of a life that had been lived.
Varlin stopped.
I haven't been here in a long time, he thought.
Nothing has changed.
This place still belonged to the living.
He knocked.
The solid sound echoed into the night.
Children's voices rose from inside.
"Mom! Someone's at the door!"
Then a deeper, familiar voice followed.
"Let me see… Who would come at this hour?"
The door opened.
Zakaryon Juhesta stood there.
For a moment, he looked at Varlin.
Then at the baby in his arms.
His eyebrows lifted.
"You've got to be kidding me."
Varlin grunted.
"Shut up."
The corner of Zakaryon's mouth curved upward.
"What happened? Causing trouble again in the middle of the night?"
Varlin was silent for a brief moment.
"It's a long story, Zakaryon."
Just then, a woman's voice came from inside.
"Zakaryon? Who is it?"
Zakaryon turned his head.
"An old disaster."
The woman approached the door, a baby blanket in her hands. There was no fear on her face—only caution.
The kind born from experience.
Behind her came two children.
One was a girl around five years old, her eyes shining with curiosity.
The other was a boy who had just turned one, wobbling as he walked, clutching his father's trousers for balance.
Both of their gazes drifted toward Kaien.
"Dad," the girl asked, "who's that baby?"
Zakaryon hesitated for a brief moment.
"Go to your mother, sweetheart. Your father has things to discuss with this old man."
Varlin stepped inside.
The house was warm.
A fire burned, but the warmth did not come from it alone. Old belongings lined the walls, toys lay scattered on the floor.
Not the remnants of a life abandoned…
but the signs of a life continuing.
Varlin's chest tightened for a moment.
This, he thought.
This is the world my grandson should know.
Zakaryon's wife took Kaien into her arms.
"He's cold," she whispered.
She wrapped him carefully.
Kaien stirred slightly.
The woman froze.
Her gaze fixed on Kaien's chest.
One moment…
Two…
"This child's ruven…" she said slowly.
"It isn't normal."
Zakaryon's face hardened.
"You felt it too?"
She nodded.
"It's silent," she said.
"But not empty. His heart doesn't beat in a single rhythm."
Varlin spoke.
"I know. That's why I'm here."
Zakaryon crossed his arms.
"They're after you?"
"Yes."
"How close are they?"
Varlin didn't answer.
That was the answer.
"They're after me," he said finally.
"I managed to shake them off for now. But I don't have much time."
He paused.
"They don't know about the child."
Zakaryon clenched his teeth.
"Varlin… One of mine is barely a year old."
"The other has only just begun to know the world."
Varlin didn't look away.
"That's why here."
Silence fell.
But it wasn't empty.
It was a decision.
Kaien was placed in the cradle.
Varlin looked—without meaning to.
For a moment…
A very brief moment…
It stopped.
A pulse…
No.
Pulses.
He pulled his gaze away at once.
Zakaryon didn't notice.
But his wife did.
Their eyes met.
She said nothing.
"You want him to grow up here?" Zakaryon asked.
Varlin's voice softened for the first time.
"My grandson shouldn't grow up in darkness."
A long silence followed.
Then Zakaryon smiled.
Tired, but resolute.
"Alright, old man."
The girl approached the cradle.
"What's his name?"
"Kaien."
She thought for a moment.
"Will he be our brother?"
Zakaryon nodded.
"Yes."
Varlin turned away.
"Take good care of my grandson," he said.
"You're the only one in this world I can trust."
Zakaryon answered calmly.
"I know. Go without worry, master."
The door closed.
Varlin returned to the mountain path.
The wind struck his face.
He knew he would never step through that door again.
What he left behind was not a baby.
It was a life.
And the burden he carried…
had grown a little heavier.
(Six months after Varlin's departure)
Spring never truly came to Ashmere.
It only made the cold hurt a little less.
The ash-colored soil was damp in the mornings, breaking into dust by noon.
That was why people in the village measured their steps carefully.
Running…
was considered a child's behavior.
Except for Myra.
"Stop! You'll fall!" Elvaira called out.
Myra was already running.
Her skirt was stained with ash, her hair flying loose. In one hand, she held a small wooden doll; in the other, Kaien's blanket.
"Mom, look! Kaien looked at me!"
"He looks at everyone," Elvaira said.
"But don't drop him."
Eryon stood beside the cradle.
His face was bright red.
And he was screaming.
"Is he crying again?" Zakaryon called from outside.
"Not again," Elvaira replied, calm but sharp.
"He never stopped."
Zakaryon entered. His shoulders were broad, his clothes covered in ash. He set his notebook down on the table.
"I wasn't crying," he said defensively.
Elvaira raised an eyebrow.
"You were. Just louder."
Zakaryon laughed.
"See? Takes after his father."
Eryon's cries grew even louder.
As if he were trying to force the world to respond.
Zakaryon bent down and picked him up, but nothing changed.
"You see?" Elvaira said.
"He cries even more when he hears your voice."
Zakaryon sighed.
"There must be a scientific explanation."
Myra chimed in.
"I think Eryon was born angry."
"Myra," Elvaira warned.
"But it's true!"
The girl turned to Kaien.
"Look, Kaien doesn't cry at all. He's good."
Kaien was silent.
But he wasn't asleep.
His eyes were open.
Watching the inside of the house.
When Eryon screamed, his face tightened slightly.
When Zakaryon laughed, his eyes shifted in that direction.
And when Myra approached…
his breathing quickened.
Elvaira noticed.
"Again?" she murmured.
She placed her finger into Kaien's palm.
Kaien held it.
But this time, he didn't squeeze.
He simply… waited.
A chill ran through Elvaira.
But she didn't show it.
"Zakaryon," she said.
"Hmm?"
"This child… senses the atmosphere."
Zakaryon shrugged.
"Maybe we're just too loud."
Just then, sounds rose from outside.
The village was waking up.
Ashmere's market wasn't large.
But everyone was there.
Zakaryon wrapped Kaien in his cloak.
"Come on," he said.
"Let's take a walk to the market."
In the market, people observed one another—but never stared.
Staring meant questions.
And questions were not welcomed in Ashmere.
"A new baby?" an old woman asked.
"He just turned one," Elvaira replied.
"So quiet."
"We are too," Zakaryon said with a laugh.
The woman smiled—but her eyes lingered on Kaien.
A moment too long.
Kaien grew restless.
His fingers buried themselves into the cloak.
Zakaryon felt it.
He pulled the baby closer.
"Must be cold," he said.
The woman nodded.
"Some children in Ashmere feel things early."
"Feel what?"
The woman didn't answer.
She simply walked away.
Myra whispered,
"Dad… why did that lady look like that?"
Zakaryon smiled.
"Because you run fast."
Myra laughed.
But Kaien's gaze never left the market.
There was something there.
It had no name.
No voice.
But it had a presence.
That night, Ashmere fell silent early.
Eryon fell asleep from exhaustion.
Myra ran in her dreams.
Zakaryon scribbled something into his notebook.
Elvaira stood beside the cradle.
Kaien wasn't sleeping.
But he was quiet.
This silence was not empty.
Ashmere felt as though it were holding its breath.
And this time…
the silence was full.