We waited in silence.
The kind of silence that stretches too long and begins to feel like a warning.
More than an hour passed before we finally heard footsteps outside. The door opened. Father stepped in.
He looked the same.
But he wasn't.
We stood without speaking. Waiting.
He exhaled slowly.
"Monster attack."
The words were plain. Controlled. But something inside them was heavy.
"The Yurin family was attacked last night. Only in the morning did their neighbor visit. She saw the bodies on the floor."
Mother inhaled sharply. Layla froze.
"…Nessrine?" Layla asked quickly. "Their daughter?"
Father looked at her.
"She was lucky. The monster was… occupied. It didn't catch her before morning came."
Layla released a breath of relief.
I didn't.
A cold line ran down my spine.
The Yurin house was not far. Not isolated. Not hidden deep in the forest.
They lived at the left turn.
We lived at the right.
That was the only difference.
If whatever killed them had chosen differently—
Would we still be standing here?
I forced the question out.
"They captured it, right?"
Father's jaw tightened.
"It escaped. We don't even know what it looks like."
So it was still out there.
Free.
And the nearest home to the Yurin family…
…was ours.
Father didn't waste time.
"Gather your things."
Mother immediately began moving. Layla followed.
I understood what it meant before he explained it. This wasn't caution. This was evacuation.
"But where are we going?" I asked.
"You and your mother will stay at your grandfather's house in the center of the village until the monster is found and killed."
That made sense.
Safer ground. More people. More witnesses.
But something twisted in my chest.
"And the farm?" I asked. "If we leave it unguarded at night, thieves will take everything."
Winter was close. Our harvest mattered. We were not wealthy enough to recover from loss easily.
Father's answer was immediate.
"I will stay."
I felt it then.
The shift.
He had already accepted the risk for himself.
"No," I said.
He looked at me.
"I'll stay too."
"No. You'll go."
"I'm eleven now."
The words felt different leaving my mouth this time. Not childish. Not impulsive.
"I need to learn how to be a man. I can't stay a child forever."
He didn't answer immediately.
So I continued, thinking carefully.
"We can rotate watch. You stay awake first. Then I do. Alone, you can't watch every direction."
I wasn't strong.
I knew that.
If the monster came, I wouldn't defeat it.
But two pairs of eyes are better than one.
And even a weak person can increase survival odds through positioning and timing.
Father studied me longer than usual.
Not dismissing.
Measuring.
Then he sighed.
"…Fine."
It was small.
But it was the first time he adjusted a decision because of me.
In this world, children worked early. Took responsibility early. Some even married early.
Growth wasn't ceremonial.
It was proven.
"Then you listen to every word I say," he added.
"Of course."
Authority had not shifted.
But it had opened a fraction.
That mattered.
I helped Mother and Layla pack.
When I questioned why she was taking kitchen tools, she answered calmly.
"Your grandfather might not have enough for all of us."
Practical.
Prepared.
She later looked at me carefully.
"I heard you're staying."
"Yes."
"Be careful. Don't act reckless. Stay beside your father."
My mother wasn't overly protective. She never had been. She believed shielding children from danger only delayed their growth.
It was how she was raised—by a former soldier who valued discipline and independence above comfort.
And it was how we were raised.
Still, her eyes held something today.
Not fear.
Concern.
"I'll be careful," I said.
Layla stared at me like I was insane.
"So you hear there's a monster, and you decide to stay?"
"If it attacks and only Father dies, that's one thing. But if you die too—what? You want me to carry the family alone?"
"Layla, enough," Mother snapped.
But I saw it.
Beneath her sarcasm—
She was afraid.
We escorted them to Grandfather's house.
His dog growled when we arrived, as if we were strangers again.
I sighed.
He forgets us every month.
I threw a stone at the door from a safe distance.
"Grandfather! It's us!"
After a moment, the door opened.
He smiled.
"What a surprise."
He tied the dog aside and let us in.
While eating, Mother explained everything.
Grandfather listened quietly.
Then his eyes shifted to me.
"You're getting bigger. Want to help your father?"
His gaze sharpened.
"But can you? Aren't you still weak?"
The word wasn't cruel.
It was accurate.
My hands tightened slightly under the table.
Weak.
He wasn't wrong.
"At least stay here until you recover from that headache," he added.
I thought about it.
Recovery meant clearer judgment.
Clear judgment meant fewer mistakes.
"…Alright."
He nodded.
Approval, but reserved.
Then he spoke of monsters.
How villages usually respond. How hunters set traps. How the forest becomes quieter before something is caught.
He mentioned Hunter Alex—how he would likely set traps near our home.
He also mentioned Father's past attempt to become a hunter.
"He failed," Grandfather said simply. "Didn't have the talent."
That lingered in my mind.
Talent.
It separated farmers from hunters.
Survivors from protectors.
I finished eating and returned home to relay the trap idea to Father.
He agreed with it.
Logical. Necessary.
I stayed with him until dusk, helping where I could—reinforcing shutters, moving tools inside, checking blind spots around the house.
Every task revealed something.
How exposed our north wall was.
How limited our visibility toward the tree line.
How vulnerable a farm truly is without trained fighters.
This wasn't about bravery.
It was about structure.
And we had very little of it.
As night approached, I returned to Grandfather's house.
Tomorrow, I would rotate watch with Father.
Tomorrow, I would stand guard against something that slaughtered a family.
I wasn't strong.
Not yet.
But. I could help that's what I believed.