Dinner fills the small room with a quiet warmth—the clink of spoons, soft breaths, dim light. It is just the two of us: me and the girl named Rose.
"You know," she says with a small smile, "it's because you remind me of him. My father… he disappears when I am eight."
She talks a lot. I listen more than I answer. Maybe because my face reminds her of her brother. But her voice reminds me too strongly of my mother.
"I want to look for him," she continues. "I always do. But I never know where to start."
I do not respond. I have nothing to say.
The silence hangs, so I reach for the only thing I have—the photo. Torn edges. Faded ink. Like a wound of its own.
"That's your family?" she asks.
I nod. "My father dies too. So…" I force a thin smile. "I guess we are balanced."
She laughs softly—a laugh that makes the room feel a little less tired.
"You're not from this village, right? I've never seen you."
"The next one over," I say. "I come to sell something. To stay alive."
Her eyes light up. "Can I see? I love collecting strange things."
I look around the room, filled with hanging objects and neatly arranged oddities.
"Just as it looks," I say.
She laughs softly again.
I lift the pendant from my chest and place the crystal on the table.
Her curiosity freezes. Shifts. Tightens.
"I find it by the river," I say. "I think it is an old relic. Something valuable."
She does not answer.
Then—without a word—she snatches it and runs upstairs. A rustling sound echoes above, footsteps coming down again, carrying several books.
Thud—pages flip frantically. And finally—
"I find it!"
A heavy book slams onto the table. She sets the crystal on the open page.
"This… is magic." Her eyes lock onto mine. "You touch it?"
"Yes."
Her finger traces the writing. "It says anyone who touches it will feel a pull… impossible to let go. Does that happen?"
"Yes."
"And then…" Her voice thins. "It says the one who touches it becomes its vessel. No, that can't—"
She cuts herself off and looks at me.
"Hiro… have you ever heard the story of the Sun and Moon War?"
I shake my head.
"Paragon has awakened," she whispers. "With a vessel. Using a human body. You."
I stare at her. None of it makes sense to me.
"My dream," she says, her voice trembling, "is to meet the one destined to find this relic. The one who can lead me… to my father, or my brother."
She steps closer. "Hiro… will you travel with me?"
I blink. "I don't even understand half of what you're talking about. I don't know what this journey is."
"You touch the crystal. Enemies of relics will come for you. To take it, they have to kill you. Does anyone look for it before you get here?"
"…Someone," I murmur. "His body is wrapped in bandages. Strong. And for some reason—"
A flash. His sword. His breath. His moment of hesitation.
"And?" she presses.
"He lets me live."
I give a crooked smile. "Weird, right? I mean, I already ask to die, yet I still wake up after that. I swear, I am completely confused about what he does to me afterward, even though I want to die—"
SLAP.
Her hand cracks across my cheek.
"You really think your life means nothing?" she snaps. "If your mother were alive—she would break hearing you say that."
Her words cut deeper than her hand.
She wipes her tears. "I don't know where to start, Hiro. Please. Help me."
She turns toward the stairs. "Stay here tonight. There is an empty room. And you should not sell that in this village—anyone who buys it will kill you for touching it."
The door closes behind her.
---
The night moves slowly. I lie on the bed upstairs, moonlight spilling through the window, its cold light resting on my hand.
In the middle of the night, I jolt awake—restless, unable to sleep. My head is loud with one question.
Why does he let me live?
My life means nothing—a slave's child, a story no one cares about. Mother is once a noble, but she leaves everything for Father. For us.
And she dies when I am eight.
I reach for the photo.
"Ah." Something I have not looked at in so long.
The words on the back—her handwriting. Soft. Neat. For me.
My dear son…
Forgive this failing body. Forgive the short years I give you. I wish to see you grow bright, strong, and unbroken.
Your father guards the weak—stand strong as he does.
I find peace, calm, and freedom—I pray you find them too.
Carry our hope. Our love. Our memory.
Forgive me. I love you, as always.
My breath cracks.
A tremor runs through my hands.
"Mom…" I whisper.
"I miss you."