After learning what Olian and her mother, Julie, had been through, Elifero began to understand at least a little why Olian behaved the way she did. Her sharp words, her distant eyes, the way she seemed to push everyone away before they could get close... it wasn't cruelty. It was armor.
That realization sat heavily in his chest.
He stepped outside.
This was the first time he had come outside. The evening air was calm, carrying a faint scent of wood and earth. Olian sat alone on the porch, her elbows resting on her knees, her gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the village. She looked small there, isolated despite the house behind her.
When she noticed him, she glared.
The look froze him in place.
Elifero didn't know what to do.
Or what to say.
At the moment, he realized something unsettling. He didn't know how to comfort someone who didn't want to be comforted. His mind spiraled with thoughts.
What should I say?
What if she really doesn't want to talk to me?
What if I just make things worse?
So instead of approaching her, he sat down short distance away. Far enough not to intrude. Close enough to show he wasn't leaving.
Silence stretched between them.
It wasn't peaceful.
It was heavy.
Moments later, she spoke.
"What do you want?"
Elifero stayed quiet.
"I know my mom told you about my brother and my deadbeat father," Olian continued, her voice sharp but controlled. "And I said something about you being my friend. And know suddenly, you feel sad for me."
She turned slightly, her eyes cutting into him.
"But tell me something~ if she never said anything... would you still give a damn?"
"Yeah," he said after a moment. " She did tell me. But not in details. All she said was that your father died in the war while on duty... and that your brother died from an illness."
Olian let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Typical of her," she said. " My mom is too kind. She's like a flower that had to be treated gently."
Her fingers tightened against her knees.
"After what happened to my brother and him, she tries desperately to convince herself that it was just bad luck." Her voice wavered slightly before hardening again. "But everything she told you was a lie."
Elifero stood there, stunned.
"Why would she lie?" he asked.
Olian nodded faintly.
" Well, it's the truth," she said. "Why would she tell a stranger ~ one of them ~ the real story?"
Elifero frowned.
"One of them?" he repeated. " You keep saying that. What do you mean by one of them?"
She turned fully toward him then.
Her face was calm. Too calm.
Her eyes were empty.
"The one who killed my brother."
****
"The village has laws," Olian said quietly.
Her eyes stayed forward, fixed on the empty street ahead, as if she wasn't really speaking to Elifero ~ but the past.
"One of them doesn't allow outsiders to enter unless the village chief approves it."
She let out a slow breath.
"But there are exceptions," she added. "But my family was never one of them."
She paused before continuing.
"My father's name was Daniel C. Boulevard."
For a moment, she said nothing else. Just the name. As if weighing whether it deserved to be spoken at all.
"He used to work outside the village," she said. "Back when things were... normal."
At first, he brought money home. Not much, but enough. Enough for food. Enough for quiet evenings.
Then the stealing started.
"Small things," she said. "At least that's what he called them. Materials from work. Stuff he said no one would miss."
He sold them. Sold them to strangers. Sold them for more than they were worth. He became greedy.
Word spread.
It always does.
Soon, no one would hire him. Not in the village. Not in nearby towns. Not even across the border. Wherever his name went, doors closed.
" So, my mother had to work instead."
Julie became a nurse in the nearby town. The pay wasn't great. Sometimes it barely covered the basics. But she made it work anyway.
She always did.
"She came home tired," Olian said. " Every day. Hands smelling like medicine. Clothes stained from work."
Still, she smiled.
Daniel hated that smile.
"He complained constantly." Olian went on. "About the money. About her job. About how little she earned compared to what he used to make."
His voice filled the house more than his presence ever did.
"When he wasn't complaining," she said, " he was drinking."
Beer bottles piled up in corners. Friends came and went. Laughter that didn't belong in their home echoed through the walls.
Sometimes, Olian and her brother would see him flirting with other women. Openly. Shamelessly.
Sometimes worse.
"That's when we started hating him," she said.
Her voice didn't shake when she said it.
"One evening," she continued, "he drank too much."
It happened at his favorite tavern. At Shanks.
Everyone knew that place. Everyone knew him there too.
"He tried hitting on another man's wife."
Olian's fingers curled slowly into her palms.
"Witnesses said he touched her. Said he didn't stop when she told him to."
She looked away.
"The husband did."
The bottle came down hard. Right against Daniel's neck.
He died there. On the tavern floor.
"The husband was taken to trial," Olian said. " But the chief did not take kind against the actions taken by the husband or my father. The husband's penalty was concluded."
Just like that, Danie C. Boulevard was gone.
The porch fell silent.
She swallowed.
***
A year after their father's death, JJ made a decision.
He stopped waiting for things to improve on their own.
At fifteen, while most boys his age were still worried about school and friends, JJ went out and found work. It wasn't glamorous, and it wasn't stable, but it was honest. He became a transporter ~ moving food, materials, and supplies between villages.
Olian never fully understood the details of his job.
All she knew was that her brother was always on the road.
JJ left school despite having only three years left to finish. Teachers tried to stop him. Some villagers said he was wasting talent, that someone as gifted as him shouldn't throw his future away.
JJ didn't listen.
What mattered to him was home.
For the next several months, life slowly began to feel lighter.
JJ brought food back whenever he could. Sometimes he brought small treats; sweets, trinkets and things Olian treasured like priceless gifts. Julie no longer returned home empty handed every night, and the exhaustion in her eyes softened just a little.
To Olian, JJ wasn't just her brother.
He was her hero.
He was brilliant, sharp, and unnaturally capable for his age. Some even called him a genius, blessed by their God. Whatever he touched, he excelled at it. Whatever he promised, he delivered.
Then, one afternoon during a delivery, everything changed.
JJ came across a group of men surrounding a girl about his age. She looked terrified. Trapped. Alone.
Without thinking too long, JJ paid them to leave her alone.
He brought the girl back with him to the village.
He didn't ask permission from the chief.
That night, Olian received a different kind of surprise.
JJ came home with a girl.
Her name was Miranda.
At first, she seemed harmless ~ kind, soft-spoken, grateful. She helped around the house, shared meals with them, laughed easily. Days passed, then weeks. Slowly, she gained their trust.
JJ fell for her.
So did Julie.
So did Olian.
For a brief time, the house felt whole again.
Then, one morning, the village bank hold was discovered empty.
The same morning, Miranda was gone.
JJ didn't want to believe it.
He refused to accept what the signs were screaming at him. He told Julie and Olian that there had to be a misunderstanding, that he would find her and bring her back.
He promised he would return.
Two days later, his body was found.
Abandoned.
Stripped of everything valuable.
A gunshot wound silenced whatever answer he had gone searching for.
No one truly knows what happened.
But Miranda had ran.
JJ C. Boulevard was gone.
***
Olian's voice dropped, quiet for a moment.
Then she spoke.
"If I ever see her," she said slowly, each word pressed flat and deliberate, "even years from now... even if it's just a glimpse~"
She clenched her fists.
"I'll make her pay for what she did"
She finally turned to him.
"For my brother."
Her eyes didn't burn with rage.
They were calm.
Certain.
"That's not anger," Olian said. "It's a promise."