My hand once again scooped up a spoonful of the dry pastry drenched in honey on the table of mine.
I lifted the piece of pastry into my mouth.
It was sweet. Too sweet, if I'm being honest.
I've never really liked sweet food. Whenever even a tiny grain of sugar slips past my lips, it feels like one of my back molars cracks by a whole centimeter. Not to mention the aftertaste, lingering, stubborn, and annoying, even after I brush my teeth.
And with how dry this pastry is, it feels like I'd need to drink several gallons of water just to finish it.
But despite all the things I hate about it, here I am, still eating this dry pastry.
How could I not?
Every weekend, our orphanage holds a small gathering, where Auntie Vera gives each child a pastry cake.
It wasn't much of a party. If you compare the pastry to the ones sold in town, it's not even close.
Our orphanage isn't wealthy. Even for firewood, we have to chop it ourselves.
Even so, none of us ever complained.
Most of the kids actually look forward to this event. It's no surprising, eating such a sweet in a country with a climate as brutal as Nivalis is already a blessing you can't take for granted.
Maybe I'm the only one who doesn't enjoy such "luxury."
I spooned another bite from the pastry on the table.
But just as the metal spoon touched the surface of the pastry, a soft voice suddenly called out.
"ILYAAAA!"
My body jolted in shock. The spoon slipped right out of my hand, flying who knows where.
Of course.
I turned toward the voice.
Standing at the doorway of my room was a small girl.
Her brown hair was messy and unbrushed. Her cheeks were red from the cold, and her mouth was stuffed with crumbs of pastry and honey. Around her neck, a red scarf was tied far too tightly, again.
I rubbed my forehead.
"Anna, how many times have I told you not to shout inside the house?" I said tiredly.
Anna giggled mischievously.
I've scolded her so many times about shouting and running in the house, yet she keeps doing it, actually getting worse by the day.
What did I expect.
Anna walked closer, her eyes sparkling the moment she saw my pastry, of which I had only eaten three spoonfuls.
"Ilya! Can I have that pastry instead?"
I glanced back at the pastry in front of me, a drizzle of honey falling into the cut part of the cake.
I let out a long sigh.
Bent down, I picked up the fallen spoon, then put it on the pastry plate and gently pushed it toward Anna.
Her mouth opened wide, her eyes shining even brighter. She devoured the pastry with the ferocity of a starving wolf, crumbs flying everywhere.
Without realizing it, a faint smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I watched my little sister eat it so eagerly.
I don't really like these gatherings, to be honest.
The food is too sweet and too dry, and the noise from the kids is enough to make my ears ring.
Yet for some reason, even though all of that bothers me, a part of me still feels.. contented.
Watching my brothers and sisters, older and younger, build snowmen together, then eat dry pastries under the bright afternoon sun, and when evening comes with its cool breeze, Auntie Vera will bring out hot chocolate, tea, or sometimes even coffee. And, somehow… all of it eased a small part of me.
Before long, Anna finished her pastry.
She turned to me with a wide grin.
"Here," she said, handing me the empty plate.
Not even a "thank you," huh?
I chuckled softly, forgiving her innocence, while ruffled her hair gently and took the empty plate.
Then I stood up from my chair, opened the door, and headed downstairs.
Anna followed behind me, sometimes hopping, making the old wooden floor creak.
Honestly, the sound makes me worry this place will collapse in a few years.
The hiss of the fireplace greeted us as we reached the lower floor. Anna looked around, and when her eyes lit up with recognition, she raised her hand and called out.
"Sophia!"
I glanced at her.
So mine was intentional, huh?
Sophia, who had been focused on her doll, lifted her head just as Anna ran off toward her. The two of them began playing together.
I could only shake my head at how easily Anna gets distracted.
I continued walking. Near the fireplace, Mikhail and the boys were playing make-believe kings. They stacked chairs, pillows, and books, basically anything they could find into a tall throne where Mikhail sat proudly.
I was a bit worried they'd fall.
If the upper floor is full of bedrooms and a small library in the corner, the lower floor is nothing more than a simple living room. A brick fireplace sits on the left, with an old rifle, one I'm not even sure works anymore mounted above it.
Old sofas, worn carpets, and a rocking chair left by a previous caretaker filled the space around the hearth.
The children usually gather there when the weather outside turns bad.
On the right side, rows of tables and chairs stood. Not many, if I remember correctly, only about ten, with chalkboard hung in front of them.
That's where we study.
It's not easy to find proper educational institutions in a country known as the "Land of An Endless Winter." We're lucky the orphanage offers even the basics.
I finally reached the back kitchen. Nikolai who was still busy arranging plates, turned to me.
"Oh—hey, Ilya," he greeted.
I nodded. "Yeah."
Then I walked toward the sink.
Nikolai glanced at the empty plate I brought, raising an eyebrow.
"You gave away your pastry again, didn't you?"
"N-No, I didn't…"
Nikolai laughed at the slight tremor in my voice.
"Alright. Just leave the plate there. I'll wash it later."
But instead of listening, I grabbed the small wooden block the kids used so they could reach the sink.
I stepped on it, turned on the faucet, grabbed a sponge, and started washing the glass plate myself.
Nikolai sighed.
"Again?" he muttered helplessly.
I tilted my head, not understanding why he sounds so disappointed.
I kept washing the plate until a loud noise echoed from the main room.
Anna was the first to shout, again with that "soft" voice of hers.
"I MEAN IT, YOU KNOW!!"
I grumbled inwardly:
Seriously? It hasn't even been five minutes.
Nikolai flinched at the loud scream, while I stayed focused on my task.
Anna continued, "I saw him! The Hunter! He's real!"
Ah. That rumor again.
The Hunter, or the Forest Ghost, or whatever name people gave him, is a local folklore passed around this village.
Not far from here lies a forest. Tall pine trees stacked with layers of snow, inhabited by animals forming a balanced ecosystem even in subzero temperatures.
Many villagers, including us, go there for supplies, firewood or small berries.
Sure, the world has advanced. We don't need to do that anymore.
We could just buy firewood or berries from the store. But it's a village tradition now. The forest is almost sacred to us. And there's a generational rule that villagers must visit it at least once a day, personally or through someone else.
But that doesn't mean the forest is entirely safe.
Many claimed that those who "disturb" the forest or go too deep inside will be taken by the Hunter.
Aside from that, after years I spent living in this village and walking through the forest countless times, I've always felt something strange.
Every time I step inside that forest, the wind grows stronger, birds take flight, and the branches rustle violently.
People in this village, Nikolai and Auntie Vera included, say the forest is full of animals, but strangely, I've never seen a single one.
And the deeper I walk, the more I feel like someone, or something… is watching me.
I asked around, but the answer was always the same.
"It must be the Hunter's doing."
Honestly, I never believed the story. I always thought it was ridiculous for people to blame their misfortunes on a folklore creature that probably doesn't exist.
I've always tried to think logically and stayed on the clear path.
But, maybe I must admit that last night… I started to doubt myself.