The fire had burned low, its embers glowing faintly in the hearth. Shadows danced across the wooden beams of the cabin, flickering with every shift of the lantern flame. The house was quiet, save for the faint drip of water in the sink and the soft, uneven breathing of the infant in the corner basket.
Dinner was over, but the tension at the table had just begun. Mei stood with her back straight, her hands busy stacking the last of the dishes. Though her movements were neat and deliberate, each small clink carried a sharp edge, betraying the storm roiling beneath her calm exterior.
Dain sat opposite, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes fixed on the floorboards. His broad shoulders were taut, the muscles of his jaw clenched as if holding back words he wasn't sure he should say. The silence stretched like a bowstring between them until Mei's voice finally cut through.
"Alright, Dain. Explain."
The hunter raised his head slowly, half his face caught in the dim glow, the other swallowed by shadow. "I found the baby in the forest," he said, voice low but steady. "Alone. No signs of anyone around."
The lantern crackled softly, the flame flickering as if it too bristled at his words. Mei froze mid-motion, her fingers tightening around a plate until her knuckles paled. Her voice came out quieter than she intended, but sharper too. "…And you brought them here?"
Her tone wasn't curiosity—it was accusation.
"I wasn't going to leave them," Dain said, harsher this time, his voice rough like gravel.
Mei set the plate down, harder than she meant to. The sound echoed, sharp as a slap. Her arms crossed tightly across her chest. "And you didn't think to ask me first?"
Dain pushed back his chair. It scraped against the wooden floor with a screech. He stood suddenly, towering, frustration flashing across his weathered features. "There was no time, Mei! They would have died!"
The baby stirred at the raised voices, letting out a small whimper. The sound cut through the tension for a breath, but only for a breath.
Mei's eyes narrowed. "And what if someone left them there for a reason?" she demanded. Her voice was low now, cold.
The child whimpered again, shifting in the blanket, and Dain's next words dropped like an axe. "…Then they don't deserve them back."
The weight of it hung heavy. Mei turned sharply away, her hands gripping her arms as if holding herself together. "You don't even know if this child is safe," she said, breath hitching. "What if they bring trouble to this house?"
Dain stepped forward, his boots creaking the boards. "Maybe they will. Maybe they won't. But look at them, Mei. They need someone."
His voice cracked at the end, desperation pushing through the stern front. He was close now, close enough for her to feel his presence, to see the fatigue in his eyes.
Mei's fists clenched so tightly the fabric of her dress strained. Her lips parted but no words came. Slowly, unwillingly, her gaze drifted toward the basket. The infant shifted again, their tiny face bathed in the glow of the lantern, their breaths soft and uneven. So small. So vulnerable.
"…This isn't fair, Dain," she whispered, her voice breaking just slightly.
Dain's shoulders dropped, the fight leaving him in a long, weary sigh. "No. But neither is leaving them out there to die."
The room went silent again. Only the faint ticking of the old wall clock spoke, each tick heavier than the last. Mei closed her eyes, and when she opened them, the fire had dimmed in her gaze. She exhaled slowly, like surrender. "You're impossible."
Her steps were hesitant as she moved toward the basket. She paused, hovering, before slipping her arms beneath the blanket. The child stirred but didn't wake as she lifted them, their warmth small and fragile against her chest.
"…Fine," she murmured. "But if they cry all night, you're staying up."
Relief softened Dain's stern features for the first time that night. A small laugh rumbled from his chest. "Deal."
The infant let out a tiny, contented sigh, and the weight in the cabin shifted—just slightly, but enough to matter.
---
One Month Later
Morning light stretched across the clearing, pale gold slipping between the branches overhead. Birds called from the canopy, but their songs seemed distant, muted by the quiet tension of the two figures standing in the open space.
Dain crossed his arms, his sharp eyes fixed on the boy in front of him.
Reider.
The infant who had once fit in the crook of Mei's arm now stood with the frame of a six-year-old. His body had grown unnaturally fast, his face blank, expressionless. His eyes were empty, unreadable, but they never wavered from Dain.
"Alright, kid," Dain said, his tone measured. "Let's see what you've got today."
Reider's reply was as simple as his expression. "Okay."
A gust of wind stirred the trees around them, scattering leaves across the grass. Dain cracked his knuckles, rolling his shoulders. "Not much of a talker, huh?"
Reider said nothing. His silence pressed heavier than words.
Dain smirked faintly. "Creepy."
Reider stepped forward, fists rising into a fighting stance. His voice was flat. "I'm ready."
The hunter exhaled, and then, in a blur, he vanished.
Reider blinked—and Dain was behind him, tapping his head lightly. "You're dead."
The boy turned slowly, swinging a small fist at his ribs. The blow was steady but slow, the strike carving through the air only to miss as Dain leaned aside, casual as though swatting a fly.
"Slow," Dain remarked.
Reider pressed on, fists flying in steady rhythm. His attacks were mechanical, lacking force or emotion.
"No strength," Dain added, slipping between the blows with ease, his hands tucked behind his back.
Abruptly, Reider stopped. His hands fell. "…Let me hit you."
Dain blinked, his brow quirking. For a moment, only the whisper of leaves answered. Then, with a smirk, he raised one hand, wind curling faintly around his fingers.
"Alright. Try again."
Reider charged, his steps steady. Dain flicked his wrist, and a gust swirled beneath the boy's feet. Reider stumbled, collapsing forward with no cry, no curse—just silence. His face struck the dirt with a dull thud.
Dain crouched beside him, brushing soil from his hair with a chuckle. "No reaction, huh? Does anything make you mad?"
Reider sat up slowly, dirt streaking his cheek. His voice was flat, but the words held weight. "…I don't like magic."
Dain tilted his head, surprised. "That's the most emotion I've seen out of you."
Reider's eyes narrowed faintly. "…It's unfair."
The hunter laughed, standing tall. He extended a hand. "Then get strong enough that it doesn't matter."
Reider took his hand, rising steadily. His face remained blank, but his words carried quiet resolve. "Okay."
The trees swayed as a breeze passed, the leaves whispering overhead.
---
The cabin smelled faintly of herbs and smoke, the flicker of a candle casting long shadows across the table. Mei sat with her arms crossed, her sharp eyes locked on Dain, who leaned back in his chair with careless ease.
"You took him out to train again?" Mei asked, her voice tight.
"It's just sparring," Dain replied, waving her concern off.
Outside, laughter rang across the yard. Ren darted through the grass with a wooden sword, his grin wide and unrestrained. Reider followed close behind, his face blank but his movements quick, precise.
"Come on, Reider! Try to dodge!" Ren shouted, his small feet pounding the earth.
Inside, Mei's grip tightened around her cup. "You don't see the problem, do you?"
Dain exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I see a kid who needs to get stronger."
Her eyes narrowed. "It's been one month, Dain. One month."
"I know."
"Then you know it's not normal."
Her words were like a knife.
Outside, Ren swung his wooden blade. Reider shifted just enough to let it slide past his cheek.
"Whoa! You're fast!" Ren laughed, undeterred.
Inside, Mei leaned forward, palm slamming against the table. "A month ago, we found a baby in the forest. Now he looks six years old."
The sound of her hand striking the wood echoed.
Reider sidestepped another attack, Ren stumbling past him with a grin.
Dain rubbed his brow, his voice tired. "I know it's strange. But what do you want me to do? Throw him back?"
Mei looked away, her face shadowed. "That's not what I'm saying…"
Her voice dropped lower, almost to a whisper. "The knights are looking for something, Dain."
The fire in the hearth cracked sharply, spitting sparks.
Dain's face hardened. "…You're sure?"
Mei nodded, her eyes troubled. "The town's restless. People are whispering about patrols moving closer."
Far away, armored figures moved through a dark castle hall. Torches lit silver-plated knights kneeling before a shadowed throne.
"We have traced the anomaly to the forest," one intoned.
Armor clanked as he rose.
Back in the village, Mei's voice was soft, urgent. "They'll come here. They'll search."
In the clearing, Ren laughed again, tugging at Reider's sleeve. "Tag! Got you!"
Reider's eyes did not move. His gaze was locked on the tree line. The laughter dimmed in his ears, drowned out by something distant. Something approaching.
"They're coming," he whispered.
Leaves rustled in the distance.
Dain stood suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Get Ren inside. Now."
Mei froze, her heart hammering.
Ren tilted his head, confusion plain on his face. "Why? We're just playing."
"Because they're watching," Reider said flatly.
A sharp snap echoed from the forest. A branch breaking.
A cloaked figure shifted in the shadows of the trees.
Mei's voice shook. "We should never have brought him back."
Outside, the sound of armored boots striking mud grew louder. Torches flared in the distance.
Knights.
At the village's edge, the lead knight raised a hand, his sharp eyes reflecting the torchlight. "Search every home."
Thunder rumbled far away, rolling across the land.
In the cabin, Dain's jaw clenched. Mei's fists trembled. Ren's laughter faltered, his eyes darting between them. And Reider, silent as ever, simply stared toward the forest, as if he had known this moment would come.
"…It's already too late, isn't it?" Mei whispered.
The wind howled softly, carrying with it the clamor of steel and the promise of danger.
To be continued…