I opened my eyes slowly.
Images began flashing back into my mind, fragmented... the long road, my father running, that strange man...
Everything was clear—yet I felt nothing. No fear, no shock.
But when the memory reached that moment—the sword, the blood, the head falling to the ground—
I jolted upright, gasping sharply. My hands trembled, my breathing quickened.
I looked around quickly…
I was in my room?!
"W–wait… what? Since when have I been here?"
I got up hesitantly and opened the door.
There was my mother in the kitchen, calmly stirring a pot, and Nora sitting at the table, laughing as if nothing had ever happened. Even my father was there, sitting in his wooden chair, reading some papers.
I froze where I stood, staring at them all.
Impossible… how can they act as if nothing happened? Was I dreaming? Or have I lost my mind?
I walked toward the kitchen with unsteady steps, filled a glass of water, and sat by the window.
I just wanted to calm down—to breathe, to convince myself that everything I saw was nothing but an illusion.
I lifted the glass to my lips and took a sip... but my eyes drifted outside, almost unconsciously.
And then I froze.
There, right beneath the window, that man—the power user—was sitting quietly. His face was exactly the same… expressionless.
Suddenly, he turned his head slowly toward me and met my gaze directly.
I gasped, choking on my water as it splashed onto the glass.
I stumbled back from the window, eyes wide, heart pounding violently in my chest.
Pressing a trembling hand against my face, I breathed out shakily,
"What… what is he doing here?!"
I rushed to my father, my voice breaking with fear.
"That man… what is he doing here?!"
My father looked at me seriously.
"He'll be working here in exchange for staying with us…" He sighed and added quietly, "I refused at first, but he stayed nearby and said he'd work as your guard. But I won't allow that."
I stared at him, stunned.
"Wait… my guard?! Why would he want to guard me?!"
He exhaled slowly. "He said he wanted to repay you for saving his life."
I stammered, confused.
"But I didn't do anything for him! I didn't even use my powers… All I said was 'Don't obey him.' That was just selfish—because I was scared for us!"
Father fell silent, sighing at the end of my words.
I went back to the window to look at him more closely. His black hair was unkempt, his figure tall and slender—almost frail—and his face was void of any emotion.
When he turned to look at me again, I flinched—but I didn't pull away, only stared back, wide-eyed.
I asked in a shaky voice,
"Are you hungry? Have you eaten anything?"
He said nothing—just gave a small shake of his head.
I hurried to the kitchen, but there wasn't anything ready. I wasn't much of a cook, either.
So I made him a simple cheese sandwich, poured some milk into a glass, and approached the window carefully to hand it to him.
My hands trembled as I held the plate out to him. When he reached for it, I instinctively pulled back, frightened.
He looked at me again, silent, and I felt embarrassed by my reaction. I extended the plate again, more cautiously this time.
I watched him eat from behind the window and murmured to myself,
"I'm not good at cooking… but I made you something I like."
After a pause, I asked,
"Mr. Man… why do you want to stay here?"
He stopped eating and said quietly,
"I'll be safe here."
I blinked, surprised.
"But there's no danger anymore—you killed that man!"
He replied calmly, firmly,
"Another will come."
I fell silent for a moment before saying softly,
"Mr. Man… but this place is boring. There aren't any people here."
He answered slowly,
"I like it here. It's fine."
I asked again, "But the work here is hard."
His tone didn't change.
"That's fine. I'm used to it."
I didn't like how determined he was to stay.
"Was it difficult living with that man? What did he do to you?"
He stayed silent for a while, staring at the ground, and finally said,
"My name is Barwin."
My eyes lingered on him curiously, trying to take in everything about him.
Days passed. Barwin worked with my father on the farm or helped him with other chores.
He had his own small room outside the house, living alone.
And as for me—I never left the house during those days. I kept my distance from him, wary, avoiding any contact.
Until one day, my father asked me to call him—while my siblings were at school.
Wait… what?!
"My father's sharp voice snapped me out of my daze: 'Hurry up!'"
I went to the small room outside, which was a bit away from the house, and knocked.
Barwin opened the door, and I had to look up to meet his eyes—he was tall, intimidatingly so.
I stepped back slightly and said, "Father wants you."
Then I turned to walk away, and he followed. I kept glancing back at him nervously until I suddenly changed direction.
He stopped, watching me walk off alone, and then began following me again.
When I looked back and saw him trailing me, I quickened my pace—then broke into a run, muttering to myself,
"How stupid of me… why did I go off alone? I'm scared!"
He kept following with calm, steady steps.
When I stumbled, his hand caught my arm, helping me up.
His voice was low but laced with dry sarcasm:
"I'm not going to eat you… trust me."
Even with that blank face, the teasing in his tone was unmistakable.
I frowned, regaining my balance, and turned to him angrily.
"Was that supposed to be funny? Annoying!"
He sighed as I scowled.
"You shouldn't go alone. I can't protect you if you wander off."
I snapped back,
"I don't want your protection! This place is already safe… Just go to my father—he'll be angry if you're late."
I kept walking, but he continued to follow. I stopped, turned to him, and said sharply,
"Could you not follow me?"
He suddenly stepped forward, grabbed me by the arms, and in an instant, we were back at the house.
He set me down and said evenly,
"You can go inside now."
I stared at him, a mix of irritation and disbelief flooding through me, my heart still racing.
Then one evening, while my parents were talking casually about that day, I remembered something my father had said about my mother's ranking level.
Panic surged through me when his anger flared and he called my name.
I bolted out of the house, running through the darkness in terror, until I reached Barwin's room.
I pounded on the door frantically. He opened it quickly, and I dove under his iron bed, my heart pounding so hard it hurt.
My father searched for me, asking my siblings where I was. They pointed toward the door.
"She went outside."
He rushed to Barwin's room and banged on the door.
Barwin opened it, and my father demanded harshly,
"Where is she?"
Barwin didn't lie. He simply pointed under the bed and said calmly,
"She's here… hiding."
"I was terrified and shocked… and I felt betrayed. I never imagined he'd reveal my hiding place to my father."
When my father tried to enter the room, Barwin blocked the doorway with his arm, staring at him silently.
My father looked at him in disbelief and anger, shouting,
"Move!"
Barwin didn't respond.
Then, suddenly, my father grabbed him by the collar and struck him hard across the face—again and again, each blow heavier than the last, as if releasing all his pent-up rage.
Finally, he stopped, breathing heavily, and said coldly,
"I want you inside the house in five minutes."
Then he turned and walked away.
Tears streamed down my face as I looked at Barwin—his lip bleeding, bruises forming. Fear twisted inside me, not just of my father, but of everything.
And yet… despite it all, I saw the kindness in him.
He hadn't lied, hadn't pretended. He bore the pain silently—for me.
"I didn't know that that moment would be the beginning of everything."
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