chapter1
Mother’s laughter still echoed through the house.
Warm.
Soft.
The kind of sound that always made the darkness in the corners feel farther away.
“Come here… your hands are freezing.”
She took the small hands into hers and tucked them beneath her wool scarf.
The scent of fresh bread and burning firewood filled the room.
Then the wooden door burst open with a rough creak.
Cold wind swept inside with the man—tall, exhausted, black stains smeared across his sleeves.
His eyes caught the firelight for only a second.
“The weather’s getting worse.”
His voice was low and rough.
He always spoke like that, as if every word had to be dragged out of stone.
Mother looked at him without fear.
“You’re late.”
The man said nothing.
He dropped a worn sack beside the door and pulled off his leather gloves.
“Couldn’t find anything outside.”
Then his gaze shifted toward the child.
For a few seconds, he simply stared.
The usual tension in his face softened slightly.
“You’re still awake?”
The child shrugged.
The man let out a quiet sigh and walked toward the hearth.
“You two go find something for the soup. And if you bring back bitter weeds again, you’re eating them yourselves.”
Mother laughed.
“That wasn’t my fault. You were the one who dumped salt into it.”
“Because it tasted like mud.”
“It was food, not rocks.”
A short smirk crossed his face.
Very short.
But real.
Then he bent down and adjusted the iron pot hanging above the fire.
“Be back before dark.”
His tone remained rough, yet as he passed by, his hand unconsciously brushed through the child’s hair.
Outside, the air was cold and heavy with mist.
Mother lifted the lantern and moved through the wet bushes.
Golden light slid across the branches.
“Don’t wander too far.”
“I’m just looking.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
A faint smile touched her lips.
The forest was silent.
No birds.
No animals.
Only the soft crunch of leaves beneath their feet.
A little farther ahead, a strange sweetness drifted through the damp air.
The child stopped.
“Do you smell that?”
Mother turned.
“What sm—”
Her words cut off.
She knelt down and brushed aside the wet soil.
Beneath the layers of mud and roots, something soft moved.
Very slowly.
Like a heartbeat.
Her fingers reached forward.
Then something beneath the earth exhaled.
Not a voice.
Not a word.
More like the sound of a breath that had been held for far too long.
The lantern trembled in Mother’s hand.
The wind died instantly.
And the forest…
became even quieter.
