Ten Years Ago
Noir visited a small village in the northern part of the Kingdom of Sanguk, a remote place called Yeeho.
"I chose this village because it's far from the war between my kin and the angels," he muttered to himself, his voice low under the shadow of his hood.
Wandering through the village, Noir carried a sack slung over his right shoulder. At his left waist hung a single-edged sword, hidden beneath the folds of his cloak. The rhythmic crunch of his boots on the dirt path echoed faintly in the quiet village.
The villagers watched him with cautious eyes, their gazes wary and untrusting, as if sensing a presence that didn't belong. Noir had expected this.
"Good thing I cast an illusion to make myself look human," he thought, his crimson eyes hidden beneath the shadow of his hood.
"Excuse me, kind sir," came an elderly voice, soft yet firm, with the weight of decades behind it.
Noir turned slowly to face the speaker: an old man with a weathered face and kind eyes that carried a sense of calm.
"I'd like to stay here," Noir said, his tone even. "Is there a home I can purchase in this village?"
The elder's brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of sadness crossing his face. "Not staying at the inn, young man?" he asked, his tone tinged with curiosity.
Noir shook his head. "No. I'd prefer a home of my own."
The elder nodded thoughtfully. "I'll ask the villagers if anyone has a house they're willing to sell," he said, before walking off toward a cluster of people gathered near the market square.
Noir remained where he stood, his gaze wandering across the village. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted from a nearby bakery, mingling with the earthy scent of tilled soil.
A small ball rolled to his feet, bumping gently against the tip of his boot. Noir's eyes flicked down to it.
"Hm," he murmured, crouching slightly as he reached out to pick up the ball. His fingers brushed against the rough surface just as a small voice broke the quiet.
"Umm... sorry, mister..."
Noir lifted his gaze to see a young girl standing a few steps away, her head bowed, her small hands nervously clutching the hem of her dress.
Her voice was soft and apologetic, her eyes fixed on the ground.
Noir studied her, the faintest flicker of curiosity in his crimson eyes. But as his gaze lingered, a sudden, sharp ache pulsed through his forehead.
A vivid memory surged to the surface of his mind—unbidden and cruel.
Flames roared, consuming a once-beautiful village. Beasts with wings of shadow soared through the fiery skies, their shrieks echoing in the chaos. Amid the destruction, a child stood frozen, her small frame trembling as tears streamed down her soot-streaked face.
"Save me, Mother!" she cried, her voice desperate and raw.
Noir remembered standing there, watching helplessly as a beast lunged from the sky. Its jaws closed around the child with a sickening crunch, silencing her cries forever.
The memory shattered as quickly as it had come, leaving Noir breathless. His hand went slack, and the ball slipped from his grip, dropping to the ground with a dull thud.
"Mister? Are you okay?" The girl's voice, small and full of concern, pulled him back to the present.
Noir blinked, his eyes refocusing on the child before him. For a moment, he simply stared at her, his mind caught between the past and the present.
Finally, he leaned down, picked up the ball, and handed it back to her. His movements were slow, almost mechanical.
"Thank you, mister!" the girl said, her face lighting up with a warm smile as she took the ball from his hand.
Before Noir could respond, a voice called out sharply from across the village.
"Eliz! Come here!"
The girl turned toward the sound, her expression brightening. "Coming, Mama!" she shouted back.
She glanced over her shoulder at Noir as she ran toward her mother. "Thank you again, mister!" she called, waving with a cheerful grin.
Noir stood in silence, watching as the girl disappeared into the safety of her mother's arms. His gaze lingered for a moment before he turned away, his thoughts heavy.
"Why now?" he muttered under his breath, the ache in his mind still fresh.
The memory gnawed at him, sharp and unrelenting, as he made his way to the edge of the village. The faint sound of children's laughter and the rustle of the wind followed him, but they did little to drown out the ghosts of the past.
The elder stood amidst the gathered crowd of villagers, their murmurs filling the air with unease.
"Elder, is it really wise to let that young man stay with us?" one villager asked, his voice tinged with concern. "What if he's a criminal from another kingdom?"
The elder raised a hand, his calm demeanor commanding attention. "Whether he is a criminal or a saint, is it not our duty to help those in need?"
The crowd quieted slightly at the elder's words, though wary expressions lingered on some faces.
"He seeks no harm," the elder continued, his voice steady. "If he intended to hurt us, he wouldn't need to ask for our help—he could simply take what he wanted by force. Yet he has chosen to approach us with civility. Should we not extend the same courtesy in return?"
The elder's reasoning eased some of the villagers, though a few still exchanged doubtful glances.
After a pause, the elder shifted the conversation. "Now then, who among you has a house they are willing to sell to this young man?"
For a moment, no one spoke. Then, a man near the edge of the group raised his hand hesitantly.
"Um... I think I might have one," the man said, his tone uncertain. "It's on the western edge, not far from the village. An old house—abandoned for years. It belonged to my parents, but they passed away a decade ago."
The elder nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Good. Let us bring this offer to him and see if it suits his needs."
The crowd murmured their agreement, some still wary but unwilling to question the elder's wisdom further. Slowly, they began to disperse, leaving the elder and the man to approach the young stranger with their decision.
As the elder left the crowd, he walked purposefully toward Noir, his steps steady and deliberate.
Noir's sharp eyes caught the movement, and he turned to face the elder, his crimson gaze hidden beneath the shadow of his hood.
"Young man," the elder called out, his voice calm and soothing, like a gentle breeze. "We've found a house that's available, if you're interested. Would you like to take a look?"
Noir regarded the elder for a moment, then gave a slight bow, his movements deliberate but respectful. "Thank you," he said, his voice low but sincere.
The elder nodded, gesturing for Noir to follow. A younger villager, the one who had offered the house, joined them, and together they set off down the village road.
The scenery shifted as they walked, the path winding gently through the outskirts of the village. The autumn season was in full bloom, and the road was lined with trees dressed in shades of amber, crimson, and gold. Leaves fluttered down from the branches above, carpeting the path in a mosaic of warm hues.
Noir tilted his head upward, his eyes tracing the canopy above. The gentle rustle of leaves and the crispness of the air wrapped around him, a stark contrast to the chaos and war he had long grown used to.
"So peaceful," he murmured, almost to himself, his voice carrying a hint of wonder.
The elder glanced back at him briefly, a faint smile tugging at his lips before he turned his gaze forward again.
Noir let out a slow, heavy breath, the chill in the air visible as it escaped his lips in a faint, misty plume. "I guess winter's coming," he muttered, his tone thoughtful.
The elder chuckled softly, his voice warm. "It won't be long now. The seasons here pass quickly, but each one has its beauty."
The rest of the walk continued in comfortable silence, the tranquility of the moment settling over them like a quiet blessing.
As they reached their destination, the trio paused to take in the sight of the abandoned house. The structure was small and unassuming, nestled against a cluster of trees. Its stone walls were worn but sturdy, showing signs of age and neglect. Tall grass swayed gently around the property, nearly reaching the height of an average person. The gate, rusted and broken, hung loosely on its hinges.
Henry stepped forward and pushed the gate open. The creak of metal echoed in the still air, breaking the quiet. He stepped inside, his boots crunching against the overgrown grass, and turned his head slightly to glance back at Noir and the elder.
"I used to live here," Henry began, his voice soft and tinged with nostalgia. "This was my parents' home. I spent my childhood running through the meadow with our sheep and my shepherd dog. It was a simple life, but it was a good one."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the house and the surrounding trees as if searching for ghosts of the past. "When I got married, I moved closer to the village with my wife. Since then, this place has been empty."