What is war?
In a single word—destruction.
War never brings fortune, yet humanity has been waging wars since the dawn of time. There hasn't been a single century without conflict—battles fought over rights, freedom, wealth, and power. But all these reasons amount to the same outcome: countless casualties. In a land ravaged by war and famine, people will take any risk—do anything—just for a scrap of bread to survive.
And so, a war raged between two neighboring nations—East Salidin and West Salidin. For sixteen years, the conflict had continued, yet the identity of the one who first ignited it remained unknown.
In the midst of this war, nestled near the banks of the Yunghun River, lay a small village called Eastahum. The river, flowing from the west, was the villagers' only source of water—a lifeline in a world consumed by violence.
Among the villagers were two young twin brothers, Irian and Iwan, who lived in a modest hut with their mother. One afternoon, they played near the riverbank, their laughter echoing against the flowing waters.
"I... I can't run anymore, Iri," Iwan panted, bending over to catch his breath.
"Oh my… you're tired already?" Irian teased, grinning. "Come on, Iwa, we've only been chasing each other for a while."
"We've been running forever!" Iwan huffed. "Now, give me back my doll!"
Irian smirked, holding up the handmade doll. "You do realize the girls will laugh at you for playing with a doll, right? You're a boy, Iwa! Hahaha!"
Annoyed, Iwan lunged at his brother, snatching the doll back. But in the struggle, the fragile toy tore apart, its cloth body unraveling at the seams.
"Huh… look what you've done," Irian frowned.
"What I've done?" Iwan's eyes filled with tears. "If you hadn't taken it in the first place, none of this would have happened!"
"So what? You wanna fight me, girly boy?" Irian taunted, crossing his arms.
Iwan sniffed and turned away. "No. I'll just tell Mom."
"Fine, go ahead. It's not like it's the first time," Irian shrugged.
Just then, a deep voice called out from behind them.
"Oi! You two, everything alright over there?"
Startled, the twins spun around to see Mr. Gloom, the village milkman, watching them with a raised brow.
"Look, Iwan, it's Mr. Milk-Man!" Irian said with a grin.
"Let's go, Brother Irian!" Iwan tugged at his sleeve. "Mom said not to talk to strangers''.
Irian sighed, "I know, I know... It's just that I saw Mom taking some food from him. Maybe he came to give us something... it could even be milk!"
Iwan hesitated before replying, "Then maybe we can just talk to him from here. We don't need to go near him."
Irian nodded in agreement. "Oi, Milkman! Do you need anything from us? If you do, just say it from there!"
The man chuckled slightly before responding, "Oh... um, is your mother around?"
Irian frowned. "No, not right now. Why? Do you need something from her?"
The milkman hesitated before asking, "Are you boys out of bread? If you are, I can give you some. I just need you to guide me to your home." He smiled suddenly, trying to convince them.
Iwan tugged at his brother's sleeve, his voice cautious. "Should we trust him, Big Bro?"
Irian hesitated, his thoughts racing. I'm not sure... but it's true we don't have any food left at home. Mom's been gone for a long time now...
At seven years old, Irian and Iwan were twins, but their personalities differed. Irian was more mature, quick to take charge in difficult situations, while Iwan was cautious and observant, always wary of strangers.
The milkman spoke again, his voice lighthearted. "So, what do you say, boys? It won't be a problem, right?"
Irian narrowed his eyes. "Fine, but don't get too close to us. You can just follow from behind."
Iwan added, still hesitant, "Mom told us not to talk to strangers… Please don't take it the wrong way, Uncle."
The milkman let out a small sigh of relief. "That's fine. I just have some bread left for you little guys. So… shall we go?"
Iwan turned to Irian, worry in his voice. "Are you sure it's okay to lead him home?"
Irian gave his brother a reassuring nod. "Don't worry, Iwan. Mom should be back by the time we get there."
The two brothers climbed up from the riverbank and began their walk home, with the milkman following at a distance. The path was a mess—scarred by the war that had plagued their land for years.
Not a single tree stood unharmed. The roads were littered with broken-down vehicles, discarded weapons, and debris left behind by soldiers. Once, birds might have gathered here, filling the air with their songs—but now, even nature had fallen silent. In this world, there was no such thing as twittering birds.
Gunshots rang in the distance. The ground trembled from the rumbling of heavy tanks, making it feel as if an earthquake was tearing through their village. But still, people had to walk. People had to survive.
Even in this colorless world, humans still clung to life—just like Iwan and Irian, who now guided a stranger home, hoping to receive a simple loaf of bread.
Their small hut was hidden deep within the forest, accessible only through a secret route. But before they could reach it, they had to cross the large stones scattered across the river. The water flowed fast and strong, making each step risky.
With cautious footsteps, the two boys led the way, unaware that this moment would change their lives forever.