Mist veiled the mountain forests, and the first glimmers of dawn barely brushed the horizon. In the tranquil morning, the distant calls of birds rang with crisp clarity. The winding path beyond the village still bore traces of the night's rain—muddy imprints mingled with the fresh scent of earth and grass, as if capable of washing away all worries.

This was Isa Village, a secluded haven untouched by war and strife. Nestled deep within the mountains, it remained isolated from the clamor of the outside world, leaving only the simplicity of daily life and the serenity of peaceful existence.

The morning sun had yet to fully break through, and the air still carried a lingering chill.

In a humble wooden hut on the village's eastern edge, a narrow beam of light slipped through a crack in the wall, casting a faint glow upon the dim interior. The room was sparse—its walls worn, wooden furniture aged and damaged. The only semblance of comfort was a small bed in the corner, a pile of dried grass serving as a mattress.

Elvin lay upon it, eyes closed, yet sleep eluded him.

His breathing was steady, but his body remained taut, like a bowstring drawn tight, ready to snap at any moment. To him, the night was no longer a time of rest but an endless battle against exhaustion. Poverty and pressure had long denied him the luxury of true relaxation, each passing day a relentless reminder of his hardships.

Outside, footsteps sounded—the heavy, rhythmic tread of leather boots upon the wooden floor.

"Elvin, time to get up."

The voice was low and hoarse, yet carried a quiet warmth. It was his father, Garen.

Elvin opened his eyes. The sky beyond the window had turned pale with the approach of dawn. Taking a deep breath, he sat up slowly, running his fingers along the rough edges of the bed. His fingertips traced the cracked wooden grain—cold, hard, and grounding.

"A new day… begins again."

He pulled on his coarse linen tunic, long faded from wear. The fabric was frayed at the shoulders, the stitches where it had been mended starkly visible. It was the best clothing he owned. Over the years, the family's circumstances had left no room for vanity—survival alone was enough.

As he pushed open the door, the sudden brightness stung his eyes. He instinctively squinted.

In the yard, Garen was chopping firewood. The man, in his fifties, was tall and broad-shouldered, his face lined with age and hardship. A rough stubble covered his jaw, and his presence was like that of a steadfast fortress—silent, but reassuring.

"Take this firewood to the kitchen. Marsha will need it soon." Garen's voice carried an unquestionable firmness.

Elvin nodded without a word, stepping forward to lift the bundles of freshly chopped wood. Each motion—bending, lifting, carrying—sent a dull ache through his arms and shoulders, but he paid it no mind. This repetitive labor was second nature to him.

From the kitchen came the soft sounds of Marsha working. The aroma of simmering broth filled the air, tinged with the faint scent of herbs—a fragrance that embodied home.

Marsha, his mother, cared for him with gentle devotion. Her hands, roughened by years of toil, were always warm when they ruffled his hair, as if soothing away his silent burdens.

"Breakfast is ready. Come and eat," she called in her gentle voice.

On the table sat a modest meal—a steaming pot of porridge, golden-brown flatbread, and a small plate of salted wild greens. Simple fare, yet to this household, it was a blessing.

Elvin sat down, pressing his palms together in silent gratitude before eating.

Garen glanced at him between bites. "Heading to the southern forest today?"

Elvin nodded. "I set a few traps yesterday. Hopefully, I'll catch something."

"Be careful. Lately, I've heard the beasts in the woods have grown more aggressive." Garen's tone carried a rare trace of unease, his brows furrowed with concern.

"I will." Elvin's voice was calm, unshaken. After all these years, danger was nothing new to him.

Finishing his meal, he grabbed his worn hunting bow and dagger—the only weapons he possessed. Rough but sharp, they were enough to keep him safe in the wild.

"I'll be careful."

Garen said nothing more, merely resting a firm hand on Elvin's shoulder. The weight of it was steady, warm—silent, but filled with meaning.

After a while, Elvin set off for the forest. The air within was thick with dampness, carrying the rich scent of earth and leaves. Strands of dappled sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting shifting patterns upon the forest floor.

Treading upon a bed of fallen leaves, his steps were light yet steady. Over the years, he had come to know every inch of these woods.

Navigating skillfully through the tangled undergrowth, he reached the site where his traps lay in wait. Hidden amidst a cluster of tall grass, one of them had indeed ensnared a small hare.

Its hind leg was caught in the steel jaws, fresh blood seeping from the wound and staining the scattered leaves beneath. The creature trembled, its round eyes wide with unspoken terror.

Elvin crouched, gazing at it in silence. The choice before him was simple—survival demanded no hesitation.

Yet, something within him wavered, a quiet struggle stirring in the depths of his heart.

"…I'm sorry."

His voice was low and soft, tinged with an almost imperceptible sorrow.

With a swift motion, he broke the hare's neck, granting it release from its suffering.

This was the cruelty of life. Whether he was ready or not, he had no choice but to accept it.

By dusk, the sky was painted in deep hues of amber and gold, the sun sinking slowly beyond the horizon. The first traces of night bled into the edges of the heavens like ink upon water.

Returning to the village, he was greeted by the sight of curling smoke rising from chimneys, carrying with it the familiar warmth of home-cooked meals.

In the courtyard, Garen was mending worn tools, while Martha sat beside him, weaving fabric with quiet patience—an ordinary yet comforting scene of daily life.

"How was the hunt?" Garen asked, glancing up.

"I caught a hare. Not bad." Elvin replied evenly.

Garen nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. "Good. Tomorrow, take it to the market and trade for some salt and flour."

"Mm."

Elvin sat in the corner, tilting his head to gaze at the sky. Stars had begun to pierce through the growing darkness, while the night breeze carried a whisper of chill.

"Elvin."

Martha's gentle voice broke the silence.

"Hm?"

"What do you want for your future?" There was a unique warmth in her tone, laced with curiosity.

Elvin remained quiet for a moment before answering, his voice soft but unwavering.

"I want to become stronger—to protect you both, to give us a life without worry."

Garen listened, then reached out, resting a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Good. But remember, strength isn't for defeating enemies. It's for protecting those you hold dear. Never forget that."

Elvin gave a small nod, yet deep within, a vague unease stirred.

As the night deepened, the wind began to rise.

Beyond the distant mountains, faint flickers of firelight shimmered within the darkness. Shadowy figures emerged at the forest's edge, their movements swift and soundless.

"Target confirmed."

A voice, cold and devoid of humanity, cut through the night like a blade.

The air seemed thick with an unspoken foreboding, as if laced with the scent of blood yet to be spilled. Hidden within the shroud of night, an unseen malice crept ever closer.

Isa Village, veiled in its fragile peace, stood at the precipice of an impending storm.