Lane's eyes were burning; what he saw wasn't just an image—it was the overflow of his emotions.That man looked exhausted… There was nothing in his eyes but pain. He was crying on the inside. But why?
Because of what he'd lost—or for something else?
Those sorrowful eyes didn't seem to desire war, yet they carried the gaze of someone who devoured every moment of it and took pleasure in the struggle—a being both drowned in pain and kept alive by it.
Lane was lying in Old Vaen's arms as they walked. The little elf girl followed beside them. His mind was filled with thoughts loud enough to silence the entire forest.
Pain, he thought, is the only feeling that both destroys and strengthens a person.The cry of a child who lost his mother… the tears of one who lost his family… the heartbreak of a soldier burying his comrade… the separation of two lovers.But is there anything more painful than that? Why does man suffer? Because he cannot replace what he lost—or because he can no longer live with what remains?I don't know… I can't understand.
Lane tried to comprehend the pain in what he saw but failed. He didn't feel the meaning of emotions—only their weight. The long, silent walk felt like a quiet acceptance.
By the time they reached the cabin, the air had grown heavy; even the wind hesitated.
Old Vaen laid Lane on the bed and sent the elf girl outside. Lane still didn't understand why she had come.The old man closed the door and sighed softly. Lane reached out, grabbed a book from the shelf, and opened it at random—but the pages seemed to call to him.
They spoke of pain.
The text read:"Pain reminds the soul of its incompleteness; for as long as man is unfinished, he is destined to burn. The heart is the mirror of that flame—every blow makes the reflection clearer. The light entering through the wound illuminates, yet also burns. Pain is the way existence becomes aware of itself; whoever runs from it will never know who they are. One who doesn't face darkness can never understand light; pain is the silent labor of every rebirth. And at the end, one realizes—it is neither joy nor knowledge that matures a person, but the quiet teaching of their wounds."
Lane's eyes welled up as he read.
A single tear fell onto the page. The ink did not blur—but his heart did. His chest tightened; even breathing hurt.
"Why do I keep facing hardships... Nothing ever changes. Why does fate always test me?" he whispered.
The lines blurred before his eyes, but he kept reading.
"This world is a dream, and when we wake, it will all fade away...
"His voice trembled as he continued:
"...but maybe waking is just another dream.
"Another tear fell."I came as a drop… and I'll leave as a sea… carrying all this pain."
The book closed in his hands. Silence grew heavier. He wiped his tears so no one would see, laid his head on the pillow, and stared at the ceiling.His thoughts became echoes. Then his eyes slowly closed.
Six hours passed. Night had fallen.When he woke, his head throbbed and his body still felt heavy. He spoke weakly:"Master… could you help me? Cough… cough…"
The door creaked. Old Vaen entered, holding a warm bowl. His eyes were full of worry."My boy," he said, "I shouldn't have taken you there. Forgive me."His voice was strong like a king's, but weary like a father's.
Lane looked at his master's face; his chest ached, yet he said nothing.The old man sat beside him and lifted a spoonful of the broth."Eat this. It'll help you recover. Your wounds are deep."
Lane opened his mouth silently. With each spoonful, his feelings grew colder and quieter.Vaen spoke without looking away:"It's all behind you now. Focus on healing. If you chose this path, you must learn to endure its pain. Every man must bear the thorns of the rose he picks."
The door opened quietly. The young elf girl entered, eyes full of fear and gratitude. She spoke in her own tongue, which Lane couldn't understand. Vaen raised his hand; a translation spell shifted her voice.
"Thank you for saving me," she said softly. "I'm still alive because of you. My name is Nysera. This necklace belonged to my mother… I want you to have it."
She held out a necklace with a green stone. Lane hesitated for a moment, then took it."Thank you," he said flatly.
Nysera smiled faintly. "It's made from the bark of the Great Tree and the ore of the underworld. It grants vitality to whoever wears it."
Lane examined the gem. "Beautiful," he murmured. "I wonder how it looks… could you put it on me?"Nysera blinked, surprised, then nodded. As she fastened the necklace around his neck, the stone glowed faintly. A warm wave spread through Lane's body; peace followed.
"Interesting," he muttered, then lowered his voice. "Come closer."Nysera stepped forward. Lane suddenly pulled her into his arms, ignoring the pain in his body.Her face flushed crimson, her breath uneven.
Old Vaen watched them from afar, amusement flickering in his eyes."My boy, sit up straight and eat your meal," he said finally.
Nysera turned away in embarrassment. Lane frowned in confusion."Master," he asked after turning off the translation device, "why did Nysera's face turn red?"Vaen sighed and rubbed his temples. "Child, you'll never understand feelings."
Lane fell silent. After a while, he whispered to himself,"I never forget kindness. But if I give it, I'll make sure I'm repaid—even if I have to take it by force."A quiet shadow crossed his eyes.
Vaen and Nysera left the room. Lane finished his meal alone, then rested.The next morning, Vaen entered with a tray of warm food."My boy," he said, "you must've wondered why I brought Nysera here. I've long been friends with the elves—I know their language. When the girl saw your condition, she felt indebted. She wanted to stay."
Lane nodded slightly. "I see. Good… karma's on my side. Now, time for the next move," he thought.
Days passed. As Lane recovered, his body hardened, his mind sharpened, his heart froze.Before the month's end, he and Nysera were sparring. Vaen watched silently as the boy's movements grew colder, sharper, more deliberate.
One morning, Vaen approached with his cane."Nysera," he said, "the elves are searching for you. I heard them calling your name in the forest. They'll come for you today."
The girl's face paled. She turned to Lane, eyes glistening."Lane... if you ever come to the depths of the forest, say only 'Nysera is my friend.' That will be enough. I am the marshal's daughter."
Then she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.Lane said nothing, just looked at her.Nysera turned away, walking to Vaen's side. Before leaving, she glanced back, her voice trembling."Goodbye."
Lane lifted his hand and smiled. But that smile was only a mask.She's attached to me, he thought. But it doesn't matter. The marshal's daughter... that information will be useful someday.
Vaen and Nysera disappeared into the forest's silence.The wind stirred the leaves. Stillness returned.
Lane turned toward the window and stood motionless for a long time.Finally, he whispered,"Attachment is weakness. I won't be weak."
In that moment, every trace of childhood vanished from his face.In his eyes remained only a cold, lucid awareness.He had finally understood pain—and made peace with it.