Ah… such a beautiful morning. The air clings to the skin like a whisper from some sacred realm, pure enough to sweep away the sins I have yet to confess. Once I finish aiding my mother, I will climb the hill again, to drink this breath of the world that seems almost holy.
The day wanes, and the sun bleeds toward the horizon.
Atop the hill, a lone figure stands. His eyes remain closed as the wind teases his wavy hair, brushing across his face like a lover's caress. The long black coat around him sways with the gusts, a dark banner against the fading light. With a sigh deep enough to stir the air, he opens his eyes and surveys the rivers that gleam like molten silver below.
Hazel eyes, striking and tender, gaze upon the world with a quiet sorrow. His face, innocent and kind, carries a smile that could steal away pain from the hearts of strangers. Standing tall, eyes lifted toward the dying sun, he resembles an angel about to unfurl wings and rise at the call of a higher Master.
A sudden voice breaks the stillness. An old woman, bent beneath a heavy load of straw, hobbles toward him.
"Egemed! What are you doing here at this hour? Darkness approaches—what if some villain strikes while your eyes are closed?"
Egemed chuckles softly, a sound almost musical, yet edged with something unreadable.
"Aunt, fear not. If my hour has come, it will find me, whether I am here or quietly in my room."
"Why speak so?" she asks, trembling.
"It is truth, Aunt. Death is ever near. We ignore it only because it pains us. Most do not wish to see it until it drags us by the throat."
The old woman shakes her head.
"You speak as if wiser than the world, young man… I am only an ignorant old woman, yet here you are, thoughtful and calm."
"No, Aunt. You are far from ignorant. It is natural to worry for the young. Now, give me your burden—I shall carry it for you."
With effortless strength, he lifts the bundle onto his back, and together they descend the hill.
"Your coat, dear… it will be ruined! Why wear such finery to a hill?"
Egemed laughs, a soft, dark melody.
"I love this coat, Aunt. After finishing my chores, I sought the hill for fresh air. Clothes may be torn, washed, or discarded—I cannot carry them into death, after all."
"But your parents… think of the cost!"
"And should I let you bear this weight alone for the sake of a coat? I am young, strong, and duty-bound to help. Respect demands action, Aunt, and I am yet able."
The woman says nothing.
"Do not worry, Aunt. While I breathe, there is no need for fear. I love others more than myself… heh."
"Do you wish for punishment, perhaps?" she teases.
"No… but it is truth. Without love, humans are nothing but selfish shadows. Love comes first, duty and respect follow. Everything I do, I do because I love… do you not see?"
"And those who serve evil? Those who honor tyrants knowingly?"
"That too is love," he replies, eyes distant, catching the last light.
"Love of evil?" she asks, puzzled.
"Yes. If good exists, love follows; if evil exists, so too does love for it. Love wears many faces."
"Hmm…" she murmurs.
"Do you not agree, Aunt?"
"You are right." She nodded.
They reach her modest home. Egemed places the straw in the shed.
"Take these oranges, young one, before you leave."
"I need nothing, Aunt," he says softly.
"Take them! Do not be too polite."
He smile softly, a gentle laugh escaping him.
"I cannot bear to see your heart hurt (he took the oranges from her, not because he need anything, but because he cannot let her feel ignored or unappreciated). Thank you, Aunt… goodnight."
Returning home, he bathes, dines, washes the dishes, prepares the bed for his parents, and slips into sleep, the night folding over him like a velvet shroud, carrying the day's quiet weight into dreams both gentle and strange.