The wind that morning was far too cold for the season.
Cold… and silent.
Silent enough for Bruno to hear every beat of his own heart as he watched the village slowly awaken.
People walked along the dirt streets as if nothing had happened. As if there were no marks of fire burning the surrounding trees. As if the world hadn't changed.
But he knew. He felt it.
The world had changed, and there was no turning back.
Sitting on the roof of the old house where he was staying, Bruno ran a hand across his face and closed his eyes for a moment.
"How many times will this repeat?" he thought. "How many times will I fight… and still feel like I accomplished nothing?"
Lério's face came to his mind.
The rage.
The hatred.
That suffocating feeling of soul and fire intertwined.
He had won. Yes… but not without cost.
With each victory, it seemed he lost a piece of himself.
Then, like a flash, came the memory of Anaalyn falling to her knees, fighting against her own memories.
She shouldn't have been there. None of them should.
But they were. Because in the end, that was what he always did: dragged people into the eye of the storm.
"Maybe I really am the problem…" he murmured, staring at the cloudy sky.
It was easier to blame the enemies. Easier to blame fate. But deep down, he knew part of that destruction always started with him.
Still…
He remembered Anaalyn's stubborn smile when she said she would stay in the village.
The sincere concern in Tila's eyes.
The way Seralyn, even when teasing, always stayed by his side.
They stayed. Everyone stayed.
And no matter how much he tried to deny it, a part of him — the part that still believed in something beyond fighting — felt… grateful.
Bruno took a deep breath and stood up from the roof, looking at the horizon.
"If the war is going to continue… then let it be different this time."
Not just fights, not just blood. Maybe, for the first time, he could fight for something and someone.
"Something I haven't thought about in a long time."
And deep down, he knew the calm was about to end.
Because the silence before the storm… was always the heaviest of all.
Leaving his house, he saw a neighbor moving in, and as he approached closer…
The heavy sound of footsteps echoed through that old wooden house, as if someone were dragging luggage or stomping boots across the floor.
"What mess is going on in there…" Kearlin commented, his voice floating around Bruno. "It isn't that sweet old lady, right?"
"Sweet?" Bruno snorted. "More like a gossip. She always stared at me like she knew too much."
"I think she's got a crush on you."
"Hahaha… how charming of you."
But what came out the door was neither the old lady nor any curious villager.
"Good morning, Bruno."
The voice behind him made him turn slowly. For a moment, he thought it was Tila… but it wasn't.
"Anaalyn…?"
"Wait a minute…" Kearlin teased. "Did I just miss some huge drama or did my wish just come true?"
"Wish? What wish?" Bruno frowned.
"Oops… slipped out," Kearlin murmured, scratching his invisible head.
Anaalyn took a few steps toward him, her gaze firm and somewhat challenging.
"Bruno, it seems everything worked out there… I just got a big scolding."
"Alright…" he crossed his arms. "And why are you here?"
She took a deep breath, as if rehearsing the next words.
"Hmm… because I'm going to live here."
Bruno's face changed immediately — not surprise, but confusion with a hint of disappointment.
"Just… because?"
Anaalyn looked to the side, kicked the ground with the tip of her boot, and finally let out a stubborn little smile.
"You think I like to lose?" she said, lifting her eyes to him. "Especially to girls who think too much of themselves."
"Huh?"
"Sometimes you're really naive, Bruno…" Kearlin teased, floating around.
"But seriously," Anaalyn sighed. "Think before doing these things, alright? And I know dwarves well… we're stubborn by nature."
A light laugh escaped her.
"Right… and speaking of preparation, there's a little problem."
"What?" Bruno asked, already imagining the worst.
"I know absolutely nothing about cooking… could you… you know…"
Bruno sighed, a tired smile forming at the corner of his mouth.
"Of course… always me."
"For someone so strong, you're… how should I say…" Kearlin commented with a mischievous smile. "Soft."
And as the sun hid behind the trees, the silence of the village was broken by a new distant sound. Steps. Many steps.
In the dead of night, trouble was coming — and it was easy to notice.
Seralyn stood at the door, arms crossed, like an animal defending its territory.
"You've got to be kidding," she growled, looking her over. "You come into the house like a parasite and don't even think about taking a bath or opening the fridge."
"Look who's talking…" Anaalyn replied, raising an eyebrow. "I don't even really know what a 'fridge' or a 'shower' is, but I want to try both."
Seralyn huffed impatiently.
"See, Bruno? This freeloader's already acting like she's the queen here… or, I don't know, a happy pig in a sty."
"Are you listening to this?" Anaalyn retorted, pretending to be offended. "This girl is acting like a wounded cat… or…" she paused dramatically "…a scared bull."
Bruno didn't respond. In fact, he didn't seem to hear the argument at all. His expression said it all: headache incoming.
"Taking care of a scared cat was already hard…" Now a spoiled queen and a nervous bull? Good luck, Bruno. Let's see how you handle that.
"Shut up, Kearlin," Bruno sighed, finishing his famous soup.
The smell of vegetable soup spread through the small wooden house as Bruno placed the pot on the table. Steam rose in lazy spirals, and the aroma was so good even the wind seemed to pause to enjoy it.
The silence was broken by the sound of a chair scraping — Anaalyn was already seated, elbows on the table, staring at the pot as if it were the greatest treasure in the world.
"I swear, if this tastes as good as it smells, I might even rethink my life priorities," she said dramatically.
"That's because you've never eaten real food," Bruno retorted, serving the soup into bowls. "Most people think they know how to cook… until they taste mine."
"Modest as always." Anaalyn blew on the steaming broth. "If this soup were a person, I'd marry it."
"You say that about anything that feeds you," Bruno replied, sitting across from her.
"Lies! I also say that about magical weapons and precious stones."
"Ah, of course. Well-balanced priorities."
She took her first spoonful — and froze. Looked at the bowl, then at Bruno, then back at the bowl.
"This… is divine. Did you put magic in it?"
"No. Just seasoning. And a little patience."
"Patience is magic," she muttered, already on her third spoonful.
Meanwhile, Seralyn — who had been watching silently, suspicious of the "intruder" — approached slowly and tasted the soup as well. Her look of distrust immediately melted away.
"Okay... I can tolerate her presence for another five minutes."
"Five minutes?" Anaalyn raised an eyebrow. "In five minutes, I'll still be licking the bowl."
"Keep dreaming," Bruno said, lifting the ladle threateningly. "Touch the bowl and I'll smash this in your face."
"So aggressive… I thought The cook would be gentler."
"Only those worthy of washing such dishes They are cared for like majesty."
"Then forget it, I'm leaving."
"Of course you are," Bruno replied, already knowing she wouldn't leave by royal decree.
The lunch continued in a relaxed, noisy rhythm, full of teasing and silly jokes. Anaalyn seemed more and more comfortable — as if Bruno's house were already a familiar place.
Midway through a particularly generous spoonful, she leaned back in her chair and said casually:
"You know… in my village, the food isn't even close to this."
"You're saying what, I should open a restaurant there?"
"No." She looked at him with a half-smile. "I'm saying you should come cook there… personally."
"And also my family wants to know about the people I'm hanging out with."
Bruno paused mid-spoon, staring at her with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.
"Was that an invitation?"
"Depends," she replied, resting her chin on her hands. "If I say yes, will you accept?"
Bruno snorted, looking away.
"I don't know… maybe. If I have the patience to deal with you every day."
"Ah, you do," Anaalyn said confidently, already serving herself a second bowl. "If you didn't, this soup wouldn't exist."
"Seriously? Just a 'come to my village' and you'll go?" Seralyn said.
"Same goes for you, don't you think?"
She choked a bit on her soup, trying to hide it.
"Mine was different."
"It's true, I asked you to live here."
"Where do you get that sarcasm?"
"From the usual place."
---
A distant, faded, obscure dream, worn by time or perhaps by its absence. Sounds mingled — laughter, screams, footsteps Bruno didn't recognize. The wind swept across his body, but he wasn't truly anywhere. A strange calm mixed with tension, as if the entire world was holding its breath.
The school bell rang louder than everything, and without noticing, time passed along with the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.
"You know… at first, I thought you were strange," a voice echoed, formless, bodiless. "You always stared at nothing or Everything, flinched at every loud sound, never stayed still… but I realized that's just your way. That's how you are. I only understood it when you defended me so many times… when you showed me I was wrong. I was worth nothing… until you came. And I…"
Bruno felt a tightness in his chest. A memory — or perhaps a premonition — surfaced and disappeared quickly.
"I can't stop thinking about it… no, I can't stop thinking about you… you… only you. The person who truly understands me. I noticed how good you were every time you walked along the road Protecting myself only I, every word stayed with me, every gesture… when you reached out to me, and remembered what happened to me and pulled back your hand, crying for my story… not sad, just… incredible. And no one else noticed… only me… me… me... only I noticed."
A familiar voice finally broke through the dream:
"Bruno! Bruno, wake up!"
"Ke… Kearlin?"
"Still as amazing as ever. So, what's happening in this dream?"
"You could come in and see with your own eyes…"
"Haha, cheeky."
Bruno didn't seem to be joking.
"Seriously… so what's going on?"
"A different dream, not like the others. I didn't recognize that voice, no matter how hard I tried…"
"Could it be a divine message from the future… wow, lucky, don't you think?"
"Alright, cheeky… but you might not be wrong."
"What do we do?"
"Nothing." And the hero went back to sleep, leaving the lingering sensation of the dream in his mind.
"No thrill…" Kearlin muttered, before disappearing in an instant.