The house was quiet.
Warm orange light spilled through the windows as the sun sank low in the sky, painting the walls in soft colors. Everything felt slow. Safe.
Evening — 5:57 PM
Zaren ran across the living room, his small feet pattering against the floor as laughter filled the air. At only five years old, he moved with careless energy, circling the room while his mother watched him with gentle amusement.
"Careful, Zaren," she said, her voice soft and teasing. "If you run like that, you'll fall again."
"I won't!" Zaren laughed, grinning proudly as he stopped in front of her. "I'm strong now!"
His mother knelt down and reached out, fixing his messy hair with practiced tenderness. She smiled, her eyes warm.
"Strong, huh?" she said.
Then her tone softened just a little. "Then promise me something."
Zaren blinked. "What?"
She looked straight at him.
"Use that strength to protect people… not to hurt them."
For a moment, Zaren didn't smile. He nodded instead—serious, focused, like a child making a promise bigger than he fully understood.
In the background, near the doorway, his father was preparing to leave. His figure was calm, familiar.
"I'll be back soon," he said from the hallway. "Don't stay up too late."
"Okay!" Zaren shouted happily, waving without looking away from his mother.
Then—
The door opened.
The warmth shattered.
A man stood in the doorway, his face hidden behind a mask. His posture was still. Empty. There was no hesitation in him—no surprise, no emotion.
Just intent.
Click
The father turned.
The moment stretched—and then shattered.
Movement blurred. Shadows collided.
THUD.
Zaren's vision shook.
From his small, unfocused eyes, the world didn't make sense anymore. His father lay on the floor ahead of him. Not moving. Not speaking. Just… still.
"…Dad?" Zaren whispered.
The masked man stepped forward.
Before Zaren could think, his mother moved—fast, desperate—placing herself between him and the intruder.
"ZAREN—RUN!" she screamed.
Everything happened at once.
The sound tore through the room.
SLASH.
Zaren's eyes went wide.
The noise vanished.
The world went silent.
His mother collapsed to the floor.
She was alive—barely.
She reached out toward him, her fingers trembling, her breath shallow.
"Run…" she begged, her voice breaking.
"…Zaren…"
Her hand slipped from the air.
And fell.
Silence swallowed the room.
Zaren dropped to his knees. His breathing came in broken pieces, each breath too sharp, too wrong. The house—the warmth, the light—felt like it had never existed.
…Why…?
His legs shook.
Then suddenly—he stood.
Fear took over. Not courage. Not strength. Just terror in a small body that didn't understand loss yet.
He rushed forward, fists clenched, tears streaming down his face.
"G-get away…!" he cried.
Zaren didn't even understand what happened.
In an instant, the masked man shoved him aside—effortless, careless. Zaren's small body hit the floor hard, the air knocked from his lungs.
He couldn't get up.
The masked man looked down at him.
No anger.
No satisfaction.
Just emptiness.
"You're too weak to save anyone."
The words sank deeper than the fall.
Zaren lay there, tears streaming down his face. His hands trembled. His chest hurt. Everything hurt. The masked man took a step closer.
Then—
"Stop right there."
The voice was calm. Controlled.
It didn't shout.
It didn't rush.
The moment froze.
From the shadows, a man stepped forward. His presence was strange—not aggressive, not fearful. Just… steady. Like he belonged there, even in the broken silence of the room.
He knelt beside Zaren slowly, carefully.
"Hey, kid…" the man said gently.
"Are you alright?"
Zaren couldn't answer. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
The masked man turned toward him.
"Who are you?"
The man didn't respond immediately.
As he shifted, the light caught his neck.
A tattoo was visible.
The hitman took a slow step back.
"…You," he said, his voice tight.
A pause. A breath.
"I don't want to fight you."
For the first time, uncertainty slipped through his calm.
He straightened, cold and direct. "What do you want with the kid?"
The man didn't answer him.
He didn't even look at him.
His attention stayed on Zaren—on the small body trembling on the floor, on the child staring at a world that had shattered too fast.
"Are you alright, kid?" the man asked softly.
No response.
Just silence.
The hitman understood.
He turned away.
No threat.
No explanation.
No final words.
He left.
The house fell quiet again—but it wasn't the same silence as before. It was hollow. Empty. Broken.
Zaren's eyes reflected the room around him.
Fear.
Confusion.
Trauma.
Something had been taken from him—something he wouldn't even know how to name yet.
That night… something ended.