The village chief... Fugaku, leaned back slightly in his throne, fingers interlocked on the seat.
"Yes," he replied. "The guards tell me you still visit that boy… even after his mother has passed on."
His gaze hardened, voice lowering, yet carrying even heavier weight.
"Tell me, George. Is that true?"
George didn't hesitate.
"Yes, my lord."
Candlelight flickered, flames snapping softly as shadows shifted along the stone walls.
Fugaku exhaled through his nose.
"Then tell me something," he said, eyes narrowing. "Do you remember the agreement we made?"
George nodded.
"I remember it as if it were yesterday."
"Good," Fugaku said. "Then repeat the terms."
George lifted his head slightly.
"You allowed me to treat Maria and attempt to cure her illness. However…" his voice lowered, "…if she were to die, I would be forbidden from ever stepping into that household again."
The chief expression did not change... not even in the slightest.
"And Maria," he said, "has been dead for two years."
George closed his eyes briefly.
"Yes, my chief."
"Then explain something to me," Fugaku said. "Why do you still visit that house? You understand the consequences of breaking our agreement… do you not?"
"I do."
A guard shifted slightly beneath the weighing silence.
Then George spoke.
"I could not abandon Michael… even if the village believes him to be a demon-possessed child. He's a good kid."
Fugaku watched him for a long moment.
"You are a good man, George," Fugaku said. "…which is why this is unfortunate."
His voice softened, if only slightly.
"The village elders have already made their decision."
George looked up, his eyes carrying the calm of a man who had long since accepted his fate... fearless.
Fugaku continued.
"They have ordered your execution."
Despite that, a flicker of tension crossed George's face—but only briefly. Then a faint smile returned, quiet and resigned, carrying many unspoken emotions.
"I argued against it," Fugaku added. "But the elders—"
George raised his head, meeting Fugaku's gaze.
"Forgive me for interrupting, my chief."
One of the guards stepped forward, teeth clenched as he drew his sphere.
"How dare you—!"
Fugaku raised a hand without even sparing him a glance.
The guard froze mid-step. The sphere flickered before he quickly pulled it back.
"F-Forgive me, my chief." He said apologetically.
Fugaku's eyes remained on George.
George's expression softened.
"It's alright… If it weren't for you, I would have never met Maria and Michael. You say I am a good man, but you could not be more mistaken… that family...they were the good ones."
His voice grew quieter.
"If only you could have experienced their warmth."
His gaze drifted downward.
"And for a short while… it felt like I was a part of it."
He bowed deeply.
"For that, I am grateful."
Fugaku remained silent.
George slowly lifted his head.
"But before I die… may I ask one request?"
Fugaku gave a single nod.
"Speak."
George's voice softened.
"Please ensure the boy's safety."
The candle flames flickered as Fugaku watched him for a long moment before answering.
"Very well."
His voice was steady, carrying quiet authority.
"As long as the boy remains on the outskirts of the village… he will not be harmed."
A brief pause followed.
"You have my word."
George's shoulders shook as tears slipped down his cheeks.
"Thank you, my lord."
He wiped them away, relief washing over him.
"You truly are… a benevolent chief."
For a moment, his thoughts drifted.
'I wish I could have said goodbye to that brat…'
He exhaled softly.
*****
Later that day...
Deep beneath Kukuru Village lay a cold stone chamber reserved for executions.
Far from the public eye.
George was not treated like a criminal... yet the elders showed no mercy to him either.
Two guards escorted him inside, lamps in hand, casting light across the cold chamber and revealing its emptiness. The air smelled of damp stone, old rope… and a faint metallic stench of iron.
At the center stood a wooden platform, faint splatters of dried blood around it confirming what the air already suggested—beneath a guillotine blade that swayed ever so slightly.
George regarded it quietly.
"So this is where it ends," he murmured.
The guards avoided his gaze. Neither spoke.
George stepped forward on his own and even now, a gentle smile rested on his face.
They led him onto the platform and secured him in place, the blade of the guillotine poised above his neck.
'For the longest time… I believed this world was filled with fools. People who only ever cared for themselves. To gain at the cost of another.'
His gaze drifted through the hall, unfocused.
'I've seen it all… betrayal, oppression, hatred, greed. This world thrives on it… that's just what it means to be human.'
A quiet pause.
Then...
His expression softened.
"But that family… just two people…they broke that belief." He muttered.
One of the guards shifted slightly, unsure whether to interrupt, but the man's voice kept flowing, almost distant now, like he was speaking more to memory than to the room.
"True happiness exists. Love exists. Peace… kindness… the freedom to be your genuine self… even in hardship."
His eyes lowered for a moment.
"Out of all my years… that one year with them… was the happiest of my life."
For a moment, his thoughts wandered into his memories... little Michael dangling from a cliff's edge.
"Michael, you're going to worry your mother, you brat!" He scolded way back then.
A wide, trusting grin on the boy's face.
"But you're here, Georgy… so I'm not scared."
Doctor George sighed. "What am I going to do with you…"
Another memory…
Michael standing protectively in front of Maria with his small frame and those ever-defiant golden-brown eyes.
"I know what you want! You can't have my mom!"
Maria laughed softly. "Please save me, Michael," she said playfully.
"Maria…?" George had protested.
She only laughed along.
More moments—time spent together washed over his thoughts as he silently cried, tears slipping down his cheeks.
The memories faded... but the warmth remained with him.
'Take care of yourself, Michael…'
The lever dropped.
'I'm certain… this forsaken world hasn't lost all its hope.'
And the last thing he heared... was the splatter of his bood.
*****
The forest outside Kukuru Village was quiet that afternoon. A lone bird chirped, then took flight, its wings rustling through the canopy as the steady rhythm of wood splitting echoed beneath the trees.
Crack.
Crack.
Michael wiped the sweat from his forehead and brought the axe down again. At twelve, his swings were steady, practiced.
Another log split cleanly in half.
He rested the axe against his shoulder, sweat sliding down his brow.
Then suddenly…
A chill ran down his spine.
He cocked his head, then frowned.
"…That was weird."
His eyes swept the forest. Branches swayed in the breeze, shadows shifting between the trunks, but nothing moved.
He shook his head, forcing a small laugh.
"Must be fatigue… or something."
He gathered the chopped wood and stuffed the logs into a woven basket.
"I should go catch some fish before it gets dark… and maybe gather some herbs—"
His eyes dropped as he caught himself, the realization hitting him.
'Oh… I don't need to do that anymore, do I?'
He slung the basket over his back and made his way toward the riverside.
*****
A short while later, he reached the water's edge. The steady rush of the river was punctuated by something else—laughter. Cruel, sharp laughter.
Michael slowed, his steps crunching softly on sticks and leaves.
Up ahead, three boys loomed near the riverbank.
Between them… something small—red-orange fur, trembling on the ground.
Michael froze, unease creeping in as he looked at it. It looked like a cat... but also a fox... with two tails no less.
The creature whimpered as the boys kicked it across the dirt, dust rising and clinging to its already dirty fur.
One of them grabbed it by the scruff and tossed it into the air like a toy. It hit the ground with a painful thud, a weak cry slipping from it as it landed.
Michael's basket slipped from his hands, logs tumbling to the ground with a clatter as he bolted forward.
"Hey! Stop! Don't you see you're hurting it?!"
The boys turned, grinning.
James.
"Well, well… if it isn't demon boy," he sneered.
Michael skidded to a stop, his gaze sharpening.
"What? When will you ever learn your place?" James taunted.
Michael clenched his fists. "Just leave it alone. It hasn't done anything to you."
Remmy laughed, loud and careless.
"Or what?" James mocked, stepping closer. "What can a demon-possessed brat like you do? You're nothing but a useless monster… just like our little toy here."
He stomped on the creature, and the other two burst into laughter.
"Oh wait," Remmy added, smirking, "maybe he'll call his demon to fight for him!"
More laughter rang out as James snapped his fingers.
"Hey, I've got an idea."
He seized one of the creature's tails.
"Let's rip this off."
His eyes gleamed with cruel amusement.
The creature was too weak to resist.
Remmy shifted slightly, his smirk faltering for a moment.
"Wait," he said. "Ripping off its tail…?"
Kevin, the toothless one, chimed in, eyes bright with excitement. "Why not… it's our toy, right?"
He grabbed the other tail and tugged slowly. The creature yowled, its tiny paws scrabbling desperately against James's arm, trying to push him away.
"Hey! I wanna pull the other one next!" one of the boys argued, laughter bouncing off the riverbank.
Michael stared at them, something tightening in his chest as they bickered over it like it was nothing more than candy.
'Is this their idea of fun? Tormenting something just because... they can?'
He stepped closer without realizing it.
James stopped mid-pull. "Huh…"
Michael's fists clenched tighter, his gaze drifting distant and detached.
"I don't like it."
In an instant, he moved.
He dashed forward and drove his fist straight into James's face. Blood burst from his mouth as his head snapped back from the impact.
BAM.
James was launched backwards, crashing into the dirt and rolling several meters before coming to a stop, twitching unconscious.
Silence fell across the riverbank, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves.
Michael crouched, quickly scooping up the creature as it trembled in his arms.
Remmy's eyes widened in shock.
"You… you piece of trash!"
His hands ignited with magic, wind shifting around his extended palm.
"Wind Magic—Gale Surge!"
Several spiraling torrents of wind shot toward Michael.
But he remained crouched where he was, his expression completely unchanged.
As the raging winds reached him...
Without even turning, he swung his fist behind him and swatted them aside. The wind shattered instantly, dispersing outward in a violent burst that whipped through the area, tearing at their hair and clothes. Faint violet lines crawled across his fist, flickering like veins of unstable light.
Remmy stumbled back, frozen in terror. The other boy trembled, palms raised, sweat running down his face.
Michael spoke softly. "Just take your friend."
He turned his head slightly. His gaze locked onto them... cold, dark, and absolute.
A silent pressure filled the air.
"And leave."
The boys swallowed hard.
Instinct took over before thought could form. They grabbed the unconscious James and fled into the forest, never once turning their backs fully, as if one wrong step would end them.
Only when they disappeared did Michael blink. The pressure in the air faded. He let out a slow breath, his expression softening.
Then his eyes fell on the injured creature.
"Oh no…"
The small, two-tailed animal was covered in dirt and blood.
"Hang on… you'll be okay."
Michael scooped it up carefully and washed its wounds in the river. He tore strips from his clothes and wrapped the injuries.
"George always said to clean the wound first…" he muttered while working.
Once the creature was bandaged, Michael cradled it gently.
"Come on… I'll take you home."