In the Jugesp forest, beside its vast lake, afternoon light filtered through the trees.
The sun glinted off trunks still bearing the scars of the recent battle.
Breezes of the Warm season carried the scent of blooming roses and aromatic honey, replacing the bloody stench that had once hung over the place.
Boris sat leaning against the trunk of an ancient tree, watching in silence.
The caravan had insisted he rest—he had, after all, saved them all—but he felt uneasy under their gratitude.
He preferred to keep his eyes on the camp instead.
Tamer, his reddish-brown skin glistening with sweat, lay in one of the wagons, a damp cloth covering his eyes.
Boris felt a prick of guilt—Tamer's suffering was his own doing.
*I'll apologize to him later,* he thought, brushing a copper strand of hair from his forehead.
Around Tamer, the other wounded were scattered.
No lives had been lost—that was a miracle—but the price had been steep:
serious wounds, missing limbs, torn flesh.
The women tended to the injured; they were the most skilled in such matters.
Among them was Imenata, Kalu's wife, bandaging Jon's eye.
"Here you go, little one. With that beard, you ought to toughen up!" she teased.
"It's not about—" Jon complained, right before she gave him a sharp slap on the back.
"Yes, yes, off you go, great warrior!" Imenata said, shoving him out of the wagon.
"What kind of treatment is this for a wounded fighter?!" Jon grumbled.
"Maybe so—unless you plan to get up by yourself, in which case it's not a problem at all," she replied confidently, gesturing down at him from atop the wagon.
Jon muttered as he turned away—and met Boris's calm gaze.
"What are you staring at?! Mind your own business!" he growled, quickly walking off.
Boris didn't understand his anger—but distance suited him just fine.
"Come on, men! Wolf carcasses mean gold!" Kalu's booming voice echoed through the camp.
Despite his bandaged shoulder, Kalu stood tall, urging everyone to scavenge the Bloody Wolves' remains.
Anton, quiet and precise, skinned hides, burned flesh, and carefully collected claws, fangs, and pelts.
Soon, red stones—Kora Stones—began appearing among the remains.
"Throw them into the forest," Kalu ordered sharply.
"They attract other predators. I won't risk another attack. And never leave them all in one place."
Anton nodded and quietly directed the others with calm authority.
Boris narrowed his eyes, thoughts swirling deep within.
Nearby, Sonia sat cross-legged in front of little Sofia, who tugged playfully at her long ears, covered in dark fur.
"Your ears are so soft, Sonia Sis!" Sofia laughed.
"P-please… gently… they're very sensitive…" Sonia whispered, flustered.
"Sofia, be careful—you might hurt her," Zofia said, emerging from among the wounded she'd been tending.
Sofia's laughter rose through the camp, a joyful contrast to the earlier terror.
Meanwhile, Boris kept his eyes on a hawk circling high above.
In his mind, the peaceful sky turned once more into the scent of blood—cold, sharp, suffocating.
A scent that had never truly left him.
***
Moments earlier, the air had been thick with the stench of rusted iron and scorched fur.
The ground soaked in the blood and shredded remains of Bloody Wolves.
Boris stood amid the chaos, pulling his shawl away from his blood-speckled face.
"His eyes really are silver…"
"Aren't they just gray? Maybe light gray…"
"No, that mix of light and dark gray—it's truly silver!"
"But isn't that bad?! I mean… the Silver Shadow?"
"Hah! Do you actually believe that legend? Only the ignorant think silver is a curse…"
"But what if—"
"Stop it now, silver wasn't even rare before that incident—and the boy doesn't even have silver hair."
"Yeah, maybe—"
The caravan members whispered among themselves about Boris.
Boris remained smiling, his expression unchanged—as if he were long accustomed to such talk.
"Silence!" Kalu's voice suddenly cut through the murmurs.
From the crowd stepped a short man with a beard and pointed ears—
Kalu, leaning on Anton—the sheep-like man with pink wool covering his frame.
Kalu placed a hand over his chest in a respectful bow, despite his visible injuries.
"Thank you, young man… without you, we'd all be dead. Please forgive the poor manners of my caravan. I'm truly sorry."
He raised his head and added formally:
"My name is Kalu P. Brownbird, leader of this caravan. I humbly request your permission to repay your kindness."
Boris scanned the scene with cautious eyes—the wounded, the wagons, the crates.
The smell of blood was nothing new to him; he'd almost forgotten how to grimace at it.
"I'm Boris. Just Boris, Mr. Kalu. There's no need to worry—I'm used to this,"
he finally replied, shaking blood from his knifes before sheathing them.
He placed a hand over his chest and returned the bow with a gentle dip of his head, then lifted his face with a warm, disarming smile.
"And no thanks are needed. I'd be grateful if you'd allow my companion and me to join your journey."
"Sonia, come out. I know you're there," he said, turning toward a patch of tall grass and gesturing.
Two long, black-tipped ears twitched shyly from the grass.
Then, slowly, a rabbit-like face emerged—wide pink eyes, soft black fur glinting under the light, and dark gray hair.
Sonia pushed the grass aside and stepped forward.
Her ears drooped as her eyes scanned the strangers warily while she approached Boris.
"Sorry for coming closer without your signal, Brother Boris…" she whispered.
"It's alright. Everything's fine,"
he said softly, his gentle smile giving Sonia the courage to hug him and hide behind him from the strangers.
She peeked out from behind him, tense and bashful.
Kalu noticed her shyness. He gave her a quick glance and offered a weary smile.
"Welcome, little one. We owe your brother our lives—you've nothing to fear from us. We're honest merchants."
"I-I'm Sonia…" she stammered, taking a small, trusting step forward.
From behind, Tamer approached heavily, exhaustion, pain, and weakness evident in every movement.
"Boris, Sonia—thank you both for agreeing to join us,"
he said, despite his clear injuries.
The rest of the caravan exchanged puzzled glances.
They were surprised—Tamer seemed oddly familiar with Boris.
Imenata stepped forward, her social nature shining through in such moments.
"So, Tamer," she said, "I was wondering… what's your connection to this boy, Boris?"
"Oh, nothing serious. I met him just minutes ago by the lake. Hmm… we had an… interesting encounter. Hahaha,"
Tamer said, rubbing the persistent ache in his head.
"And just what was this 'interesting encounter'?"
Imenata narrowed her eyes, smiling skeptically.
"Nothing at all… I just earned myself a 'medal of bravery' on my head," he said, wincing suddenly from a fresh stab of pain.
"Huh?"
Confusion spread across the onlookers' faces.
But there was no time to press further.
Boris observed the scene in total silence, as if entirely detached from the moment.
Kalu noticed this and spoke, ready to move things forward:
"Hmm… I'm terribly sorry about this, young man. As you can see, we still need to leave—we've a week's travel along the lakeside road—but we clearly need time to catch our breath and prepare… We'd planned only a short rest before continuing, but… ah…"
His voice strained between physical pain and the weight of the caravan's condition.
"It's fine, Mr. Kalu. I can even help—I'm in no hurry, and neither is Sonia," Boris offered.
"No, no— you saved our lives. Please rest, young man. And thank you again, from the bottom of my heart,"
Kalu replied, supported by murmurs of agreement from most of the caravan.
Meanwhile, Jon—the man with the dark beard—watched silently.
His face was scarred by a deep, three-lined gash where his right eye used to be.
He looked disturbed—not just by the wound, but by something else…
When he caught sight of Boris, the caravan's newest arrival, he turned away sharply.
His sister, Jumana, helped him climb into one of the wagons, from which a faint growl escaped:
"Tch… this is annoying."
She heard his words in silence, understanding his nature, and gently patted his shoulder.
"Sorry, brother—I don't think I can treat your eye right now. I'll clean it a bit as soon as Mrs. Imenata finishes bandaging Mr. Kalu's shoulder. She'll help you next."
Boris noticed how Jon turned and withdrew into the wagon, curiosity stirring within him about the man's unease.
Anton noticed it too. He'd just left Kalu in the wagon to be treated by Imenata.
"That's Jon," he said in his quiet voice, placing a hand on Boris's shoulder.
"He's a good man—just in a foul mood from his wound, mostly. By the way, I'm Anton. Thank you for turning the tide of that battle."
The height difference made the moment resemble an older brother comforting a younger one.
Anton stood tall at 187 cm—while Boris, though not short, was slightly below average for his age.
After that, Anton walked away without another word, leaving Boris alone.
Each caravan member returned to their duties—
some setting up camp, food, and fire; others scavenging the Bloody Wolves' corpses; others tending the wounded, while some cared for the children.
"Shall we sit under that tree, Sonia?"
Boris asked, turning to her.
She didn't answer.
When he looked closer, he saw her gaze drifting elsewhere.
Sofia, Kalu's daughter, sat in Zofia's lap—the girl with closed eyes—
shivering slightly, as if the attack still haunted her.
"It seems what happened earlier affected her deeply," Boris whispered gently.
"Brother Boris…"
Sonia said, adding nothing more.
Her meaning was clear to Boris, who had known her for a long time.
"Go to her," he said softly, giving her permission to approach.
*She's still keeping her promise… despite everything.*
Boris smiled faintly as he watched Sonia walk toward the little girl.
Left alone, he lightly made his way to a large nearby tree.
It shaded him from the sun, and the Warm-season breeze made it the perfect place to rest.
He sat beneath it in silence, breathing in the air—or perhaps something even deeper.
He leaned back quietly, his silver eyes scanning the surroundings—a habit honed through years of social isolation.
*People, plants, birds, some deer…*
He kept watching until he heard approaching footsteps.
He turned his head and saw a figure drawing near—
a girl with short, wavy peach-colored hair and long lashes framing her closed eyes.
She walked with quiet grace, yet with a steady rhythm that suggested a rural upbringing.
"Hello. May I join you?"
It was Zofia, who'd left Sofia's side now that Sonia was with her.
Boris didn't speak, but gave a small nod.
He didn't seem to mind the company, so Zofia leaned against the tree beside him.
Silence settled between them—suspended like a long-held breath—as the wind rustled through the trees and dry leaves scattered on the ground.
Boris's gaze wandered—then lifted toward the sky for a moment.
Despite the morning's blue sky, the three moons were clearly visible:
a red crescent, waxing, nearly full.
Above it, to the left, a blue moon, waxing, nearing the end of its phase.
And a third, yellow moon aligned along the same arc—a waxing quarter moon, half-full.
Boris lowered his gaze back to the camp.
Zofia stood beside him, quiet.
She seemed to understand that words didn't come easily to a soul as still as his—so she said nothing.
She didn't try to break the silence or force him to speak. She simply stood there, sharing his quiet.
Boris remained silent, his expression unreadable.
His eyes continued watching the caravan's activity.
The sun hadn't begun to set yet, but its rays were already brushing his face through the leaves—
preparing to descend and pave the way into late afternoon.
After a long stretch of calm, Zofia spoke in a whisper, as if afraid to shatter the peace:
"Thank you… truly, for saving the caravan."
Boris's reply was quiet, slow:
"No. I didn't do anything real. The caravan would've won the battle eventually, even without me."
*Yes—not everyone, but Jon, Kalu, Imenata, and several others were fully capable by my measure. Their weakest are solidly Delta2F… and then there's Anton—and her—easily beyond Gamma2D, maybe even Gamma2S…*
Despite his words, Zofia said calmly and surely:
"Maybe. But the death toll would've been much higher. And the fact that you knew that… is exactly what made you intervene and prevent it, isn't it?"
Boris said nothing. His gaze remained fixed on Sonia, who was now laughing gently with Sofia.
"Lad. Boris, excuse my rude question, but were you an adventurer?" Zofia asked curiously.
Boris paused for a moment before replying, "I was…"
"So you're not anymore? But what was your rank? I don't think it was lower than Gamma2F." She turned her head towards him as if analyzing him…
But Boris's expression didn't change, and he didn't answer. Zofia sensed the situation and changed the subject.
"In any case… thank you again. By the way—I'm Zofia, Lad. Boris. You were our true hero today."
She straightened up, stepping away from the tree.
She brushed off her dress and walked off to help the others.
Boris didn't respond.
He was thinking—perhaps about her words, or perhaps about deeper memories.
He raised his fingers and gently touched his copper hair.
He whispered to himself: "No… I'm not a hero."
For a brief moment, he looked down at his clothes—
dark, almost black, with small pouches, a black shawl around his neck, and metal vambraces on his forearms.
The corner of his mouth dipped slightly, then lifted a fraction—a faint smile carrying no joy.
*Maybe…*
he thought, watching the hawk above perched on a high branch, its eyes fixed on him.
He pulled his shawl closer to his mouth…
"Maybe… it would be nice to feel a little less alone, even for just one moment."
He spoke softly, his hands falling to his sides.
It wasn't clear whether he was talking to himself—or to the refreshing breeze of the Warm season.
"After all… I do love the month of Suntzu," he whispered quietly to himself.
Activity in the caravan gradually increased as life reclaimed its place from the aftermath of the massacre.
Smoke rose from a small fire lit by the women.
Fragments of chatter and occasional laughter drifted among the wounded and recovering.
***
In the present, Boris exhaled deeply, pushing the phantom scent of blood from his mind.
He watched Sofia laughing, and Sonia trying to hide her flustered smile.
There was something about this moment that made him feel… warm.
But his focus sharpened—he fixed his eyes on one of the caravan's wagons.
He was thinking about the scent that had drawn the wolves here.
*There—*
His thoughts were cut off suddenly.
He heard Sonia's voice as she ran toward him.
"Brother Boris, save meee! She won't leave my ears alone—she's doing it again!"
Sonia leapt into Boris's lap, pretending to cry like a child.
Boris looked at the playful scene.
"Aihi~ Hmm~"
Sofia ran over and stood before Boris—but didn't come closer.
She hesitated, unsure about approaching the stranger.
Boris smiled—his warm, disarming smile—and gestured for her to come nearer, while his other hand gently stroked Sonia's head in his lap.
"Come here. Don't be afraid."
His voice was soft, kind.
"Ah~ Ihi~Hya~!"
Sofia squealed with joy and immediately jumped toward Boris as soon as she felt his welcome.
Instantly, she grabbed poor Sonia's ears once more.
"Noooo!"
Sonia sprang from Boris's lap, realizing even that wasn't safe—which sent Sofia chasing after her without hesitation.
Boris watched the cheerful scene, smiling.
The rest of the caravan noticed too.
Sonia and Sofia ran back and forth, bringing joy to the exhausted faces around them.
Other children joined in, and soon the whole camp was playing a new game: "Catch Sonia's Ears!"
***
As the sun set, the camp gradually quieted.
Voices softened, the fire glowed gently, and the scent of burning wood mingled with the night breeze.
Boris sat under the tree, his silver eyes watching shadows stretch long across the ground.
Slowly, he rose, brushed dust from his clothes, and adjusted his shawl.
He walked with measured steps toward Kalu, who had just finished speaking with Anton.
He stood before them.
His voice was low, calm, gentle—but sharp as a sword's edge:
"Mr. Kalu… there are Kora Stones in the caravan."
The conversation between Kalu and Anton froze—
as if the very air had turned to ice, and words ceased to exist.