Chapter One:
...
The night was heavy, as if the sky itself had conspired with the earth to suffocate anyone who dared to run. No moon, no stars. Just a stretching darkness that mirrored the weight in his fear-filled heart.
His footsteps echoed in his ears like war drums, even though he was barefoot on the cold ground. Richard wasn't thinking. He wasn't feeling. He was just running. His bloodstained hands trembled, and his eyes darted wildly for an escape from this maze that was once his home.
The cries of soldiers echoed behind him, fading into the smoky, blood-filled air. "Find him! He couldn't have gone far!"
That last shout made his heart leap. He had no choice but to keep going. He knew that if they caught him, the punishment would be worse than death. His hand subconsciously touched the cursed brand on his neck—the eternal mark of his enslavement.
Every time he stumbled or fell, a voice inside screamed, "Get up!" This was no time to surrender. Freedom beckoned in the distance, but it was far away—like a mirage at the end of a long tunnel.
He finally reached a narrow river, the boundary between his former kingdom and the forbidden lands. The water was ice-cold, but he didn't hesitate. He dove in, his body shivering from the cold and fear, yet he kept swimming, leaving everything behind—his chains, his tears, even his past.
But he didn't know that the past is never easily abandoned. Because on the other side of the river, a new beginning awaited him. A beginning filled with struggles he had never imagined.
...
Sunlight pierced his pale skin, lying on the ground like a natural alarm clock to mark a new day… or maybe a new torment?
He opened his green eyes slowly, wrapped in a heavy drowsiness that refused to leave his body. He wished, just for a moment, to remain sprawled on the grass forever, basking in his newfound freedom. But… was freedom even real? He never truly knew what that word meant. It sounded delicate to his heart, but his harsh mind convinced him it wasn't his to have.
His gaze wandered until he saw a kitten playing with a ball of yarn. Only then did he realize the truth—he wasn't in the castle anymore. He had crossed the river. The river that separated his dark hell from an unknown paradise.
When his left hand touched the fertile soil, an inner struggle erupted between his heart that longed to dream and his mind that insisted on fleeing from hope. Yet in the end, he followed his heart. A smile formed on his lips—strange even to himself. It was a real smile, as if it belonged to another world. With it, buried emotions surged forth, long suppressed. Heavy tears streamed down his cheeks, falling onto the green grass that witnessed the moment his heart triumphed over his past.
And yet, the past wasn't ready to leave so easily.
He looked at his hands and saw the dried blood on his fingers. The cold blood, mixed with the mud on his feet, told a tale of years of screams and agony. But nature seemed to side with him. The sky, pitch-black the night before, now rained gently upon his weary body, as if trying to cleanse his soul before his flesh.
Nature was merciful to the pale blond boy, who looked to the horizon with his soft green eyes. A blue sky danced with fluttering birdsong. His withered features—carved with layers of pain—decided to reflect the sun in return. His eyes shimmered as if pleading for life's mercy to bathe him in light.
Then he spotted black smoke in the distance, and his mind ordered his small frame to rise and head toward it. Despite its dark color, the smoke was faint. Moving toward it felt like walking toward death. His body dragged itself in exhaustion, desperate for survival. His mind warned him not to go further, but his heart overruled it, casting a strange peace over him, emanating from the source of that smoke.
An old country house stood there. Its faded wood and aged color spoke of resilience—perhaps built a hundred years ago. The earthy brown hue of the outer walls, though dimmed by time, did not mar the house's gentle charm.
Richard leaned against a tree nearby, breathless, as though nature's very air had turned against him, refusing to be inhaled.
A faint scent tickled his nose—enough to awaken his salivating hunger. His dull eyes fell upon the house's entrance, as if silently pleading to be heard.
At that moment, the door creaked open, accompanied by a gentle breeze, like a celebration of the sun answering the green-eyed boy's prayers. A man in his late thirties, or early forties, stood in the doorway. His hair was brown and shoulder-length, his sun-kissed skin reflected the daylight. His build was athletic, modestly so, and his brown eyes matched his hair.
He stared, perplexed, as if witnessing a fallen sun begging to be reignited.
The man's steps were hesitant, his heart beating joyfully, while his mind rang with warnings. His body didn't know which to follow—his kind heart or his cautious mind. He fell to his knees on the grass, his expression unreadable. Was he laughing or crying? But his eyes revealed his heart's truth.
The older man smiled faintly, stepping forward. But with every step, Richard's heart beat like a drum in his chest. The man studied the pale boy carefully. Soaked, trembling from the sky's weeping. He finally spoke with a voice both calm and layered with emotion:
"Are you lost?"
The words, though unintelligible to Richard's mind, offered his heart comfort. He said nothing. He heard the words and accepted them with strange stillness. The man tried again—he didn't like unanswered questions.
"Do you need help?"
Richard remained silent, cautious as his mind advised, yet strangely comforted as his heart insisted.
His heart began to race as the man came closer. A wave of hysteria overtook him when the stranger knelt down even further. Desperate to protect himself, Richard raised his thin hands over his face in a panic, trying to shout in a trembling voice:
"D-Don't come closer..!"
But his words were only soft cries. The man didn't understand them but gathered one thing: this boy needed help. From his clothes and speech, he realized the boy was not from this kingdom. Given that his home was near the border, it became clear—the boy was a runaway from a neighboring land.
The man's heart softened. He stepped back, raised both hands in surrender—a sign of truce, saying, "Don't worry. I'm unarmed."
That gesture calmed Richard's heart. He lowered his hands, casting a gaze filled with indescribable emotion. That simple act was a miracle to Richard. All his life, pain and violence were constants. Not once had he lived without abuse. Yet now, this stranger had wrapped his dead heart in warmth.
The man smiled gently and gestured a question with his hand. Richard tilted his head, confused. He tried to read the man's expressions but began to feel hopeless at their lack of communication.
He was torn between his distrust and the security he oddly felt around this stranger. Finally, Richard pointed at his mouth, then at his stomach, signaling, "I'm hungry. I need food."
The man nodded, understanding the gesture. He rose slowly and pointed toward his home, as if saying, "Food's inside… come."
Richard froze. He didn't like what he'd inferred. He leaned deeper into the tree trunk, hugging himself. The man noticed the fear in the boy's eyes and actions. Quickly, he waved his hands in a clumsy but well-meaning gesture, hoping to calm him. Then he held up a hand—"wait"—and rushed back inside.
A short while later, he returned with a large white blanket in one hand and a plate of bread and homemade pastries in the other. He stopped a half-meter from the boy, placed the plate on the grass, then wrapped himself in the blanket and pointed to the blond boy, gesturing for him to do the same.
Richard eyed the offering with suspicion. "What does he want from me? Why is he helping me?" he wondered. He didn't trust him, didn't want to. Despite his growling stomach and the bread's scent tickling his nose, he stayed put.
The man narrowed his eyes and took a piece of bread, eating it calmly before pointing to himself, silently saying, "See? It's safe."
Richard gulped. Slowly, he reached for the plate and devoured the pastries with desperation. Tears spilled down his cheeks, falling like dew onto the grass. Emotions overwhelmed him. He had never felt this before—the feeling of being treated like a human. It was like a dream.
The man's eyes widened as he sat beside the trembling boy, quietly wrapping the blanket around him. The moment the warmth covered his body, Richard's muscles relaxed, as if a crushing weight had been lifted.
"How did you end up here, little pale sun…" murmured the man—Aaron—to himself. He thought, What kind of hell has this boy lived through? He wanted to earn his trust—desperately.
He smiled reassuringly at the small blond boy who couldn't understand his words. "I'll take care of you. And I'll make sure you shine again, little sun."
...
"Crossing the river was only the beginning—a tale of a soul returning to life after believing hope was just a myth."
—End of Chapter One—