Auren managed a faint smile, his lips dry and cracked."Hello, mister… thank you… for the water." His voice was weak, almost dazed, as he lay with his head resting on the man's lap. His half-open eyes shimred faintly as he murmured, "Your na… it reminds of my old friend… Sunny Vincent. Are you… Are you his father?"
The old man chuckled softly, though his gaze remained troubled on Auren's wounds."I have no son," he replied gently. "I am just a devotee of the Mother Snake. My na is Aravalli. I have no wife, no children… nothing but Her."
As he spoke, his eyes lingered over Auren's battered body—cuts, torn flesh, blood still trickling. His heart tightened."You shouldn't be talking now," he said firmly, almost scolding. "Co with . You need care."
Before Auren could protest, the man—Sukamu—shifted his staff aside and carefully lifted Auren onto his shoulder.
Auren groaned, his body jolting from the movent. But instead of silence, he began muttering, half-dazed, half-playful."Hey—why are you carrying ? I'm fine, see? Hey… am I being kidnapped right now? Careful… I'm a mage now, you hear ? A mage!" He slurred the words, like a drunkard trying to sound serious. His voice broke into a slow hiss. "You don't understand… I'm dangerous…"
Sukamu couldn't help but glance at him, a strange mix of worry and curiosity crossing his face. This boy… even in such pain, he speaks nonsense like a child. The source of thɪs content is novel⁂fire
But he said nothing. Instead, he adjusted Auren's weight more securely, carrying him as one would bring their own son. The boy's weak struggles and silly words were like the flailing of a baby—unable to resist, yet full of stubborn spirit.
"Rest now," Sukamu whispered under his breath as he trudged through the snow. "I'll take you sowhere safe."
And so, with snowflakes falling silently, Sukamu walked on—carrying the boy who might one day shake the world.
There stood a small house, so small that to enter one had to bend low. Its walls were built from rough wood, patched with snow pressed between the gaps. A single lamp glowed faintly inside, casting a soft amber hue that trembled against the cold.
The space within was no bigger than a child's room. One bed lay there, old and sturdy, yet it consud nearly eighty percent of the floor. From the ceiling, straw pieces hung down—remnants of the roof's weaving, swaying gently whenever the wind breathed through the cracks.
In front of the bed, a small altar rested. Upon it, the still image of Aravalli—the Mother Snake—stared back, painted with patient devotion. The artwork told a story: the people bowing in prayer, circling the serpent goddess, offering flowers and chants. Even in this tiny ho, she remained the center.
Sukamu bent carefully and laid Auren on the bed. The boy sank into the blanket's rough but warm embrace. Sukamu pulled the cover over his shivering fra, tucking him gently, as though guarding a fragile fla from the wind. Then, with steady hands, he opened a small pouch and brought out a jar of green dicine. Its sll was sharp, herbal, carrying both earthy and bitter notes. Slowly, he applied it to Auren's wounds, his touch careful, almost reverent—treating not just flesh, but spirit.
Auren's eyes slowly closed, yet a faint smile lingered on his lips for no reason at all. As Sukamu spread the cool green paste across his wounds, the boy let out a soft aww—but instead of pain, it sounded like a blessing. His body shifted slightly beneath the blanket, as though sinking into the warmth of the cold room itself, every muscle loosening.
He seed calm on the surface, but there was sothing else flowing from him—an overwhelming treasure of joy, pouring quietly from deep within. Sukamu paused, hand still on the boy's shoulder, unable to understand it. Why is he smiling in such pain?
What Auren was seeing no one else could. In his dream-state, clouds parted like heaven opening, and many girls appeared, drifting toward him. Their faces were hazy, but their eyes glimred with kindness. They moved in silence, making gestures Auren could not na, as though blessing him, guiding him, or thanking him for sothing beyond his knowing.
To Sukamu, it was only the smile of a wounded boy. But to Auren, it was the hidden language of his soul—peace found even in suffering, and visions that no pain could break.
Sukamu's hands paused for a mont as he looked up at the small image of Aravalli on the wall. The dim lamplight flickered against the wooden fra, casting shadows of the great serpent goddess across the tiny room. A faint smile touched his cracked lips.
"Is that your doing, Mother?" he whispered, voice soft but trembling. "I don't think it's a coincidence that I found this boy near your temple… no, it can't be. This kid—he may hold sothing I don't yet understand. So purpose hidden from my eyes."
He adjusted the blanket over Auren, his palms pressed together for a heartbeat like a devotee before his deity. "I am sure you will show the path, Mother. What to do now. Your blessing is my life, and this boy Auren… he is sent by you."
His eyes glimred in the dim light, half prayer, half wonder. "Guide , Mother. Guide so I can do your work, as you please. As you will."
The lamp flickered once more, and in that flicker, Sukamu felt the presence of the snake goddess, silent but watching.
That little house stood surrounded by endless snow, its wooden fra half-buried, half-breathing under the white weight.
Snow kept falling—slow, endless, and soft—each flake lting into silence. It wasn't the silence of peace, nor of death. It was sothing unknown. A silence that belonged only to that place, wrapping the house like a secret the world had forgotten.
Auren's breath caught mid-smile, as if he forgot to breathe.His chest pumped out.
The reason was unknown.
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