4

The raindrop fell.

Soft. Cold. Gentle.

It landed on Ryan’s cheek like a tear, stirring him from the edge of unconsciousness. He flinched, twisting weakly as his eyelids fluttered open.

The world looked the same—grey, broken, empty.

He blinked. Once. Twice. No one was there.

“...Maybe that was just a dream,” he whispered to himself, voice fragile like soaked paper. “Where I saw... him.”

His small hands rubbed his eyes, still sticky with dried blood. Slowly, he pushed his palms against the ground and tried to stand—bracing for the sharp pain in his leg.

But—

“Huh?”

He froze.

His legs didn’t hurt. His bruises were still there, but the deeper pain—gone.

“Why... why are my legs not hurting anymore?”

His golden eyes shimmered, reflecting the soft light above. A small, amazed smile grew on his lips.

“Maybe someone healed me…”

He giggled. A tiny, pure sound.

Then, without thinking, he twirled. His bruised arms lifted, and his feet danced over the muddy ground as the rain began to fall harder. Cold droplets kissed his skin, soaked his hair, and dripped down his cheeks.

But he wasn’t crying anymore.

He looked up at the sky, hands wide open, letting the downpour cover him.

A sigh left his lips—relieved, peaceful, light.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Thank you, clouds… for crying for me.”

His small body stood alone in the ruins. The bruises were still real. The memories still ached. But the pain…

The pain was gone.

He didn’t know why. He didn’t know how.

But for the first time in days, he didn’t feel alone.

“Whoever you are…” he murmured softly to the wind,

“...thank you.”

And behind the trees, hidden beneath the shadows of the leaves, a pair of green eyes watched silently.

Still. Unblinking.

And then they vanished—like the rain hide every tear the world refuse to see

As Ryan walked back through the muddy path, the rain still softly falling, he suddenly stopped.

He saw her.

The old woman who had beaten him earlier—she was sitting in the middle of the path, crying.

Tears streamed down her wrinkled face as her hands trembled in the rain.

Ryan tilted his head. His expression blank… confused.

“Why… is she crying?” he thought.

“When I’m the one who got beaten…”

He took a hesitant step toward her.

“E-Excuse me…?” he whispered softly, rain dripping from his golden lashes.

Before he could say more, a boy came running—Tanek.

“Granny!! Your field!” he screamed, panting.

“Your field’s on fire! Granny, come fast!”

The old woman gasped. Panic surged through her tired body. She stood up and ran, her sandals slipping in the mud.

Even though it was raining, black smoke was rising in the distance.

Ryan turned his head and saw not just her field—but parts of the villagers’ paddy lands burning too.

Flames licked the crops, refusing to die, as if the fire didn’t care for rain.

Ryan’s chest ached. He watched them cry, trying to put out the fire with bare hands.

“I… I want to help them…”

His legs moved slightly forward.

But then—

He was yanked back.

A rough grip grabbed his arm.

He turned and saw—his father.

“I heard it, Ryan.”

His voice was sharp. Dangerous.

“What did you do this time?!”

“P-Pa… I didn’t do anything—!”

SLAP.

A harsh sound cracked through the air. Ryan’s cheek burned red.

“STOP DEFENDING YOURSELF!!”

His father’s eyes burned with fury.

“You have no right to defend yourself. A child like you should never have been born!”

The words hit harder than the slap.

His father’s voice trembled with hatred.

“…Whose presence devoured his own mother.”

Ryan didn’t speak.

Tears fell silently. He lowered his head and hugged himself.

Why is it always me?

Why do they always frame me?

I never even saw her… my mother… she left without a word.

But they still blame me.

Even the servants in this house look at me like I’m dirt.

His father turned away, disgusted.

“You’re not allowed to eat for three days.”

And with that, he walked off—leaving Ryan in the dark hallway, soaked and shivering.

That night, in the small, windowless room they locked him in, Ryan sat silently in the corner.

No light. No warmth.

He hugged his knees close to his chest, his chin trembling.

Then—

Creeeaaak.

The door opened.

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