Graham woke before the sun did.

  Not because he wanted to—but because the fire in his memory had not yet burned out.

  Morning settled quietly over Kael’s house. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the wooden blinds, drifting lazily across the slightly dusty floor.

  The scent of warm wood mingled with the lingering smoke from last night’s fire, making Graham feel… at ease, even as a faint unease lingered in his chest.

  He still lay by the fading embers, a thin blanket draped over him.

  Alice had risen earlier. She moved carefully through the kitchen, gathering plates, opening a window to let the morning air in, and arranging the remaining ingredients—bread, eggs, dried vegetables.

  Kael was already at the small stove, tending a gentle fire. With one hand, he cracked eggs and boiled water. Each simple motion radiated calm, giving the house a pulse of life.

  Alice set a plate on the table near him.

  “I’m not trying to make anything fancy,” she said, a faint grin tugging at her lips, masking the slight worry in her chest.

  Kael glanced at her, returning the grin.

  “Then consider this your home too. Don’t be afraid to make mistakes. We learn together.”

  Alice looked toward Graham, pausing to take a slow breath before stepping out of the kitchen.

  Sunlight spilled across the front yard, catching Graham’s still-sleeping face by the dying fire. Stray strands of hair framed him, mussed from restless sleep.

  Alice leaned slightly, brushing his shoulder with care.

  “Graham… wake up. It’s morning. Time to get washed and eat.”

  Graham groaned, blinking at the light.

  “Mmm… it’s morning already?”

  “Yes. Uncle and I have everything ready,” Alice replied, tilting her head encouragingly.

  Graham sat up slowly, eyelids heavy. He clutched the blanket for a moment, hesitating, then met Alice’s gaze—half confused, half eager. Today, he wanted to grow just a little stronger.

  Alice handed him a cloth and clean clothes.

  “Come on, wash up first. We’ll have breakfast together after.”

  Graham nodded, gripping the cloth. The faint glow of the embers reflected on his face—watching his careful steps, while his hands still trembled slightly.

  While Graham washed, Alice returned to the kitchen to help Uncle Kael finish breakfast.

  Footsteps tapped across the wooden floor as Graham returned, clothes fresh and hair tamed, though his breath still carried the weight of a morning chill. He approached the table, staring quietly at the meal Kael and Alice had prepared.

  He picked up a slice of bread, idly twirling it on his fork, occasionally glancing at Kael’s bandaged hand. His grip on the fork tightened without realizing it, throat dry as he fought to stay calm.

  Alice’s eyes drifted to the pile of wood in the corner, then back to Uncle Kael’s faint nod.

  “Uncle… today, Graham and I will gather some wood. You can rest,” she said, voice calm but firm.

  Kael raised an eyebrow but smiled.

  “Don’t underestimate me. I’m still strong, you know.”

  Alice shook her head lightly.

  “It’s fine, Uncle. We’ll manage.”

  Graham hesitated briefly before speaking.

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  “I-I’ll come too, Uncle. It’ll be faster that way.”

  Kael nodded.

  “Alright… just be careful in the forest. Don’t wander too far.”

  They only nodded in return.

  After breakfast, Graham and Alice stepped outside. Alice carried two bamboo baskets, handing one to Graham.

  “Uncle said to take this, so it’s easier to carry everything home,” she said, grinning faintly.

  Graham accepted it, fingers tightening around the handle, eyes fixed on the forest ahead.

  The morning air smelled of damp earth and leaves. They moved slowly, deliberately, each action measured.

  Alice spotted a stack of larger logs deeper in the forest.

  Graham bent down, struggling to lift a heavier branch. His knuckles reddened, sweat creeping along his temples. Shoulders burning, he paused to watch Alice sorting smaller branches, taking a steadying breath before lifting again.

  Their pace was steady but patient. Whenever one faltered, the other waited, offering silent support. The forest became a space for patience and perseverance.

  Unnoticed, shadows lengthened across the forest floor. The golden light shifted slowly, hinting at the arrival of evening.

  Baskets filled, they retraced the path to the small wooden outpost. Sunlight bathed the hilltop as Graham settled by the edge of the structure, carefully carving wood into a makeshift sword.

  The wind carried the scent of dry grass. Splinters fell one by one to the ground. His hands trembled, yet he pressed on. Each chip of wood was a small battle against the fear he carried.

  Alice approached, curiosity lighting her eyes.

  “What are you making, Graham?” she asked, voice steady.

  Graham looked up, cheeks tinged with red.

  “I-I… I’m making a sword.”

  Alice’s eyes sparkled with interest.

  “Can you make one for me too? I want to practice.”

  Graham nodded, a shy grin forming.

  “O-okay… we’ll both join Oblivion, after all.”

  “Uh… but maybe we should head home now,” he added quietly.

  “Mm… yeah, let’s go,” Alice replied, her eyes warm yet wary—she knew his confidence was still fragile.

  Back at Uncle Kael’s house, he watched them unload wood and fruits.

  “Thank you for helping this old man,” he said.

  Alice chimed in immediately,

  “It’s our duty, Uncle.”

  Kael nodded, eyes briefly landing on Graham, who hid something behind his back.

  “What’s that?”

  Alice answered for him.

  “A wooden sword. Graham wants to practice before joining Oblivion.”

  Graham blinked in surprise.

  “A-Alice… why’d you tell him?”

  Kael chuckled, shaking his head.

  “Haha… no need to be shy. That’s perfectly natural.”

  They put the wood and fruits away, while Alice and Kael prepared a simple dinner. Graham bathed and changed clothes.

  After their modest meal, they prepared for sleep. The house sank into quiet again.

  Graham lay next to Alice but awoke in the middle of the night, shaken by a nightmare.

  His body froze, then jerked suddenly. Sweat dampened his back. Chest tight, as though something pressed inward.

  A ringing whispered in his ears, world hazy and distant.

  “Graham! Wake up!” Alice was immediately beside him, voice taut with worry.

  Graham groaned, clutching his arm, face twisted in fear and pain.

  Alice took his hand.

  “Shh… it’s alright. I’m here. Uncle’s here too.”

  Uncle Kael approached, patting his shoulder, grounding him.

  “Graham… wake up. I’m here.”

  Graham’s eyes opened.

  Tears clung to his cheeks. In his dream, he saw the village ablaze, people screaming, and a massive shadow standing amid it all.

  Even before he fully woke, the voice returned, colder this time:

  “Wake… or die weak.”

  Graham swallowed, fingers tightening around the wooden sword by his side.

  “I… I won’t be weak… I have to… be strong,” he thought, voice trembling slightly.

  Alice brushed his cheek, pressing lightly.

  “Breathe… slowly… everything is alright. I’m here.”

  Graham met her eyes.

  “I… I’m sorry…”

  “It’s okay. You just had a nightmare,” she said, voice steady, reassuring.

  Uncle Kael stood nearby, concern in his gaze but calm, letting Alice comfort him.

  His breath steadied, heartbeat slowing, fingers still tingling, yet his resolve took root—subtle, like a seed breaking through fertile soil.

  Outside, night remained dark.

  Inside Graham, something had shifted.

  He was no longer merely afraid.

  Amid the lingering tremors, something small began to grow.

  After months of following that routine, mornings and afternoons settled into a steady rhythm.

  Graham and Alice rose with the sunrise, moving through their tasks with growing assurance. They gathered firewood and foraged for fruit, hands surer now, steps no longer hesitant.

  Back at the small wooden outpost, Graham tightened his grip on the wooden sword and swung with intention. The fear that once trembled through his arms had thinned, replaced by a quiet, stubborn resolve. Alice mirrored him, adjusting his stance with a tilt of her head or a brief tap against his wrist, her guidance measured but unwavering.

  When Graham misstepped, she let out a short laugh instead of a reprimand, and he answered with a sheepish grin. The sharp clack of wood against wood rang through the forest, blending with the whisper of leaves overhead — a rhythm that demanded patience, focus, and control.

  At times, the memory of the charred village surfaced without warning — smoke, heat, the crackle of collapsing beams. His grip faltered. For a heartbeat, the past tried to drag him back.

  But he steadied his breathing and swung again.

  Each mistake hardened into a lesson.

  Each strike carried less fear than the one before it.

  Careful drills gave way to playful exchanges, their movements quicker, lighter, edged with laughter rather than tension.

  As the sun dipped low, staining the grove in amber and long shadows, they finally lowered their swords, breathing hard but satisfied.

  His left arm tingled faintly once more as he lowered the sword, a reminder he ignored—for now.

  Night came as it always did.

  But the darkness no longer felt like something waiting to swallow him.

  It was simply night — and Graham stood within it, steady, his fear no longer controlling him.