"Do that again and you are dead."
Astara's voice was low, her tone venom-laced and cutting through the quiet air like a blade. Her glare didn't waver, fixed on the opposite side of the roughly carved wooden dining table. She sat upright, one leg crossed, spoon mid-air, eyes cold and narrowed at the swollen-faced boy across from her.
His bruises puffed around his cheeks, eyes barely open—eating in silence as her mother gently tried to feed him, like tending to a wounded child.
"Astara… haven't you already let out your anger?" her mother asked, eyes wide, tone caught between scolding and pleading. The shock of her daughter's earlier outburst hadn't left her.
She watched, conflicted, as Sam sat there without resistance, not uttering a word—not even a sound of protest—after being relentlessly beaten earlier with the help of Astara's younger brother.
"And Sam is so kind," the mother added, hoping to ease the air, "he didn't even say anything to you."
Astara paused mid-bite.
"…Heh?" she scoffed, raising an eyebrow, her head tilting ever so slightly in disbelief. Her eyes shifted directly to Sam, who winced as if her gaze alone caused another bruise to form.
A mock smile pulled at her lips.
"Mother is right. You really are a gentleman, Sam. You didn't hit back." She crossed her arms, voice rising just slightly with playful malice. "So… how about we go for another round, huh?"
'!'
Sam stiffened. His lips trembled, too swollen to form words properly. Slowly, he stood—one hand clutching the table's edge, the other shielding part of his face—as he looked toward Astara's mother. His body swayed slightly, bruised and exhausted, but what flickered in his eyes wasn't hatred or fear.
It was prayer.
A silent one.
> 'Please, Aunty… More than her, I fear you might be the reason for my death.'
Because first it was her—the wild crimson-haired beast who had dragged him by the collar, nearly choking the life out of him. And now it was her mother—the woman feeding him with gentle hands but just as ruthless, trying to tame a beast by forcing him into her cage.
Sam wasn't stupid.
He knew his real enemy wasn't Astara. It was her mother—soft on the surface, but deadlier underneath.
"Huh? Sam, where are you going? Let me at least do first aid—"
The spoon she held stopped mid-air. Porridge still clinging to it. She glanced at Sam, watching him quietly shuffle back, shoulders hunched, head low. Her eyes furrowed with confusion, a touch of guilt flickering behind them.
But he simply raised one hand in the air, waving her off. Not in defiance, but like a man giving up. A silent farewell. Like someone who had tasted hopelessness too many times before.
'He must be hurting…' Astara's mother looked down, shaking her head. Her gaze hardened again when she turned toward her daughter, who only pouted slightly and resumed eating—this time nonchalantly feeding her younger brother seated beside her.
Cruxy, ever the dutiful one, was getting ready to go sell herbs in the market again before taking a seat to be fed by his sister. He was clearly multitasking, packing herbs with his hands while being fed by his sister. Far beyond his age, that boy was already the biggest breadwinner in the house.
Meanwhile, Sam stumbled toward the door.
His fingers unbuttoned the top of his shirt loosely, the cloth stained and wrinkled. With a flick of his wrist, he wiped away the snot trailing from his nose.
Still, somewhere deep in his chest, a single ember of hope burned quietly.
He halted at the threshold.
Fingers resting on the frame, he glanced back. For a brief second, the air shifted.
The wind fluttered through his tousled brown hair. His breath steadied. His heart, which had been pounding, now beat with quiet resolve.
He looked at her—just once—as if he wanted to leave something behind. Not anger. Not regret.
Something pure.
Something true.
She was beautiful.
Far more than he could ever deserve.
Maybe he was below average. Maybe worse.
But he could still give her this—his heart, in the only form he knew how.
"What?" Astara blinked, her spoon paused, eyes lifting toward him as she chewed slowly, giving him a calm, uninterested glance.
Sam smiled.
Just a little.
He spoke softly, words fragile, yet carved from something deeper than pain—something that had kept him up for nights.
He had written and rewritten this verse on torn paper, wasting ink and even a whole gold coin for parchment he couldn't afford.
But it was worth it.
It was all worth it—for this one moment. For her to remember.
> "You are young now—
beautiful, radiant, full of energy.
Many will come to you, drawn by your charm.
But remember this—
When one day your beauty fades,
when the world stops looking your way,
and you feel exhausted, needing to rest somewhere...
There will still be a heart waiting for you.
I'll still be there—
loving you just as much as I do now.
Astara. Trust me..."
"...."
Silence fell.
Astara's fingers clenched around the edge of the table, spoon forgotten.
She tilted her head slightly, not meeting his gaze. Her breath stilled. It wasn't romantic—no flutter in her heart. But… it was honest. Unflinchingly so.
"...." Astara kept looking at him while she squeezed her fists on the table, her head down as she knew he was being honest in a way, given that there were males in the town who approached her but only brought beatings upon themselves.
He was somewhat different from them.
He had known her since childhood and had done hard work from an early age. She saw him that way, but there were no romantic feelings at all.
In a way, she respected him for being like that, but there are times when even if one feels that the other is good for them, they need to move on...
Simply because somewhere deep in her heart... she didn't feel that pull which made her feel like she could fall in love.
Her heart always seemed to be frozen... as if there was no love in it.
Either way, she still had to fulfill her father's dream of becoming one of the strongest knights in the kingdom.
Yet her lips parted with a sound lower than anyone could hear, as if talking to air.
"I will remember that... idiot."
Her voice was not one of annoyance. Just soft.
Her eyes looked away, averted as if she were merely noting that line somewhere safe so she wouldn't forget it in case, by chance, she lost her luster with knighthood, exhausted by the fatigue of pursuing her dream. One day.
Maybe those words would make her feel hopeful.
Not romantically, to be honest...
After all, no man could really wait for someone all those years for a single poem he wrote.
So, she didn't feel guilt. She knew he would move on, and things would just keep going.
It's human nature; they forget the love, the heartbeat... that once beat for someone as distances increase.
"Oh, Sister, I forgot to mention this..." Cruxy clearly noticed that the spoon had halted just two inches from his mouth.
He opened his eyes, looking towards his sister, who had her chin supported by her palm, elbow on the table, looking away and forgetting about feeding him.
He could at least understand that she was in confusion or at least upset.
Maybe or maybe not, so he decided to enlighten her mood and said, "That evil crown prince of the Rowelia Empire has summoned his army back!"