The last manifestation

After several minutes, the flames had receded, leaving behind glowing ashes and thin spirals of smoke rising into the sky. The air was saturated with the foul scent of death—a suffocating blend of spilled blood and black smoke.

Ace walked slowly through the devastation, each step a struggle against his wounded body. Pain surged with every breath. His scattered injuries throbbed as he examined the ground, littered with fragments of the little rabbits. Then, something on the edge of his vision stirred—a faint movement barely visible under the dim light. He paused, sharp eyes narrowing in.

It was a lone rabbit, limping slowly, barely able to stand. Its movements were sluggish, its body covered in burns and wounds—clearly a survivor by sheer luck.

It seemed to be trying to flee, but its stumbling steps looked more like death's final tremble. Ace hesitated. His eyes locked on the distant rabbit. A part of him wanted to let it go, to give it a chance. But his mind, shaped by harsh experience, knew the truth—this creature, no matter how weak it appeared now, could be a future threat. True safety meant eliminating every potential danger, no matter how small.

Still, he knew that principle wouldn't apply if it were a human. Letting out a heavy, bitter sigh, he reached to his side and drew his small weapon. He raised it steadily, aiming at the rabbit, which had stopped in place, as if sensing its end.

Calmly, Ace squeezed the trigger. The bullet cut through the air and struck its mark with precision. The rabbit dropped instantly—its small body yielding to death.

Silence returned, thick and absolute, as if expressing the sorrow buried deep within the young man's heart for all the destruction he had caused. Then, he began collecting the rabbits' ears—those that still had a recognizable shape—placing them in a paper bag he had requested from the old man.

He ended up gathering eleven pairs, not counting the two black ears he had taken from the black rabbit's head—larger and coarser than the rest.

After completing his mission, he paused for a moment to make one last check that no threat was nearby. He understood that it was time to return, and he no longer had the strength to remain in this grim place. He began walking back to the small house, his steps heavy, carrying the pouch of ears as a symbol of victory. Upon reaching the wooden house, he stood in front of the door briefly, attempting to gather the last of his strength. After wiping off as much blood as he could from his clothes, he raised his hand and knocked loudly, calling out in a voice that masked his exhaustion:

"Excuse me... It's me, Ace Farland. Please open the door."

From behind the door, he heard a faint movement amid the silent night, followed by the creaking of the wooden floor under hesitant steps, barely audible, as if the person feared being noticed. The door began to open slowly, its faint creak breaking the stillness, revealing the pale face of the old man, deeply wrinkled by fear.

His eyes, resembling two deep lakes, scanned the scene cautiously, searching for any sign of danger at the doorstep. When his gaze fell upon the wounded young man, his lips quivered before he opened the door completely. He seemed like he wanted to speak, but words got stuck in his throat, tangled with a mixture of fear and surprise. In his hand, he held a rusty sickle, its worn edges still sharp, as if he were ready to defend himself and the place at any cost. Yet his trembling fingers betrayed a deep-rooted anxiety.

Ace smiled at the sight and said calmly:

"Don't worry, sir. The mission is complete."

He gestured toward the bag he was carrying. At that, the old man allowed him inside. As soon as he entered, his eyes caught a touching scene: in the corner of the room, under the dim candlelight, the grandmother was holding the little child close, as if she were his only safe refuge.

Her face was pale, and in her hand, she held a large hammer—proof that fear can grant even the weakest hands the strength to wield something beyond their power. Ace spoke in a gentle voice, trying to soothe them:

"There's no need to be afraid anymore. It's all over."

He said it with a trace of confidence, despite the fatigue etched into his features. Gradually, the tension began to fade from their faces. They lowered their makeshift weapons—but cautiously, as if still unsure whether the danger had truly vanished. The grandmother rose and stepped toward Ace with hesitant steps, and behind her, Nova clung to her plain dress. She spoke in a quiet, trembling voice:

"What was that loud noise, my boy? Are you alright?"

Her words were laced with evident worry. As she drew closer to Ais, she noticed his wounds and the bloodstains scattered across his clothes. She cried out in alarm:

"Oh dear heavens! What happened to your clothes?"

He smiled faintly in an effort to reassure her and said:

"Don't worry, ma'am. I'm alright. And as for the sound that must've frightened you… it was the final blow that ended the nightmare of those creatures. I've taken care of them all. The farm is safe now."

Silence fell, but it wasn't an empty silence—it was filled with astonishment, as if the three were trying to comprehend the reality of what they had just heard. Their eyes shifted between Ais's face and the bag he carried, as though trying to imagine the scene that had taken place outside. Then, Ace placed the bag on the table, opened it, and asked them to see for themselves. The old couple stepped forward cautiously, torn between curiosity and fear. Even little Nova was drawn in by the scene. When the contents of the bag were revealed, breath caught in their throats. Severed ears were scattered inside, some still dripping with blood, in a scene thick with the scent of iron and flesh.

The elderly pair peered into the bag intently, as if counting trophies after a battle. They tallied the contents quickly, and the amount was enough to give them a slight sense of reassurance—at least from a practical standpoint. Nova, on the other hand, was unprepared for the sight. He was suddenly overcome with dizziness, as though the air around him had become too heavy to breathe. His face turned pale, and his small hand rose to his mouth in a desperate attempt to stop what might come up. He staggered back—one step, then two—until he nearly collapsed, saved only by the wall behind him. The scent of blood filled his nose, choking him.

The grandmother rushed to his side, bent down to his level, and asked in a voice overflowing with tenderness:

"Are you alright, sweetheart?"

He nodded, trying to swallow the bitterness of the experience. Then, a faint but brave smile appeared on his face. At that moment, the old man spoke in a low voice, as if declaring the end of a chapter in their journey:

"So... it's finally over."

Though his words carried a hint of comfort, their expressions betrayed them. The old couple and the child were all still tense, their eyes meeting with guarded glances that revealed what words couldn't hide. Silence gripped the room like a heavy weight, and the air seemed steeped in something unspoken, like a shadow that hadn't yet left.

Then Ace stepped forward and said in a calm but firm tone, as if trying to awaken them from their denial:

"Come with me. See for yourselves what happened out there."

Faced with the suggestion, and after exchanging a few glances, the old couple agreed. Nova then expressed his desire to join them, but the grandmother, with wide eyes full of worry and a mother's instinct, stepped in front of him and extended her arm to stop him, as if shielding his innocence from a scene that might leave a permanent mark on his soul. She whispered to him in a warm yet firm tone:

"No, that's not something for you to see yet."

But the old man, who had been watching with a sharp eye tempered by experience, gestured with his weathered hand, indicating it was alright to let the boy come. He spoke with a tone shaped by fatherly resolve and years of life:

"He's a boy. He must see. Sooner or later, he'll need to know how meat is cut and prepared. It's one of life's necessities—there's no avoiding it."

The grandmother looked at him sternly, but behind the sharpness was a stream of affection. She said in a voice tinged with both pleading and repressed anger:

"But Nova loves animals… truly loves them. How could you want him to go through something so scarring?"

The old man sighed, his breath heavy with a conviction that would not waver, and replied with quiet wisdom:

"I know—he loves them. But we won't be here forever, dearest. One day, he'll face life alone. He must be ready for everything… even the harshness."

The grandmother was silent, a deep quiet etched across her face as her gaze rested on little Nova. Words no longer sufficed in that moment, so she chose to speak with her eyes. Her eyes, slightly dimmed by age, conveyed love and fear, hope and sorrow.

Nova felt something stir within. He looked at her for a long time—a look filled with unexpected maturity and unfamiliar strength. As if he had suddenly accepted something. He clenched his small fist and his features grew firm. He was no longer the same child. He looked as though he stood on the edge of some transformation—one ignited by Ais's words, which still echoed in his mind. Words that stirred within him a determination he didn't fully understand, but knew would carry him far from where he began.

The grandmother gave a soft nod, a quiet acceptance of the truth that had been forced upon her. Then they all stepped outside, carrying lanterns whose dim lights scattered across the dew-covered ground.