The last manifestation

They approached the barns, and there, amid the stillness broken only by the rustling wind, the old man saw for himself that the animals were still safe. The barns were clean, the numbers complete, and the animals seemed even calmer than before. Their eyes were steady, watching the group quietly, as if sensing that the danger had passed and that safety had returned.

Suddenly, Nova walked toward one of the goats, which was nearly his height. He placed his small hand gently on its head, stroking it softly and murmuring incomprehensible words—as if he shared a secret language with the creature, one beyond words, reaching into emotions and intent.

Afterward, they all left the farm, walking hesitantly toward the fields beyond the fence. There, they stopped, their eyes widening in awe and shock. The first scene was of seven rabbit corpses scattered across the ground—six white as winter's snow, and one black as the night. The bodies lay motionless on the grass, some still holding residual warmth, as if death had only just passed through.

But the true devastation lay beyond. Just a few steps further, the ground looked as if it had exploded from within. The tall grass that had filled the area hours before was now completely burned, reduced to dark ash heavy with the acrid stench of fire—a smell that refused to be forgotten. In the center of the destruction was a large crater, its edges charred, deep enough to suggest it had been the epicenter of an enormous blast—the very blast they had heard earlier.

The light of the twin moons was enough to reveal the horror: torn bodies, rabbit limbs scattered in every direction. It didn't take long to see that Ace had fought many more creatures than expected. There was undeniable evidence, irrefutable remains, that he had endured a fierce and one-sided battle against a vast number of those beasts.

In that moment, a weight settled on their hearts—deep shame, a silent guilt. They had offered a meager reward, one that could never compensate for what he endured. It didn't match the wounds on his body, nor the pain he bore alone without complaint. He had saved them, yes—but he alone paid the price.

As the grandmother comforted Nova, who was crying from the horror around him, the old man stood with his head bowed, his face marked with deep-seated remorse. It wasn't mere embarrassment—it was a blend of silent apology and the sorrow borne by someone who had lived long enough to recognize his mistakes.

His eyes, framed by the wrinkles of time, avoided direct contact, as if afraid to face the young man who had suffered. He wanted to apologize, to explain, to find some way to express gratitude beyond mere words.

He saw Ace bending down, quietly collecting some of the first rabbits he had slain—those that retained a semblance of peace in death. Their small bodies weren't disfigured, appearing almost as if they were still asleep. He placed them gently into a bag he had asked the old man to bring earlier, handling them with care, as though they held a personal significance.

The old man approached him slowly, his steps burdened by age and the weight of the moment. He said hoarsely:

"You don't have to clean this up, son... it's not your responsibility."

Ais, having placed the last rabbit in the bag, stood up slowly and looked at the old man with calm eyes. He replied quietly, with a tinge of resolve:

"If you don't mind, sir... I'd like to take these rabbits with me."

The old man didn't hide his surprise. It was written across his weathered face. He raised his eyebrows and asked hesitantly:

"Of course, son... You don't need my permission—they're not mine. But... may I ask why you want to take them?"

Ace lowered the bag slightly, as if weighing his words, then said calmly:

"Well... the meat could be sold, or at least... eaten. It'd be a waste to just bury them."

The old man chuckled, a rough laugh from deep in his chest, shaking his head as he said:

"Oh, son... you're strong, no doubt—but you're no joker. Even we, living out here away from others, know that the meat of demonic creatures is poisonous. You can't eat it, let alone sell it. Maybe some people buy such things for strange purposes, but small demon rabbits? I doubt they're worth the trouble."

Ace looked bewildered, his face flushing slightly. He gave a short, awkward laugh, then said with mild embarrassment:

"A–Actually... someone did ask me to bring back a few of their corpses when I returned."

The old man didn't comment, but it was clear he understood there was more being left unsaid. Then, as if it was time to move on, he cleared his throat and spoke seriously:

"In any case, son... What you've done today is no small feat. We can't let you leave without proper compensation."

Ace attempted to refuse, saying he didn't want a reward—but the old man and his wife, watching from a distance, insisted with almost embarrassing persistence. To them, what he had done was a sacrifice that couldn't be overlooked.

Eventually, after their repeated urging, Ace stated what he thought was a fair compensation. The couple exchanged glances, then laughed and agreed, sealing the deal as a firm agreement.

And so, night drew its curtain over that eventful evening, the moons fading behind the fields, and the stars resting quietly above the treetops. Yet Ace wasn't ready to rest. After receiving permission from the kind elderly couple, he wandered between the rows of crops, picking fruits with unusual colors and strange shapes.

One was spherical, covered in a spiky rind but filled with sweet, soft flesh. Another had a velvety texture and an earthy scent, its taste a curious blend of sweet and bitter.

Ace sampled everything he touched—examining each fruit with bright eyes, cautiously opening it, then taking a small bite as if discovering something new every time. The scene was rich with color, scent, and silence, broken only by the sound of rustling leaves and branches beneath his feet.

Nova accompanied him on the stroll, talking endlessly, asking questions, sharing his childlike thoughts about how some fruits looked like sleeping creatures. Ace responded with what little agricultural knowledge he had, and the boy's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, eager to try everything himself.

The walk lasted until dawn, when the first rays of light filtered through the trees, painting the sky in hues of purple and orange, like a carefully crafted oil painting.

At the end of the walk, as Ace and Nova returned to the house, they saw the old man near an old but sturdy wooden cart, hitching it to a strong-looking horse used to long journeys. The old man was loading a small bag onto the cart—the one containing the rabbits Ace had collected. As the young man approached, his face curious, he asked what the elder was planning to do.

The old man looked up, his eyes shining with kindness, and said he planned to give him a ride to the town.

The offer was sincere and warm. But Ais, fully aware that running on foot would be faster, felt hesitant. He wanted to decline, but out of respect and appreciation for the kind old man, he paused before explaining his decision. Smiling confidently, he placed his hands on his thighs and said with resolve:

"I've got strong, fast legs—they'll get me to town quicker. And I'm in a bit of a hurry."

The old man seemed not entirely convinced, his brows furrowed in a worried expression. But Ace kept persuading him gently, using a calm tone and a sincere smile. Eventually, the old man agreed, though it was clear he did so reluctantly.

Moments later, the grandmother came out of the house carrying a breakfast tray, the scent of fresh bread, honey, and some sliced fruit wafting through the air. They all sat down and ate in a silence filled with the heaviness of an imminent farewell. Each bite carried with it layers of gratitude and the ache of an approaching nostalgia.

As soon as they finished eating, it was time to say goodbye. The grandmother handed Ace the clothes she had managed to stitch under the dim light of the lantern. Ace thanked her warmly and began changing his clothes, while Nova stood nearby, watching. His eyes betrayed a mix of sorrow and confusion.

He expressed more through his body than with words—stepping forward only to retreat again, wringing his small hands together as if they bore the weight of emotions too tangled for speech. His little face glistened with sweat from tension, and his lips trembled as though he were wrestling with the words trying to escape.

Finally, as they reached the outer gate of the farm, just before Ace departed, Nova stepped forward. In a trembling voice, with eyes shimmering with unshed tears, he asked:

"Will... will I see you again, Uncle?"

Those simple words carried within them all the depth of attachment, the pain of farewell, and the fragile hope of another meeting. Ace smiled warmly, a smile that radiated the sincerity of his heart, and replied in a voice tinged with deep longing:

"I'll visit you again as soon as I get the chance. I don't know if it will be soon or not, or if life will offer me this meeting again... But with all the yearning in my heart, I'll be eager to return—to sit with you, to talk, and to share a meal."

His words, though modest on the surface, flowed from his heart like dewdrops from a morning flower—honest, tender, and full of devotion. The old couple felt them as one feels a breeze brushing over weary skin, and Nova's heart trembled with them, sensing a promise made only by someone who deeply understands the value of both meeting and parting.

Then, after saying his goodbyes, Ace turned quietly, bowed slightly, and took off running—so swiftly that it seemed the wind had borrowed his legs. The sound of his footsteps echoed on the ground, blending with the whisper of the wind. The old couple's eyes widened with genuine astonishment. The old man, his tone a mixture of admiration and surprise, said:

"What a remarkable young man! I never imagined today's youth could possess such stamina."

As for Nova, he remained rooted in place, staring at the horizon that had swallowed Ace so swiftly. He didn't utter a word, as if his tongue had been silenced by an emotion too vast to name. He felt something stir inside—a mysterious sensation, as though the young man who had left had taken a piece of his heart, or perhaps his soul, awakening something that had long lain dormant. He gazed into the distance where Ace had vanished, as if sensing that crossing that horizon might not be so impossible for him after all.

And as the wind played with his hair, something changed. His hair began to ripple slowly, as if touched by an unseen breeze. But it no longer looked the same—it gradually darkened, not into a pitch black like a sealed darkness, but into a shade laced with flashes of many colors, like scattered stars in a night sky.

Those specks shimmered, sometimes silver, sometimes blue and violet, in a mesmerizing display—as though the sky itself had decided to rest upon his head.

Even though the first rays of dawn had begun weaving their light across the land, their glint reflected off strands of hair that had remained loyal to their golden hue. Those golden threads now seemed like a bridge between night and day, between what was and what had become.

The old couple exchanged a knowing glance, the kind shared by those who understand without need for explanation. This wasn't the first time they had witnessed a change in the boy's hair. They knew, without a trace of doubt, that the transformation was nothing more than a reflection of what he felt inside. And that whenever he felt a pure happiness and peace together, those colors would emerge in his hair—as if his soul were overflowing through each strand.

 Ace had spent three continuous hours running, interrupted only by brief pauses—barely long enough to catch his breath. The way back felt noticeably longer than the journey out, not because of the heavy sack filled with rabbit carcasses, nor due to the other sack containing only their ears, but because his body itself had begun to succumb to a subtle fatigue—a weariness that crept in slowly, like cold water drawing heat from the bones.

There was a faint numbness—not one that announced itself with noise, but one that settled in the joints, coursed through the tendons, and hid in the places where wounds had once been. Every step reminded him of what he had endured, and every breath carried with it a trace of pain, tucked just beneath the skin. Even so, he kept running, driven by something deep within—something stronger than exhaustion, stronger even than his wounds.

Deep in his weary consciousness, he was aware of the possibility that the numbness spreading through his limbs might have been caused by the herbal ointments applied by his grandmother, whose long-standing knowledge of traditional remedies was unmatched. These salves were prepared from an unusual blend of wild herbs—sharp in scent and dark in color—boiled over a low flame and left to sit for hours until they absorbed their healing qualities. While he did feel some relief, doubt still lingered. He couldn't be sure whether the numbness was a true comfort or a sign of something unknown, lurking just beyond his understanding.