Cyrus is a twenty-one-year-old swordsman with fair skin, crimson eyes, slicked-back black hair, and a few bangs that rested above his forehead. During his hunts, Cyrus wore a crimson mantle to protect his upper body from the blood that might spray from his monster opponents. Underneath the mantle was a dark purple dress shirt. His dark pants were held up by a black belt with a yellow buckle. His feet were protected with small black boots that resembled dress shoes. 

When the two arrived home, Cyrus tossed his mantle to the nearest couch and immediately went to the kitchen to prepare a meal for his sister. During his time waiting for the food to properly prepare, he would indulge in some exercise. He casually did one-handed pushups on the kitchen floor as he waited for the food to be prepared. His sister watched him break into a sweat; rising and falling to the floor in a smooth and swift motion. She gazes at her brother in awe. 

“How are you doing that…?” 

Cyrus’ head turns slightly to face his sister while doing push-ups.  

“Hm?” 

“You’re exercising right after a hunt! Don’t you feel tired? Shouldn’t you get some rest?” 

“I’m fine.”  

A sudden jolt of pain envelops his left arm.  

“Urk…!” 

He groans quietly and turns his head, hiding his pained face. Cyrus switches from left-handed to right-handed one-armed push-ups. Cyrene’s eyes glance over to his rolled-up sleeve. Hidden near the back of his arms, were a series of nicks and cuts he’s accumulated from today’s hunt. A sullen expression overtakes her, wincing somewhat at the sight. Cyrus soon finishes his sets of pushups and hoists himself off of the ground. He rolls his sleeves down a bit to hide his wounds and checks up on the food in the pot. The savory smoke from the pot puffs in his face, hitting his nostrils and causing him to grow a bit dizzy. Concerned, she watches him from the dinner table.  

“Cyrus…” 

“Yes?” 

“Why do you need to be a hunter?” 

“Because no one else in the village will be,” he answers, shifting to the kitchen table. “I have the necessary strength to hunt, so I shall.”  

“You don’t hate it?”  

“Not necessarily. I protect the other villagers and they give us food and a place to live,” he says, grabbing some nearby vegetables. “After all, someone has to deal with all of the vermin still pouring in." 

“Where do those ugly things even come from?” She asks, peeved. 

Cyrus grabs a knife and starts cutting the vegetables.

“The Silent Grotto. A cavern that serves as a conduit to the world outside.”  

“Really? What do you think it’s like out there?” 

“It’s likely a lot more dangerous since those monsters pour in from that general location.” 

“Right…” She replies, unconvinced.  

Cyrus peeks over his shoulder and glares.

“Don’t you get any strange ideas…”  

“O-Of course not!” 

Cyrus continues to prepare dinner. Curiously, Cyrene spots different parts of Cyrus’s body shaking sporadically. At one moment, the arm that Cyrus used to hold his kitchen knife shook violently, but only for a second. The next time it was his left leg. She gazed up to face him but was only greeted by the back of his head. Yet ogling the kitchen window’s reflection of him, she could see the strained look on his face as he prepared their dishes. Sulking at the very sight, she attempts to shift the conversation. 

“Why won't you let me help you with your hunts?” 

“This again? I told you before, I’m fine.” 

Cyrene frowns.

“Are you really?” She retorts, raising her voice suddenly. 

Cyrus glimpses back at his sister. He gave her the same glare a parent would give their misbehaving child. Cyrene pauses, falling under the staggering pressure of her brother’s expression. Cyrus turns his attention back to his cooking.

“I’m not risking your health and safety for my benefit. Besides, the monsters I’ve been hunting have been neverending as far as I can remember. I’ve killed so many these past years, I’m not expecting them to stop coming any time soon.”  

“But you’re always getting hurt…” 

“It only happens once in a while. You can’t expect to jump into a fight and not get roughed up a bit.” 

“You don’t have to do this all by yourself. You can get other people to help you.” 

“No. The other villagers are not as experienced as I am. They’d be more intrusive than anything.” 

“B-but,” Cyrene stutters. “What if one day… you don’t come back home at all…?” 

Cyrus’ work in the kitchen comes to a sudden halt. He turns around to face his sister. A sense of fear overtook the scowl on her face. He slowly approaches her, moving to her side. 

“Stop that. That will never happen.” 

Cyrene raises her voice at her brother. 

“If you keep going out on your own it will happen! If you would just let me help you, you wouldn’t have to drag your broken body around all the time!” 

“Cyrene!” 

His shout pierced through his sister’s heart. She recoils, but retains eye contact with him. Few tears leave her eyes as she masks her crying with a frown.

“I just hate to see you so tired. To be in so much pain,” her voice cracks. “I can help too... I swear…”  

Cyrus swallows a small lump in his throat. He bends over slightly and gently places his hand on her cheek, his fingers running through her short, smooth, black hair. Cyrus looks into his teary-eyed sister, her crimson eyes glistening, and he smiles.

“Ah, my dear, sweet, sister. I would sooner be torn to shreds, ripped limb from limb, lose my very life before I see you damage yours. Now that father and mother are gone, I’m going to look after you and protect you with my life. No matter the task, I will return to you safely. This, I swear to you.”   

“B-But your body…” 

He kisses her on her forehead.

“You needn’t worry. I’ll do fine. I promise." 

His body trembles as he stands up straight. Cyrene peers up at her pained brother with sorrow sowed into her eyes. He walks up to the kitchen counter, grabs a plate, and starts to evenly serve a plate of food for his sister. 

“If you’re so concerned about my well-being, then I will rest right after I’ve served you.” 

After filling up her plate, he gently sets it down on the table.  

“Be sure to eat it all.” 

“Okay…” 

Cyrus makes his way to the wooden stairs near the kitchen. 

“I suppose I'll doze off for an hour or so. When I’ve awakened, I want to see you sleeping in your bed, understand?” 

“Yes, brother…”

“Good night, Cyrene.” 

He smiles at his sister, but she does not look at him, nor return the same affection. 

“Good night...”

The cheerless response from his sister stabbed at the hunter's heart. He frowns and continues up the stairway. When his face becomes obscured from his sister’s view, his teeth gnash together, and his face contorts with discomfort. His footsteps fading, Cyrene heard a door open, then shut. The little girl sat alone at the table. With her fork in her hand, she gave off an empty look at the disheveled meal prepared for her. She whispers to herself, heartbroken. 

“You’re such a bad liar…”