The days passed, and the three gradually adapted to life at Para’s home. Mokash's condition had improved—his breathing had become calmer and more rhythmic. Though his body still burned with fever, it wasn’t as severe as before. He remained unconscious, resting peacefully on the hay mattress.

Grahn and Hira both noticed how little Para possessed. His home was devoid of any luxury. There were no signs of indulgence or excess. There were just three small carved wooden statues of a woman for decorations. One captured her mid-song, mouth slightly open as if a melody was frozen in time. Another showed her cooking, her posture gentle and familiar, as if she had done it countless times before. The last depicted her with a soft, loving expression, her gaze warm and tender. Though the carvings were rough and unpolished, each stroke held quiet devotion, as if the hands that shaped them had poured their heart into every detail.

Even his bedding was thin and patched, yet he never complained. It was as though he had long accepted that kindness and comfort were things meant for others and not for him. He was always eager to please, often going out of his way to make sure that the three of them were comfortable, even if it meant sacrificing his own needs.

Grahn and Hira took note of this, but they kept their thoughts to themselves.

One afternoon, as Grahn and Hira chopped firewood, Para watched from the window. He saw Hira effortlessly split a log in a single, clean strike. Nearby, Grahn swung down the blunt, rusting axe with force, splitting another log cleanly into two parts. Their movements were fluid and precise, their strength obvious.

A thought crept into his mind, and with a smile, he rushed out of the home. Careful not to be seen, he sneaked one log and an extra axe to the back of the home. The log and axe were smaller than what Grahn and Hira were handling, but it still got Para panting.

He grabbed the axe with both hands, raised it high, and swung it down—but the blade barely bit into the wood. He tried again, gritting his teeth, he raised the axe high again, and swung it even harder, using all the strength he could muster.

Para swung the axe with all his might—only for the impact to send a jolt up his arms, rattling him like a struck bell. He stumbled back, barely keeping his balance, while the log sat there, completely unfazed. He set the axe down, staring at his trembling hands. He looked at the log one last time, noting the small dent he had made. He then walked back into the home, his smile gone.

He remembered the time when they went hunting, Hira and Grahn easily carried the heavy carcass over their shoulders effortlessly. He remembered how they walked next to each other, barely winded. He remembered watching their tall, wide, and strong backs from behind. While he regularly struggles with even a bundle of firewood, his steps would be sluggish.

On the way back, he kept his head down, unwilling to meet their eyes.

One day, he watched them train near the home. Hira practiced with his talwar, each movement precise and fluid, a seamless blend of power and elegance. His blade cut through the air with deadly grace, a testament to his mastery. Grahn did push-ups nearby, his muscles flexing and tightening with each controlled movement. Beads of sweat traced the contours of his arms and back, highlighting the raw strength behind every push.

At one point, they sparred—Hira with a wooden stick, Grahn barehanded. Hira’s strikes were swift and precise, his weapon whistling through the air with controlled force. Despite being unarmed, Grahn moved with unwavering confidence, his muscles coiling and releasing with each powerful block and counter. The ground beneath them stirred as they exchanged blows, their movements a seamless dance of agility and raw strength.

Para’s gaze dropped to his own hands, soft and weak. His slightly bulging belly strained against his shirt, looking one deep breath away from making a grand escape. Compared to their sculpted forms, he felt less like a warrior and more like a well-fed squirrel.

That night, as they all slept, Para was jolted awake by a low growl. He froze, eyes darting toward the doorway. A large shadow was looking at him. His breath hitched as he realized that it was a large, wild cat who somehow entered the home.

The giant shadowy beast locked eyes with him. His body refused to obey. His heart pounded against his ribs, yet his limbs remained frozen. The animal took a step forward—Para was defenseless, unable to even scream.

Before the creature could lunge, Hira woke up. He looked at the ferocious cat; the ferocious cat looked at him.

He walked up to the cat, picked it up by its neck, and tossed it out the door.

The creature that had terrified Para had been handled like a stray puppy by Hira.

Hira turned to Para. “Yawn… The door might have problems… We’ll fix it in the morning,” he said, inspecting the wooden frame.

The noise woke up Grahn, “What… happen…?” His eyes were still closed as words barely came out of his mouth.

“Nothing… Sleep…” Hira said as he fell back asleep.

Para stared at the two, his eyes widened with shock, one hand gripping a wooden coin tightly. Its surface was covered in delicate, intricate patterns, each swirl and etching a testament to the care put into it. At its center stood a grand oak tree, its roots sprawling outward, as if anchoring something deeper. His fingers unconsciously traced the ridges, a habit he had long since developed whenever unease gripped him.

His breath was sharp as a thought flashed across his mind, ‘I-I’m… Am I… this weak? Am I this… useless?’

…

It wasn't an eventful day; their life went just as usual. Eating, working around if necessary, training sometimes, tending to Mokash, and eating again. This had been their routine for a while.

But that night, while tending to the fire, Para clenched his fingers around his knees. “You two… are strong.” He muttered, barely audible. “You guys can fight whoever you want… do whatever you want.” He didn't want to say this, but the words slipped out before he could stop them.

Grahn and Hira exchanged a glance from across the fire. They had caught it, even if Para hadn’t meant for them to. Beneath those words lay something deeper—something he wouldn’t share, no matter how much they pressed. They could feel it.

“You say as if we’re invincible.” Grahn scoffed, leaning back against the wall. “We’re not.”

Hira exhaled sharply, “We’ve lost important things too.”

Under the bright orange glow, their faces darkened, the flickering shadows making them look older, more worn.

After hearing their remark, Para wanted to ask about their journey—what is their destination, and why are they journeying? But something about their expressions made him hesitate.

He knew that look—knew the weight of something too painful to share. He didn’t want to push them, like he didn’t want to be pushed.

Instead, he changed the subject, leaning forward as he spoke softly, “D-Did you know there are places where ice rains instead of water; Where the land is made of sand and stretches forever; Where people live underground?”

Grahn and Hira blinked. “Wait… What?” They asked out of confusion.

“Ice? Which sometimes come drifting in the sea?” Grahn asked.

Para’s lips quirked into a small smile. “There are mountains covered in white.” He continued, his voice was now tinged with something almost wistful. “Snow falls as softly as a feathered dream. The world hushes beneath its gentle embrace, wrapped in a blanket of pure, endless white.”

He stared into the fire, imagining it.

Grahn and Hira exchanged another glance. They had never even considered such a place to exist. They had spent their entire lives by the coastal cliffs, never seeing anything beyond.

The only ice they had seen was some that would come drifting along the northern sea.

“Have you been there?” Grahn asked.

Para hesitated, then smiled sheepishly. “N-No, I only read about them.” He admitted.

For a moment, there was silence. Then Hira huffed a small laugh. “You’re weird, Para.”

Grahn chuckled as well. Para’s face turned slightly red, but he smiled anyway.

…

Back in the home, after tending to Mokash, Grahn said, “It’s been two days since we’ve hunted. Our food supply is running low. Meat can be acquired by hunting, but for vegetables and grains… We’ll need to go to the nearby village.”

Para stiffened, his fingers curling slightly. The mere mention of the village made his stomach twist. But he didn’t protest—he knew there was no avoiding it.

Grahn and Hira shared a look. Para’s reaction wasn’t just hesitation—it was fear. He wouldn’t tell them why. That much was clear. If they wanted to know, they’d have to see for themselves.