"The air tastes sharp today," Osen murmured, his eyes fixed on the thick clouds crawling over the village. He'd planned to start work on time, but something in the cold seemed to root him in place. A flicker of unease tugged at him—a feeling just out of reach, nameless yet persistent for days.

"Are you coming, or should I chop the whole forest by myself?" a sharp voice cut through his thoughts.

Inside the dim storage hut, crammed with tools and supplies, Osen felt a sudden jolt, as though waking from a dream. Last year, he'd turned fifteen, and the villagers had started to call him a daydreamer, forever with his "head in the clouds." He hated the nickname but couldn't deny how well it fit.

Enough, he thought. Focus. You're already too late.

He spotted the axe, half-buried beneath ropes and nets, its handle just within reach. Grabbing it, he stepped out into the pale, snow-dusted light. The brightness stung his eyes until they adjusted. At the clearing's edge, Samuel leaned against a tree, his expression carved in impatience. The lines in his face seemed deeper than usual.

"Uncle Samuel, there's no need to fetch me. I was just about to head out," Osen said, forcing a polite tone. But Samuel's eyes just narrowed.

"Your boss's orders, not mine," Samuel muttered, gesturing toward the forest. "He wants to see you."

A chill prickled down Osen's spine, sharper than the winter air. On the way to the worksite, he noticed the other men watching him from the corners of their eyes, quickly turning back to their tasks when he glanced their way. Most were older—none younger than twenty—but their stares carried the same weight of suspicion.

They arrived at a broad log pile where Joshua von Hohenfeld waited. Barrel-chested with a brown beard thick enough to hide most of his face, Joshua was both the head of the lumber crew and the man who had raised Osen after his parents passed away.

"Sir Joshua, sorry for being late," Osen began, but Joshua raised a hand, cutting him off. For a moment, he just looked at the boy, then his frown turned into a light smile.

"Forget it, boy. How are you feeling today?" Joshua's voice held a gentleness that always caught Osen off guard, softening the gruff exterior he showed the rest of the crew.

Osen hesitated, his eyes turning downcast. "Good, really. It's just… I've had this strange feeling lately. Like something's wrong, but I don't know what." Even as he said it, he felt foolish.

Joshua's stern face softened slightly. "Still letting your imagination run wild, hmm? Here in the heart of Verelium, danger doesn't come knocking at every door. You're safe here." He clapped Osen on the shoulder, his touch firm yet reassuring.

Safe. The word turned sour in Osen's mind, nearly making him chuckle. Safe, when thirty-six people vanished ten years ago without a trace? In a village this small? He wanted to ask, but he knew Joshua's response would be the same evasive answer as always.

A brief silence hung between them before Joshua sighed, his tone shifting. "But lateness is still lateness. You'll work an hour past your usual shift as penalty." A stern expression plastered on his face.

Osen opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it, simply nodding instead. "I understand," he replied briefly, hoisting the axe over his shoulder as he headed toward his section of the forest.

As he walked, the sound of raised voices drew his attention. Samuel stood with another worker, their exchange heated. Osen hesitated, guilt flickering as he lingered within earshot. He slowed his steps when he caught his name.

"That fool thinks he can bury everything he did," Samuel spat, his voice low but seething. Each swing of his axe punctuated his words. "Doesn't even have the decency to admit it. He thinks playing guardian to that lost boy makes up for what he did."

"Easy, Sam," the other worker, Alex, murmured, casting a cautious glance around. "You don't know who could be listening."

"Why should I stay quiet?" Samuel snapped, louder now. "You know it as well as I do. Thirty-six dead, and he thinks keeping that boy close can erase the sin. Osen's already broken—his head's so full of nonsense, he'll never see the truth. Someone ought to tell him what kind of man he's trusting."

Osen's chest tightened. His breath quickened as he stepped back, his axe clutched so tightly his knuckles went white.

Joshua had raised him, been there when no one else was. Although he'd never admit it aloud, Osen almost saw Joshua as family. He knew there could be more to the story, but he instinctively silenced the thought. Now, however, the truth—the truth might be closer and deeper than he'd ever dared to imagine.

"I get it. We all know what you lost that day," Alex said, his voice edged with a tinge of regret. "But dragging Osen into this won't bring them back. Whether it's a person or your sanity, loss is loss."

Samuel froze, his body trembling with barely contained rage. When Alex saw the shift, a tremor went through him. He attempted to retract his words, but the damage had been done. Samuel's fist collided with his jaw before he could even say a word. The crack resounded sickeningly through the air.

Alex stumbled to the ground, clutching his bloodied face as his hands trembled. Despite the blow, he didn't react with anger. The years he'd spent in the Imperial Army had taught him how to keep calm under pressure. He also grasped the futility of his words, knowing they could never overcome Samuel's bitter grief—the grief of a father losing everything. Instead, he simply stared, his expression quiet but unwavering, a mixture of resignation and muted compassion.

Samuel, however, couldn't meet that gaze with understanding. His glare burned with unrelenting rage, fists clenched as though trying to crush the weight of his sorrow. The forest seemed to hold its breath, its stillness amplifying the charged tension between the two men.

"That's enough!" boomed a deep voice.

A shadow emerged from the trees, its presence both commanding and oppressive. Joshua stepped forward, his gaze locking onto Samuel with a gravity that silenced even the restless forest. Samuel held his ground, his body taut with defiance, but his expression faltered under Joshua's unyielding stare. Shame flickered in his eyes, a brief betrayal of the storm raging within him.

The silence that followed wasn't a reprieve; it pressed down like a weight, louder and more suffocating than any argument Osen had ever heard. Before the tension could snap, Joshua released a deep sigh, his voice heavy with authority and regret.

"Samuel, take Alex to Mrs. Vahlen," he ordered, his tone firm but edged with restraint. "Then go home. Rest."

Samuel stiffened but didn't argue. Instead, he turned to Alex, avoiding his gaze as he draped the injured man's arm over his shoulder. Without a word, they began their slow, awkward trip toward the healer's hut. Joshua's eyes followed them until they disappeared into the forest, his expression carved in stone, betraying nothing of his thoughts.

Osen, still hidden among the trees, remained frozen. His thoughts churned in a storm of explanations, each one unraveling as quickly as it formed. His breaths came shallow and fast, though he thanked his distance for keeping him unnoticed.

Yet even as Joshua's commanding presence filled the clearing, Osen couldn't shake the weight of what he'd overheard. The truth lingered, closer now, and far more terrifying than he'd ever imagined.

However, it didn't take long for Osen to reach his usual section—a small clearing in the forest with several bound logs scattered about.

He immediately got to work. With quick steps, he found the half-finished tree from yesterday and swung his axe at it, his heart pounding. He hoped that the movement would keep his thoughts at bay—making him forget about the conversation between Samuel and Alex, the strange feeling clawing at him, and the years spent at Joshua's side.

Yet tears still flowed, tears of uncertainty and despair. Another fact in his life was now uncertain, another piece burdened with the shadow of potential tragedy.