Chapter 54: Memories of a Distant Hearth

Erebion opened his eyes.

He was certain his body had been torn to pieces. And yet, for some reason, he was able to open his eyes.

But when he did, he found himself facing a strange scene.

He was in front of a warm hearth. Around him were walls and a ceiling of worn wood, a few beds set close together, farm tools, and quite a lot of clothes strewn about.

It was a small space, but a cozy one.

Walls? A ceiling? Farm tools? For some reason, he knew all those concepts.

He looked down at his hands. They were foreign to him, small and made of flesh and bone. But for some reason, they did not feel strange.

Then he looked around.

There were other people with him in that small space.

A girl was playing on the other side of the hearth with a straw doll. She made little noises with her tongue and cried out excitedly as she moved the doll up and down, then from side to side.

The girl was a little skinny, perhaps too skinny, but she seemed happy.

Behind her stood a woman with her back turned. She was preparing the vegetables she would later put into a cauldron over the hearth.

Her hands were worn, her clothes were patched, her hair was messy, and her face was dirty.

But for some reason, the woman made Erebion feel trust, warmth, and love.

Warmth? Love?

He, who had come into being at the dawn of the world, had lived alone all his life (though perhaps “existed” was the more accurate word in his case).

Why did he understand those words?

Beside the woman was a man.

His appearance was not much better than hers, dirty and dressed in clothes that barely held together.

But for some reason, the man inspired respect in him.

Apparently, he was putting together some kind of tool. He would probably use it the next day in the field.

Erebion thought he might be able to help. He had done so before, and they had praised him with a head pat.

Help in the field? A head pat?

What was he thinking?

Lastly, beside him, there was an old woman sitting on a makeshift chair, covered in patched blankets.

Erebion’s gaze met the old woman’s, and she gave him a wrinkled smile.

Then she pressed a finger to her lips, gesturing for him to stay quiet, and rummaged through her pockets for a moment.

After a few moments, a trembling hand offered him a kind of hard candy made from honey.

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They had found very little that time. It had been an abandoned hive, and they had not seen bees in a long while.

She had used it to make candy for everyone, but there had been very little, only one piece for each of them.

The old woman was giving him her piece.

Erebion knew he should not take it. He had already eaten his share. But his hands moved against his thoughts and closed around the candy.

Maybe he should give it to the girl playing in front of him? Yes, maybe that would be best. The girl was too skinny.

But it was too late. He had already put it in his mouth. He was hungry.

Had he been the one to put it in his mouth?

It felt as though his body was not truly his.

With a guilty look, he glanced at the old woman again, but she only smiled and stroked his head with her trembling hand.

He knew he had to thank her, but he was embarrassed. He should not have accepted the old woman’s candy. He should not have eaten it either.

Was he the one feeling that shame?

It felt as though his emotions were not truly his.

But it did not matter. Whatever the case, he could thank her later.

For now, he would enjoy the moment. Everything was cozy. He had never felt like this before. That feeling, at least, was his. He knew it.

Seconds passed. He blinked, and with each blink, those seconds turned into days.

Now the old woman lay in bed. She would not open her eyes.

He wanted to go to her, but a hand stopped him.

When he looked up, he met the man’s gaze. The man closed his eyes and shook his head, telling him not to bother her.

He understood. The old woman was tired. The man had said so. She had worked a lot, and now she had to rest.

Erebion would not bother her.

But even though he let her rest, one day the old woman was no longer there. She was just gone, and she never came back.

No one wanted to explain where she had gone.

The little girl was crying beside him, so he gently stroked her head the way the old woman had stroked his, and she hugged him back.

For some reason, he felt he had to protect that little girl.

But in the next few blinks, the days had turned cold, and the farm had been covered by a strange white blanket.

Now it was the little girl who lay in that bed, the bed closest to the hearth, the same bed where the old woman had been before.