"We don't know exactly why she did it. It came as a terrible shock."
A heavyset elderly man spoke in a restrained, consoling tone. Marco's father, Mr. Brown.
Beside him sat his wife, still shaken, her face marked by grief. Between sobs, she spoke of Elva as if she were her own daughter, her voice breaking repeatedly.
"She was living a good life with Marco… I was devastated when I found her collapsed on the floor, a bottle of poison in her hand."
Her hand trembled as she covered her mouth.
"Even Marco hasn't returned since the burial. We thought he had gone to inform you… but now we don't even know where he is."
Mr. Brown gently placed a hand on her shoulder and signaled for a maid to escort her away.
Albert stood motionless, still trapped in disbelief.
Eventually, he was led to Elva's grave.
The moment he saw the stone, his strength gave way.
He dropped to his knees, clutching the engraved plaque as tears streamed without restraint.
"I'm sorry… I wasn't there. If only I had…"
His voice broke into silence.
He remained there for hours, unmoving, as grief settled heavily over him. Only when Mr. Brown returned did he manage to persuade him to leave and rest at the house.
Albert refused food and drink.
The only thing he asked for was the room where Elva had lived.
Mr. Brown agreed and handed him the key.
Elva's room was simple, clean, orderly, and quietly reflective of her personality.
Albert stood at the entrance for a long moment before stepping inside.
He opened drawers slowly, finding traces of her life preserved in small, ordinary things.
A comb he had once given her.
Several handmade accessories she had crafted herself.
Each object pulled a memory closer.
That night, sleep never came.
Instead, memories filled the silence, her voice, her laughter, the way she walked barefoot through the fields.
At dawn, Albert prepared to leave for the west.
Before stepping out, something on the wooden floor caught his attention.
A subtle irregularity near the bed, almost invisible, like a flaw in the wood.
He knelt and pressed his hand against it.
A hidden compartment.
When opened, it revealed a small box.
Inside lay a compact book and a fountain pen.
As he examined the book, a sudden knock interrupted him.
Quickly, he placed everything into his belongings and stepped out.
Mr. Brown stood at the door.
"You're already awake… I wanted to ask if you..."
"Thank you," Albert said coldly, "but I have to leave now."
Without waiting, he departed.
He traveled west without stopping, pushing through exhaustion and distance. In just a day and a half, he reached what normally required three full days of travel.
Five years passed.
Albert moved across the continent as a merchant, his caravans trading through the West, East, and North.
Eventually, his path turned south, not only for trade, but also to visit Norman, who had finally settled there with his wife and daughter.
After several days of travel, he arrived at the village and asked for Norman's home.
The villagers directed him without hesitation.
When he knocked, Meryl opened the door, clearly surprised.
"Albert? When did you arrive? Norman said you were coming next month."
"He's not here?"
"No. He left on a hunting trip a few days ago."
"Bad timing… I wanted to surprise him."
A sudden voice cut through the conversation from inside.
"Mother! Mother!"
A small girl appeared timidly behind the door, rubbing her eyes. She looked three years old, soft features, shy posture, and unmistakably Norman's resemblance.
Albert's expression softened slightly.
"Hello, Helena. How are you?"
The child only peeked out, clinging to her mother's dress.
He smiled faintly and handed Meryl a small box.
"A small gift… for Helena's birth. I couldn't come earlier."
Meryl accepted it with gratitude and invited him inside, but Albert declined, citing work.
After brief farewells, he left the village.
Albert continued east, heading toward the meeting point with his companions.
That village, Marco's village.
The place where Elva had died years ago.
His grip tightened around a small book he carried with him.
"The time has come."
Together with five men, Albert returned to that well.
Under his order, a large quantity of arsenic was introduced into the water supply, chosen for its silent, lethal properties.
One of the men exhaled coldly, "now we just wait and observe."
Albert said nothing.
The following morning, villagers approached the well as usual.
Albert and his group remained hidden, watching without interruption.
Within hours, the effects spread.
Most of the village collapsed, victims of poisoned water consumed in a single day.
The timing had been chosen deliberately.
This was Marco's wedding day.
Everyone had gathered. The well had been used more than usual.
Albert observed the scene without reaction.
Bodies fell across the ground, men, women, elderly, children.
Not a flicker of emotion crossed his face.
Only when he saw Marco's family did his expression harden with cold contempt. He stepped over one of the bodies and returned to the well without hesitation.
Then he stopped.
A figure sat near the tree beside the well.
Coughing violently.
Leaning against the trunk that marked Elva's resting place.
A familiar presence, even before seeing the face.
Albert froze.
The man lifted his head weakly, "…Albert… is that you?"
It's Norman !
He tried to stand, but collapsed immediately.
Albert stood motionless, as if the world had stopped functioning.
His closest friend was dying, because of the same poison he had ordered.
Norman coughed blood, his breathing breaking apart.
When Albert finally moved, he rushed forward, catching him in his arms.
"Norman… damn it… how did this happen?"
The men behind them approached, drawn by the noise.
Norman's eyes shifted slowly, toward them, then toward the burning horizon behind.
Then back to Albert.
"…You did this?"
"I… I'm sorry… I didn't..."
No response came.
Only silence, and fading breath.
Norman's body trembled violently. Blood stained Albert's clothes.
Norman's eyes remained, locked.
Not in anger.
Not in hatred.
Something worse.
Disappointment.
The light in his eyes weakened… then disappeared.
He's gone.
Albert froze completely.
"Norman!"
A scream broke through the silence.
Too late.
Norman had come only for hunting.
He had heard of the region's wildlife and traveled toward nearby mountains. On the way, his water had run out. Searching for a village, he had unknowingly reached this one.
And never left it.