Morning came quietly to Grey Hollow.
Thin rays of sunlight slipped through the cracks in the wooden walls, casting pale lines across the dusty floor. Outside, the village slowly awakened to another long day of work.
Roosters crowed.
Doors creaked open.
Boots stepped onto cold earth.
Life moved forward.
Whether people were ready or not.
Inside the small storage house, the knight sat at the wooden table, staring at a nearly empty bowl.
Only a few crumbs remained.
Nothing more.
His jaw tightened.
Winter had passed, but the village was still struggling.
Crops had failed.
Supplies were low.
Work was scarce.
And food—
Food had become precious.
Across the room, Arin sat quietly on the edge of the bed.
Five years old.
Small for his age.
Thin.
Too thin.
His stomach growled softly.
A low, uncomfortable sound.
He pressed his hand against his belly, trying to ignore the feeling.
Trying to stay strong.
Trying not to complain.
Because he understood something important.
Food was limited.
And the knight always gave him the larger portion.
The knight noticed immediately.
His chest tightened.
Guilt spread through him like fire.
"You should eat," he said gently.
Arin looked up.
His expression calm.
But tired.
"You first," the boy replied.
The knight forced a small smile.
"I already ate."
It was a lie.
Arin knew it.
But he said nothing.
Silence filled the room.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
A cold wind slipped through the cracks in the wall, making the weak fire flicker.
The room felt colder than usual.
Hungrier than usual.
After a moment, the knight stood.
His decision made.
"Stay here," he said.
Arin blinked.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
The knight picked up his cloak.
"To find work," he answered.
He stepped toward the door.
Then paused.
For a brief second, uncertainty crossed his face.
Work had become rare.
Many villagers were already struggling.
And strangers were the last to be hired.
Still—
He had to try.
He opened the door and stepped outside.
Cold air rushed in.
Then the door closed behind him.
Silence returned.
Arin remained seated on the bed.
Alone.
Waiting.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
His stomach growled again.
Louder this time.
Painful.
He slowly stood and walked toward the small window.
Outside, villagers moved through the muddy streets.
Carrying tools.
Carrying baskets.
Carrying hope.
He watched them carefully.
Observing.
Learning.
Thinking.
Then—
He noticed something.
A group of children gathered near the center of the village.
Laughing.
Eating.
Sharing pieces of fresh bread.
The smell drifted through the air.
Warm.
Soft.
Delicious.
Arin swallowed.
His mouth felt dry.
His stomach twisted painfully.
For a moment—
He considered walking toward them.
Asking for food.
Just once.
But he stopped.
Because he remembered their faces.
Their laughter.
Their words.
"The useless one."
His hands tightened into small fists.
He turned away from the window.
Back into the quiet room.
Back into the hunger.
Hours passed slowly.
The sun climbed higher in the sky.
Then began to fall again.
Still—
The knight did not return.
Worry crept into Arin's heart.
Small at first.
Then stronger.
Finally—
As the sky turned orange with sunset—
The door opened.
The knight stepped inside.
Slowly.
Silently.
Arin's eyes lit up instantly.
"You're back," he said.
But the words stopped halfway.
Because he saw the knight's face.
Tired.
Defeated.
Empty.
And his hands—
Were empty too.
No food.
No supplies.
Nothing.
Silence filled the room.
Heavy.
Painful.
The knight avoided the boy's gaze.
His shoulders sagged.
"I tried," he said quietly.
Arin nodded slowly.
He understood.
Even without explanation.
The knight walked to the table and sat down heavily.
Exhaustion filled every movement.
Outside, the last light of the day faded.
Darkness settled over the village.
Cold.
Quiet.
Hungry.
Suddenly—
A sharp knock echoed against the door.
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
Both of them froze.
The knight's hand moved instantly toward his sword.
His eyes narrowed.
Alert.
Ready.
Another knock followed.
Slower this time.
More deliberate.
KNOCK.
Silence stretched.
Tense.
Uncertain.
The knight stood carefully and stepped toward the door.
Every movement controlled.
Every breath steady.
He placed his hand on the handle.
Paused.
Then—
Slowly—
Opened the door.
A tall figure stood outside.
Wrapped in a dark cloak.
Face hidden beneath a hood.
Snow began to fall again.
Soft.
Silent.
Dangerous.
The stranger spoke.
His voice calm.
Cold.
Certain.
"Is this where the boy named Arin lives?"