Aldreic woke to warmth.
Not physical warmth.
Something softer.
Something unfamiliar.
For several seconds, he simply stared at the ceiling above him.
The wooden boards overhead looked the same as always—aged, cracked by time, faintly darkened by years of smoke from the fireplace below—but something felt different.
Quiet.
The house was quiet.
No shouting.
No coughing.
No sound of bottles crashing against walls.
No smell of alcohol drifting through the floorboards.
Only the faint crackling of firewood burning downstairs.
Aldreic blinked slowly.
Morning light seeped gently through the small window near his bed, casting pale gold across the room instead of the usual cold grey. Dust floated lazily through the sunlight like tiny drifting stars.
For a moment, he remained still beneath the blanket.
Listening.
Waiting.
His body had become used to waking cautiously. Carefully. Every morning began with uncertainty. Some days his father shouted before sunrise. Other days his mother dragged him toward another experiment before he could even wash his face.
But today…
Nothing.
Just silence.
His brows furrowed slightly.
Strange.
Aldreic slowly sat up on the bed. The blanket slid from his shoulders as his bare feet touched the cold wooden floor. The air carried the scent of cooked bread.
Bread?
Fresh bread.
He frowned.
That almost never happened.
Most mornings they simply reheated leftovers or ate in silence without speaking. Sometimes his father drank instead of eating entirely.
But today the smell was warm.
Comforting.
Almost nostalgic.
Nostalgic for something he had never truly experienced.
Aldreic quietly stood and walked toward the door.
The old floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he descended the staircase slowly.
Then he stopped halfway down.
His mother stood inside the kitchen.
Smiling.
The sight nearly confused him more than it shocked him.
Soft morning light illuminated the side of her face while steam rose gently from the pot near the fire. Her hair was tied properly for once, not carelessly hanging loose. The dark circles beneath her eyes seemed lighter somehow.
And she was humming.
Humming.
Aldreic could not remember the last time he had heard her hum.
She turned slightly and noticed him standing there.
"Oh," she said warmly, "you're awake."
Warmly.
Not coldly.
Not tired.
Warmly.
For several seconds, Aldreic simply stared.
His mother smiled faintly.
"What is that look for?"
"…Nothing."
"You slept longer than usual," she said while stirring the pot carefully. "Go finish your chores first before breakfast gets cold."
Breakfast.
The word felt strange inside this house.
Aldreic continued staring.
His mother laughed softly.
"You look as though you've seen a ghost."
The sound struck him strangely.
He had never imagined what her laughter might sound like before.
Now that he heard it…
It felt gentle.
Human.
"Mother…" he began quietly.
"Yes?"
He hesitated.
The question felt foolish suddenly.
Are you okay?
No.
That sounded wrong.
Instead, he simply nodded once.
"…I'll do the chores."
"Good," she replied with a smile. "And wake your father if he's still asleep."
Aldreic slowly stepped outside.
Cold morning air brushed against his skin instantly. Dew covered the tall grass surrounding the house while faint mist lingered between the trees farther beyond the yard.
The forest looked peaceful.
Beautiful even.
Birds chirped somewhere overhead.
The stream beside the house flowed quietly beneath pale sunlight.
Everything looked… brighter.
He frowned slightly.
Why does everything feel different?
Aldreic moved toward the woodpile automatically.
Then froze.
His father was already there.
Chopping wood.
The heavy axe rose and fell rhythmically against the logs with sharp cracks echoing through the morning air. Sweat glistened across the man's forehead despite the cool weather.
And he was smiling.
Not the bitter grin of a drunkard.
A real smile.
His father noticed him standing nearby and rested the axe against his shoulder.
"Ah," the man said. "Finally awake."
Aldreic remained silent.
His father chuckled lightly.
"You sleep like a corpse, boy."
Boy.
Not useless child.
Not burden.
Not mistake.
Boy.
The man wiped sweat from his brow before walking toward him.
Without the alcohol bloating his face, Aldreic could finally see traces of what his father might once have looked like years ago. Strong. Broad-shouldered. The posture of a soldier still lingered beneath the exhaustion.
His father placed a rough hand against his head briefly.
"My boy."
Aldreic's eyes widened slightly.
Something strange moved inside his chest.
Not pain.
Something warmer.
His lips almost moved upward instinctively.
Almost.
But then suspicion quickly followed.
This isn't normal.
Something must be wrong.
Maybe his father was drunk already.
Maybe his mother prepared another potion.
Maybe…
But his father smelled only of sweat and wood.
No alcohol.
Not even slightly.
"You alright?" the man asked.
"…Yes."
"Good. Then grab the smaller axe. We'll finish this together."
Together.
The word echoed strangely inside Aldreic's head.
Still confused, he obeyed quietly.
The morning passed peacefully.
Peacefully.
The realization itself felt unnatural.
No shouting echoed through the house.
No bottles shattered.
His father occasionally spoke while chopping wood, telling small stories about old winters in Albionia. His mother worked inside while singing quietly to herself.
At one point, Aldreic simply stood still beside the woodpile and watched smoke rise from the chimney.
This is strange.
Too strange.
Yet…
Why does it feel nice?
That frightened him slightly.
Because part of him realized: he liked this.
No.
Not liked.
Wanted.
Wanted badly.
By midday, the family sat together at the dining table.
Together.
The old wooden table looked different somehow when people weren't glaring across it silently. Warm soup rested inside clay bowls while fresh bread sat near the center.
His father tore bread apart with one hand while talking casually.
"You should've seen the captain's face after I beat him."
His mother rolled her eyes.
"You've told that story three times."
"And it improves every time."
She laughed again.
Aldreic listened quietly while eating.
The warmth of the soup spread through his chest slowly.
This is what families are supposed to feel like.
The thought appeared unexpectedly.
It lingered there painfully.
His mother noticed him staring again.
"What?"
"…Nothing."
"Eat before it gets cold."
He obeyed silently.
The entire meal passed without fear.
Without tension.
Without waiting for someone to explode.
And somehow…
That hurt more than the beatings ever did.
Because now he understood exactly what had been missing all this time.
After eating, Aldreic gathered the empty bowls automatically.
His mother blinked.
"You can leave those."
"…I can?"
"Of course."
The confusion on his face made both parents smile faintly.
His father leaned back slightly.
"You're too serious for your age."
Aldreic lowered his gaze quietly.
Too serious.
Was he?
Maybe.
Or perhaps life had simply never allowed him to become anything else.
He finished cleaning anyway.
Habit.
Routine.
Survival.
When he returned, he looked toward his mother cautiously.
"…I'm ready."
She looked up from the fireplace.
"For what?"
"The potion."
Silence.
Then her expression softened unexpectedly.
"No potion today."
Aldreic froze.
"…What?"
"You heard me."
No potion.
No burning liquid.
No questions.
No experiments.
Nothing.
His chest tightened strangely.
For the first time in years, the future suddenly felt open.
Free.
He stared at his mother as though afraid she might change her mind.
But she simply smiled warmly again.
"Today is just today."
Something inside him cracked slightly.
Aldreic lowered his head quickly.
Because suddenly his vision blurred.
Why?
Why does this hurt?
He touched his chest lightly.
The feeling there was strange.
Heavy.
Warm.
Painful.
His father laughed softly nearby.
"Careful," the man joked. "You look ready to cry."
Cry?
No.
Aldreic didn't cry anymore.
He couldn't remember the last time he truly had.
And yet—
Darkness swallowed the room suddenly.
The warmth vanished.
The laughter disappeared.
Then came the smell.
Alcohol.
Rot.
Smoke.
Aldreic's eyes snapped open instantly.
Cold.
The room was cold again.
Grey morning light barely entered through the dirty window above him.
The house was silent.
Not peaceful silence.
Dead silence.
His chest tightened sharply.
For several moments he remained staring at the ceiling without moving.
The dream lingered painfully in his mind.
His mother smiling.
His father calling him son.
Breakfast together.
No potion.
Aldreic slowly sat up.
The blanket slid from his shoulders.
Cold air immediately brushed against his skin.
Then reality returned fully.
Coughing echoed from downstairs.
A bottle shattered.
His father shouted something incoherent.
The smell of alcohol drifted through the floorboards heavily.
Aldreic lowered his gaze toward his hands silently.
The warmth from the dream was already fading.
Only the ache remained.
A small sharp pain deep inside his chest.
Not physical.
Something else.
Disappointment?
No.
He had stopped expecting happiness long ago.
Then why does it hurt?
He closed his eyes briefly.
These dreams came often now.
Sometimes peaceful.
Sometimes strange.
Little fragments of lives that did not exist.
Usually he forgot them quickly.
But this one…
This one lingered.
Because it felt possible.
Not realistic.
Just possible enough to hurt.
Aldreic slowly stood from the bed.
His movements felt heavier today.
As he dressed himself quietly, thoughts continued circling through his head.
Was that truly what he wanted?
A normal family?
A peaceful home?
Or was his mind simply creating an image of what happiness should look like?
He didn't know.
That realization unsettled him.
What do I actually want?
The question followed him downstairs.
His mother stood near the table preparing herbs mechanically.
No smile.
No warmth.
No humming.
Only tired empty eyes.
His father sat slumped against the wall holding a bottle before sunrise.
Neither looked at him properly.
"…Morning," Aldreic said quietly.
No response.
Only silence.
For some reason, that silence felt louder after the dream.
Aldreic grabbed the empty crate beside the door automatically before stepping outside.
Rain clouds gathered above the forest again.
Cold wind drifted through the trees.
Everything had returned to normal.
Yet the dream continued haunting him.
As he walked toward the shed, he noticed something unusual.
A new crate of alcohol bottles rested near the porch.
He frowned slightly.
Who brought this?
No merchants visited this area.
Almost nobody even knew they lived here.
Aldreic crouched beside the crate quietly.
The wood looked fresh.
Recently delivered.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Strange.
But before he could think further, his father shouted from inside the house.
"Boy!"
Aldreic grabbed the crate immediately and carried it inside without question.
The man snatched one bottle eagerly.
Not even a thank you.
Aldreic quietly turned away.
Then paused.
Who were his parents before this life?
The thought emerged suddenly.
His father once fought for Albionia.
His mother clearly knew advanced sorcery.
So how did they end up here?
Hidden away at the edge of Eryndur like forgotten ghosts.
What happened to them?
What kind of lives had they lived before meeting each other?
Did they once dream too?
Did they once smile like the people in his dream?
And if even they ended up broken…
What future awaited him?
Would he also become miserable one day?
Would his life simply continue repeating endlessly until nothing remained?
Then what was the point of being born at all?
The thought lingered heavily as he began his chores.
Chopping wood.
Sweeping dust.
Gathering herbs.
Fetching water.
His body moved automatically while his mind wandered elsewhere.
What skills do I even have?
He paused briefly beside the stream.
He knew little about farming.
Little about blacksmithing.
Little about trade.
He had never seen cities.
Never spoken to travelers.
Never learned proper combat despite his father once being a soldier.
He barely even understood the outside world.
Who am I?
The question felt strangely difficult.
He knew his name.
Aldreic.
But beyond that…
Nothing.
No dream.
No purpose.
No understanding of himself.
Only survival.
By the time the sun reached higher above the trees, most chores were already finished.
Aldreic stood beside the yard holding gathered herbs silently.
Then came the voice.
"ALDREIC!"
His mother's scream cut through the air sharply.
Cold.
Harsh.
Impatient.
"It's time for your potion!"
Not a mother calling her child.
More like a command.
An obligation.
Aldreic stared quietly toward the house.
The dream from earlier still lingered faintly in his mind.
Warmth.
Laughter.
Belonging.
Then he looked at the real house again.
Dark windows.
Silence.
The smell of alcohol.
"…I'll think about it later," he murmured softly to himself.
But for now—
He had to take his potion.