Chapter 2 - Visit

The smoke had settled.

Gilbert ran, breath sharp in his chest, the path scattered with broken glass and splintered wheels. A carriage lay overturned. Ash floated in the air like slow snow. The shooting had stopped — but the silence was worse.

He dropped beside the first wounded man, barely conscious.

“Plea… Please… save me…” the man rasped, blood leaking from beneath his coat.

Gilbert reached for his satchel.

A scream tore the air behind him. Another man — clutching his throat, eyes wide in pain — grabbed Gilbert by the collar with shredded fingers.

“Do something! You’re the damn doctor, aren’t you?!”

Gilbert broke free gently, hands trembling. “You need to lie down—”

Another voice called out. A woman this time. Elderly. Her leg twisted unnaturally beneath her.

And then another. Then another.

He ran from body to body. Some innocent. Some armed. Henchmen he once recognized, faces twisted in pain or rage. No questions. No judgment. Just hands. Gauze. Stitching. Anything.

“They left us—”
“Where were you? Why weren’t you here?”
“Gilbert!”
“Don’t let me die—”
“Doctor, please—”

He couldn’t keep up. Hands shaking. Eyes wide. Panting. A crushing helplessness pressing down.

Then—

A hand landed on his shoulder.

He turned.

Dominick stood behind him.

Expression unreadable. Watching.

Gilbert’s breath caught in his throat—

___

Gilbert jerked awake on the couch, breath snagging in his chest like a pulled thread. The fire had burned low. Outside, rain tapped gently on the shutters. His shirt clung to him — soaked in sweat — and his heart thudded loud enough to echo in his ears.

Blood. Screams. Bodies. His mind still gripped the remnants of the nightmare.

A soft touch landed on his arm.

“Are you alright, Gilbert?”

Elena's voice, quiet and warm. She stood beside him, worry hidden in the gentleness of her tone.

He blinked, wiped a hand down his face.

“Y-Yeah…” he murmured, voice rough. “It’s that... again.”

“You started having them again lately,” she said, easing down beside him.

“They come and go,” he said, trying to steady his breathing. “Don’t worry.”

Elena reached for the blanket draped over the arm of the couch and tucked it over his lap.

“Maybe it’s time to go do something,” she teased softly, a smile tugging at her lips. “Alex has made you quite lazy recently.”

A faint smile broke through the lines on his face.

“Yes, he did. But I already hauled the wood, fed the animals, fixed the gate… I can't let him keep beating me to it.”

Elena laughed — a small, lovely sound — and leaned her shoulder gently against his.

“How adorable,” she said.

Her eyes lingered on him longer now, filled with something deeper than teasing. Gratitude. Love.

Gilbert noticed, his brow tilting.

“What is it, Elena?”

She held his gaze.

“Thank you, dear,” she said. “For getting us out of that place.”

He stilled, watching her.

“I know what you carried. I was afraid too. Always afraid of that life. Never question what you did. I’m with you. Always.”

He swallowed.

“You really think I did the right thing?” he asked, quieter this time.

“Whatever you do... I’ll be by your side,” she said. “Because I know you’re a good man...”

His eyes flickered, shadowed for a moment. Not fear — something heavier. A silence passed between them, filled only by the ticking of the mantle clock and the patter of rain.

“You got me out of a life where I turned a blind eye to crime,” Elena continued, her voice low, almost a whisper. “Told myself I was innocent… even while atrocities were happening — because of my brother.”

He didn’t answer, but his jaw clenched slightly, and his hand closed gently around hers.

“These years have been the best of my life,” she said. “You. Alex. A quiet home. A peaceful village. What more could I ask for?”

Another silence — this one softer.

“I’m glad too, Elena,” Gilbert said.

And they sat like that — side by side on the worn couch —

“Come on, Gilbert. Alex is waiting for you outside. Keep him away from the house while I prepare his birthday cake, alright ?”

_______

The trail curved gently up the mountain’s spine, narrow and soft beneath worn leather soles. Wild grass swayed waist-high along the path, silvered at the tips by a restless morning wind. Far below, the valley lay folded in layers of green and ash-brown, the tiled roofs of the village scattered like toy pieces among the trees. Overhead, clouds moved in slow procession — not dark enough for thunder, but thick enough to let the rain fall as a fine, steady mist.

No thunder, no storm. Just that gentle, persistent kind of rain — the sort that blurred the edges of the world without ever quite soaking it.

Alex tucked his chin deeper into his collar. His shirt, cotton and too thin for the chill, clung to his back. The dampness wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly — just present, like a second skin. He stepped carefully, watching his footing on the softening earth.

A few paces ahead, Gilbert moved with practiced ease — calm, unhurried. He had no walking stick, no pack. Just a satchel of bandages and dried herbs, and that same dark coat he always wore, its sleeves rolled up despite the weather.

Behind them, the sound of the village bells had faded into memory. Out here, only the wind spoke — tugging gently at sleeves and hair, whispering through the brush like an old voice.

Alex glanced up toward the ridge. “Say, Father... doesn’t this trail look a bit different from last year? The slope near the ridge — it used to curve left, didn’t it?”

Gilbert slowed, turned, and smiled.

“Good eyes, son. You’re right. The path shifted. Probably after that big rain last autumn — loosened the soil, pushed everything downhill a bit.”

He looked up at the sky, squinting past the clouds.

“Speaking of rain... Didn’t expect this weather today. Not heavy, but still.”

“Yeah,” Alex murmured. “Kind of unpredictable.”

A silence settled for a moment. They kept walking.

“You don’t have any patients today?” Alex asked, after a time.

“Not for the last three days,” Gilbert said. “Which, believe me, is a good thing. Quiet means everyone’s well.”

“You’re right,” Alex said. Then, quieter: “...I just wanted to come with you. Learn more about what you do.”

Gilbert turned slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Planning to treat people now? If you do, you’ll ruin my quiet days. You’ll race me to the patients like you do with the chores.”

“I want to help you and mother, I do,” Alex said. “But part of me also just... wants something new. I don’t know.”

His father stopped at the ridge, brushing wet hair from his brow. He didn’t speak immediately.

“I get you,” Gilbert said at last. “That’s your age talking. You’re growing. You’re a smart boy.”

They reached the summit in silence.

The view opened wide — forested slopes dropping steeply into shadowed hills, the distant glint of a river curling like silver thread through the valley. Somewhere out there was the rest of the world. Larger towns. Cities. Places Alex had only heard of.

A breeze rolled across the ledge. The rain had slowed to a mist.

“Here we are,” Gilbert said quietly.

They stood still a while.

Then Gilbert spoke again, his voice quieter now. Reflective.

“Listen to me, Alex. Learning new things... growing, evolving — they’re beautiful things. But they can also be double-edged.”

Alex glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not lecturing,” Gilbert said. “Just sharing something..."

"Sometimes I wonder — if I hadn’t become a doctor... maybe I’d have seen less sorrow. Fewer sicknesses. Fewer deaths. A simpler life.”

Alex’s voice was low. “But your life is simple. You were born in the village, married Mother, run a farm, help people...”

“You’re right,” Gilbert said. “And I’m proud to save lives. But I’m still just one man, son."

"And some days... when I see a kind face in pain, someone dying and still thanking me... even though I couldn’t save them...”

He trailed off.

“It crushes me.”

Alex didn’t answer. He just stood there, letting the words settle inside.

Then Gilbert exhaled, shaking off the weight. He smiled again.

“But hey — enough with that. Look!”

“We already reached the summit—”

Gilbert swept Alex up without warning, hoisting him onto his shoulders.

“Whoa! Father!”

“Come on, say something!”

Alex grinned, unsure. “To who?”

“To the scenery! Come on!”

“Huh? You want me to talk to trees now?”

“Just do it! Or I’m throwing you off!”

Alex laughed. “Uhh... Hello, scenery!”

A pause.

“See?” he said. “No answer, Father.”

A long silence.

Then, just as they turned to go —

A beautiful rainbow began to arc faintly in the distance, curved over the valley like a promise.

Gilbert grinned.

“Dumbass. Just needed a little time.”

Alex stared, with his eyes glowing, almost in disbelief at the timing.

“Whoa...”

__

The clouds had cleared by the time they returned. A silver light dappled through the treetops, and the scent of damp earth clung to their boots as Alex and Gilbert walked side by side down the quiet hill trail. The trees whispered in the breeze behind them, and the fields ahead glimmered with rain-freshened green.

When they reached the gate, Gilbert gave his son a sideways glance.

"Alex," he said, casually brushing his hands clean against his trousers, "go and check on the farm for me. Say hi to the rooster for me."

Alex grinned, stretching his arms overhead.

"Sure," he said brightly, then darted off down the path toward the pens.

Gilbert watched him go — the boy's stride still light despite the hike — and let out a soft exhale.

“That was easy,” he muttered to himself. “Now to check if the cake is ready.”

The front door creaked open. He stepped inside.

"Elena!" he called out, wiping his boots carefully. "Is everything ready yet—?"

He froze.

A black hat hung by the wall. One he recognized from years ago.

And beneath it — a long, dark coat. Neatly hung. Out of place in their home like a knife at the dinner table.

His breath hitched.

Gilbert moved fast — crossed the floor in three strides, heart pounding loud and low in his chest. The guest room door stood slightly ajar. He pushed it open—

Elena stood inside, turned halfway toward him. Her hands were clasped in front of her — trembling. Her lips parted slightly, as if she’d tried to say something but lost the words halfway through.

Her eyes said the rest.

And sitting on the couch, legs slightly apart, arms resting over his knees, posture relaxed yet unshakable — was the old friend Gilbert never wanted to see again... the man he wished he would never meet again.

Dominick Marviano.

He looked older, yes — a darker presence now settled like smoke in his shoulders. But the voice, when it came, was just the same.

"How have you been, Gilbert?"

Calm. Casual. Possessive. As if the room, the air, the years — all of it still belonged to him.

Gilbert didn’t answer. Not yet.

___

Alex crouched near the fence, running a hand along the wood. A few splinters had broken loose — nothing serious. The goats grazed nearby, uninterested in repairs or human concerns.

"Fence is holding fine," he murmured. “Father worries too much.”

From a distance, two boys watched.

"Tch… it's that show-off again," Jori muttered, arms crossed.

"Yeah, thinking he’s strong and all…" Benno added, trying to sound tough, but glancing toward the girl near them.

Sella rolled her eyes and stepped forward.

“He actually helps his family,” she said, brushing past them, “unlike you lazy boys.”

Neither answered. Just stood there, cheeks flushing red.

Sella walked toward the pasture, waving as she approached.

“Hi, Alex!”

Alex looked up, immediately brightening. “Oh—hi, Sella!”

“Back from the hike? How was it?”

Alex leaned against the post, his eyes still caught in the sky’s fading light.

“This time it was different for some reason. I loved it. A beautiful rainbow showed up in the weirdest moment.”

Sella glanced back at the other two boys sulking. “Jori and Benno still mad?”

Alex sighed, smile fading slightly. “Yeah… They still don’t accept the loss.”

“Don’t mind them,” she said with a soft chuckle. “You know everyone in the village loves you, right?”

Alex looked down, eyes flickering with a quiet doubt. “I know… everyone’s good to me…”

“No,” Sella said, stepping closer, voice firmer. “I mean really love you. My father won’t shut up about you. Uncle Ruth either. You're like the role model here. You help people. You do first aid. You learn medicine from your dad. You’re strong.”

“R-Really?” Alex blinked. “That’s what they say?”

“Yep,” she said with a nod, smiling. “That’s what they say.”

Alex’s cheeks flushed with warmth. A sheepish smile crept over his face.

But then—

“Alex!” a voice called from behind.

Alex turned. “Ah—hey, Uncle Ruth!”

Ruth was walking up the path, hands on his hips, brow furrowed.

“So… who’s the man?” he asked.

Alex tilted his head. “Man?”

“Didn’t meet him yet? Tall guy. All in black. Glasses. Creepy look. Said he was looking for your father.”

Alex blinked. “A patient?”

“That’s what he said. But he looked like a big deal.”

Alex straightened. “Did he say how he knew my father? Did he seem… harmful?”

Ruth shook his head. “Not sure. Didn’t talk much. Direct. Cold. I didn’t like him. That’s why I came to ask you.”

Ruth hesitated, then scratched his beard.

“I even tried to lie to him,” he admitted. “Said I didn’t know the house… but he already knew. Said he was just testing me.”

Alex’s expression shifted. Calm, but sharpened. “We don’t get many outsiders here…” he muttered.

Sella looked between them, her voice small now. “W-Who is he?”

“I don’t know,” Ruth said. “But I’ll gather the villagers, just in case. You—go check on your parents. Alright?”

Alex nodded.

Sella stood frozen, then slowly stepped beside Ruth. Her fingers clung to his sleeve.

Alex placed a hand gently on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Sella. Uncle Ruth will walk you. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

She nodded, eyes wide.

Ruth gave Alex one last look — then turned toward the village with the girl in tow.

Alex didn’t waste another second.

He turned, and ran.

But this time — not for exercise.

This time — something wasn’t right.

___

A heavy silence filled the guest room.

Dominick sat on the couch, calm, composed, one arm draped across his knee. Gilbert and Elena stood across from him — stiff with unease. Another chair sat unused in the corner. The birthday cake on the side table remained untouched.

Dominick raised an eyebrow.
“May I smoke?”

Gilbert hesitated, jaw clenched, then gave a reluctant nod.

Elena said nothing. Her eyes burned through him — disgust simmering beneath every breath.

Dominick lit a cigarette, slow and deliberate, like a ceremony. The match flared. The flame touched the tobacco. He exhaled, smoke curling through the still air.

“Beautiful place you’ve got here,” he said, glancing around.

He took another drag.

“I enjoyed the ride up. Can’t wait to experience it again.”

Silence. The cigarette crackled faintly.

Gilbert finally spoke.
“How did you find us?”

Dominick smiled without warmth.
“In case you forgot—I’m the one who got you on the boat.”
A pause.
“The rest was easy. I’ve got contacts in taverns and roadside inns.”

Elena’s voice came out sharp, tight.
“D-Do others know?”

“Don’t worry. Only me.”

Gilbert narrowed his eyes.
“And what are you here for, Dominick?”

Dominick leaned forward, elbows on his knees, smoke drifting lazily from his cigarette.
“Bad news.”
A pause.
“The Dons are resuming the search.”

Both Gilbert and Elena froze — their eyes wide.

Dominick continued, calm as ever.
“At first, there were other priorities. But now... we’ve taken over almost entirely. They gave up on the hunt in big cities. Now they’re considering even this area.”
A pause.
“Not just you, Gilbert. No one escapes us.”
A beat.
“But I got your backs.”

Gilbert frowned.
“So you came to warn us? To help us run?”

Dominick gave a flat look.
“No. Because you will be found eventually. We have to settle this.”

Before he finished the sentence, Elena moved — fast.

She rushed toward a tall chest of drawers near the far wall. Reaching up high, she pulled open the top drawer — one even Alex would never think to look in.

“Elena—!” Gilbert shouted, but she didn’t stop.

She pulled out a dust-covered revolver. Aimed it squarely at Dominick’s head.

Her hands shook. Her eyes did not.

Dominick didn’t flinch. He looked at the weapon with mild amusement.

“Guns don’t suit you, Elena,” he said, almost softly.
He eyed the revolver.
“That thing’s older than your child. Is it even loaded? Looks like it hasn’t been touched in over a decade. The dust on it’s ridiculous.”

Gilbert slowly raised his hand.
“Put it down.”

Elena’s breathing was heavy. Her arm trembled. Then — finally — she lowered it.

Gilbert stepped forward, gently taking the revolver from her.

He placed it on the low side table... right beside the birthday cake. The celebration, tainted. A quiet tragedy.

Gilbert looked back to the couch.

“So... what do we do now, Dominick?”

Dominick took one final drag before letting the cigarette burn low.

“Don’t make that face. You’re not dying. Neither is she.”

He leaned back slightly.

“But I have to give the Dons something. Something real, to buy peace.”

The silence was sharp as broken glass.

Elena’s fists clenched. Her teeth ground. She already knew.

Dominick’s voice cut through the room.

“Where is your child?”

Gilbert flinches upon hearing the sentence…

“We have no child. He’s dead,” Elena snapped.

Dominick’s eyes stayed on her.
“You’re lying. You always were a bad liar.”
A pause.
“You were pregnant when you ran. He’d be thirteen by now.”

He leaned forward. His voice turned cold.

Elena paled. Gilbert said nothing.

“Your mistake was reaching into nearby villages to help people,” Dominick went on.
“The miracle doctor. A generous healer who sometimes brings his boy along to learn. Word spreads. Stories travel. I don’t have eyes in your village, it’s isolated — but I do in others.”

He looked at Gilbert.
“You got comfortable. You thought a fake last name was enough. You thought the mountains would hide you.”

“Then why did you help us in the first place?” Gilbert asked, voice tight.

“Because it was my sister’s choice to follow you.”
His voice softened for just a moment.
“And I respected it. No matter how much you both hate me... I hoped you’d never be found.”

“And I did my part. I’m still doing more.”

Gilbert’s eyes narrowed.
“Then why ask about our son?”

Dominick flicked ash onto the floor.

“He’s coming with me.”

There was no warning.

Gilbert grabbed a wooden chair and hurled it across the room.

Dominick didn’t blink. He leaned — barely — still seated, still smoking. His foot rose and deflected the chair mid-air with a sharp, precise kick.

It shattered against the roof.

Calm as ever.

Gilbert surged forward.
“You’re NOT doing this!”

Dominick remained on the couch. Steady. Waiting.

“Nothing will happen to him,” he said. “He’ll be with me. Safe.”

“The Dons want your head. I barely convinced them to stop the hunt… if I give them something more valuable.”

“Something I can use.”

Elena’s voice shook.
“… What?”

“Your son will work for me. Run errands. Be a strategic pawn. Kids are surprisingly useful in my world — more than half the muscle and henchmen people throw around.”

He met her gaze squarely.
“Rest assured, I won’t give him guns. I won’t use him as bait or a human shield. I don’t need to waste time explaining, but he’ll be useful — and safe.”

“Over my dead body,” Elena snarled. “You’re not doing this to Alex.”

A heavy silence as none of the three added a word.

Then...

Dominick’s calm exterior cracked—just slightly. The look in his eyes dimmed, no longer patient, but cold with disappointment. He let out a slow exhale, then placed his cigar down in the ashtray with deliberate care, as if smoking no longer mattered.

He rose from his couch.

His voice was low, almost tired.

“Elena,” he said, gesturing toward Gilbert.
“I’m cleaning up his mess.”

“Don’t look at me like I’m the villain. I’m the one following orders and negotiating for your lives.”

“All he had to do was trust me. Man up. Stay in the city. But one massacre… and he ran like a coward.”

“Now here we are.”

He leaned forward, tone biting.

“What’s the backup plan, Gilbert? Maybe go live in a cave? Pretend they just forgot you exist?”

“Or how about you keep playing doctor until someone puts a bullet in your son instead of you?”

Elena collapsed to her knees.
“Please… I’m begging you. Not Alex. Not my son!”

Gilbert stood frozen—his breath loud, uneven. The kind doctor, who once refused to swat a fly, now trembled with a fury that rattled through his shoulders. His jaw clenched, his face pale, eyes locked on Dominick with something raw—something breaking.

A quiet, unbearable rage had taken root in him.

And beneath it, his hand crept—slowly, almost unconsciously—toward the revolver he’d set down earlier.

Dominick’s eyes snapped to it. He drew his own weapon.

Elena gasped.

Gilbert’s hands trembled, but he didn’t lower the gun.

Dominick stayed seated, gun aimed, eyes locked on Gilbert.

“Oh, look at this,” he said coldly.
“A brilliant new plan. Get yourself killed and make your wife a widow and your son an orphan.”

“You don’t have what it takes to pull that trigger. You save lives. So drop the act.”

His voice turned sharp.

“You’ve got three seconds, I'm done giving you a chance after the other.”

“One…”

Gilbert didn’t move.

“Two…”

“Gilbert!” Elena screamed.

The door burst open.

“Father! Mother!”

Alex stood at the entrance, out of breath from running.

Elena turned and pulled him to her chest, shielding him from Dominick’s line of fire.

Dominick didn’t move.

His eyes stayed fixed on Gilbert.

Gilbert looked at his son. Then at the gun.

Then dropped it.

Clatter.

Silence.

Only now did Dominick turn to look at the boy.

Their eyes met.

And Alex froze.

What is this… feeling?
What kind of eyes are these…?

Behind the thin metal frame of his glasses, Dominick’s eyes held no warmth—no curiosity, no recognition. They weren’t looking at Alex. They were looking through him, like scanning a file, weighing a problem, dissecting a thing. Cold, pale, and unreadable, like frost on glass that never melts, no matter the heat around it.

For a moment, it was as if Alex wasn’t a person at all—just a shape. Something that could be moved, used, discarded.

That was when the fear settled in. Real fear. The kind that didn’t shout or scream. The kind that crept into your bones and whispered: this man is different.

He looked back at his father. At the gun.

Dominick exhaled.

He rose, straightening his coat with a calm, practiced motion. One last breath left him in silence.

“I’ll come back in one or two hours.”

He turned toward the door — hand on the knob — but stopped.

A pause.

He didn’t look back.

“Elena.”
A beat.
“I’m sorry.”

The door shut behind him.

Footsteps crunched through gravel.

Then vanished.