Chapter 3 - Happy birthday

Alex stood, staring at the door, jaw tense.
He turned to his parents—his breath shallow, chest rising and falling in confusion and panic.

"Hey! What is this about?! Who is he?!"

Elena tried to hold him tighter, arms wrapped protectively around his shoulders—but he pulled back just enough to look at her.

Gilbert watched his son from across the room, a deep, gnawing sorrow hollowing out his face.

"Answer me! What was this about? Where is he taking me?!"

"Don't worry," Elena tried to soothe him, "He's not taking you anywhere. I won't allow it."

She turned toward her husband, trying to steady her voice with false certainty.

"Right, Gilbert?"

But Gilbert's fists were clenched. Tears stained his face, but he wouldn't wipe them. He wasn't looking at either of them—he was staring through the floorboards, as if something far beneath was pulling him under.

Elena saw it: the look she'd feared since the knock on the door.
The look of defeat.

"Don't tell me..."

Gilbert forced the words out. "No. I'll find another way... He won't lay a hand on Alex."

Elena turned quickly to Alex, brushing his hair back as if she could protect him by just holding him tighter.

"See? Nothing to worry about, my boy. Everything will be alright."

But Alex looked at them both—his mother's trembling, his father's silence—and something inside him crumbled.

"Please... talk to me. Who is that guy? Is he really... my uncle ?"

Elena's lips parted—then closed again. He was listening.
She lowered her eyes... and pressed him tightly into her arms.

Gilbert finally spoke—voice low, like a confession pulled from a wound.

"We never told you... because we thought we'd never have to."

"We weren't born in this village. We came here to hide. We were from the capital, your mother and I. And he... Dominick... he was part of our past. A dangerous part."

"...Criminals ?" Alex muttered.

"They're worse than that," Elena whispered, her voice breaking.

"Your father used to be a doctor. He treated the worst of them—people with blood on their hands. He tried to do good... but they don't let you leave."

"So he left. Why would they come looking for him now?"

"Because they're twisted. They don't forget. They don't forgive. We did nothing to them, but still... they came."

Her voice began to crack under the weight of it all.

Gilbert closed his eyes, as if trying to block out her pain—his own pain.

"Elena."

She turned.

"I have to do this."

"No."

"Do what?" Alex asked sharply.

"I'm going with him. It's me they want, not her. Not you."

"Father, no!"

Gilbert forced a small, fake smile. "Don't worry, young man. I'll go and talk to them. It'll be fine. They'll leave us alone."

He paused—just for a breath.

"But hey... if I don't come back, for any reason... take care of each other, alright?"

"Stop it!" Elena grabbed his sleeve. "There has to be another way! There has to! You said you'd never go back—you said—!"

"This is all my fault," Gilbert whispered.

"He's right. I brought this on us. We... maybe were safe there..."

"Let me fix this."

He stood there for a second

—just a second—

his shoulders stiff, lips pressed thin.

Then his breath hitched.

Not a sob. Not yet.

A shallow gasp, like he'd forgotten how to breathe.

"Gilbert?"

He stumbled back a step.
Hand clutched his chest—tight, sudden.
His fingers twitched like they were trying to grasp something that wasn't there. He blinked fast, eyes unfocused.

"I—" His voice thinned. "I just need a second..."

Alex rushed forward.

"Father?!"

Gilbert's legs buckled. He dropped to one knee, then to both—hands now pressed to the floor, his whole frame shaking.
He was gasping, hard, erratic. His face drenched in cold sweat.

"This is on me— everything is on me—"

"No, no, no—Gilbert, look at me!"

Elena knelt beside him, one hand to his cheek, the other trying to steady his arm.
But he wasn't looking at her.
He wasn't looking at anything.

His breath spiraled now, rapid and shallow, chest rising in sharp jolts. The panic took hold like a vice.

"Panic—he's panicking. Gilbert—! You're safe. You're safe, it's over—"

But it wasn't.
Not for him.

His body trembled violently, and then—
He collapsed.
Fainted, like a cord had been cut.
His body fell to the floor, limp.

"Father!"

Alex was at his side in a second, hands gripping his shoulder.

"He's not breathing right—move—help me turn him—"

They rolled him gently onto his side. Alex checked his pulse—relieved to find it still beating, fast but steady.

"He's alive. He's breathing. It's just... shock."
Her hand trembled on his forehead.
"He hasn't had an attack like this in years..."

Alex stared down at his father's pale face, every wall in his heart crashing down one by one.

This wasn't just fear.
It was collapse. Trauma dragging him under like a tide.

And suddenly—sickeningly—Alex realized:
Gilbert was never going to survive going back.
Not to them.
Not to him.

A long, quiet beat.
Alex sat back on his heels, still staring at Gilbert.

____

An hour or so passed since the panic attack.

He lays unconscious in bed, breath shallow, brow glistening with fevered sweat. His face was pale, his body limp under the worn blanket. A candle flickered nearby.

Alex sat beside the bed, elbows on his knees, watching his father's chest rise and fall.
Elena stood nearby, arms crossed tightly, gaze fixed on Gilbert—but her mind was miles away.

A long silence.

"Mother."

Elena turned slowly. Her face was already marked by exhaustion, but her eyes sharpened at his tone.

"Don't say it."

"I'll go."

"No."

"We don't have a choice."

"We won't discuss this."

"Then what? We give him Father? Like this?"
He gestured toward the bed, voice tight.
"He won't make it, Mother."

"You don't know who these men are..."

"I don't have to."
He paused. "Trust me. I'll keep my head down. I'll do what they ask. And I'll come back."

A silence.
Elena's expression shifted—not softened, just heavier.

"Alex..."
Her voice cracked, but there was warning in it.

Alex flinched. It wasn't the volume. It was the pain in her tone.

"Once you enter their world... there's no coming back."
Soft, but steel.
"I can't let you go in there. Not you."
"Please. Let's not even discuss this. No means no."

Alex watched her for a beat. Then, calmly:

"Tell me what we do, then."

"When your father wakes up... we'll run again."

"Run where?"

"Alex—!"

"Shh..."

Elena froze. Not because of the word, but the way it came.

Gently.

Not a boy rebelling—

but a son protecting.

"Let him sleep..."

Elena stared. She saw it now—how still he was. How his voice carried no fear, only quiet resolve.

"Mother."
He turned to face her.
"What do you see when you look at me?"

Elena looks...

"You're a boy, Alex."

"I know that."

A soft chuckle, sad.

"But what else do you see?"
Steady now.
"Am I lying?"
"You always told me you could tell when I lie."
"So tell me, Mother."
"Am I lying when I say I'm coming back?"

Elena tried to answer.
But nothing came.

"See? I'm telling the truth."
"For all of us. For you, for father and me."

A silence. And then—
Elena's face broke.

"No..."

"Please."

Tears slipped from her eyes as she folded her arms over her chest like she was trying to hold herself together...

then her hand covered her mouth...

as if she is preventing the words to get out.

She wanted to chain him to the house. She wanted to go herself. Anything.

But seeing his pleading expression. Not to go outside to play. Not to ask her to cook a favorite meal. But to do what has to be done.

For her, the mother. For the father lying unconscious in the couch.

His eyes say it all.

"...Go... Pack..."

Her voice shook.

Alex rose slowly.
He didn't speak.
But a tear ran down his cheek as he looked at her one last time—then quietly slipped out of the room.

___

Minutes later... the boy is ready.

Alex stood with his pack slung over one shoulder. His clothes were clean, his face composed, but his eyes—tired and heavy—carried the weight of everything he was leaving behind.

A short distance away, Elena stood near the doorway, hands clasped tightly in front of her. She didn't speak. Neither did he.
They just looked at each other.

There was no wave. No nod. Just silence stretched thin between them, sorrow drawn out like a thread about to snap.

Then came noise. Distant at first—shouting, voices rising.

Elena frowned. "What is going on?"

Alex stepped to the window and peeked outside. "It's the villagers."

They opened the door and stepped out.

A crowd had gathered between the cottage and the dirt road, blocking the black carriage and the two dark horses beside it. Dominick stood next to the carriage, calm as ever, hands in his coat pockets. His eyes swept over the crowd without concern.

Farmers, mothers, old men with canes—some held rakes, others sticks. One woman gripped a frying pan. Their faces were pale, but they stood together, fear be damned.

"Back off!" Uncle Ruth shouted.

"Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of!" someone else yelled.

"We'll tear you apart if you touch this family!" another villager cried.

Dominick didn't move.

Didn't blink.

He just stood there, watching.

Then, slowly, he turned and walked to his carriage.

The villagers murmured.

A few even cheered.

"He's leaving!" someone called out.

"Damn right! We scared him off!"

But Elena didn't join in their relief.

Her face had gone white.

Dominick came back.

This time, he was holding a shotgun—long, polished, and far too casual in one hand.

"Stop it, Dominick!" Elena cried.

He didn't answer. He simply raised the barrel and fired into the sky.

The blast echoed across the hills.

Birds scattered from the trees.

The villagers flinched.

Then silence.

Dominick lowered the shotgun.

And pointed it toward the crowd.

He said nothing.
He just waited.

The villagers flinched, some backing away a few steps. But most remained. Their faces were pale, drawn tight with fear. Yet still—they stood.

Pitchforks. Shovels. Rakes. One held a cooking pan. None of them were truly armed. But none of them moved.

Dominick exhaled. A long, slow breath.

"DOMINICK! NO!" Elena's voice split the tension.

A ripple of tension passed through the villagers. Murmurs. Sharp gasps. One older man took a bold step forward, mouth opening to shout. A boy raised his arm, fingers curled around a rock.

Dominick's eyes narrowed. His finger tightened slightly.

Then—

A moment of stillness.

Alex shoved his way forward. "Everyone, stop! Please!"

His voice was rough, worn—but steady. The villagers turned, confusion flashing across their expressions.

"I'm going with him," Alex said. "It's okay."

"Where is he taking you, Alex?" uncle Ruth cried.

"You don't have to do this!" another old man shouted.

"I'll be back," he promised. "I swear it."

He moved past them now, standing between the villagers and Dominick. He raised his hands, nervously, shaking... but talking peacefully.

"This is... only temporary," Alex said, voice ringing out. "I am coming back."

A few heads turned. Murmurs followed. Uncertainty. Hesitation. No one moved.

Then Elena's voice came again, quieter now, but firm.

"Let me speak with him."

Dominick didn't even glance her way—just gave a single nod.

The crowd parted for her like mist around a ship. She moved slowly, each step deliberate, until she stood before her son. Her voice was low, but the weight of it hit like thunder.

"Earlier... I didn't get to finish," she said.

She paused. Then:

That man—he's not just dangerous.

He's a devil.

Do what he says.

Don't argue.

Don't trust him.

Just survive, Alex.

That's all I ask.

Her hands gripped his.

"No pride. No heroics. Survive—and come home."

She looked up at him, and her breath caught.

"Just remember... you're not alone."

Alex took her hands in both of his. His eyes were clear.

"Understood," he said softly.

Elena stared at him. For a long moment, she said nothing.

Then, barely above a whisper—"Oh, God... you're already not a boy anymore."

"Finally you get it." Alex grinned.

He stepped away from her. Turned toward Dominick. One last glance behind him—at the crowd, at Elena, at home—and he walked to the waiting carriage.

Dominick hadn't moved. He stepped aboard first without a word.

Alex was about to follow when—

"Gilbert!" Elena gasped.

Alex spun around.

Gilbert was at the doorway of the house, barely upright, one arm clutching his chest, the other holding the frame like a lifeline. He looked like he shouldn't be standing. But he was.

"Father!" Alex shouted, rushing toward him.

Elena was already there, supporting him.

Gilbert tried to push them away with a weak hand. His voice came rough and broken.

"D... Damn brat," he said, letting out a cracked laugh.

"Always there... before me... just like the chores..."

Alex let out a choked sob.

Gilbert's smile faded as he fumbled into his pocket. With trembling fingers, he pulled out a small, round wooden token, with a bear shape carved in it, and pressed it into Alex's hand.

"Happy birthday, Alex..." he rasped.

Alex's eyes widened... Elena put a hand on her mouth...

"Your mother... she got you a cake... we were supposed to celebrate..."

His breath hitched. "But look at me... helpless... as always..."

Tears ran down Gilbert's face.

"I crafted this for you... a lucky charm..."

"...Pathetic gift, right ?"

"DON'T SAY THAT!" Alex snapped.

His voice rang out.

Sharp.

Fierce.

For the first time in his life, Alex raised his voice at his parents—and the entire village froze.

Even Elena stared, wide-eyed.

"Don't say that again..." Alex said, breath trembling.

"Don't ever say something like that again."

He clutched the token to his chest.

"This is... everything to me."

Then...

he pulled them both into a hug.

For a long moment, they held each other like time could be stopped—if only they held tight enough.

The villagers wiping at their eyes. Mothers were hanging on their children. Old men and women sobbing. None of them could handle the sight... except one.

From the carriage, Dominick watched. His face unreadable.

Alex looked back.

"Uncle Ruth! Sella ! Benno ! Jori ! Everyone!" he called out. "Thank you!"

His voice cracked, but he forced a smile.

"Come back, you damn show off ! " Benno screamed

"We will play next time, Alex !" Jori added in tears

Sella is watching quietly... crying her eyes out.

"I'll see you soon! Please look after my family!"

Then he turned again, walked to the carriage and climbed up beside Dominick... without looking at him.

Alex stood slightly, one foot braced on the step, and looked back.

The faces blurred in the distance. Sad. Tearful. Still.

"Hey!" he shouted.

"This isn't a funeral!" his voice broke a little, but barely enough to be noticed.

He grinned through the ache in his chest.

"Come on! Give me some cheers! Waves or something!"

Silence. Then a child hesitantly lifted a hand.

An old woman chuckled through her tears.

Another man raised both arms.

"He better come back in one piece, you freakin' tall blonde bastard!" someone yelled at Dominick.

"We're keeping your spot at the harvest table!" another added.

"Take care, Alex!" another kid shouted.

Everyone in the village loved this kid...

The laughter mixed with cries. Dozens of hands waved now, some trembling, some strong. Elena stood still, lips pressed together, trying not to break.

He really grew up when I wasn't looking, she thought.

Alex waved wildly, smiling as big as he could.

"I'll see you all later!" he called out. "Take care!"

He held on to the sound of their voices, the rising noise, the warmth. He gave them hope—even if he had to lie to himself to do it.

Then, one by one, the figures fell behind.

The trees thickened.

The roof of the house vanished from view.

Alex's hand slowly dropped to his side.

He stared into the horizon, wind tugging his hair.

The smile faded.

A tear rolled down his cheek.

Then another.

He didn't make a sound. He didn't wipe them away. He just breathed, quiet and steady.

Beside him, Dominick said nothing. But his eyes flicked once toward the boy at his side.

Behind them, in the now-empty house, Gilbert collapsed against Elena.

"He... he's just a boy..." he sobbed.

Elena caught him. Held him.

Her voice was calm—but trembled like something cracking deep inside.

"He will be fine," she said.

"We raised him well."

Her hands clenched tight.

They won't corrupt him.

They won't reach him.

They won't harm him.

Her voice steeled.

"Our boy won't lose."

Gilbert looked at her, eyes red, his heart raw.

But the way she said it—like it was truth carved into stone—made him nod.

He believed her.

And as they stepped inside the house, Elena's strength finally gave way.

She covered her mouth, shoulders shaking.

He was gone.

The house... felt emptier than ever.

Far ahead, on the road bathed in fading sun, Alex sat in silence. The token gripped tight in his pocket. The wind cool against his face.

He didn't look back.

But he didn't forget.

And thus began his journey, in a completely different world.