The new dawn stretched from behind the snowy mountains, splitting the northern sky with pale red streaks that kissed the tips of frozen pines. A fine mist still hung in the air, yet the scent of firewood and spices had already filled the front yard of the wooden house—our temporary refuge from the harshness of the world.
I sat on the doorstep, wrapped in a wool coat that still felt foreign against my skin. Out front, Dr. Albert and Uncle were busy. They stirred a large pot over the fire, mixing fragrant porridge that steamed gently, blending with the aroma of thyme and the lingering snow in the air. Charlotte and Carla were also lending a hand, slicing herbs and preparing wooden bowls.
At first, I simply observed. But then, a quiet urge pushed me to stand, to help, to repay the helplessness that had haunted me all this time. Just as I took a step, Albert's voice stopped me.
"Just sit, Hiro," he said without turning, yet in a tone that brooked no refusal. "Your body isn't fully healed. You've fought death. Now it's time your body received kindness."
I fell silent. Charlotte turned and smiled at me, as if to say it was okay for me to just sit this time.
A few moments later, we sat in a circle under the morning sky, each of us holding a steaming bowl of porridge. The taste was simple, but to a tongue long untouched by flavor, it was a miracle. Yet, even that warmth couldn't dispel the unease in my chest.
"Zeco," I murmured softly, my eyes tracing the door of the house, still shut. "Why hasn't he come out yet?"
Albert looked at me for a moment before replying, "His condition hasn't improved. His wounds run deep, and it's not yet time for him to sit among us. But… I'll take his food in shortly."
I nodded slowly, then looked at him with meaning. "Thank you… for everything."
He returned the gaze with a warm smile, then stood.
But before he could leave, I turned toward Charlotte. I walked over, embraced her gently, and whispered something that had long been held in my chest.
"Please… be my friend. Come with us."
Three days later.
The snow had begun to melt between the stones, and the sky held a rare, brilliant blue. That morning, our bodies had regained strength. Our wounds, though not yet gone, had healed enough to let us walk again.
We prepared to leave the wooden house, the place that had served as our sanctuary. But before we truly departed, I stood before Dr. Albert, who was tidying up the last of his tools on the porch.
I looked him in the eyes and spoke with quiet hope, "I… want to ask someone to come with us. Someone who can make medicine. Someone who can help when we're hurt. We need you."
The bespectacled man fell silent.
"So," I said as I extended my hand, "come with us."