Our eyes met.
Even with her body mangled by pain and blood, she screamed at the top of her lungs, so I could hear it over everything else—
"Live! No matter what—
—Live!"
Those words…
They were meant to save me.
But they hurt more than anything else.
I reached out toward her, tears streaming down my face, and cried—
"Mother!"
But the river didn't care.
It pulled me under again. The ice-cold water wrapped around me, muffling my sobs. My tears dissolved into the stream. All I could feel was cold. Endless, drowning cold.
I forced myself back to the surface once more.
This time… when I looked toward her, he was there.
The demon.
Standing over her.
That sight reignited the fire in my chest. I tried again, desperately, to reach the shore.
I couldn't.
The most I could do was cling to the surface.
Then—a rock.
I struck a smooth, mossy stone, barely managing to grasp it. I held on as the current tried to tear me away again. But the stone was slippery—too long in the water. My grip failed.
The river dragged me further.
Eventually, the current slowed. The river widened, its rage lessened. I saw a chance and pulled myself toward the shore.
Crawling.
Soaked.
Exhausted.
Broken.
By then, the sun had risen. The sky was lighter now, but my world had never felt darker.
As I reached dry ground, I collapsed.
And I cried.
Not the kind of crying that fades with time. No. This was the sound of something breaking inside me. I pressed my forehead to the earth, clenched my fists into the soil, and screamed with all the pain that filled my soul—
"Mother!"
I screamed so loudly that a bitter pain flared in my throat. And yet, the tears kept coming. I don't know how long I stayed there, collapsed on the riverbank, crying until there was nothing left.
By the time I had no more strength to sob, the sun had already risen. Morning had come.
I forced myself to my feet—barely. It felt like the very soul had been drained from my body. Every step was like dragging stone.
I began walking upstream along the river, back toward my village. Only then did I realize just how far the current had carried me away. It took over an hour of slow, trudging steps before I finally saw it in the distance.
My village.
But I didn't head straight into it.
First, I ran toward the place… the place where Mother had pushed me into the river.
Deep inside, I still wished she might be alive—that I might find her standing there, calling my name. Even if I knew it was impossible, I couldn't bring myself to accept it. I couldn't.
When I reached the place… blood. It was everywhere. So much of it, it had run down into the river and stained the flowing water.
[Where is she? She should be here.] I scanned the area desperately.
I didn't want to believe she was gone. To admit that meant losing her forever. I begged silently, Please, God, let her be alive.
But life was crueler than I had ever imagined.
As I searched the area, I spotted a hand—barely visible, sticking out from the grass.
A right hand.
I recognized the bracelet immediately. It was hers. My heart dropped. I rushed over, ripped away the weeds, and reached to pull her into my arms.
But there was no body.
Only her right hand remained.
The sight knocked the breath from me. I fell to my knees without even realizing it. My mind went numb.
[At the very least, I have to bury what's left of her.]
I took off the shirt I was wearing and carefully wrapped her hand with it, trembling as I did.
It wasn't warm anymore.
Not like I remembered.
Not like the hands that used to hold mine.
I clutched the bundle and sat there for a long time.
I didn't want to move.
To stand up meant to accept she was truly gone.
But even so… I had to bury her.
Summoning all the strength I had left, I rose to my feet. That first step felt heavier than anything I'd ever carried. But I kept walking—shirtless, barefoot, clinging to the only part of my mother I had left.
[Hans will help me bury her,] I thought. I made my way back to the village.
As I walked through the center, I noticed more and more eyes on me.
But not the kind of eyes filled with pity or compassion.
No… these eyes were full of fear.
Terror.
Hatred.
They stared at me as if I were some kind of monster. An omen. A curse.
And then… I saw Hans.
He was doing his best to help others, despite having lost one of his arms. When he spotted me, he dropped everything and rushed over.
"Attu! Are you alright? What happened? Where's your mother?"
I wanted to answer him. To cry in his arms. To tell him everything.
But the words wouldn't come.
So instead, I gently opened a corner of the shirt in my hands—just enough to reveal the wrist. The bracelet. Her fingers.
Hans froze.
His face said everything.
He understood.
Before he could say a word, something struck my head. A stone.
It hit my left temple, knocking me to the ground.
But even as I fell, I refused to let go of my mother's hand.
Blood trickled down my face—not much, but enough to run into my eye.
And then a woman screamed.
"This is your fault! You brought the demon here! Because of you, all these people died!"
I lifted my head.
Her words were meant for me.
And she wasn't alone. People were beginning to gather.
Their eyes no longer held just fear.
Now it was rage.
Hatred.
"You brought this on us!"
"Demon child!"
"You should've died instead!"
"It's his fault the demon came!"