More voices.
More accusations.
Hans stepped in front of me.
"This isn't his fault!" he yelled. "He didn't do anything! It was the demon—he had nothing to do with it!"
But they didn't care.
Their minds were already made up.
"Kill him!" someone shouted. "If he dies, the demon won't come back!"
A stone flew and hit my shoulder.
Then another.
People picked up whatever they could and hurled them at me.
Each hit stung—but none of it compared to the pain I carried inside.
One rock struck the shirt in my hands. In a panic, I curled around it, shielding the last piece of my mother with my body.
Hans finally lost it.
"Stop it! Enough!" he roared. "He's just a boy! How can you blame him for this!? This is madness!"
But someone in the crowd sneered.
"Look at his eyes! Normal people don't have eyes like that."
"He chased the demon out of the village—he brought it here! That's why he has to die!"
The crowd murmured in agreement.
Another voice: "Let's drag him to the forest and tie him up. That way the demon will take him and leave us alone."
They were serious.
And I—
I wanted to scream.
To tell them how wrong they were.
What did I do!? Tell me! What did I do!? Is it because I look different from you? Is that why!?
But my voice was gone.
And Hans… was running out of options. He looked around desperately, trying to think of a way to save me.
There had to be a way.
"Then let's just leave Attu in the forest," someone said to the gathered villagers. "The demon will find him. And the farther we send Attu, the farther the demon will stay from us."
They didn't see a child anymore.
Only a scapegoat.
Hans stood between them and me, his jaw clenched. He knew—whatever happened next, he had to protect me.
"I'll take responsibility!" he shouted. "Everyone, go home. I'll make sure he leaves the village."
The crowd hesitated, eyes filled with doubt and distrust. But one by one, they turned and began to disperse.
When it was finally quiet, Hans walked over and helped me up.
"Follow me," he said. His voice was low, distant.
He didn't say anything else as we walked.
No teasing. No light-hearted jokes.
He didn't even glance my way.
Usually, he would've said something silly to cheer me up—even if I was crying.
But now... he was silent.
When we reached our house, Hans knelt by the front yard and started digging with his one good hand. Even with one arm, his strength was undeniable.
I just sat there, watching.
I knew I was useless to him now.
I couldn't help.
I couldn't speak.
And Hans didn't ask me to.
Two or three hours passed like a blur. When he was done digging, we buried what was left of my mother.
Just her hand.
Hans finished covering the grave, then walked to the front of the house and waited.
I remained beside her grave.
Still.
Broken.
And for the first time in my life, I felt completely disconnected from the world—as if I no longer existed within it.
Like a shadow…
cut off from the light.
After that, I returned to our house. Hans tried to stand but stumbled forward. I caught him just in time before he fell—he was completely drained.
"Pack your things," he said weakly. "You have to leave. If you stay any longer... they might kill you."
I climbed to my room and changed out of the wet clothes from the river. Then I began gathering the few things I thought I might need.
When everything was packed, I headed back down. Just as I stepped out of the room, a familiar smell reached me from the kitchen—a sweet, warm aroma.
I turned toward it and saw Hans placing food on the table.
"Come. Sit. You haven't eaten anything, have you?"
"I don't really feel like eating," I muttered, but my stomach growled in protest.
Hans gave the faintest smile, the first I'd seen since the chaos.
"You're not leaving until you eat this."
I looked at the food and blinked. I didn't remember Hans cooking.
"When did you have time to make all this?"
"I didn't," he replied. "Your mother made it yesterday. She cooked it for your birthday."
The moment he said it, I took a spoonful of the soup. It was sweet, comforting... almost too perfect.
It tasted like the warmth of home.
I'd never had anything so delicious in my life. Tears welled in my eyes.
"It's... really good, Mom," I whispered.
When I was done, Hans walked me to the edge of the village. I still couldn't forget how the villagers had looked at me—how they'd tried to erase me.
"If you follow this path, you'll come to a fork in the road," Hans explained. "Turn left—it'll take you to the nearest city. One day's walk from here. And take this."
He handed me a small pouch of silver coins.
"You'll need them."
"Thank you. For everything," I said, pulling the black cloth from my pack and tying it firmly over my eyes. "I won't ever let anyone see these eyes again."
Hans gave me a long, sorrowful look.
"Did you take something to defend yourself?"
"I have a knife."
"Take this too," he said, unfastening the sword from his left side. He tossed it to me.
"I can't use it anymore—not with one hand. Better you have it. It might actually save your life."
I drew the blade from its sheath. It gleamed—well-cared-for and barely used.
"Thank you," I said, my voice heavy with emotion. "I won't forget your kindness."
"Take care of yourself," Hans replied, then turned away in silence, watching as I disappeared down the path.
I left the village behind and walked straight into the forest.
This...
was the beginning of my new life.