The first light of dawn painted the village's dirt road in pale golden hues. A crisp breeze carried the scent of hay and freshly tilled soil. In the distance, a rooster crowed lazily, rousing the still-sleeping homes one by one. Lunin's village was a place burdened by poverty and hardship, yet bound together by years of silent understanding.
Two youths walked toward the center of the village, their steps slow and their hearts heavy with unspoken words. One of them tried to mask his emotions, while the other bore the quiet weight of responsibility on his shoulders.
"You miss him too, don't you?" the more emotional one asked, his voice trembling slightly.
"We all do," replied the more mature one. "He was so full of life… Running like a madman, hair flailing in the wind. People called him crazy, but I always felt he was just... alone."
"Do you remember how he stood at that funeral?" the emotional one asked, his eyes glistening.
Flashback
The funeral was held in the small village square, wrapped in a heavy, solemn silence. The elders clung to one another, whispering prayers through their tears. Children watched quietly, trying to grasp the weight of something they did not yet understand.
Lunin stood among them in simple black clothing, an unreadable look on his face. There were traces of old pain in his eyes, but no one could quite tell what he was thinking.
In his hands, he held a large box, worn and wrapped in old leather. With a respectful bow, he offered it to the villagers.
"A gift… for today," he said softly.
The villagers gathered, their curiosity piqued. As they prepared to open the box, a small smile curled on Lunin's lips—mischievous, yet oddly distant.
When the lid was lifted, a pungent odor spilled out—reminiscent of livestock and aged soil. Lunin chuckled, voice loud and sharp in the quiet air.
"Haha! My special gift to the village! What do you think, folks?!"
Gasps and angry mutters rippled through the crowd. Many were disgusted, others simply stunned. Though Lunin had meant no harm, it was taken as an insult—an act of madness.
But Lunin realized, in that moment, that no matter how kind his intentions were, he would always be seen as the village fool. They chased him through the streets until the first light of morning.
What they never saw… was that inside that absurd gift, Lunin had hidden a tiny fragment of warmth, a playful memory, a piece of himself.
End of Flashback
The two friends stood again in the present, the weight of memory sitting silently between them.
"Have you ever thought he was just… lonely?" asked the older one.
"Always," the other replied quietly. "There was sorrow behind that madness. We just never looked hard enough."
Far off in the village, thin smoke rose between rooftops. Inside a small, humble home, Lunin's mother stood by the window. She thought her son was working in the fields. It wasn't his day off, but something about his absence made her uneasy.
An elderly villager passed by and murmured, "They say he went beyond the outer walls… delivering materials."
The woman furrowed her brows. "What? They gave him that kind of task?" she whispered, puzzled.
Time passed. The sky darkened. A strange stillness spread through the village.
Then—
A loud knock struck the door. The woman jumped.
When she opened it, the village head stood before her, face grim. In one hand, he held a letter, in the other—Lunin's last-worn clothing.
"I bring terrible news," he said with a voice as heavy as iron.
The woman slowly took the envelope, her hands trembling.
"What… what are you saying?" she asked, her voice barely a breath.
The headman continued, "A large stone fell from the wall. It struck Lunin. Your son is… gone."
Her world shattered.
"No! No… not my son! You must be mistaken!" she screamed. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks.
"There must be some mistake—please! Tell me it's not true!"
The headman looked down coldly. "It is the truth. The kingdom will not cover this up."
She collapsed to the floor in anguish, sobbing.
"This is your fault! All of you! You killed my son!"
Neighbors had gathered, watching silently. No one dared step forward.
Elsewhere, Lunin's friends were waiting for him. They'd planned to take a walk in the woods, maybe talk and laugh like they used to.
They knocked on his door. No answer.
Worry crept into their expressions.
Then a villager approached and whispered, "Haven't you heard? Lunin died today. Fell from the wall."
They froze.
"What…? No… You're lying!" the youngest cried out.
"If you really cared," the villager spat, "maybe he wouldn't have died alone."
The tension flared. One of them clenched his fists.
"Enough," the calmest of the three stepped in. "This isn't helping."
The crowd slowly dispersed. But the silence left behind felt heavier than any noise could.
End of Chapter
The wind swept across the fields, as the day darkened and grief settled in.
The friends looked at each other with hollow eyes.
"All we can do now is live on… and carry his memory."
One by one, they nodded.
And in that quiet resolve, one voice spoke softly:
"Come on. Let's get back to work."