In a densely wooded forest, barely penetrated by sunlight, a young boy, who seemed just over seven years old, picked up a piece of brown wood and exhaled deeply. Navigating the woods, familiar as the paths might be, was no easy task for a child of his age. Yet, each fallen twig and fluttering strip of fir bark was precious to him, so even as he placed the wood into the basket on his back, his eyes continued to search for another piece. He had already gathered enough branches for firewood. More precisely, he had collected as much as he could possibly carry.

The paths in the forest were hardly paths at all. Even a moment’s distraction could turn the trail before him into the entrance of a maze, and despite walking these paths for a long time, they required navigating around bent earth, stones, and outstretched branches, making them challenging routes. This was even more the case for a young child just starting to gain strength in his legs.

“Huff, huff.”

He steadied his short breaths, brushed his small hand against his knee, and stood up straight. Although he had doubted he could fill his backpack by today, his diligence surpassed his expectations, and it seemed he might return home before sunset. The boy pressed on towards home, the image of his mother’s joyful face spurring him to want to dash back and proudly show off his full backpack. However, he knew better than to run heedlessly in the forest.

As he made his way diligently home, the sun was halfway past the western mountains when he finally exited the forest. Emerging from the dense shadows of the trees, a low hill appeared before him. Over this hill lay a poor village of about twenty households. At the edge of this village awaited the log house his father had painstakingly built, where his mother would be waiting.

Though exhausted from his escape from the forest, the sight of his goal revived his spirits and he moved forward anew.

His mother was probably wearing her wool apron, preparing dinner with a faint smile, as his younger sibling, two years his junior, bustled about trying to help by setting the table. Soon, the three of them would sit down for a delicious dinner. The boy would boast about how strong he had become, and likely receive praise from his mother for the full backpack he brought today. His sibling might whine about wanting to come along next time, though he would dismiss such ideas. Watching this, their mother would simply smile.

Even imagining this brought a flush to his cheeks and a sense of overflowing happiness. Despite not knowing that he was often the subject of pity and compassion from other villagers, he didn’t dwell on such gazes. Instead, he took pride and happiness each day in being able to protect his mother and sibling.

As he crossed the hill, the village came into view. Though his face was smeared with sweat, he could not hide his pride. There was no need to conserve his energy any longer. He started running towards the small garden by his house.

“Mom! Mom!”

As soon as he reached home, he shouted as he opened the door, eager to boast about filling his backpack early and arriving home faster than usual. However, his voice was swallowed by the darkness inside the quiet house.

‘Isn’t this our house?’

But as he looked around, the familiar interior confirmed it was. The table in the middle, the dried vegetables and pouches hanging on the walls, and the bench that could seat two on the right wall were all too familiar.

“Mom?”

He called out softly once more, but no answer came.

“Mom?”

There was no reply, and no sign of his sibling either. He set his backpack by the door and approached a closed door on the other side of the living room. His footsteps, lively just moments ago, now dragged heavily under the oppressive silence of the house. He struggled to push open the door, but the room was filled with an even heavier and darker air. No sign of anyone. His mouth went dry, his fingers trembling uncontrollably. A profound fear, unlike anything he had ever experienced, washed over him. He could no longer think rationally and burst into tears, although he wasn’t even aware that he was crying. Driven by instinct, he ran outside to find his mother.

Crying, he rushed out of the house, calling for his mother, but no response came from anywhere in the village. As he crossed the village center, he stopped, realizing the emptiness of the place. There were no voices calling him from next door or asking if everything was okay from the house above, not even the voice of his only friend of the same age, Bruel.

Only then did he stop crying and look around, slowly realizing that he was the only person left in what had become a ghost village.

‘I must find Mom.’

Had he been more rational, he might have sought clues to understand what had happened. But the immature mind of the child could only focus on finding his mother. Thinking perhaps she had gone out with the others for some reason, he started running towards the opposite side of the hill he had come over, calling, “Mom!”

He didn’t return home until long after the sunset, which he and his sibling would normally spend watching the stars, now shining brightly, but he had no heart to look up. With his head bowed, he trudged back to the village. As he approached home, he thought.

‘Maybe, Mom has already returned.’

With that thought, he ran towards his house. Despite being exhausted from walking the forest paths and running to the far places beyond the village, he found the strength to run once more, hoping that his mother and sibling might have returned.

“Mom!”

He called out louder as he opened the door, but the darkness and silence that greeted him were deeper than before. Leaning against the door, he tried to hold back the tears that surged up, but it was hard. Without wiping the tears streaming down his face, he moved to the bench and laid his weary body down, thinking.

‘I should wait here. If I wait here, Mom will come back.’

Though the tears did not stop, the day’s exhaustion and fatigue were too much, and he fell asleep.

The boy dreamed. Sitting on a rock outside the house, a broad back was diligently hammering away at something. As the boy approached, the owner of the back turned to look at him, smiling. It was his father, younger than he had ever seen him. His father asked him as he smiled.

“Did you sleep well?”

The boy replied cheerfully.

“Yes, Dad. I had a scary dream.”

His father then turned back to continue his work but asked the boy.

“What dream did you have?”

The boy thought his father was making something and moved closer to see what it was as he answered.

“I don’t know. It was too scary, and I kept crying.”

His father chuckled and hammered a small piece of metal into the wood.

“Are you okay now?”

Curiosity getting the better of him, the boy stepped closer.

“Yes. But what is this?”

His father then took an awl and began piercing the wooden piece.

“This? It’s a gift.”

The boy watched as his father threaded a fine string through the hole he had made and asked.

“Is it for Mom?”

His father picked up an old rag, dusted off the wood shavings, and began to carefully polish the metal piece.

“No.”

Something in his father’s expression seemed not entirely happy.

“For Amy?”

“No.”

“For me then?”

His father, now holding a piece of wood that could be called a pendant, examined it and looked at the boy with a wide smile.

“Yes, it’s yours.”

He hung the pendant around the boy’s neck. The boy looked at it closely. The pale wooden pendant was the size of his father’s thumb, with a square piece of metal embedded in it.

“From now on, this will protect you.”

“Really?”

His father smiled again, but the boy felt sadness watching it.

“What’s your name?”

“My name?”

“Yes, what is it?”

“My name is······.”

“Yes. Don’t forget it. You must remember that name.”

“My name is······.”