Chapter 2: New Family
His mother had passed away.
Grandpa Roger and the others from the village placed Soren's mother inside a wooden box and carried her away.
Soren, meanwhile, stayed hiding upstairs in his room, wrapped tightly in his quilt, not daring to come down.
The next day, Grandpa Roger took Soren to his house for a meal.
There was only Grandpa Roger and a little girl named Little Irene. Grandpa Roger told Soren that Irene's parents had also gone to a very distant place.
After the meal, Roger brought Soren to the hill behind the house, pointed to a gravestone beneath a tree, and said to him, "Little Soren, your mom has found your dad. They've turned into this tree. From now on, whenever you miss them, come here and visit them."
Soren lunged toward the big tree like a madman, crying out for his mom and dad.
But there was no reply, only the wind rustling through the leaves.
Until his voice grew hoarse and he could no longer cry, Grandpa Roger carried him on his back and took him home.
Lying on the bed Grandpa Roger had prepared for him—
The warm, soft touch was so much more comfortable than his damp, hard wooden bed.
It felt as though, long ago in his memories, he must have slept on a bed just like this.
Lying in bed, Soren recalled his mother's final appearance.
"Mom said she went to find Dad."
"Then why didn't she take me with her?"
"I miss Dad too. I want us to be together, soaking in the sun, sharing meals, living our lives."
"Why go find Dad alone? Why leave me behind? Why?"
"I hate Mom."
Grandpa Roger was very good to Soren, always finding ways to cheer him up.
Yet Soren simply couldn't smile.
Little Irene was a bit afraid of him and always hid whenever she saw him.
Sometimes she hid behind the sofa, but most of the time she hid behind the door.
Perhaps it was because he always wore a gloomy face.
Yet sometimes Soren noticed Little Irene secretly poking half her head out, peeking at him.
On a bright, sunny day—
Grandpa Roger told Soren to go out for a walk, thinking it might lift his spirits.
He walked aimlessly down the street, keeping his head down, knowing neither where he was going nor what he was supposed to do.
Until he heard a commotion up ahead.
In front of a shop, a little boy was rolling around on the ground, crying and wailing.
"I don't care, I don't care! I want this, I want it, I want it!"
No matter how hard his mother pulled, he refused to get up.
The father standing nearby smiled helplessly. "Boss, we'll take that one—the biggest one."
The little boy stopped crying, took the oversized lollipop handed to him by the shopkeeper, and sniffled while smiling.
"You always spoil him rotten."
Faced with his wife's reprimand, the man let out a hearty laugh, hoisted the little boy up, and set him on his shoulders.
"We're going home! We're going home!"
Watching the three of them gradually fade into the distance, Soren suddenly felt a sharp pain in his heart and a stinging sensation in his nose.
Go home? Home. Home!
Walking to the end of the street, Soren arrived in front of his own house. He looked at the familiar building, but lacked the courage to step inside.
Soren stood before the door for a long time, until the sun was about to set, when Grandpa Roger finally found him.
"Little Soren, I've been looking all over for you. So you were here! Come on, let's go home and have dinner."
"Grandpa Roger, isn't this place my home?"
Soren's blank expression and his question left Grandpa Roger momentarily dazed.
A moment later, he looked at Soren, his tone firm.
"Little Soren, Grandpa's house is your home too. From today on, Grandpa and Irene are your family. Let's go home."
With that, Grandpa Roger took Soren by the hand and led him back.
During dinner, Little Irene kept glancing sideways and secretly at Soren.
Halfway through the meal, Grandpa Roger suddenly straightened his posture, made a fist with his right hand, held it to his mouth, and looked at Irene.
"Ahem, ahem! Little Irene, I announce that starting today, Little Soren is a part of our family!"
Grandpa Roger turned his gaze back to Soren. "If I remember correctly, Little Soren should be ten years old this year, right?"
Soren nodded without speaking.
"Then that makes you the big brother. Little Irene is eight years old this year. As her older brother, you have to protect your little sister. Do you understand?"
Soren looked at Irene. Right now, she looked like a startled little fawn, her head lowered deeply, her rosy cheeks quickly flushing.
Irene raised her head and glanced at him. The moment their eyes met, she quickly lowered her gaze again, her cheeks growing even redder.
Without saying a word, Soren shifted his eyes to the bread in front of him, his thoughts in turmoil.
"Can someone like me really be an older brother? When I couldn't do a single thing, when I couldn't protect anyone..."
His mother's pale face surfaced in his mind, and his heart began to ache faintly once more.
"Mm, I know. I'll protect Irene."
In the quiet room, an answer suddenly rang out.
Grandpa Roger was stunned for a second, then burst out laughing.
"Good! Good! Good! Little Irene has an older brother, and this old man has a grandson. Wonderful, truly wonderful!"
Little Irene abruptly lifted her head to look at him, her eyes filled with surprise, but even more so with joy.
Just a moment before, right before giving his answer, the long-silent Soren had glanced at Little Irene.
The face that had been blushing turned pale.
She sat there quietly, her eyes lowered, her frail little body trembling slightly. The fingers of both hands resting on the table were curled inward, as if trying to grasp onto something.
At that moment, Irene overlapped with the image of his mother in his mind.
Slender, helpless, desolate.
An unprecedented impulse instantly flooded his brain.
Protect her! Protect her! Protect her!
The dinner ended amidst Grandpa Roger's hearty laughter. This was the first time Soren had ever seen Irene smile.
Sure enough, it was just like his mother's smile—beautiful and warm.
Fate seemed to have shifted at that very moment.
That night, Soren enjoyed the most peaceful sleep he had had in half a year.
In his dream, it seemed he saw—
His dad, his mom, Grandpa Roger, Little Irene, and himself, all having a picnic in a field of Ziluoflowers.
On the giant tree at the top of the hill, Dad had built two swings. Mom was pushing Irene, Dad was pushing him, and Grandpa Roger acted as the referee, seeing who could swing higher...
How wonderful it would be if all of this weren't just a dream.
Waking up in the morning, Grandpa Roger and Irene had already gone early to the flower fields.
On the table lay a prepared breakfast, alongside a note.
Soren picked up the note.
*Brother Soren, remember to eat your breakfast!*
Little Irene's smiling face flashed vaguely in his mind.
"Heh."
Upon seeing the words on the note, Soren suddenly smiled involuntarily.
Immediately afterward, he touched the corners of his mouth in utter shock.
He couldn't even remember when the last time he had smiled was.
After finishing a simple breakfast and tidying up the tableware, Soren decided to head back home to gather some clothes and bring them back.
He walked for a long time, yet the road home was not truly long.
Before he knew it, Soren had arrived.
Standing in front of the door, he hesitated slightly, took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.
Drip, drop—the moment he entered the house, he heard the sound of dripping water.
Entering the kitchen, he saw a pile of long-unwashed tableware piled messily in the sink.
Stepping forward, he picked up the dishcloth and began to wash.
As he scrubbed, thoughts of his mother returned, making his nose sting.
Once the plates and bowls were clean, he threw the shriveled vegetables and moldy bread into the trash can.
On the ground floor, the kitchen was to the left, while the living room and dining room occupied the center.
His parents' bedroom was on the right, and the staircase leading to the second floor was right next to their door.