My entire field of view is filled with gold and dark red. The sky, the clouds, the mountains, even the horizon.
It’s a very beautiful sight.
The colors in this landscape hold such warmth, and yet… a slight chill seems to penetrate my chest, as well as a sense of loneliness.
It’s probably because this view also marks the end of daytime. When we have to say goodbye to the sun and prepare for the arrival of the moon and the stars.
For this reason, dusk can represent separation.
Separation can be brief, lasting only until the next day. It can be long too, like when a loved one has to go far away.
And sometimes, it may already be the last farewell.
I open the carriage window, place my forearms on the frame, and stick my face out the window, looking around.
Has everyone already gone home for the day?
Because I don’t see any villagers around here.
Today’s dusk is rather quiet. Maybe a little too quiet.
Even when I strain my ears as much as I can, I hear nothing but the rustling of dry leaves and the sounds of small insects.
Soon, the carriage begins to climb up the slope leading to the herb garden near the western forest, going full speed ahead for a while.
From the gently meandering path, I easily spot a young blonde man from afar. He’s walking at quite the slow pace.
As the carriage approaches him, I notice the thick layer of mud covering his clothes, arms, and face.
And in his mud-caked arms is a white cloth bundle.
He holds it very, very carefully, as though holding treasure.
Whatever that item is has been carefully wrapped in a white cloth. It’s also small enough for him to hold it in his arms.
If that young man has noticed the carriage, he doesn’t show it. Not once has he looked up. He just… keeps his eyes trained on the white bundle as he walks.
Shurio notices him too. He then glances back toward me through the small window between the coachman’s seat and the passengers’ seats, looking like he really wants to say something.
I nod at him, silently expressing that I noticed him as well. “Shurio, stop the carriage.”
“Y-yes.”
After we stop the carriage on the shoulder of the road, I open the door and get off. “Alfred!” I call out.
The young man slowly looks up.
His eyes, usually the color of the clear blue sky, are now dark and murky. They resemble a mix between the colors of the day and night sky.
His face is devoid of any expression. I can’t read what he’s thinking or feeling.
Just like the Alfred from long ago.
YOU ARE READING
Nurturing the Hero to Avoid Death
Romance"Please, I implore you to save the world." This is what a goddess in white says to me in a pure-white space. Such is the standard line that suggests the game is about to begin. Please say this stirring line to boys and girls with sparkling eyes! It'...
