The room was quiet, bathed in pale afternoon light that filtered gently through the modest window. It wasn't grand by noble standards, but to Nolan, it felt like a palace. The stone floor was smooth and clean beneath his feet. One bare bed stood in the center. It was a far cry from the dirt floors and crumbling walls of his old home, where he used to sleep with only a worn-out blanket.
Nolan hesitated at the door, unsure of what to do. Lero was on the other side of the bed, folding his clothes in silence. It wasn't awkward—just the kind of quiet that settled naturally between two reserved souls. Still, Nolan knew he couldn't stay quiet forever. He was the older brother now. He had to take the initiative as they were going to live here together.
He wasn't used to this—to being the one who set the tone, the one looked up to. It was unfamiliar, but he wanted to try. He wanted to be the kind of brother he wished he'd had.
"Do you... want help with that?" Nolan asked softly.
Lero blinked up at him, surprised, then smiled and shook his head. "It's okay. I know how to do it."
They worked together in companionable silence. Nolan felt a strange warmth bloom in his chest. Unlike the children in his village, Lero didn't look at him as if he was a monster. He was initially worried that he would be scared of him.
He looked at the new clothes in his hands. It was a far cry from his previous old and tattered clothes. The fabric was soft, the colors vibrant. It was the first time he'd ever had something truly his. His hands trembled slightly as he folded a tunic, gratitude tightening his throat.
He thought of Altair—of the house, the meals, the warmth, and now, the clothes. He knew all of this was possible because Alvis had begged for him to be here, and because Altair had taken pity on him. He hadn't done anything to deserve this kindness.
That thought stung.
If accepting all this without earning it made him detestable, then he would find a way to be worthy.
If I have to give my life to repay this kindness... then so be it. Even if they grew to hate him one day, at least for now, he had tasted what it felt like to live like this.
A knock interrupted his thoughts. Nolan straightened instinctively.
Altair's voice came from behind the door. "Are you two finished setting up?"
Nolan rushed to open it. Altair stood there, arms full of blankets, mattresses, and pillows.
"These are yours," he said, setting them down.
Then his eyes shifted to Lero. "Can you go to Alvis and Verda's room for a bit? I want to talk to Nolan."
Nolan froze. Had he done something wrong?
Lero nodded and left quietly.
Altair patted the mattress. "Relax. I just want to talk."
Still tense, Nolan sat beside him.
"I've been meaning to ask," Altair began gently, "how did you get your scars, Nolan?"
Panic flared in Nolan's chest. His hand instinctively went to his damp hair. Thinking that Altair despises his appearance.
"I—I'm sorry. I'll wrap my face. I was still drying my hair, I didn't mean—"
Altair placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Calm down. That's not what I meant. You don't need to hide from us okay? I just want to know more about you."
Nolan stared at him. The sincerity in Altair's voice pierced through the wall of fear and shame he'd always carried. His vision blurred as his mind spiraled back to the past memories.
He had been five when the accident happened. He and some friends had followed hunters into the woods, thinking it was a game, an adventure. They didn't understand the danger.
Until a boar appeared.
It was huge. Furious. Its bloodshot eyes and gleaming tusks were all he remembered before chaos broke loose. The ground was soft beneath his palms as he scrambled to run, but his legs were too short, too slow.
The boar charged—and he was the first to be caught.
He still recalled how the pain tore through him. The tusks ripped into his flesh. He remembered the weight, the pressure, the red haze. His body froze in fear. He couldn't scream. He couldn't breathe. The world became pain, fear, and helplessness. His friends' screams echoed around him—frantic, terrified.
The memory blurred after that. He woke later, broken and disfigured.
But the real torture began after. The wound festered, his face burned, and no one could stop it. His family was too poor to afford a doctor. They pressed herbs into the wound, but they didn't help. The pain was constant. For weeks, he suffered until numbness took over.
The worst part wasn't the injury—it was what followed.
The way people looked at him.
The revulsion. The disgust.
His parents, once hopeful for his future because he'd been smart, now saw only a ruined child. He remembered the helplessness he felt when they tried to sell him, but unfortunately no one wanted a disfigured boy.
Nolan's hand brushed his scarred cheek. The pain hadn't faded. It lived in his bones.
A hand on his shoulder pulled him back. Altair's voice was calm, grounding.
"Nolan? Are you uncomfortable? You don't have to talk about it if you're not ready."
Nolan blinked. His chest tightened, and he nodded faintly.
"It's okay," he whispered. "I was just... thinking how to say it."
And so he told Altair everything.
When he finished, the room was silent. Altair looked at him with soft eyes and asked, "If I told you I had a way to remove your scars—would you want to?"
Nolan flinched. "No—I mean... you've already done so much. There's no need. I'm used to it."
"But you're not fine," Altair said firmly. "I want you to look at yourself without fear. To feel confident again."
Of course Nolan wanted that too. But he doesn't want to impose too much on Altair, he hasn't even paid him for giving him things.
Altair pulled out a small bottle filled with shimmering green liquid. "Don't refuse me anymore. After all, I already brought the medicine. Let's try it?"
Nolan opened his mouth to decline—but Altair added:
"Didn't you say you accepted me as your parent? Then let me act like one."
Nolan's breath hitched. His lips trembled. Something inside him cracked.
Altair gently took Nolan's arm and uncorked the small glass vial. The liquid inside shimmered like moonlight. As he poured it over the scarred skin, a gentle warmth spread through Nolan's arm. He gasped—
The rough, mangled flesh began to soften. The color slowly returned, and the worst of the scarring eased. It wasn't fully healed, but it no longer looked as scary as before.
For the first time in a long while, Nolan felt a spark of hope.
Altair grinned. "It works."
Before Nolan could speak, another bottle was pulled out of thin air and uncorked. The moment the green liquid touched his arm, he felt the same warmth.
The twisted tissue untangled, smoothing out like silk. Discolored patches faded, replaced by fresh, healthy skin. Veins reformed, muscle knit back together—and in seconds, his arm looked untouched, as if it had never been harmed.
Nolan stared in disbelief. His arm was whole again.
"What...?" Nolan whispered.
Altair didn't reply. He pulled out two more vials.
"Lie down."
Nolan obeyed, stunned. The warmth spread over his face like a gentle embrace. He didn't move, even as his skin itched and shifted.
"All done. Take a look."
Altair handed him a small knife. He took it in confusion, not understanding why the knife was handed to him. But as he looked at it, he noticed a figure reflected on the blade. Within it, the image of a young boy with a clean face appeared. He touched his own face—and the reflection did the same.
It was his face.
His breath hitched. He ran trembling fingers down his cheek as if trying to prove it was real.
Tears slipped down his cheeks.
His world shifted at that moment. He had always believed that kindness came with a cost. That love was conditional. His parents had once cared for him because they saw value in him. When that value disappeared, so did their affection.
But now...
Maybe not everyone was like that.
Maybe this time, the heavens had taken pity on him and finally allowed him to feel warmth.
He looked at Altair and made a silent vow: From this moment on, he would see him as his parent. He would serve him, protect him, and be loyal to the end. He would care for him, obey him without question—and if it ever came to it, he would die for him without hesitation.
Unaware of the vow just made, Altair's mind was already calculating.
Forty points... He spent a total amount of forty points. That potion's not omnipotent as he thought.
He only had twenty points left now; he needed to find a way to earn more soon.
A soft chime suddenly rang, causing him to flinch.
[+100 Trust Points earned.]
"…Maybe it was worth it after all."