Michael clutched the bag at his side tightly as if life or death demanded it, his eyes frantically darting at all directions.
He thought, nervously. 'Don't mess this up… these need to last till winter.'
He had barely taken a step when sticks crunched around him.
'Not them again... Ngh.'
Three shadows lurked behind the tall trees before suddenly popping out with rocks in their hands and flinging the stones at him. The rocks struck his shoulder and arm before he could react.
Wham!
It was those annoying three again—kids around his age who bullied Michael ever since his hair changed, and ironically, they had once been his closest friends before that.
One of them crept up from behind as small flames dispersed from his palm, igniting the logs strapped to Michael's back as he stumbled forward with a sharp gasp, tearing them free and dropping the burning bundle to the ground as embers scattered across the dirt.
"Well… won't you defend yourself, demon-boy," the orange-haired boy mocked, voice light with cruel amusement.
"Ngh… I told you, I'm not—!" Michael started, but the words broke under the pressure of their stares.
Another voice cut through, a boy with freckles stepping into view.
"Ever since you came back from those mountains, you've been… creepy. Always grinning. And… that hair…"
Silence settled in after him. One by one, they stared at Michael like something unfamiliar had replaced him entirely, their expressions tightening into something between disgust and anger.
Michael reached toward the flames. The heat bit into his skin, making him flinch and pull back.
His fingers twitched at his side.
Then, tentatively, he reached again. This time, he forced himself through it.
He tried to smother the fire with his bare hands, jaw clenched as the flames burned into his skin, flickering and dancing against his grip. A pang shot through him.
He withdrew slightly, then quickly scooped up soil and threw it over the flames again and again.
Only then did it hit him.
'If I had done this from the start… it would've been easier.'
The boy with the missing tooth pointed at him, laughing.
"Hahaha! Come on! Can't you use your magic to put it out?!"
The orange-haired boy—James stepped forward, picking up the satchel and opening it.
A devilish grin spread across his face.
"Ohhh… what are these? Herbs?"
As he grabbed them, Michael's expression instantly changed into a distressed look.
"No, please don't touch those! I beg you… it's medicine for my mother. She's not feeling well."
The boy sneered.
"Medicine for your mother, heh?"
His mischievous grin only spread wider. "Alright… I'll cut you some slack. If you kneel down before me and beg, I might reconsider."
Michael looked at him for a moment, something slowly boiling in him. Then he bit his lip, blood trickling down as he dropped to his knees and pressed his head to the ground. His burned, bruised hands rested in the dirt before him.
'If this makes them stop… then it's worth it.'
"Please… you don't have to go that far…" he pleaded softly.
James grinned and tossed the bag into the flames without a second thought, ignoring Michael's pleas as it burned to ash, leaving only the lingering scent of burnt herbs in the air.
"If you won't fight back, then you deserve nothing… not even mercy," the boy said coldly.
Michael's eyes widened in rage, his fists clenching as veins bulged… but then he remembered what his mother had told him: to never further antagonize the village.
Remmy showed a hint of guilt on his face.
"Wait, guys… don't you think we've caused enough damage here?"
James turned to him with a threatening look.
"Since when do you make the decisions around here, huh?"
Remmy quickly lowered his head, his hand trembling slightly before he clenched it.
"Uh… sorry for speaking out of turn."
The boy's eyes softened as he looked at Michael's dismal state for a moment, hesitantly…
...he joined the others.
Fists and kicks rained down. Bruises spread across Michael's body as he collapsed to the ground. Even as he lay there, they kept hitting him until he was nothing more than a battered heap in the dirt, blood trickling down his forehead, feeding the ground.
Eventually, they left the scene.
"I… I really hope… I can f-find more herbs before it gets too late… I… I think we can do without the wood tonight…" Michael muttered weakly.
Battered and beaten, he slowly pushed himself back onto his feet and began searching the forest floor for more herbs, continuing until nightfall, hoping that maybe… there were still some herbs he had missed.
*****
A few hours passed.
Michael limped through the dark, bruises marking his face. A bundle of logs weighed on his back, a small bag of herbs dangling from his fingers.
Moonlight stretched across his path as he made his way home, clutching his ribs.
"Ngh…"
*****
Back at the small wooden house where he lived with his sickly mother, moonlight seeped through the thin cracks in the walls. The roof was patched with uneven planks and old cloth, and the single room inside smelled faintly of herbs and smoke from the cooking hearth.
His mother lay resting on a modest bed near the window.
She had long black hair that spilled across the pillow, her skin pale and withered yet still gentle. Her brown eyes carried a faint glimmer of gold, and despite her illness, her natural beauty made it seem as though sickness had never truly claimed her.
"I wonder where Michael is… he should be back by now…" she murmured, before a cough interrupted her words.
She covered her mouth weakly and slowly pushed herself up, struggling to stay steady.
"I should go look for him…"
The doctor, standing beside her, spoke as he gently helped her lie back down. He was middle-aged, his face not particularly welcoming—at least when he wasn't smiling.
"Come on… he's a growing boy, Maria."
"He's only ten," she argued.
"Don't be reckless. With your condition, you couldn't even make it to the door, Maria," the doctor said.
"Even so… he's my baby boy. It's only natural for me to worry about him."
Her voice cracked.
"Especially since he's resented by the whole village for such a meager reason… my fear…"
She looked down.
"...my fear is that he's going to be alone for the rest of his life… all because of his hair."
"The thought that I don't have much time left… it breaks me," she whispered. "He's my pride and joy. I love my other boy too, of course… but Michael… he takes after me more than he does their father."
"That's no reason to favor…" the doctor said.
Then he smiled faintly, his voice softening.
"But I get it… Michael's your youngest… and it doesn't help that he's a momma's boy."
Doctor George, the man who had taken care of Maria's health for years and served as a sort of father figure to Michael, glanced down at her with quiet concern.
"You once told me," he said gently, "that Michael explored and ate some strange mushroom… and his hair changed forever."
She wore a wistful smile.
"Yes… I asked him what mushroom it was. He said it was a pure, bright golden one. Back then, I never thought much of it—until the other children started bullying him, trying to cut his hair. Miraculously, it always grew back immediately."
Doctor George's expression shifted slightly, his eyes sharpening.
He hesitated as the thought formed, as if he didn't want to consider what that might mean.
"Could it be…?"
But he stopped himself halfway, thinking twice... something he might have been better off not saying despite his curiosity.
Maria only shook her head gently, her gaze lingering on him for a moment before drifting away again.
Trying to shift the topic, she continued.
"He loves exploring," she said, her voice trembling faintly with memory. "Every time I read him stories, he would get so excited about whether the places existed or not… more than the story itself. And he said that someday, like the main character, he'd travel the entire world…"
She pressed a hand to her chest, tears threatening to spill.
"I couldn't help but… shed tears, knowing that someday he would go out into the world… and I wouldn't be able to stop him."
The door creaked open as Maria spoke...
Michael stumbled inside, limping, bruised, and battered, yet a wide grin stretched across his face.
"I'm home! And I brought back some of the herbs you asked for, Georgy!"
Doctor George shot up. "Hey, you little punk it's Doctor Geor… what happened to you?!"
"Michael! What happened to you? Did this—?" Maria's hands flew to her mouth, worry etched deep in her features.
Michael shrugged it off, forcing a smile.
"Nothing, Mom. I just… tripped and fell down a cliff. See? Nothing major."
"Nothing major?! You can barely stand properly, and you're battered, bleeding… tell me the truth, this instant, young man!"
"I already told you, you should be focusing on your recovery," Michael said, his left eye twitching slightly.
Maria's eyes narrowed.
"I am your mother. I know that twitch, Michael… that's a lie. Tell me, it was those boys again, wasn't it?!"
She struggled to rise, clutching her stomach, as coughed blood into her hand.
"I'm… I'm going to teach those… those boys a lesson."
Michael rushed to her side, gripping her shoulder.
"Mom, no! It's okay. Stay in bed and recover. Here, Georgy, the medicine you ordered! Please, save her with your magic."
Doctor George looked at Maria with pleading eyes.
"Maria… I think this is the right time to tell him."
Maria coughed violently as blood trailed from her mouth, her voice reduced to a harsh rasp. "George..."
"Quickly, Doc—use the herbs! She needs them!" Michael ordered, his expression tense with distress.
"You need healing too, Michael. Your injuries… they're deep—"
The doctor's voice barely registered.
"I'm fine! Just help my mother already!" Michael snapped back.
George's expression hardened, his fists clenching at his sides.
He took a deep breath, something in him pushing back, but he knew this had to be said... for it was better for the boy to see the blow coming than unguarded.
"Nothing will save her, Michael."
Maria's eyes widened. "George...!"
"I'm sorry, Maria. The boy needs to know. It's better for him to face it than find a corpse by surprise."
Michael staggered back, disbelief and fear rising in him, his hands shaking as he dropped the herbs, the contents spilling from the satchel.
"Stop…" he blurted.
"Just… just stop it…"
"Stop lying!" he snapped.
Maria sobbed.
"I… I'm sorry, Michael…"
Michael's tears streaming down his face. "No! I refuse to believe that!"
Doctor George frowned. "Michael, accept it. The sooner you..."
"Shut up!"
Michael swung, punching George in the face, then bolted toward the mountains. George fell, clutching his jaw as pain shot through his neck.
He thought, eyes widening: 'So that's why… Maria doesn't want Michael to defend himself from those kids… he could kill them…'
"Mi—Michael…" Maria rasped, blood bubbling at her lips. "Pl… please find my son… I want him to be the last face… I see…"
"Don't worry. I'll go for him right away!"
"Thank you… Georgy," Maria whispered.
"Hey! I told you not to call me that!"
George muttered, already sprinting into the distance.