The sun had long begun to set, spilling a deep orange across the horizon. The quiet hum of the crickets outside filled the air as Lif stood by the small table. The air smelled faintly of cooked bread and soot from the morning's repairs.
He didn't look back when the door creaked open behind him.
"Where are you going?"
Mary's voice was soft, uncertain.
Lif straightened, pulling the last strap into place before replying.
"Leaving."
Jenna stepped forward, confusion and worry crossing her face. "Leaving? Why? You just got back."
He finally turned, eyes calm but heavy. "Your father got attacked because I was here. I can't risk that happening again. Especially not if someone stronger shows up — that Teris guy, or anyone else like him."
Mary frowned, walking closer until she stood right in front of him. "But who says they'll come back? That man said he was going to tell the king you escaped — so… wouldn't that mean staying here works better? They'd look everywhere except here."
Lif sighed quietly. "Sadly, no. Too many guards saw me when I escaped. My face, my build — they know who I am. If they come here again and find me, it won't just be me in danger this time."
He looked down at the wooden floor. "I won't put you, or your parents, at risk again."
He made his way for the door. Mary and Jenna exchanged a quick look before following him outside, their steps hurried.
"Wait—" Jenna called out. "At least think about it. You can stay for another night. Just one."
"I can't," Lif said without turning. "Every hour I stay makes it worse for you."
They walked out into the yard, where the air was cool and faintly misted. The porch creaked under their steps as the last of the daylight clung to the trees.
Mary walked ahead of him, spinning around to block his way. "You're not even healed properly. You should rest at least until morning."
Lif gave a faint, tired smile. "I heal fast enough."
"That's not the point!" she snapped, her voice cracking slightly. "You think running off makes it better for everyone, but what about you? You're alone out there."
"I've always been alone," he replied simply.
That silence hit harder than either of them expected.
Even Jenna stopped walking for a second.
By the time they reached the front yard, their parents were there — sitting on the railing of the porch. Their father's hands were clasped, his face still bandaged where the bruise had darkened. When he saw them, he slowly rose.
Lif stopped instinctively, his boots crunching softly against the gravel.
"I suppose you're leaving," the man said, voice deep and steady.
Lif nodded once. "Yeah."
The man exhaled slowly, rubbing his jaw. "Well… I can't exactly hold you here, can I?"
Lif looked at him curiously. "Didn't you hate me?"
The man gave a short, quiet laugh. "I did. Thought you'd bring trouble — and I wasn't wrong about that part."
He paused, his tone softening. "But you risked your life for me, kid. I don't think I can hold a grudge against someone who saved me. Seems… wrong, doesn't it?"
Lif looked down for a moment, unsure how to respond. "…I guess."
The man nodded, then held out his hand. It was rough, scarred, strong. Lif hesitated — then stepped closer and shook it. The grip was firm but warm.
"Giddeon," the man said, almost proudly. "That's my name. And… sorry for being so rude before. I've had a long history with humans, and none of it good."
Lif shook his head. "It's fine. Everyone has their problems."
His tone was quiet but sincere. "You had your reasons."
Giddeon nodded once, almost grateful for the understanding. As they let go, the air between them felt… lighter. Not free of tension, but clean — like something old had finally settled.
Mary's mother gave a small smile from the porch. "You'll always have a place here if you need it," she said softly.
Lif turned slightly, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nodded in thanks.
Then he faced Mary and Jenna.
"Take care," he said.
It was simple, but the way he said it — quiet, almost reverent — made both girls fall silent.
Mary smiled sadly. "You too, Lif."
Jenna raised a hand, her voice softer than before. "Don't get yourself killed out there."
He gave a faint grin — that small, tired one he rarely showed. "I'll try."
He stepped back, the last traces of sunlight cutting through the trees, painting his shadow long across the dirt path.
As he turned and started walking away, the house behind him stayed still — no one spoke for a long time.
Just the sound of the wind, the distant rustle of leaves, and the faint creak of the porch as Giddeon sat back down, watching the boy vanish into the fading light.