Chapter 1) Where the Grass Grows Tall
He looked about sixteen. His hair, light like dawn's first rays, fell softly across his forehead, and his eyes, deep, pure, the color of a faraway ocean, seemed out of place for someone born in a quiet village. He was handsome, so much so that some in the village felt a restrained envy, while others looked upon him with a kind of reverence, like one might gaze at a rare, almost celestial being. Some whispered that he resembled an angel. Perhaps they weren't wrong, but he never gave it much thought.
To everyone else, he was simply Caelum, a boy who lived at the edge of the village with his uncle. He knew nothing of his parents. Since infancy, it had been his uncle, a stern but kind man with calloused hands and a warm heart, who had raised him. Caelum helped him with chores, chopped firewood, hauled water from the well, and fixed the fence whenever the wind knocked it down again. Their home stood slightly apart from the main road, surrounded by tall grass and blooming shrubs. Life here moved gently, like an old song playing behind the rustle of leaves.
Despite his appearance, Caelum never saw himself as special. Beauty wasn't an achievement, it was just chance. What mattered more to him was being useful. He often helped the elderly carry flour sacks, repaired the miller's roof, or tended to the neighbor's sick dog. People respected him for his kindness, not his face, and that's what he valued.
There was something quietly magnetic about him, calm, sincere, steady. He spoke simply but wisely and listened with intent. His charisma wasn't loud or boastful, it was like morning sunlight slipping softly through a windowpane.
The sun had only just begun to rise over the rooftops, casting golden light across the village. The dusty street breathed with the freshness of morning, somewhere, a bird cried out, shutters creaked open to greet the day. Caelum walked the path between houses unhurriedly, a small basket of leftover bread in his hands. He nodded to the old woman by the well, helped a boy pick up his spilled apples, and was about to turn down the lane to his uncle's house when a familiar voice called out:
"Hey, morning hero! Coming with me to the market today, or are you going to sit around and philosophize by the pond again?"
It was Syrex, dark-haired with a forever-messy fringe and eyes that sparkled with mischief. His brown eyes shimmered in the light, full of energy, as if the whole world amused him. His smile, wide, fast, genuine, appeared the moment he spotted Caelum.
He skidded to a halt beside him, catching his breath, a sly grin tugging at his lips.
"So, you going to pretend you're busy, or admit your day's a bore without me?"
Caelum chuckled, not even glancing at him, and shook his head. They didn't need words to understand each other, everything worth saying had been said over the years.
Syrex was his best friend. From the moment they could walk, maybe even before, when the world was just warmth and sounds, they had been side by side. Ten years of shared footsteps, from diapers to dumb arguments, from hide-and-seek to helping at the market. Where Syrex went, Caelum followed. They watched sunsets together on the hill outside the village, argued about stars, got into trouble, and always got out of it, sometimes muddy, sometimes bruised, but never alone.
Their friendship was real. No dramatics. No declarations. Just always… there.
---
Flashback – Eleven Years Ago
The day smelled of rain.
Wet grass clung to bare feet, and the air was warm, almost sticky, thick with the scent of earth, leaf-drip, and freshly turned soil. Thunder still rumbled somewhere, but the downpour had passed, leaving the village freshly scrubbed, glistening. Puddles mirrored the gray sky, droplets slid lazily from rooftops in the hush that follows a storm.
Caelum sat alone at the village's edge, perched on a fallen log, hidden from view. His hair was damp, plastered to his forehead. He stared into the distance, where paths vanished among trees, silent. The day had been hard. One of those days where the other kids asked too many questions again. About his parents. About why his eyes looked like the river, and why his face resembled one of the holy icons. He never answered. He just walked away.
He always walked away.
"Why are you sitting here?"
A voice, light, a bit raspy, but kind.
Caelum turned. A boy stood before him, taller, in a dirt-streaked shirt, with coal-black hair spilling over his forehead. His brown eyes held no mockery, only something surprised… and honest.
"Hiding?" the boy asked again, gentler this time, and plopped down beside him in the grass.
Caelum said nothing.
"I'm Syrex," the boy offered naturally. "And you're Caelum. I know you. You live by the well. You gave me water once, remember?"
A nod.
Silence again. Rain still trickled from branches.
Syrex tore a leaf, rolled it into a tube, and blew through it like a flute, it let out a weird, hollow sound. He snorted.
"You know, if you sit here any longer, you'll grow roots. I wanted to show you a place. But you have to promise, tell no one."
Caelum looked at him properly for the first time. And almost imperceptibly, his lips twitched. The first smile of the day.
"Let's go," he said.
They ran through the wet grass, splashing, past the old barn, over a stone fence, into the forest. There, behind the trees, was a moss-covered rock, and beyond it, a shallow ravine where a stream gurgled quietly. The place was alive: dragonflies swirled, birds called to each other, and sunlight filtered through the leaves like stained glass.
"No one comes here. Just me," Syrex said. "And now you. I'll allow two people. No more."
Caelum said nothing. He sat by the stream, touched the cold water, and felt something inside him uncoil. The heaviness, the silence, it all lightened. As if someone had chosen to share the quiet with him.
From that day on, they came here often.
At first, they just sat. Then they talked. Then they whispered in class, stole apples, raced to the pond. Laughed until they cried. Protected each other. Forgave each other. And sat in silence when words were too much.
They grew into this friendship, like two trees whose roots had intertwined.
And every time Caelum looked into Syrex's eyes, he remembered,
That day, after the rain, changed everything.
---
Present Day) Morning in the Village
The market buzzed with life. The air was thick with the scent of fresh bread, spices, earth, and apples. The sun stood high, its light reflecting off tent fabric, iron hooks, glass flasks, and colorful fruits on wooden stalls. Everything was loud. Everything moved. Everything lived.
"Apples! Fresh apples!" an old man shouted, bandana tied across his brow.
"Come closer! Finest honey around!" came another voice.
"Hey, boy, don't touch if you're not buying!" a woman barked, swatting a kid away from her carrots.
Caelum and Syrex walked side by side through the crowd. Syrex led the way as usual, restless, talkative, while Caelum stayed calm, composed, eyes narrowed slightly against the glare. Their steps were synchronized, like those of people who no longer needed to match pace, they already did.
"Look, Mary's selling those berries again," Syrex nodded toward a stall. "Let's hope they're worm-free this time."
"You'll still buy them," Caelum murmured.
"She smiles at me like I saved her whole harvest from drought. I'm only human."
They stopped by the familiar stall. Apples, copper syrup flasks, bundles of herbs, two cloth-wrapped pies. Simple things, but shared moments made them warmer.
As Caelum paid and packed their things, Syrex glanced toward the second row and muttered:
"…Don't wanna go to Greta's stand today."
Caelum looked over. "Why? That old lady again?"
Syrex groaned, dropping his voice to a theatrical whisper.
"She'll yell that we still owe her from last time. And I'm not emotionally prepared for her war cry."
"I'll pay for you," Caelum said calmly, without turning.
"You already paid for the fruit."
"It's fine. Survival takes priority."
Syrex snorted, but there was a grateful smile on his face. He nudged Caelum's elbow.
"You're not just an angel-face. You're a saint."
"A saint with a basket of apples," Caelum smirked.
And they pressed forward again, into the crowd full of arguing, haggling, shouting, and living.
Waiting ahead, at the second row, stood Greta, the perpetually grumpy stall keeper.
"I see her," Syrex muttered darkly.
"Don't be scared. If needed, I'll throw an apple at her," Caelum whispered.
"Don't. She might think it's a love confession."
Greta stood like a guard at her post. Stern face, eyes narrowed, back straight, arms crossed. Her braid was tied so tightly, it looked like it had stayed that way for a decade. A sign above read:
"Greta's Family Stall. No Haggling."
"Well well well! Look who finally showed up!" she bellowed. "My favorite thieves with pretty hair! Where's my money, you troublemakers?"
"Dear Greta," Syrex began, hand over heart, "on this fine day we come to repay our sacred debt and perhaps, humbly, to beg for a few of your delightful pickles, "
"I'll give you pickles up your nose, you rascal! You've avoided my stall for three markets!"
"Not true. I just… didn't have time to turn," he said seriously, while Caelum behind him struggled not to laugh.
She turned on Caelum.
"And you! You think just because you look like a holy icon, I'll forgive his debts?"
"He's not laughing. That's just his naturally radiant face," Syrex cut in. "Shines like your cabbage in the sun."
"Ugh, " she grunted, but a faint smile tugged at her mouth.
"We'll pay everything. Right now," Caelum said, offering coins. "And two pies, please. Just don't hit him."
She huffed, slapped a rag on the counter, and nodded.
"Fine. But next time, don't show up empty-handed. Or at least bring flowers. I'm a lonely woman, you know!"
"Duly noted!" Syrex called, stuffing buns and a jar of honey into his bag. "Next time, we bring you a poem!"
"Bring wine!" she shouted after them as they walked off, laughing.
They walked through the market, Syrex still giggling.
"Did you see her face when you pulled out the coins? I swear she re-evaluated her whole life."
"You exaggerate," Caelum smiled.
"I'm not. Another second, and you'd be Greta's husband."
"Please, no," Caelum replied dryly, but amusement shimmered in his eyes.
The village neared again, rooftops between trees, the road quieted, the crowd fading behind.
And the day, which began so ordinary, suddenly felt a little lighter.
As it always does, when someone's beside you, laughing.
They were nearing the village outskirts now. The sounds of the market faded behind them, replaced by the rhythm of village life: birdsong, the flap of laundry in the breeze, the clink of buckets. Sunlight slipped across rooftops and danced in puddles of dust, warm and golden, everything exactly as it always was,
Until they turned down a narrow lane.
"Hey…" Syrex's voice dropped.
There, in the shadow between two houses, sitting on a crooked wooden step, was a girl. She looked about fifteen, maybe younger. Her pale blouse was dirt-streaked, knees scraped and bloodied, hands clenched into fists, her face buried in them. She trembled, quietly sobbing, as if trying not to cry but failing.
Caelum and Syrex exchanged a sharp glance. No words. No questions. They both understood instantly, something was wrong.
Syrex crouched a short distance away, his tone soft, gentle:
"Hey… are you okay? Did something happen?"
She flinched but didn't look up.
"Really," he said quietly. "We just want to help."
"Leave me alone!" she snapped, her voice jagged with panic. "It's… it's not your business!"
Syrex blinked in surprise and leaned back. Caelum, who had stayed silent, stepped forward. His voice was calm, even:
"We won't hurt you. Just tell us if you're in pain. Or if you're afraid. We won't walk away."
A pause. The girl sat still, hiding her face, then, slowly, as if warring with herself, she turned.
Her face was red and tear-streaked, eyes swollen… but then her gaze dropped.
Not to their faces.
To the ground….
beneath them.
And something inside her broke.
Her pupils widened. Her breath hitched. Her face drained of color. She gasped, a sharp, strangled sound:
"Under… under your feet, what is that?!"
Caelum and Syrex looked down at the same time.
…
"Okay… what the hell was that?" Syrex muttered, watching the girl disappear around the corner in a full run.
Silence fell, thick as fog.
Caelum stared down, just dirt, pebbles, crushed grass. Nothing strange. He looked at Syrex and shook his head.
"She said… something was beneath us. I didn't see anything either."
"Weird kid," Syrex murmured, scratching the back of his neck. "She looked like she saw a ghost."
They walked in silence for a while, each lost in thought. The sun dipped toward the horizon, casting long shadows. The breeze had cooled, rustling the treetops. Lights flickered on in nearby homes.
"Well, see you tomorrow," Syrex said eventually, stopping at a corner. "Same time?"
"Of course."
"And if a demon crawls out from under your bed tonight, remember, not my fault."
Caelum smirked, waved a hand, and they split off, heading home in opposite directions, as always, just before evening fully settled.
His steps followed the worn dirt path to the edge of the village. The streets were calming down: shutters closing, children being called inside, firewood being stacked neatly by doors. The air smelled of supper and smoke. Birds circled lazily overhead, and night was curling slowly over the rooftops.
Caelum's house stood a bit apart, closer to the woods. A modest home with a creaky porch, climbing vines on the railings, and herbs growing thick below the windows. Warm light spilled through the curtains, and the smell of bread and stew lingered in the air.
He opened the door,
It groaned in protest, as always.
"Where've you been, boy?" came his uncle's voice from the kitchen.
Caelum shut the door behind him and pulled off his boots.
"At the market. Then… something happened."
"Something?"
"I'll tell you later. Nothing serious."
His uncle stood by the hearth, stirring a pot. Tall, broad, his beard going gray, hands scarred and strong. He didn't turn.
"Alright. But if someone tried selling you that 'miracle root of happiness' again, punch first. We've been over this."
Caelum chuckled and set the basket on the table. The house was simple, old. The wood groaned, the furniture creaked. But it was warm here. Steady. Safe. A place where thoughts could settle.
And yet,
As night rolled in and the shadows deepened,
Caelum found his mind circling back again,
to the girl's eyes.
To her panic.
To the question she didn't ask,
but screamed with her fear:
What did she see beneath his feet?