Shad had stayed up to water the crops under the moonlight. He enjoyed the stillness. The stars. The quiet.But then he heard it—soft footsteps, a faint rustling.
Someone had breached the fence.
He moved like lightning.
Then a shout echoed in the night.
Then came the screams.
By the time Jess arrived, the man was already tied up. His body was bruised, bloodied. One of his arms bent at a sickening angle.
"Shad!" Jess gasped. "What did you—?!"
"He was stealing," Shad said flatly, his voice void of emotion. "He broke into the fence."
Jess knelt by the man, who wheezed painfully. His clothes were in tatters. He was badly beaten, but looking closely, he had suffered older injuries too. Around his neck hung a broken collar—rusted, chained.
"He's a runaway," she whispered, horror dawning in her voice.
The man, however, was crying and gnashing his teeth, as if every curse had been placed upon him.
Shad didn't respond. He had seen the man grab corn and stuff it inside his clothes. He asked for it.
The next morning, three cloaked riders arrived in the village.They wore no banners, but the people grew silent at their presence. Even the children vanished from the streets. They wore better clothes than most of the villagers and carried a certain air around them.
They were all of noble status. The men were family members of the Lord of the land on which the village was built. The villagers basically paid them rent every month.
"We tracked our property here," said one of them, a slightly chubby man in his early thirties, with a cold smile. "A bit of a wanderer, this one."
Jess stood between them and the injured man, who was barely conscious now. One could see he had been given food just a while ago and had apparently eaten.
"You can't take him," Jess said, bravely standing her ground. "He—he needs help."
But Shad stepped forward, arms crossed.
"I was the one who caught him," he said.
The chubby noble looked Shad over. In his eyes, he was energetic and physically capable. Tall, sharp-eyed, and clearly intimidating.
"You did well," the noble said, then glanced over at the other villagers. "Most folk just let them go. Or hide them."
Then, to Shad's surprise, he tossed him a pouch. Coins clinked together inside—silver.
"Payment," the man said. "For services rendered."
Shad easily caught the pouch.
He blinked.
'Indeed, it is silver! Finally, I knew it. With this, I can buy more meat, tools, new clothes. Things we need,' he thought.
He turned to thank the man—only to notice the way the villagers stood far behind the nobles, eyes lowered, silent, afraid. Still, he knew how deals worked.
"Thank you, sir," he said, making the nobles just smile at him. The other two even chuckled.
Jess said nothing. She only looked at Shad. Seeing her stare at him, Shad looked back and smiled—but in that moment, something in him twisted, and his brows furrowed.
He looked down at the beaten man, now being dragged back in chains as if he weren't even alive. The blood on the ground. The fear in Jess's eyes.
"You ate well, didn't you? Served you well. Now, stay there and repent," the noble who only looked fifteen said, chuckling.
The nobles left shortly after.
That evening, Shad sat by the fire, the pouch of silver untouched in his lap.
Jess finally spoke.
"That man was only trying to eat," she said quietly. "He wasn't trying to hurt anyone."
Shad didn't answer. He only stared at the flame.
It flickered gently, casting shadows on the walls.
"…I didn't know," he said at last. "And I don't care. I understand desperation can make people do many things—even evil ones. But such is reality. While I'm speaking right now, he's probably getting whipped—or maybe he's already dead. Not just him, but even people we don't know. Such is the world."
Jess didn't respond. She simply walked into the house. Before she left, she looked back at Shad one more time.She thought she understood him—but looking closer, the man was still a stranger to her.How could he be so cold?How could he beat someone half to death and think it was just… right?All for stealing corn?
When she left, Shad remained alone, watching the fire flicker.
Yet, despite what he said, for the first time since arriving, he felt a knot in his chest.
What is this? I'm getting pissed.
Out of sheer frustration, he smashed his forehead to the ground and punched the soil, making his knuckles bleed.He kept remembering the faces of the Masters, and the scene where they dragged the runaway slave behind their horses.And it annoyed him—so much.
For the first time, angry veins appeared beneath his skin, and he smashed the wooden bowl he had made.
The broken wooden bowl lay in pieces at his feet.
Shad stared at it, breathing heavily.
Not because of the bowl—but because of everything.The screaming man.The chains.The laughter of the Masters.The silence of the villagers.Jess's eyes.
The bowl had taken him hours to carve. Days even, just to get the curve right.
He hadn't even wanted anyone using it—not even Jess, since he had already made her her own.Now, it was splintered—like something inside him.
The next few days passed quietly, but not peacefully.
The silver pouch sat untouched on the shelf, collecting dust. Shad didn't spend it. Didn't count it.He only glanced at it sometimes.
Jess, meanwhile, never broke from her routine. She collected herbs, cooked food, did laundry, talked to the villagers, played with kids…But more than ever, she was now often away from their hut.
She still spoke to him—but only when necessary.Her words were polite. Her voice even.But something was missing.
They worked together in the fields, collected herbs, cooked meals.But the silence between them grew longer.
One morning, Shad walked down to the river alone. He cupped water in his hands and stared at his reflection.
That stranger again.
Golden eyes stared back at him—empty. Dull.
Before he knew it, he splashed the water away.
A week passed.
Shad was walking past the village granary when he saw a boy—barely ten years old—tugging a sack of wheat behind a shed. Shad followed him without a word.
The boy froze, wide-eyed.
"Please," the boy whispered. "It's for my sister. She's sick. We haven't eaten since last night."
Shad's fingers twitched.
A part of him—old, brutal, instinctive—told him to grab the boy by the collar, drag him out, make an example.People won't really learn unless they face consequences. They need to understand what they're doing.
But something else—quiet and buried—made his hand pause.
He stepped back.
"Leave it," he said simply.
The boy blinked, not understanding.
"I said leave it. I'll bring food later. Just… go home."
The boy hesitated, then dropped the sack and ran.
That night, Shad did as he said.
He took two baskets of vegetables, three wooden carvings from his shelf, and the silver pouch—still sealed—and walked to the boy's hut.
When the door opened, the boy's older sister—a girl only slightly younger than Jess—stared at him in shock.
"For you," he said, placing the things down.
Then he turned and walked away without waiting for thanks.
The next morning, Jess still said nothing. Until that evening. She stood at the doorway, arms folded, watching him carve by the firelight.
"Where did you go last night?" she asked at last.
Shad didn't look up.
"Somewhere."
"I heard. The scary man gave some kids food?"
Shad stopped and slowly looked at the girl."How did you know?"
"Just because," Jess said, stepping closer.
Her voice was quiet.
"Why?"
He paused.
"I don't know. I was bored. I'm sorry for giving away the vegetables. I'll buy some tomorrow," he said. Then, after a moment, he stopped sculpting altogether, even though it was unfinished.
Jess sat across from him.
They didn't speak for a while.
Then she gently picked up one of the unfinished carvings by his side—a wolf, half-shaped.
"Can I take this? It's so cute."
"No," Shad said dryly. "It's an order from the chief."
Jess laughed.
The sound, after so long, made something in him ease.
But that night, when he slept, the dreams came again.
This time, it was a burning castle, and he was walking across a sea of bones and skulls, with human voices screaming at him.
Shad woke up with sweat dripping down his neck.
His hands were clenched. The blanket had been gripped tightly in his fingers.
He stepped outside.
There, under the moonlight, he stared at the golden fields. His heart was thudding and slowly… his hollow golden eyes began to glow—with a tint of thin black, swirling. It had been far too long. He thought he had lost them. But finally, his shadow powers were back.