The morning sun could barely pierce through the mist that hung over the village.
Its weak light slid between floating dust particles, giving the place a sleepy, muffled atmosphere.
The crooked, worn-down wooden houses formed narrow alleys where life moved slowly, yet in a strangely harmonious way.
A thin, quiet boy walked through that scenery.
His steps were short, light, almost timid against the dry earth.
His long hair — black as a raven — fell over half his face.
It didn't hide his eyes — only the world around him.
His clothes, worn and far too simple, made him even more invisible among the villagers.
Maybe it was on purpose.
Maybe that was all he had.
Even so…
People noticed him.
— Good morning, child! — greeted a plump old woman, adjusting a basket of shriveled fruits.
He only nodded.
No smile — but no one expected one from him.
— Slept better last night, Fred? — asked a blacksmith, wiping soot from his apron.
Frederin replied with another small nod.
The old man sighed with a fatherly smile.
Children ran toward him but slowed down, remembering how reserved he was.
A little girl, gathering courage, extended a tiny apple.
— Here… this is to help you through the day.
Fred hesitated.
Then he took the fruit carefully, like it might break in his hand.
— Thanks — he muttered, voice low and rough from lack of use.
The girl beamed, as if she had been the one to receive a gift.
Fred kept walking.
A gust of wind stirred up dust, lifting his long hair, hiding his face again —
but not his eyes.
The eyes never lied.
---
He reached the grounds of an unfinished building.
As soon as he entered, three construction workers stopped what they were doing.
Worker 1:
— Frederin! Look at that… you came early today, huh?
Worker 2, holding a bucket of concrete:
— First time you've ever arrived on time since you started here.
Worker 3, leaning on a shovel:
— Since you're so motivated, help finish that wall in the back.
Fred:
— I can. Just need to change clothes.
He walked to the small improvised bathroom.
The men watched him go.
Worker 1:
— He's just a kid… should be in school, not here.
Worker 3:
— Heard he wants to be an architect. Says he's taking a course.
Worker 2:
— If that's true, he's getting experience straight from the source. The kid learns fast.
Worker 3 sighed.
— The problem is the money.
Worker 1:
— What? Doesn't he get paid like us?
Worker 3 shook his head:
— He does, but his mother has this strange illness… treatment's too expensive.
And he still takes care of his little sister.
Worker 2:
— What about the father?
Worker 3:
— Died in a train accident. Years ago.
---
The late afternoon painted the village in golden and reddish tones, as if the day were being pulled away.
The wind grew colder.
Fred left the construction site, wiping dust from his forehead with his arm.
He wore rough worker's clothes:
a thick cotton tunic the color of earth;
an old leather vest;
baggy pants reinforced at the knees;
heavy boots covered in dry mud;
tools hanging from a rope belt.
A cold breeze cut through the coarse fabric, making him shiver.
Fred (muttering):
— Something's wrong… but what?
The streets were almost empty.
People shut windows, gathered children inside, ended conversations early.
The village breathed a tense, uneasy silence.
Fred (thought):
— Crap… I stayed too late today. Mom's probably worried.
When he reached his home — small, humble, cozy despite the poverty — he pushed the door open with his usual exhaustion.
Fred:
— Mom? I'm home!
Nothing.
Fred:
— Sis?… It's me.
No answer.
A suffocating silence.
Unease began eating at his chest.
He went up the stairs slowly, every creak feeling like a warning too late.
The bedroom door was slightly open.
He pushed it.
And what he saw… shattered him inside.
A tall, thin creature stood in the room.
Skin far too white.
No face — only a smooth, disturbing surface.
From its shoulders, black tentacles slithered like living roots.
It wore an old black suit —
a grotesque imitation of a human.
And it was devouring a woman's head.
His mother's head.
The sound… indescribable.
Fred froze.
Fred (broken):
— …mom…
The creature turned slowly.
From where its face should be, a deep, guttural vibration filled the room.
Then it spat blood.
Her blood.
Fred stepped back.
Then ran.
Ran like he never had in his life.
He tumbled down the stairs, almost falling.
The creature burst through the ceiling behind him, tentacles tearing down walls.
The whole house seemed to collapse.
Fred sprinted into the streets.
The monster came after him like a hurricane of destruction.
Houses fell.
Debris flew.
Screams cut through the air.
Tentacles ripped chunks of wood and hurled them at fleeing villagers.
Fred (thought, desperate):
— I don't wanna die… I can't die…
— Someone… PLEASE… someone help me!
Then a shadow crossed the street.
On top of a house, a figure appeared.
A tall man wearing a dark-blue coat that moved with the wind like something alive.
He jumped.
Landed between Fred and the creature with force enough to crack the ground.
The creature recoiled — for the first time.
Man:
— Fight someone who can strike back, you coward.
— Leave these defenseless people alone.
The words sliced through the air like blades.
The monster trembled, enraged.
Its smooth face slowly peeled open, forming something like a dark mouth —
a grotesque, wet void.
Inside, a glow appeared.
A fireball began forming, swelling violently.
It fired.
The man simply raised his hand.
Calmly.
Effortlessly.
And the fireball… vanished.
Evaporated in the air.
As if it had never existed.
The village, even in ruins, fell silent.