The wind slipped through the cracks in the window, carrying the smell of wet wood and smoke. A pale red light from the moon filled the small room, touching the broken floor and the old walls. The house looked tired, every board worn and uneven.
On a narrow bed lay a man wrapped in bandages. His breath was slow, heavy, each movement sharp with pain. He opened his eyes, staring at the roof that seemed ready to fall apart. Everything around him felt strange, unfamiliar, and cold.
The air was still except for the faint creak of wood. Dust hung in the dim light. He tried to move his fingers; they were thin, scarred, and weak. A dull ache spread through his chest. He did not remember this place… or this body.
A soft voice came from the door.
"You shouldn't move yet."
A tall man stood there, his dark pupils steady and sharp under the faint moonlight. His jawline was strong, his expression calm but tired. He wore a gray uniform with a faded silver badge on his shoulder, the cloth showing years of use. This was James Santh, the elder brother of the man lying on the bed.
"How long was I here?" he asked weakly.
James stepped closer, his boots thudding softly on the wooden floor. His gaze stayed firm but carried a hint of worry.
"You just got here," he said. "They brought you by horse carriage not long ago. You were barely breathing."
He nodded slowly, trying to understand. His mind felt like it belonged to someone else.
James placed a small wooden cup beside the bed.
"Drink this. It'll help with the pain."
The liquid burned his throat, but it brought warmth to his tired body. For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sound came from the wind pushing at the thin walls.
James looked toward the window. The crimson moon hung low in the sky, its light dull and heavy.
"They say the moon turns red when the world mourns," he murmured. "But grief has lasted too long in this land."
Outside, the dirt road was empty. Old houses leaned against each other like weary men. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang from a watchtower, echoing across the hills.
He turned his gaze back to the ceiling. His body was weak, but his thoughts were stronger than ever. The feeling of wrongness would not fade. He knew, deep inside, that he did not belong here.
The candle beside him flickered once, then went out. The room sank into silence under the red glow of the moon.
"Johan, are you fine, do you need anything" James asked without hesitation towards the young man in his teens lying on the bed.
Later with the help of gas pipes in the room, James went to the kitchen then took a white candle from the top second shelf and lit with his ordinary looking metal Lightner.
He sat besides Johan and placed the candle near the corner of the bed and said
"A light lamp would be nice, I will buy them with this week's income"
...