The encounter by the stream had struck like a clap of thunder, leaving a deep chill in Aeternus’s heart. Frieda Reiss’s violet eyes, that power which had tried to erase his memories—it had made him truly understand what absolute power was, and what it meant to stand on the brink of danger.
The relief of his narrow escape was swiftly replaced by worry. He had become an unpredictable variable who knew a secret, an informed man walking along a blade’s edge. Any overly close contact with Historia might draw those eyes upon them again. He did not dare take the risk—not only for himself, but for Historia as well. If Frieda discovered that memory alteration did not work on him, then next time, she likely would not merely alter his memories.
Aeternus began deliberately keeping his distance.
He still took the cattle out to pasture every day, but no longer naturally went over to Historia as he once had. He went to the stream with her less often, and even when they did go together, his mind was burdened with worries. His responses became brief, and his smiles seemed separated by a veil, no longer carrying warmth all the way to his eyes.
Sensitive as Historia was, she noticed immediately.
At first, she thought it was merely her imagination. But one day, then two... Aeternus remained the same. He no longer took the initiative to share amusing stories, no longer braided little things from grass to make her laugh. Even when she offered him freshly washed wild berries, he merely accepted them in haste, thanked her, and made the excuse that he needed to watch the herd before turning away.
Her disappointment was like cold rain, slowly soaking into her heart. She sat alone beneath the old oak’s shadow, hugging her knees as she watched Aeternus’s figure in the distance, deliberately turned away from her. A mist of tears clouded her sapphire-blue eyes.
Why isn’t he paying attention to me anymore?
Did I do something wrong?
Is it because I always cause him trouble?
Familiar self-doubt and feelings of inferiority wound around her like vines, nearly dragging her back into the bleak world she had known before meeting Aeternus. She recalled her grandmother Krista’s cold gaze and the hateful insults of the other children... Perhaps Aeternus had finally come to think, like everyone else, that she was an illegitimate child unworthy of anyone’s closeness.
The thought made it hard for her to breathe.
She nearly surrendered to that despair and shut herself away once more. But then, images from deep in her memories stubbornly surfaced—Aeternus’s resolute back as he stood in front of her, the encouraging smile he had given her when he first took her beyond the fence, the light in his eyes as he pointed out the pebbles beneath the stream, and the seriousness in his voice when, after being beaten by a group of children, he had told her, "A promise must be kept."
All these years, he was the only one who had truly come close to her and protected her. If even he abandoned her, her world would return to barren emptiness.
No. It could not be like this.
A faint but stubborn courage rose from the depths of her heart. She remembered how, encouraged by him, she had crossed that physical fence—trembling, yet determined. Now, for her own sake, she had to cross another fence: the one in her heart.
She had to ask him clearly.
Having made up her mind, Historia quietly began searching for Aeternus around the pasture. She searched the grassy slopes where the cattle often went, and the corner by the stream where they often stayed. At last, she found him in the barn where the hay was stored.
Afternoon sunlight filtered through the gaps in the wooden planks, casting stripes of light over the haystacks. Aeternus lay atop one of the soft piles of hay, apparently asleep from exhaustion after the morning’s work. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady. The black hair at his forehead was damp with sweat, with several strands clinging to his temples. His face still held a child’s youthful softness, but the faint furrow in his brow revealed the unease troubling his sleep.
Historia approached with light steps. Looking at Aeternus’s sleeping profile, the courage stirring within her suddenly softened. She did not want to wake him.
Silently, she sat on the haystack beside him. After hesitating for a moment, she extended her small, slightly cool hand and, very gently, very gently, took hold of the hand resting at his side.
His hand was a little larger than hers. There were thin calluses in his palm from farm work, and it felt warm and reassuring.
It was enough just to stay like this quietly, Historia thought. Feeling the warmth from his palm, the unease and hurt she had carried for days seemed to gradually be soothed away. The sunlight shone warmly upon her, and the hay gave off a dry, pleasant fragrance. Weariness overtook her. She let out a tiny yawn, her eyelids grew heavy, and eventually, leaning against the haystack with her head tilted to one side, she too fell deeply asleep.
At dusk, Aeternus jolted awake from a chaotic dream. In it, there was once again that white sea of sand, Frieda’s icy stare, and the blurred, terrifying figure of the man behind her. He abruptly opened his eyes and breathed hard. The first thing he felt was the softness against his right hand, unlike the rough texture of hay.
He turned his head and froze.
Historia was asleep beside him. Her golden braid had come somewhat loose, several strands of hair falling beside her fair cheek. Her eyes were closed, her long lashes like two tiny fans, casting pale shadows beneath her lids. Her nostrils moved softly with each breath, and the corners of her lips curved faintly upward, as if she were having a pleasant dream. Her little hand was tightly clasped around his, with the dependence of someone clinging to what she trusted.
The golden-red light of the setting sun slanted through the gaps in the barn and fell directly over her, bathing her in a warm halo.
Something seemed to gently strike Aeternus’s heart. Guilt, tenderness, and an indescribably soft emotion welled up within him. His deliberate distance these past days must have hurt her terribly.
His slight movement woke Historia. Her eyelashes fluttered a few times before her eyes slowly opened. Her sapphire-blue pupils were initially still clouded with sleep, but the moment they met Aeternus’s gaze, they cleared. Then a flicker of panic passed through them. Like a child caught doing something wrong, she instinctively tried to pull her hand back.
But Aeternus clasped it from the other side and did not let her flee.
"Historia..." he said softly, his voice hoarse from sleep.
Historia looked at him, and her eyes suddenly reddened. The grievance and unease she had bottled up for so long finally found an outlet. Her voice choked as she asked, "Aeternus... do you... do you hate me now?"
"How could I?" Aeternus immediately denied it. Seeing her on the verge of tears, his heart tightened. "I have never hated you."
"Then why... why don’t you talk to me much anymore? Why don’t you come to the stream with me anymore?" she pressed, and at last, tears rolled down her cheeks.
Aeternus fell silent. He could not tell her the truth. Looking at her tear-stained face, he felt utterly helpless. He reached out and clumsily wiped the tears from her cheeks.
"I’m sorry," he apologized in a low, sincere voice. "It’s my fault. I... I’ve been a little... afraid lately."
"Afraid?" Historia stopped crying and looked at him in confusion. "Afraid of what?"
Aeternus looked away toward the deepening twilight outside the barn and fabricated a reason that was only half a lie. "Afraid... of causing you trouble again. Afraid that because I get close to you, your grandmother will... punish you even more harshly."
Historia was stunned. She had not expected that. So he did not hate her. He had been worrying about her?
"I’m not afraid!" She suddenly shook her head hard, tightly squeezing Aeternus’s hand in return. Her voice carried a determination she had never possessed before. "Even if Grandmother scolds me, I’m not afraid! Aeternus is the only person who treats me well! I... I don’t want to lose you!" She lifted her little face. The tracks of tears had not yet dried, but an incomparably earnest and fervent light shone in her sapphire-like eyes. "I... I like being with Aeternus! I like it the most!"
That straightforward, pure confession was like a ray of sunlight, suddenly piercing the gloom fear had cast over Aeternus’s heart.
Aeternus tightened his hold on her hand as well. Meeting her hopeful yet uneasy gaze, he showed the first truly relieved smile he had worn in days—a smile touched by warmth.
"Yes, me too." His voice was quiet, yet incomparably clear. "I like being with Historia the most too. I promise you, I won’t be like this again."
Historia broke into a smile through her tears, her face blooming with a radiance brighter than the evening glow. She nodded vigorously and, full of trust, placed her little hand completely in his palm.
Outside the barn, the last halo of dusk sank beyond the horizon. Inside, the two small figures leaning against one another atop the haystack seemed, amid the hazy twilight, to forge a silent yet unbreakable covenant.
The thin ice of misunderstanding quietly melted away. Something deeper silently took root between their hearts.
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