Morning in the secluded village was always quiet. The sound of birds brushed past the eaves, and the dew had not yet dried on the dirt floor of the yard, leaving small beads on every blade of grass.

The hands stirring the porridge in the kitchen stopped. Upon hearing a familiar voice, he turned his head, a smile naturally spreading across his lips.

Yes, Sister. I am here.

He set down the ladle, wiped his hands on his apron, and walked toward the wooden veranda. His black hair flowed over his shoulders, and his blue eyes shone mysteriously in the morning sunlight.

Have you eaten breakfast? If not, let us eat together.

Standing a step behind, he asked in a gentle voice. Just as he always did.