Part 4

The flames of the Kim estate still clawed at the night sky, glowing red like a monster devouring everything in its path. The crackling fire echoed faintly even at the cliffside, where a crowd had gathered. The villager's faces were pale, lit by moonlight, as their whispers carried through the cold air.

There's someone down there…

A child? He looks so small…

Poor thing… probably didn't make it…

Don't say that… he's moving, see?

Indeed, the little figure stirred, though faintly. Taehyung, no older than four, lay curled on the hard ground, his tiny body trembling, his breaths uneven. His cheek was pressed against the cold earth, streaked with dirt and blood, while his baggy clothes were torn from the fall. His lips moved weakly, forming words no one could hear.

Appa… Mumma…

The villagers shivered. Some clutched their shawls tighter. Some bit their lips, pity etched on their faces. Yet none dared to move closer.

They stood there, a sea of eyes that pitied but did not act, voices that sympathized but hands that remained still.

Taehyung, through blurred vision, could see the shapes above him. He thought perhaps someone would come. Perhaps someone would take him into their arms like Mumma used to. His tiny hand lifted, reaching out, but no one bent down. No one answered. The boy's chest ached, not only from the fall but from the crushing loneliness that wrapped around him tighter than the night air.

Then came the sound of a cane striking stone. Steady. Determined.

An elderly woman, hair tied in a silver knot, eyes sharp despite the wrinkles of age, pushed her way through the crowd. Her gaze landed on the child below, and something within her trembled. She didn't know his name, didn't know his blood, but a mother's instinct  a grandma's heart  did not need such details.

What are you all doing? she demanded, her voice shaking the silence. You stand here like statues while a child bleeds?

No one answered. Some looked away. Others muttered excuses.

The old woman scoffed bitterly. Cowards. All of you.

Without another word, she gripped the rocks and began her descent. Her cane clattered against the ground above as she moved, her frail frame straining against the jagged cliffside. Every sharp stone tore at her palms, her knees scraped, but her eyes never left the boy.

Taehyung's vision blurred again, but he saw a shape closer, gentler, unlike the others. His little chest hitched. When the woman finally reached him, she knelt beside him, her breath ragged, tears already stinging her tired eyes.

Oh, my poor child… she whispered, brushing the matted hair from his forehead. Her voice broke, but her touch was steady. You're safe now. Grandma’s here.

Taehyung whimpered, his small hand clutching at her sleeve, desperate, as if clinging to life itself. M-mumma… said don't give up… His words were weak, almost a gasp.

The womans throat tightened. She pressed her lips to his forehead, hot with fever. You won't give up, little one. Not while I'm here.

With all her strength, she lifted him into her arms. He was far too light, a bundle of bones and trembling breaths, yet he felt heavier than the world itself. Step by step, she climbed back up, ignoring the burning pain in her joints, the gasps of the crowd above.

When she finally reached the top, the villagers stepped back, parting silently as she rose to her feet with the boy in her arms. Her face was lined with fury and grief as she turned to them.

Shame, she spat, her voice cutting through the night. Shame on every one of you. You whisper prayers but let a child die at your feet. Remember this silence for the rest of your lives.

The crowd lowered their heads. None spoke. None dared.

The old woman pulled the boy closer. His head rested limply on her shoulder, his tiny tears soaking into her worn clothes.

The walk back to her cottage was long. The villagers trailed behind at a distance, murmuring still, but none offered help. The boy whimpered occasionally in his sleep, his small hands twitching as though reaching out for his mother. Each sound pierced the old woman's chest like a blade.

When she finally reached her small wooden home at the edge of the village, she pushed open the door with her shoulder, carrying him inside. The cottage was simple  a small bed, a hearth, shelves lined with herbs and jars but tonight it became the only refuge for a broken child.

She laid him carefully on her bed, his tiny body curling instinctively, his fists clutching at the blanket she draped over him. For a moment, he stirred, eyes opening just a sliver.

Mumma… Appa… His voice cracked, a cry more than a word.

The old woman sat beside him, her wrinkled hands smoothing his hair. Her tears fell freely now, soaking the pillow beside his face. Sleep, child.

Taehyung sobbed softly until exhaustion pulled him into sleep, his tiny frame shuddering with each breath. The old woman sat by his side all night, whispering prayers, her heart aching with both sorrow and resolve.

Outside, the smoke of the burned Kim estate still curled into the sky, a cruel reminder of what had been taken. But inside the humble cottage, for the first time since the night began, there was warmth.

And so, in the arms of a stranger who chose love over fear, the boy survived.

That night, he lost his family.

But he gained a promise  one that would carry him into the future.

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Thankyou for reading 💫

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