When I returned, dragging a wooden sled behind me, my heart raced with both hope and trepidation.

  There, still in the spot where I had left him, was the boy—a lone dark speck against the vast expanse of white. He remained in the same sitting position, and I could feel his eyes fixed on me, unwavering as if he were a sentinel holding vigil in the unforgiving snow.

  At just five years old, I struggled to maneuver the sled through the thickened snow, my small frame straining against the weight of his still body. With all the strength I could muster, I manhandled him onto the sled, careful yet hurried, knowing that every moment counted. I heaved the sled forward, the wood creaking under the strain as I trudged back through the snowy landscape toward my cottage with the boy in tow.

  With each step, I clung to hope that Grandpa would be fine, that he was simply out searching for me and would return home to find me safe.

  As I reached the door of my cottage, I pulled it open, dragging the sled inside before shutting the door firmly behind me, shutting out the biting cold. The warmth of the small space enveloped me like a comforting embrace, but I noticed that the temperature had declined since my last venture. I knew I had no time to lose. I quickly tore off my gloves, yanked off my boots, and threw my heavy wool coat into a haphazard pile near the door, my heart racing with urgency.

  Grabbing a few logs from the stack, I tossed them into the fireplace in the living room. I snatched a piece of paper and used a lighter to ignite it before tossing it into the fireplace, watching as the flames flickered to life, dancing eagerly as they consumed the wood.

  "Can you take off your coat?" I called back to the boy, hurrying toward him, but he remained seated on the sled, unmoving and statuesque. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, unblinking as if he hadn't heard me. "Let's head over to my room first," I directed him, determination coursing through me as I heaved the sled toward my bedroom. I knew full well the mess it would create on the floor, but I figured most of it was just snow, and it would melt and dry up in no time.

  I positioned the sled next to my bed as I scurried to move my extra pillows and blankets out of the way to make room for the boy.

  "Can you stand?" I asked, my voice tinged with worry.

  At my question, he shifted his eyes toward me for the first time, and I noticed that the dazed look had faded; instead, his eyes were still and motionless, drained of reason and thought.

  He looked pitiful.

  Slowly, he began to rise, and I felt a surge of surprise at the minimal effort it took but I reasoned it must be the temperature change.

  "Can you move?" I asked. "Can you take off your clothes? They're dirty and wet, and if you don't get them off, you'll catch a cold—or worse."

  But he remained still, his eyes unblinking, fixed on a distant point like one who was lost in a world far removed from reality.

  Panic flared in my chest as I studied his battered condition, the weight of his injuries bearing down on me. There was no time for hesitation; I had to act!

  "Please excuse me," I murmured, my heart racing. Without waiting for a response, I quickly raised my hands and focused on undoing the buttons of his coat. My fingers trembled with urgency as I deftly unfastened them, pulling the heavy garment off his arms before tossing it onto the floor.

  Underneath, he wore a plain black long-sleeve shirt and pants, both drenched and grimy.

  "Here," I said, gently pulling his sleeves. "Sit down." I urged him toward my bed.

  To my relief, he complied, his body moving slowly as he settled onto the edge of the bed. As I began to pull off his shirt, I was struck by another wave of shock. It wasn't just the left side of his face that bore the scars; the entirety of his left side was marred by deep, jagged lines that told silent stories of pain and survival.

  "Are you scared?" His voice, though weak, startled me from my stupor, pulling me back to the present.

  My throat tightened, emotion swelling within me, and I could only shake my head in response, lowering my gaze to hide the tears that threatened to spill. "I'll be back," I promised, my voice barely above a whisper.

  In a flash, I darted out of my room, racing to grab the med kit from the kitchen cabinet before rushing back to the boy.

  As I instructed, he turned his back toward me, allowing me to inspect the wound. As I'd feared, the most critical injury lay just below his shoulder blade, a wound that looked strange and unnatural, oozing blood and threatening to consume him from the inside out. My stomach churned at the sight, and I suspected there must be some internal bleeding as well.

  "I'll clean the wound first before wrapping it up," I said, my voice calmer than I felt as I opened the med kit, retrieving antiseptic wipes and gauze before working on the wound. "Please bear with me. This will be painful."

  Once I wrapped the wound securely, I held both my hands out, hovering above the bandaged area, taking a deep breath to steady my racing heart. The gravity of the moment settled over me like a heavy blanket, and I could feel the pulse of urgency thrumming in my fingertips.

  Concentrate, I told myself, forcing out distractions and focusing on the task at hand.

  The memories of Grandpa's instructions flooded back to me with vivid clarity. Just a month ago, he taught me a medical ninjutsu technique that harnessed chakra to force cell regeneration and repair damaged tissues.

  "You...know healing ninjutsu?" I heard the boy ask, his voice slightly stronger now. "You are studying to be a medical-nin?"

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  I smiled, a wave of relief washing over me at the sound of his voice returning to clarity. "My grandpa taught it to me," I replied, my cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment. "Being out here alone with no one around, it's important that I learn how to take care of myself during emergencies. And, no, I don't want to be a shinobi."

  "Wise choice," he replied plainly, and I could sense the gravity behind his words as if he understood the weight of that decision in a way I couldn't yet grasp.

  Seeing that I had successfully engaged him in conversation, I seized the opportunity to ask the questions that had been nagging at the back of my mind since I first encountered him. "If you don't mind me asking," I probed, trying to keep my tone light and non-intrusive, "what happened, and why were you out there in the middle of nowhere when you're not even dressed for the weather?"

  There was no way I could overlook the fact that he wore open-toed sandals, and his thin attire was hardly appropriate for the harsh winter conditions of the Land of Frost, where everyone else donned thick knee-high boots and heavy wool coats.

  The boy fell silent, his head drooping slightly as he seemed to retreat into himself. Panic gripped me for a moment. Had I pushed too hard? I looked up from my hands, breaking my concentration for just a second to glance at him, only to find him unmoving. He was as silent as an owl, and I feared my questioning had caused him to shut down completely. Resuming my focus, I decided to return to the healing process.

  "...It's okay if you don't want to answer," I murmured, hoping to reassure him.

  But then he spoke again, his voice calm and almost devoid of emotion. "You lived alone with your grandfather..."

  Surprised, I blinked. "How did you know?"

  He gestured subtly with his head toward my nightstand, where a picture sat framed: my beautiful mother holding me in her arms, with Grandpa smiling beside her. "The picture... and the memorial wall in the living room that has your mother's picture."

  "That's right," I answered, a mixture of sadness and confusion swelling within me.

  A moment of silence enveloped us, heavy with unspoken thoughts, and I chose to remain quiet, hoping he would continue the conversation, perhaps to quench my insatiable curiosity.

  "What if..." the boy began, his voice barely above a whisper, yet imbued with a weight of longing. "What if there was a way to live in a world without suffering and death? A world where you could live among your peers in the Hidden Frost Village and return home to your mother and grandfather."

  His words hung in the air, and I dwelled on them, allowing myself to imagine what I never had. I pictured a perfect world, one where laughter echoed through the streets, where warmth and love enveloped me like a comforting embrace. A place where I could experience the joy of being with my family and friends, where I could share stories and meals and create memories that would last a lifetime. The thought was intoxicating, yet tinged with a bittersweet ache.

  To be honest, it was hard to tear away from the longing for what could have been.

  "There are nights when I wished things were different," I confessed. "Grandpa had always told me..." The memory washed over me like a balm smoothing the rising pain in my chest. "Life and death is a continuous cycle. He said not to think of death as the end but a new beginning—a new chapter. Our loved ones, though gone, live on in each of us—their memories—their love. We need not be too sad because soon we will all be reunited."

  As I spoke, I noticed the boys had shifted slightly. How I long to see his expression, to catch a glimpse behind those weary dark eyes but I can not from my angle. And yet, I wondered if I could see his face, would I even understand?

  After I finished, the air between us felt different—intense even, yet he offered no response or acknowledgment of my words.

  Minutes passed and I pulled back my hands, the energy in my chakra waning as I sensed the depletion creeping in. I had to be cautious; if I pushed myself too hard, I feared I would faint and not wake up. From what I could see, the cuts and scrapes appeared to have healed, leaving no trace of their existence. Even the critical wound seemed slightly improved despite being all bandaged up.

  "I'm sorry," I said softly, regret lacing my voice. "I'm not good at healing yet, so this is all I can do. When you're well enough, I can help you to the village and guide you to the hospital, where a professional doctor can take a look at your injuries."

  Still, the boy did not respond. I found myself staring at him—at the back of his head—waiting patiently, though the weight of his silence pressed heavily on my chest. I knew he was lost in a storm of his thoughts and despite my efforts, my voice would not reach him. Still, I spoke anyway.

  "Lay down and rest if you can," I said gently, hoping to coax him into some semblance of comfort. "I'll go prepare some porridge for you. It will help warm you up. Just wait here."

  With that, I hesitantly turned away, my heart heavy as I made my way toward the door. Before exiting, I glanced back over my shoulder at the unmoving boy. He looked so pitiful in that moment—so lonely—like a solitary figure adrift in a sea of peril.

  "Let me know if you need anything. Just call out," I added, my voice filled with sincerity, hoping to reassure him that he was not alone in this moment of despair.

  Satisfied that I had done all I could for him, I left the room, leaving the door ajar in case he called for me.

  As I crossed over to the living room and into the adjoining kitchen, I reached for a pot from the cabinet, quickly washing it out before filling it with water. The rhythmic sound of water splashing echoed in my ears as I prepared to make the porridge, my thoughts consumed by worry for my Grandpa. I hoped for nothing more than his safe return.

  Minutes slipped by as I turned off the stove, the gentle bubbling of the porridge coming to an end. I began the steady stirring, a rhythmic motion that felt oddly calming on my disturbed nerves. The comforting aroma wafted through the air, curling around me and filling the kitchen with the promise of warmth and comfort.

  But just as I lost myself in the soothing process, a sudden shift in the air caught my attention, breaking the tranquility that had settled around me. The warmth that had enveloped the room seemed to dissipate in an instant and what replaced it was an overwhelming sense of malice; an energy so foreign and unsettling that it threatened the very essence of my home. Alarm bells flared loudly in my mind, sending shivers down my spine and rising goosebumps throughout my body. Every instinct screamed at me to run!

  I spun around, heart racing, only to find the boy standing in the middle of my living room, watching me intently as he donned his coat. My breath caught in my throat, frozen in surprise. The boy, once so frail and vulnerable, now emanated a dark energy that was palpable, sending unease rippling through the air.

  "Wha—" I began, but before I could finish my thought, a figure stepped out from behind the boy, as if emerging from the very shadows that surrounded him.

  This new presence had distinct and striking features. He has pale white skin with an almost mask-like appearance, covering part of his face. His left eye had a golden-yellowish shade with a dark slit pupil, while his right eye was obscured by the deformed, wrinkled texture of his skin. His mouth was slightly open, revealing sharp teeth in a sinister grin. His hair was short, spiky, and greenish. He radiated an eerie aura, reminiscent of a ghostly apparition or a sinister full-body suit. His physique was well-built, but his posture was oddly rigid as he stood next to the boy.

  My heart raced as I took a step back, instinctively bracing myself for whatever confrontation lay ahead.

  Before I could fully comprehend what was happening, the white figure lunged at me with a ferocity that sent a chill of terror coursing through my veins. I stood frozen in fear, my heart pounding violently in my chest, my wide eyes locked onto the impending danger.

  All I could picture was Grandpa coming home to find my limp body sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood, and the devastating impact it would have on him—it would shatter him completely.

  But just as the figure surged toward me, the boy intervened, extending his arm to block the attack. My breath caught in my throat as I shifted my gaze to him, confusion mingling with a flicker of hope. His dark eyes once filled with distance vulnerability, now held an icy resolve that could pierce right through me.

  "Let's not meet again...," he stated, his voice steady but underneath it hid something chilling.

  Just then, he reached up and donned his orange mask, obscuring his features and concealing the coldness of his gaze. Yet, even behind the mask, I could feel the weight of those eyes.

  "But, if we do..." he paused, the words hanging between us like an ominous cloud. "You will wish you'd never saved me."

  His cryptic warning sent a jolt of fear through me, the implications swirling in my mind like a tempest.

  What had I done?

  Suddenly, my legs gave in, and I found myself collapsing onto the cold floor. Panic surged through me as my vision blurred, a haze settling over my eyes while I desperately tried to look up, to keep my gaze fixed on the boy and the white figure that had just threatened my very existence.

  But as I squinted through the fog of confusion, I noticed something strange—a peculiar distortion appeared in front of them.

  A trick of the mind?

  Was I hallucinating?

  The boy and the figure seemed to warp and flicker, their forms bending and twisting as though they were being pulled apart by an unseen force, disappearing into thin air like smoke sucked into a hole.

  I blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the surreal vision, but it only seemed to intensify. The world around me felt unsteady as if I were teetering on the edge of consciousness.

  Before I knew it, darkness crept into my vision and I found myself sinking into the dark abyss.