Screams filled the air. Not the kind from horror movies. Real ones. From a woman.
Her voice cracked through the cold wind as four men circled her like wild dogs. Her clothes were torn. Her face swollen. Her body weak. But the worst part?
She was alone.
A few meters away, a woman stood beside an old man. She wore a clean white sweater, a diamond necklace sparkling in the fading light. Her lips were curled in disgust.
"How dare she defy my orders?" the woman spat, anger in her voice.
The old man chuckled. He didn't say a word. Just watched.
"She still had courage… after what her husband did?" The woman scoffed. "Pathetic."
The four men continued to beat the poor woman. She cried. She begged. But they didn't stop.
Then—
A voice. Small. Pure.
"Mommy! Mommy!"
A boy, maybe ten or eleven years old, ran toward her. His steps fast. His eyes full of tears. His heart full of fear.
One of the men turned and kicked the boy hard in the stomach.
"No!" the mother screamed. "Please! Don't hurt him! Do anything to me, but leave my son alone!"
Her voice was shaking. Desperate. But the men only laughed. One of them ripped more of her clothes.
The child screamed. His voice was louder now. But no one helped.
The woman in the white sweater just stood there, arms crossed, eyes cold.
Her assistant beside her didn't say a thing.
The boy was being held down. Slapped. Beaten.
And his mother?
Her body was being used. Torn. Hurt in ways no soul should ever be.
She screamed and cried, but the pain didn't stop.
Then—
The ground began to shake.
A deep sound rumbled from beneath. Cracks formed across the earth. Windows shattered.
CRUMBLE.
The building groaned. The walls trembled. And just like that—everything broke.
Panic exploded.
The four men ran. The rich woman grabbed her necklace and sprinted out, her assistant right behind her.
"The Vermonts are still inside!" the old man shouted.
"Let them die," the woman replied, her face sharp and heart colder than ice. "If anyone asks, say they died in the earthquake."
---
Inside the building, the boy crawled toward his mother. Her body was broken. She wasn't moving.
He touched her skin. It was cold.
With all the strength left in his tiny body, he lifted her on his back.
She was heavy.
His legs shook.
But he walked.
Then ran.
Out of the broken building.
Out of that nightmare.
No one followed. No one helped.
He ran across empty roads, broken trees, and dead silence. His breath short. His eyes blurry. His small arms holding the only person he had left.
After who knows how far—
He stopped.
There, under the open sky, beside a tree, he laid her down gently. The forest around him was green. Quiet. A sea sparkled in the distance.
He ran to it. No bottle. No cup. He used his hands.
One handful of water.
Spilled.
Second.
Almost made it.
He didn't give up.
Twenty times he ran to the sea and back, carrying water in his hands like it was gold.
Finally, he dropped beside her.
Exhausted.
And then—
Her lips moved.
Her eyes opened.
"Lucius…" she whispered.
He turned fast.
"Lucius, my child, are you here?"
He tried to answer, but his throat closed. His lips trembled.
And then—
He cried.
Big, shaking sobs came from his chest. He buried his face in her arms.
"Don't cry," she said softly. Her voice weak, but full of love. "Your mother is here."
Lucius cried harder. He hadn't heard her voice in days. It was like finding the sun after living in the dark.
Time passed.
Slow.
She lay there, barely covered. Her body was bruised, bleeding from her nose and ears.
But to Lucius? She was still beautiful. She was his mother.
And she smiled at him.
"You know," she whispered, "your father… he was a great doctor. Everyone loved him. He healed so many people."
She coughed, wiped her mouth with trembling fingers.
"But when he saw me for the first time…" she smiled, "he turned red like a tomato."
Lucius let out a tiny laugh through his tears.
"A grown man blushing like a boy. It was the funniest thing I ever saw."
Lucius nodded. He had never seen his father, not really. But now, through her voice, he could imagine him.
Strong. Gentle. Good.
They sat like that for a while. A boy with a bleeding mother. In a forest no one knew. Beside a sea no one named.
But in that moment?
They had something.
Not safety. Not food.
But love.
And sometimes, that's enough to keep breathing.
It had been a few weeks since Lucius and his mother had been living in the forest. They had no house, no money, and no real food.
But somehow…
They were happy.
Their home was a cold cave, hidden between two old hills. When it rained, they held each other. When it was too hot, they sat under trees. When it was silent, they listened to the sea.
Lucius had learned to smile again.
Today, he was high up in a tree, his small arms stretched out to reach a fruit. The fruit was red, with a little pink on one side. He didn't know its name. He only knew it tasted sweet and didn't make his stomach hurt.
In the basket he had made from broken vines, there were already three fruits.
He looked down from the tree and smiled.
"That's enough," he thought. After all, how much can an eleven-year-old really eat?
He carefully climbed down, holding the basket close to his chest. His feet touched the ground with a soft thud.
The breeze smelled like salt and wind.
As he walked toward the cave, he saw his mother near the sea. She was standing in the shallow water, her clothes wet, trying to catch fish with her bare hands.
She had gotten a little better now.
The wounds had started to heal.
Her cuts had dried.
She still looked tired… but stronger.
Her clothes were still old and ripped, but at least she wasn't naked anymore. They had found a few clothes near a shipwreck one day. Not perfect — but better than nothing.
Lucius ran toward her and waved the basket.
She smiled. A small, tired smile. But it was real.
---
Soon, they both sat under the tree near the cave entrance. The sea waves crashed gently behind them. A fire burned between two stones. On it, a small fish cooked slowly.
Lucius held his stomach as it growled. His mother laughed softly.
"Lucius," she said, holding a small piece of cooked fish on a stick, "open your mouth."
He did.
She gently fed him. The fish melted in his mouth.
He had never felt so happy.
His eyes closed for a second. The taste, the warm fire, the soft smile of his mother—it was everything.
As he chewed, a thought came into his head.
He remembered the house of pain they used to live in.
His aunt, always shouting.
His cousin, always stealing his food.
And his grandfather, lying in bed, paralyzed. After that, everything changed. The house became darker. His mother was taken away more often. He could only hear screams.
He never understood what was really happening back then. He only knew one thing: he hated it.
But now?
Now he had peace. He had a quiet forest. A smiling mother. A belly with fish and fruit. And for the first time in a long time… he had a home.
---
He looked at his mother. Her face was a little pale, but her green eyes still sparkled like little leaves after rain.
She was beautiful.
Even with torn clothes.
Even with scars.
He noticed something, like he had noticed many times before. Her hair was black—dark like a moonless night.
He touched his own.
It was white.
"Mom," he asked softly, "why is my hair white… and yours black?"
She smiled again, a little wider this time.
"Because," she said gently, "you got your hair from your father."
Lucius blinked.
A small warm feeling entered his chest. He didn't remember his father, not clearly. But just the thought that he looked like him—even a little—made him feel proud.
He nodded.
That was enough for now.
---
As he chewed the last bit of fish and picked up one of the fruits, they both heard something.
A sound.
Crack.
It came from the bushes nearby.
Lucius froze.
His mother's hand moved slowly and grabbed his arm.
The sound came again.
Rustle… rustle…
The forest, which had been peaceful just a moment ago, now felt heavy. The leaves didn't dance. The wind didn't sing.
Lucius looked at his mother.
Her smile was gone.
She was staring at the bushes.
Then she whispered, "Don't move."
Lucius held his breath. .
As the sound in the bushes grew louder, Lucius and his mother both froze.
From behind the thick leaves, a figure appeared.
But it wasn't a normal person.
It had the shape of a human — two arms, two legs — but something was wrong. Horribly wrong.
Its skin was brown and dry, like it had been burned or left in the sun for years.
Its eyes were black, empty holes that stared without blinking.
And its left leg was twisted, broken in a way no normal body could stand.
It looked like a zombie.
Lucius grabbed his mother's arm tightly, and she held him close, her heart beating fast.
They turned around to run — but just then…
Another one appeared, coming from the opposite side.
Now they were trapped.
Lucius's mother wrapped her arms around him, trying to protect him. He hid his face in her chest, both of them too scared to scream.
Then—
BOOM!
BOOM!
Two loud gunshots shattered the silence.
"RUN! RUN, YOU FOOLS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" a voice shouted.
Lucius looked up.
There, standing a few meters away, was an old man — his face rough and wrinkled, his body thin but strong. In his hands was a large rifle, smoke still rising from its barrel.
"To the north! There's a hut, just 20 meters from here! GO!"
Without thinking, Lucius's mother lifted him onto her back and ran.
Branches scratched her arms. Her feet slipped on wet leaves. But she kept going, never stopping. Lucius held on tightly, too shocked to cry.
---
After a few minutes of running, they saw it.
A small wooden hut, hidden between tall trees.
It looked old, almost broken, but it was still standing. Beside it was a small pond, the water still and quiet like it had seen too much.
Lucius's mother pushed the door open.
Inside was a single brown room. The floor was made of wood, with lines and cracks. There was an old table in the middle, a few chairs, and shelves filled with strange jars. A curtain made of cloth separated another corner of the hut — probably the sleeping area.
As they stepped inside, trying to catch their breath, a cough came from behind them.
They turned quickly.
It was the same old man, now standing at the doorway, his rifle still in his hands. He looked at them with sharp eyes.
"What are you doing in this forest?" he asked in a rough voice.
Lucius and his mother didn't answer.
They were still catching their breath, still trying to understand what had just happened. The old man looked at them again, this time with a little less suspicion in his eyes.
He sighed.
"Alright, alright. Sit down. Eat. You both look like skeletons. I've been living here a long time. Ever since that earthquake happened a few weeks ago, monsters like that started showing up. Real ones. You can kill them, but only with bullets. This place... it's turned into hell."
Lucius's mother stepped forward.
Her voice was soft, weak, but filled with emotion.
"We came from hell too, sir… please let us stay. I'll clean, cook, take care of you. Just... let us stay. Please."
The old man stared at her.
He didn't say anything for a while. His eyes searched her face, her torn clothes, the cuts on her arms, and the child clinging to her side.
Then he nodded slowly.
"You look about the same age as my daughter…" he said quietly. "Alright. You can stay. But first, eat something. You both look like the wind could blow you away."
He pointed at the table and walked to the back. From a small pot, he scooped out food into two wooden bowls. It was simple — just rice and chicken, cooked messily with bits of spices.
He placed the bowls in front of them.
Lucius looked at the food.
It didn't look special.
But it smelled... warm. Safe.
He hesitated for a moment, then took a bite.
His eyes lit up.
"Gramps… you're a great cook!" he said with his mouth full.
The old man paused… then suddenly burst into loud, belly-shaking laughter.
"HAHAHAHA! Kid, eat as much as you want! I haven't heard anyone call me that in a long time."