Leonhard walked through the blood-soaked streets, flames flickering behind him. The air was thick with the stench of burnt flesh and death. The villagers—people who had once sneered at him, whispered behind his back, called him the son of a heretic—stood frozen, their faces pale, their eyes filled with terror.
No one spoke at first. They just stared at him.
Then the murmurs began.
"Did you see what he did?"
"That wasn't normal… That was magic."
"He's dangerous."
"We should report him."
Leonhard's breath caught in his throat.
Report him?
He had just saved them. He had risked his life to stop the bandits, to protect the very people who had shunned him for years. And now—now they were looking at him like he was the real monster.
One of the men stepped forward, gripping an old, rusted sword. His hands shook, but his voice was steady. "There's a bounty on magic users, right? If we report him… we could all be rich."
Others nodded. Some hesitated, unsure, but greed and fear flickered in their eyes.
Leonhard felt something inside him crack.
"You ungrateful—"
"STOP!"
A familiar voice rang through the village.
Leonhard turned.
His mother stood at the entrance of the village, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. Her hair was disheveled, her dress dirtied from running. She had come looking for him.
She had heard everything.
Tears burned in her eyes as she looked at the people—the very same people who had once treated her like family.
"What is wrong with you?!" she shouted, stepping between them and Leonhard. "He just saved your lives! He stopped those bandits from killing your families, from hurting your wives and daughters! And this is how you thank him?"
The villagers flinched at her words, shame creeping into their expressions.
"But he—"
"But what?!" she snapped, her voice sharp as a knife. "Because he can use magic? Because he's different?" She took a deep breath, her body trembling. "The least you could do… the very least… is let us go. Don't report him. Please."
Silence.
Then—
A single man stepped forward. He was older, his face lined with age and hardship. He looked at Leonhard—not with fear, but with something else. Something softer.
Slowly, he bent to one knee.
He placed a fist over his heart.
"We thank our savior for saving us and our families."
Another man followed. Then another.
One by one, they knelt, fists to their hearts.
Leonhard's vision blurred with tears. His whole life, he had been unwanted, pushed aside. But now—
Now, for the first time, he was recognized.
He turned to his mother, his voice thick with emotion. "Let's go."
She smiled softly, wiping the tears from his cheek.
And together, they left the village, the flames behind them slowly dying into embers.