Charred wooden houses lay in ruins, the acrid scent of ash stinging the nose.
The moment the cursed spirit was vanquished, Yukiori stumbled toward the spot where his parents had vanished. But nothing remained.
Nothing at all.
No parents, no home.
"… "
"It's dangerous out there. If you have nowhere to go, come with me… I'm a sorcerer. I can protect you."
Momoto Ichi spoke softly, unable to bear the sorrow on the boy's face, unwilling to abandon him in this desolate place.
He shuddered to think what horrors Yukiori might face had he not stopped here.
Yukiori heard the voice but didn't turn. His fingers traced the scorched wood before him, his jade eyes clouded with bewilderment and despair.
Perhaps fearing the boy's distrust, Momoto pressed on. "My name is Momoto Ichi, a well-known sorcerer in these parts. Trust me, please. I can keep you safe."
The day's relentless blows had made Yukiori wary of strangers, but Momoto had saved him—though too late to save anyone else…
After a long hesitation, Yukiori stood, cautiously lifting his gaze to the youth towering over him.
"Thank you for saving me. I don't know how to repay you, let alone burden you further…"
"You're burden at all!"
Momoto's quick retort silenced Yukiori briefly. He studied the self-proclaimed sorcerer, noting his earnestness.
The reaction reminded Yukiori of the frenzied men from before, yet Momoto's eyes held no unsettling glint to make him recoil.
"But I still can't…"
"Do you mean to stay here? What if another cursed spirit…"
Momoto stopped short.
The thought of that grotesque, terrifying spirit made Yukiori shudder instinctively.
Momoto, realizing his tone had been too sharp, softened. The boy before him was clearly still a child, untouched and pure, his eyes revealing a sheltered heart.
"What's your name?"
"… Hananochi Yukiori."
"Then, Yukiori, come with me. Alright?"
Momoto extended his hand, and that delicate hand finally rested upon it.
Yukiori didn't know where to go. He longed to stay by his parents' side, but their final wish was for him to live. He couldn't die yet.
He knew he was merely human, especially after witnessing Momoto's power. The world's dangers were clear now—he could only cling to others to survive.
Was this right?
Yukiori shied away from the question in his heart.
The moment they stepped from the ruined house, every gaze fell on Yukiori, freezing in awe.
His silver-white hair, slightly disheveled, framed his face. Under so many eyes, his lashes—white as trembling butterflies—fluttered nervously.
The boy's purity and innocence radiated a sacred aura, captivating all who saw him.
"This is Hananochi Yukiori, the sole survivor of this tragedy. I'll take him to my estate to recover."
"Ride in the sedan."
As Yukiori entered the sedan, it shielded him from those fervent gazes, and he exhaled in relief.
He peeked through the curtain's gap, watching Momoto ride alongside on horseback.
"Thank you~"
Yukiori whispered, and Momoto, catching the sound, offered a gentle smile without reply.
After some time, the sedan was surrounded by lively sounds—vendors' calls, gongs, and drums, a vibrant clamor.
Curiosity stirred, Yukiori peered out with one eye. This place was far grander than his village.
Everyone's attire was finer, and Yukiori touched his patched robe, suddenly self-conscious.
The caravan stopped before a deceptively modest estate, its understated elegance standing out among other homes.
Momoto dismounted and approached the sedan.
Onlookers whispered, wondering why the esteemed sorcerer didn't ride the sedan himself and now humbled himself to lift the curtain.
Who could be inside?
After all, in this era, sorcerers held unmatched status.
"It's alright."
No one will dislike you.
Your beauty is your greatest passport.
And so it was.
When Yukiori stepped from the sedan, gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Under countless eyes, he followed Momoto into the estate.
Before now, Yukiori had never thought much of his appearance.
But the village's ruin and these reactions made it clear: his face was the cause.
Momoto led him to a refined, serene courtyard, where blue skies and wisps of clouds mingled with fleeting birds.
"You can stay here safely. Meals will be brought thrice daily. Tell the servants if you need anything."
Yukiori listened quietly, unwilling to interrupt—it felt impolite. Yet he wondered why Momoto treated him so kindly.
"Because I think you're a good kid."
A good kid?
Did that mean being obedient…?
For the first time, the lively Yukiori pondered what it meant to be "good."
Momoto, ever courteous and gentle, quickly earned Yukiori's trust.
For Yukiori, with no one else to rely on, Momoto was his only lifeline.
"I've called for a tailor to make you some clothes."
"Rest now… I won't disturb you."
Momoto turned to leave.
"What should I call you?"
Yukiori asked nervously, still unaware of his savior's name.
Momoto paused, his face obscured against the light. "Momoto Ichi. That's my name."
The events of that day haunted Yukiori, his dreams filled with his parents' burning deaths whenever he closed his eyes.
Only months later did the nightmares begin to fade.
During his time at the estate, Momoto, citing his need for rest, kept him from going out.
Yukiori didn't want to, either.
He dreaded facing more people. Only Momoto's presence brought a flicker of safety—his savior, his anchor.