As soon as Nevalis entered the house, he found an elderly man sitting in the center of the room. The man's face was marked by age and the hardships of life. He sat on a simple wooden chair, surrounded by a group of children
who were speaking to him with joy and obvious affection.
The house was extremely simple, but it radiated warmth and life. The walls were covered in aged wooden panels, some of which had clearly been repaired recently. On one wall, wooden shelves held small containers, worn-out books, and faded pictures hinting at a distant past. In a corner, there was a small stone fireplace emitting a gentle warmth. A large pot sat above it, releasing a light but pleasant aroma. Wooden cups were placed nearby, and above the fireplace hung a rope carrying old tools.
The floor was made of aged wood, but it was surprisingly clean, showing how much effort was made to keep the house in good condition despite its simplicity. Near a small window that let in pale light stood a long wooden table surrounded by mismatched chairs.
The children around the old man moved energetically—one clung to the edge of his robe, while another tried to climb onto his chair to reach his shoulder. The rest played with small wooden toys they had made themselves. Their innocent laughter filled the room with a quiet joy.
When Nevalis entered, the old man turned to him with a warm smile, despite the exhaustion etched on his face. His deep wrinkles looked like a map of time and struggle, and his pale eyes still carried a gentle spark. He spoke with a voice full of familial warmth and sincere appreciation:
"So, you're the one who helped my grandson? He told me about you. Thank you. You've given us more than you can imagine."
Nevalis hesitated, not used to being thanked. Then he replied softly,
"I didn't do anything worth thanking. I just wanted to help him."
A teenage boy, the oldest among the children, stepped forward and spoke with a mature tone:
"You've been generous to us. That's not something ordinary. Thank you."
He looked older than his age, with sharp features and a serious gaze. His dark skin and messy black hair gave the impression of someone used to hard work. He wore simple clothes, patched in many places, showing signs of constant repair.
After the boy finished speaking, the other children began to approach Nevalis, thanking him with sincere and innocent words. Nevalis felt a bit awkward but remained composed, quietly observing the room. The old man noticed his discomfort and changed the mood by saying:
"Come now, let's eat. Lina, bring the food."
The teenage boy who had spoken earlier guided Nevalis to the table. It was large but a little worn out, surrounded by basic wooden chairs. Nevalis sat on one after making sure it could hold his weight, then waited.
A young girl with tightly tied brown hair came from the small kitchen, carrying a large bowl of hot soup and placing it on the table. She was followed by younger children carrying wooden bowls and cups. Everyone gathered around the table, and Lina carefully served the soup into each bowl.
Once she finished, the old man spoke again:
"Please, treat this as your home. The food may not be much, but it's the best we can offer."
Nevalis noticed the children eyeing the food eagerly. Some were ready to eat right away, but the oldest boy gave them a stern look and said:
"Do you eat before the guest? Show some manners."
The children looked at Nevalis, waiting for him to start. He was still wearing his cloak, staring at the soup. He examined the strange, round pieces floating in it. Even so, he felt the silent pleas of the children: "Please, start eating."
With a sigh, Nevalis picked up a wooden spoon, removed his cloak, and raised the spoon to his mouth. He expected the soup to taste awful—but was surprised. It wasn't bad. Of course, it didn't compare to the meals served in the palace, but it was edible.
He looked up, expecting to see the children eating, but instead found all eyes fixed on him in astonishment. Some had their mouths slightly open.
Others stared wide-eyed, frozen in place. Even the old man seemed stunned.
Nevalis asked, confused,
"What's wrong?"
A small boy spoke up,
"You… you're so beautiful! You look like a noble!"
The children's surprise was obvious. Nevalis looked nothing like them. His shiny black eyes and soft black hair made him seem far too elegant. Even though he tried to appear like a commoner, he still stood out—like a gem in the dark.
The boy's excited voice was suddenly interrupted by an angry shout from the older boy, Ivan:
"Ryan! Don't ever mention those bastards here again. Don't ruin the mood!"
Ryan shrank back in fear and muttered,
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean anything bad."
The old man quickly stepped in, trying to calm things down with a firm but gentle voice:
"Calm down, Ivan. Ryan meant no harm. He's just a child."
But Ivan's eyes still burned with anger. The mere mention of nobles had triggered something deep inside him. Nevalis remained silent, clearly puzzled by the intensity of Ivan's reaction.
The old man broke the silence, speaking with a tone of regret:
"I'm sorry, son. Most of us here carry deep scars from the actions of nobles. Some of us… lost everything because of them."
Nevalis furrowed his brows at those words. He couldn't hold back his thoughts and replied, his voice calm but tinged with suppressed anger:
"What do nobles have to do with your lives? Don't blame your failure on others."
The entire room froze. Time itself seemed to stop. Even the children, who had been whispering moments ago, went completely silent.
Ivan stood up violently, glaring at Nevalis and shouting with fury:
"Failure? You think we're failures?! What do you know about the nobles' cruelty and tyranny? Do you have any idea what I or anyone here has been through?!"
His voice, though angry, carried something deeper—a mix of pain and betrayal. He continued, his voice rising, his words pouring out:
"Have you ever been treated worse than a stray dog in the streets? Beaten until you nearly died? Watched your loved ones… violated in front of you while you stood helpless?!"
His last words were filled with agony, and the sorrow in his voice was unmistakable.
Nevalis wanted to ask, "What does your personal suffering have to do with the nobles?" But Ivan didn't give him the chance.
"All of it is because of those damned nobles! Because of their greed and tyranny, we're here now! We're not failures—we were forced into this! They stole everything from us!"
His words lashed out like whips, echoing pain and bitterness. This was no ordinary suffering—it was the deep wound of someone still bleeding inside.
The old man tried to intervene again, this time with a sharper tone:
"Ivan! Enough! This is not the time to speak of the past. Calm down!"
But Ivan wasn't listening. His rage consumed him. He shot one last glance at Nevalis—full of hatred and defiance—then turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Silence filled the room. The weight of what just happened was heavy on
everyone, especially the confused and frightened children.
Nevalis looked at the old man, trying to process Ivan's words.
The old man sighed deeply and said with regret:
"Don't take his words personally, son. Ivan's been through a lot… more than you can imagine."