Saliva dripped down my cheeks as a fragrant aroma wafted over the air. Something plopped down on a chair not too far away. My eyes slowly opened to adjust to the morning light before taking a look at my surroundings once more.

Indeed, this was how I had remembered it. The house was a small wooden cabin with only three rooms only one story tall. Two rooms on the right of the house, one with a bathroom and the other with my caretaker’s room. Between the frames on the rooms to the right of the cabin stood a stubby wooden shelf filled with books. The room on the left of the house was the largest, yet still small compared to an average house. It included a small kitchen, two wooden dining chairs, a table, and the bed I was sleeping on.

Near the cabin door was a small fireplace filled with chopped halves of wood with vigorous flames devouring them. If that flame could talk like a human could, it would probably always pester the residents for more wood to fulfill its insatiable gluttony, I thought.

The window to the left of my bed had to be smothered in an adhesive to prevent the thin sheets of glass from falling apart. A light amount of bluish rays poured through the window and casted a small glimmer onto the sheets of my bed. It was snowing outside the window, and the trees wore hats of white snow on their branches. My brown eyes were captivated by the sight before breaking free from it.

The person who sat down not too far away from me was my caretaker. Our ages were not too far apart; she was only two years above my age. She rolled up her blonde hair into a ponytail and wrapped a string around it before picking up a white ceramic spoon placed on top of a wooden bowl with a side of the bowl being chipped. Even though I couldn't see the contents of the bowl clearly from my position, the aroma was enough to make my mouth water.

My face must've looked foolish since she glanced at me with dark green pupils, slightly dumbfounded. The sheets on the bed came right off as I jumped off the bed to approach the aroma. My foot nearly stumbled over my leather footwear as I got off the bed. My frivolous actions must’ve piqued a slight irritation since she paused her meal and tapped the table with her index finger to calm herself down.

My mouth sucked in the saliva that was dripping out of it. The brown hair that reached halfway to my chin was ruffled as I maintained my composure to resist the hunger I was feeling. The ends of my shirt had numerous small scratches and marks on them to show an apparent sign that reminded me that we were living in poverty. My caretaker was wearing the same shirt as well, with the only distinguishable difference being that her shirt had a slightly darker hue.

Since two years ago, she has been my caretaker under the name of Klara Welch. Every day, she wore the same outfit and the dark-bluish dress that barely reached her shins. The locals assumed that she couldn’t afford any new clothes and could only invest her money in operating the house and food, but I knew that wasn’t the case. Her outfit was bequeathed after her mother had passed away from unknown means, and it was the only remaining trace she had of her mother.

“You are always impatient like this every day, Mathis. Do you know how old you are now to still have the same childish attitude as two years ago? Fourteen,” Klara reprimanded me as I struggled to tie the strings on my leather footwear. She picked up her spoon with several small red beans inside and a reddish broth and placed it inside her mouth before settling it down into the bowl.

Klara looked up before saying, “Your birthday comes in a season, don’t you know? I’ve been participating in far more arduous work this time for a better gift.” Ah, that’s right; my birthday comes up next season. I looked back at the shelf and saw the gift I received for my last birthday, a lengthy red book on the top shelf. The spine of the book read, “Demise of the Final Hours.”

Perhaps Klara knew I hated that book, so her work has gotten more arduous for higher pay. The book was always confusing, and the plot sequence was never coherent! The title easily implies a story that occurs before the end, but I, a reader of the book, know that the plot randomly steers away from the direction that the title had intended. The characters weren’t even introduced; they appeared out of nowhere with no context whatsoever with no names attached. Even the protagonist’s name was unknown!

As I was contemplating these negative thoughts, the strings on my footwear, by chance, somehow successfully wrapped to form small elliptical rings. The simple task refreshed my mind, and my eyes drifted to the food on the table.

After tying my leather footwear, I walked towards my chair and sat down while looking at the bowl's contents. It was a miso soup with tofu, red beans, small traces of onion, and small chunks of meat. I lifted the spoon, with a small amount gathered on top, and placed it inside my mouth. Although the flavor was bland, it was delicious upon entry.

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As I was eating voraciously, Klara suddenly had a thought and asked, “Ah, I forgot. You were sweating profusely in your dream and muttering something to yourself while you were sleeping. What happened?” After Klara had asked that question, I momentarily paused my meal and looked at her.

“Oh… yes, that’s right. I had a surreal dream. Let’s see… what was it about?” I slowly replied as I massaged my temples with my left hand. When I tried to recall my memory of such a dream, my mind “blurred” itself, and a small headache pounded. There were simply no fragments that were tangible for me to grasp and recall. “I can’t remember..? It felt so vivid, but there was nothing that I could recall from it?”

Klara looked at me, baffled, before heaving out a sigh. “How unusual. Maybe you should check yourself out at the medic over there. Hopefully, you didn’t get sick from anything,” she pointed at the window towards a small wooden cabin with a sign on top that read “Helma’s Services” next to a circular watchtower made out of stone bricks layered on top of each other. “Supplies have been running short lately, ever since the contamination of the river that occurred a week ago,” Klara added.

Last week, some unknown chemicals spilled into the river nearby, leading to an outbreak of sickness. The backup water that was used in case of an event like this rapidly emptied out after the population increase in this area due to political conflicts in this continent. Unfortunately, some people died of dehydration, while others weren’t able to get aid registered to them on time. I was fortunate enough that Klara always collects water in gourds instead of repeatedly going back and forth for water.

“Don’t forget this place is a refugee. The Council has refused to give us any more resources for this year and we have to supply our own,” Klara said as she picked up her now-empty bowl to the metallic tub of water on the wooden kitchen counter.

How could I forget? This refuge was located within the forest Soul of Kirita, named after Kirita Benmaz. According to one of the history books on my shelf, Kirita was a prominent figure during the Age of Exploration. This continent was still in its youth compared to the many other continents in the world. Yet, despite the youth, turmoil is most frequent here. Some call his story a myth, while others rebuked that it was true. After a bounty was placed on him for treason, he was eventually assassinated in this very forest where people claim that his soul still wanders. The reason he was marked for committing treason was unknown, and no written documents, from what I have read, have ever referenced why.

I sighed as I looked down at my bowl, only to realize the food was already getting tepid. My hands grabbed the bottom of the bowl and dumped it inside my mouth as I chewed and gulped down the rest of the soft tofu, crunchy chunks of meat, fragile pieces of garlic and red beans, and the reddish broth.

“Are you done?” Klara asked as polished bowls piled on top of each other to create a miniature tower.

I nodded my head, still struggling to gulp down the remains of the food on the periphery of my tongue, savoring every last bite and juices out of each. Today, Klara has to assist the loggers in hauling the wood for my birthday, I thought to myself. Being able to go outside was a privilege for those who could work. Yes… until spring comes, the snowy street outside will continue to be scarce in human interactions.

Klara walked over and picked up my finished bowl before placing it into the tub of water on the wooden kitchen counter. She peeked at my face for a second before walking away into her room.

In a minute or so, I sat on the chair, trying to reorganize my thoughts. The main issue was this: What was the dream? My memory of it was fuzzy, yet vivid! I could still feel the same aching inside my head and the sensation I felt. Could it be a divination message? Just a random skit my mind could think of while I was sleeping? No, that wouldn’t be the case; otherwise, I wouldn’t have felt the sensation back then.

I had always been indolent, and Klara knew that. I would often reread the same book on my bed and shift my expression every once in a while as I read. I never had any goal in life other than finding entertainment in words scribbled by someone probably from a high-ranking family with high-quality pens or typewriters granted to them.

The door to my caretaker, Klara’s, room slammed shut as she walked out dressed in a heavy white coat made from sheets of thick fabric on the brink of withering. One can easily tell that it was handcrafted by an amateur - how the yarns aligned themselves convolutedly and how tight it appeared when worn. Every time I see the Solemn Klara dress like that, I can’t help but find the way she’s aloof about it quite comical.

Perhaps, seeing how I tried to strain my laughter while covering my bubbled cheeks with my hands, Klara simply reached out to the door handle and opened it forcefully—not even giving it a chance to creak!

“Stay at home and laze, you moron,” Klara grumbled swiftly as she slammed the door.

Well… that short fun was over. The ends of my lips curved to form a small smile as I stared at the wooden ceiling. The chair I sat on creaked slightly due to my quirky position. Eventually, my eyes wandered around the room before focusing on the bookshelf. Specifically, it was aimed at the red book “Demise of the Final Hours.”

I remember saying, “My future? Hmm… I never really thought of it that much. Maybe I could be a writer,” to Klara when she asked how I would decide my future. I thought maybe I should rewrite the story my way. The concept wasn’t too bad after all. I hastily stood up, walked towards the shelves, and picked the red book by its spine, feeling the ingrained textures of thick leather. As I turned to the first page, my eyes opened wide.

All the words were… missing?