Sizzling.
A warm, savory aroma drifted through the house.
Harlyn stirred.
One eye fluttered open while the other stubbornly remained shut.
She blinked slowly, her gaze settling on the kitchen.
“Up already?” Jukig asked, surprise in his voice, though his eyes never left the pan.
He flicked his wrist.
Whoosh.
The food leapt into the air and fell neatly back into the pan.
Harlyn lay there, unable to take her eyes off him cooking.
“See how skillful I am?” Jukig grinned, glancing up at her.
Harlyn flushed. She quickly turned around—facing the wall.
Jukig chuckled softly.
“It’s your mom’s favorite.”
Staring at the wall, the words lingered.
Mom…?
Mom always knew what Dad and I liked.
But…
Her chest tightened.
I never knew what Mom liked.
Her eyes squeezed shut. Her face twisted as though she were holding something in.
She curled inward, arms wrapping tightly around herself.
***
The sizzling faded.
Footsteps approached.
The door creaked open.
“Harlyn, stay home and be good. I have to go to work.”
In a panic, Harlyn jumped up.
“UNCLE, WAIT!”
She rushed forward, catching his hand just before the door closed.
Jukig turned, startled.
“Hm?”
Harlyn’s face burned red.
“Uncle… could you bend down a little?” she asked, barely audible.
He tilted his head, confused, then crouched down.
“What’s wrong, Harlyn?”
Harlyn avoided his eyes.
Her eyes shut tight as she reached up, her small hand hovering over the lump on his forehead.
A pale green light blossomed from her palm.
Jukig froze.
“So… it’s true…” he mumbled, his voice choked.
The light faded. The swelling smoothed.
Harlyn lowered her hand.
Jukig cleared his throat—trying to steady himself.
“Th-thank you, Harlyn.”
She gave a small nod, still unable to meet his gaze.
Suddenly, he snapped his fingers.
“Oh, right. I almost forgot.”
Harlyn turned toward him, her expression empty—but her eyes were waiting.
Jukig lifted one finger.
“Do not leave the house.”
He held up a second one.
“Do not let anyone in.”
And a third.
“If a soldier knocks and asks what you are to me—"
He looked directly into her eyes.
“Tell them you are Jukig’s little sister.”
“Got it?”
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Harlyn nodded slightly—confused.
"Repeat what I said."
"You are Jukig's little sister."
“I’m Jukig’s little sister,” Harlyn replied softly.
“Good.” He smiled. “I’ll be home soon.”
Before the door shut, he peeked back in.
“And eat everything. Or flies will swarm it.”
Click.
Silence returned.
Harlyn turned back toward the house.
She stood there for a long moment, her gaze moving quietly around the room.
Her fingers twisted the hem of her dress.
…
With a deep breath, she gradually relaxed.
Harlyn walked into the kitchen and looked at the stir-fry in the pan.
Roast.
Soup.
Bake.
But dry…?
Mom’s favorite is special.
She carried the pan and spoon to the floor.
***
The pan was now empty—not a crumb left.
She glanced over her shoulder at the bookshelf behind her.
Wooden toys lined it carefully.
The pile Jukig had given her yesterday was only half of it...
Something caught her sight.
A drawing, carefully framed in wood.
Hale had Jukig tucked under his arm, knuckles pressed into his hair in a playful noogie.
Jukig’s face was scrunched in protest—yet clearly laughing.
And Meryl—
She held her swollen belly gently, smiling with quiet warmth.
Mom… Dad…
Harlyn lifted the frame. Tears welled in her eyes.
***
The afternoon sun poured over the second-floor balcony, bathing it in soft orange light.
Trees and flowers surrounded it.
Every kind of plant Meryl used to grow back home was here again.
Harlyn sat on a small wooden swing, gently swaying—the drawing resting against her chest.
Two butterflies fluttered together nearby.
They drifted closer and landed lightly on her lap.
Harlyn reached out, hoping to touch their wings—they lifted into the air again.
She watched them go in silence.
***
A single oil lamp flickered.
Stars scattered across the dark sky.
Harlyn sat on the bed, the framed drawing in her arms.
…
Click.
“I’m home.” Jukig said wearily.
Even so, he gave her a smile.
That same tired face...
That same practiced smile...
Harlyn burst into tears and ran forward, wrapping herself around his legs.
“Uncle!”
Jukig startled and lifted her.
“Huh?
“What’s wrong?”
Harlyn paused, looked up at him—
then cried harder.
Jukig froze.
Panicking, he set her down.
Harlyn hugged her uncle's legs tightly again.
"Wh-what's wrong?"
"Are there guards here today?!"
"Or—or did a thief break in?!"
She shook her head, face buried against his pant.
He sighed in relief and carried her to the bed, sitting beside her.
She clung to his arm, soaking his sleeve with tears.
“Then what’s—”
His eyes landed on the framed drawing.
“…Wrong.” Jukig’s voice trailed off.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
He lifted the picture and held it in front of them.
“Harlyn, do you know?”
“I almost died that day!”
“What happened-?” Harlyn’s voice muffled through Jukig’s sleeve.
“Your dad’s armpits smelled terrible.”
A shaky giggle escaped Harlyn.
“I almost threw up while we were being drawn.”
Harlyn laughed through her tears.
Jukig smiled.
“You don’t know how furious your mom was afterward.”
“As soon as the artist left, she smacked your dad on the back of his head!”
Jukig deepened his voice, mimicking Meryl's grumpy voice.
“Even during a family portrait, you still have to joke around!”
“Always bullying my little brother—”
Harlyn’s sobbing faded into quiet laughter.
At this moment, with a playful face—Jukig gently ruffled her hair.
…
“Harlyn,” he said softly.
She looked up.
“You should smile more…”
“Your mom and dad would be really happy if they saw this."
He pointed toward the ceiling.
“They might even be watching.”
Her eyes followed.
“Maybe they’ve turned into birds, or… butterflies.”
“To follow your path.”
…
“All right!” he stood, clapping once.
“Who’s ready for dinner?”
Harlyn quickly wiped off the remaining tear stuck on her eyes.
“I’m ready!”
