That morning, the hut door creaked open with a groan louder than usual.

Boris stepped inside with heavy, deliberate strides, followed by the two bandits who always carried clubs. His eyes swept the room, counting them one by one. Loy was already sitting up, with Riri by his side. Tomas and Sany still lay in the corner, motionless.

“Wake up!” Boris’s voice thundered. “Everyone up! Get to work!”

Tomas didn’t move. Neither did Sany.

Boris’s brow furrowed. He marched to the corner and kicked Tomas’s leg. “Get up, fatty! You think this is a place to laze around?”

Tomas didn’t stir. His chest rose and fell at an agonizingly slow pace. His face was ghastly, his lips parched. Loy could see the scars on Tomas’s arms, his back—everywhere. The once-sturdy body was now nothing but skin stretched over bone, save for his bloated, malnourished stomach.

“He can’t,” Loy said. His voice was raspy, but he forced it to be firm.

Boris turned. “What?”

“He can’t. His wounds are too severe. He needs rest. He needs medicine.”

Boris approached Loy, looming over him. The stench of alcohol and stale sweat was suffocating. “Medicine? You think this is a hospital?”

Loy met his gaze. “He’s going to die.”

“That isn’t my concern.”

Boris turned away, gesturing to the two bandits behind him. They stepped forward and hoisted Tomas’s limp body. One bandit grabbed his right arm, the other his left. Tomas was dragged out, his head lolling against the dirt, his feet trailing helplessly behind.

“No!” Loy tried to stand. His hands were still bound, but he scrambled forward on all fours. “Don’t take him! He can’t—he won’t be able to work!”

Loy crawled as fast as he could. His knees scraped against the hard, unforgiving earth, and his bound hands made him lose his balance. He fell. He pushed himself up. He crawled again.

Riri crawled alongside him, grabbing Loy’s arm from behind. “Loy… don’t…”

Boris turned and stepped back, his face contorting with irritation. He shoved Loy away with his boot. “Shut up, brat!”

Loy was sent flying, his body slamming into the wooden wall of the hut. Riri tried to steady him, but Loy had already collapsed. He sat on the dirt, gasping for air.

“Loy!” Riri gripped his arm.

“Tomas…” Loy stared at the now-closed door. Tomas’s presence still lingered outside—the sound of receding footsteps, the sound of a body being dragged, and the cruel laughter of the bandits.

“If he can’t work,” Boris’s voice echoed coldly, “then he doesn’t need to eat.”

He walked out. The two bandits followed. The door was shut. Bolted.

Loy tried to give chase. He crawled to the door, slamming his shoulder against it. It didn’t budge. He shoved again. Still nothing. He pounded the door with his bound fists.

“Tomas!” he screamed. “Tomas!”

There was no answer.

Riri sat behind him, her voice trembling. “Where are they taking him?”

Loy pressed his forehead against the rough wood of the door. “I don’t know.”

He closed his eyes. In the darkness, he tried to find a spark of hope. But hope felt further away than ever.

Outside the camp, beneath a massive tree.

Tomas was dumped onto the dirt.

A few other bandits had gathered. Some sat on rocks, some leaned against trees, others laughed while swigging from bottles. They watched as if it were a performance.

Boris stood before Tomas, staring down at the unmoving heap of a boy.

“Get up,” he said. His voice wasn’t loud. It was cold. Like an order given to a dog.

Tomas didn’t move.

“I said, get up!”

Tomas remained silent. His chest rose and fell. Slow. Terrifyingly slow. His eyes were shut. Loy wasn’t here. Riri wasn’t here. There was no one to protect Tomas.

Boris raised his club. The first blow landed on Tomas’s back.

Tomas let out a low, guttural groan. He didn’t wake.

The second blow. The third. The fourth.

Tomas’s body jerked with every impact of the wood. Between the strikes, the watching bandits jeered.

“Careful, don’t kill him yet, Boss,” one of them teased.

“Let him die. That fatty is useless for work anyway,” another retorted.

Boris didn’t answer. He just kept swinging.

The fifth blow. The sixth. The seventh.

Blood began to seep from Tomas’s mouth. From his nose. From the wounds on his back that had been ripped open anew. His chest still rose and fell, but slower than before. Much slower.

Boris paused for a breath. He stared at the still-unconscious Tomas, then raised the club even higher.

The eighth blow. The ninth. The tenth.

Tomas’s body went limp against the earth. He didn’t move again.

Boris lowered the club. He kicked Tomas’s body lightly. No response. He kicked again, harder. Still no response.

“Is he dead?” a bandit called out from the distance.

Boris shrugged. “Throw him into the forest.”

Two bandits approached and lifted Tomas’s breathless body. They walked toward the trees, pushing through the brush, deeper into the woods. Tomas was tossed aside without a second thought, landing among the dry, dead leaves.

There was no prayer. No moment of silence. Just the dull thud of a body hitting the ground, followed by silence.

Inside the hut, the door opened again.

Loy lifted his head. Two bandits entered. They didn’t bring food. They didn’t bring water. They brought Sany.

The small boy was laid in the same corner where Tomas had once been. Sany was still unconscious. His chest rose and fell at a glacial pace, but he was still alive. The bandits left without a word. The door was bolted once more.

Loy crawled to the corner, sitting beside Sany. Riri followed, sitting on the other side. They both stared at Sany’s pale face, his parched lips, and his tightly closed eyes.

“Sany…” Loy touched Sany’s hand. Cold. Colder than usual.

Sany didn’t respond. His chest still moved. Slowly. So very slowly.

Loy took a breath. He turned to Riri. Riri’s eyes were vacant; she wasn’t crying anymore.

“There’s nothing we can do,” Loy whispered.

Riri didn’t answer. She just sat there, holding Sany’s other hand.

Noon turned to afternoon.

Inside the hut, nothing changed. Darkness. Silence. Sany remained still, his chest rising and falling. Every time a breath left him, Loy felt it would be the last. But the next one always came. Slow. Weak. But it came.

Riri didn’t speak. Loy didn’t either. They just sat by Sany, waiting.

Occasionally, Sany let out a soft groan. A sound so faint it was like wind whistling through the cracks in the wall. Loy didn’t know if it was from pain or a dream. But every time Sany groaned, Loy squeezed his hand. He held it tight, hoping Sany could feel that he wasn’t alone.

“Sany,” he whispered at one point. “Can you hear me?”

Sany didn’t answer.

“We’re here. Me and Riri. We’re not going anywhere.”

Sany didn’t answer. But his breath remained. It kept moving. He was still there.

Riri looked at Loy. She didn’t speak, but her eyes said everything. Loy didn’t know if it was hope or sheer despair.

Afternoon turned to night.

No lamps were ever lit. Inside the hut, it was pitch black. Only the small hole in the ceiling revealed the sky outside. No stars. No moon.

Sany was still breathing. Slowly. Very slowly. Loy had run out of words. He just sat there, clutching Sany’s hand.

Riri could no longer cry. Her eyes were dry. Her face was a mask of nothingness.

“Riri,” Loy called out.

Riri turned.

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

Riri was quiet for a moment. “Yes. Behind the meat stall. When you met Kancil while he was stealing meat.”

“He said the butcher was nice.”

Riri almost smiled. Almost. “Liar.”

“Yeah. A liar.” Loy squeezed Sany’s hand tighter.

They fell silent. Outside, the sounds of the bandits still carried. Some were laughing. Some were singing. They didn’t care what happened in this hut. They never had.

“Loy,” Riri said again.

“Yeah?”

“Kancil… he still remembers us, right?”

Loy didn’t answer. He stared at Sany’s peaceful face. Sany was never one for words. But his hearing was sharp. He always knew when danger was near. He was always the first to warn them.

“I don’t know,” Loy finally said.

Riri didn’t respond.

The night grew deeper.

Sany no longer groaned. His chest still rose and fell, but it was slower than before. Loy could count the seconds. One breath. Two seconds. Two breaths. Two seconds. Three breaths. Two seconds. Four breaths. Three seconds.

Slower. Slower.

Loy closed his eyes. He gripped Sany’s hand with everything he had.

One breath. Three seconds.

Two breaths. Four seconds.

Three breaths. Five seconds.

Loy opened his eyes. Sany’s chest didn’t move. He waited. One second. Two seconds. Five seconds. Ten seconds.

No movement.

“Sany?” Loy touched his cheek. Cold. Colder than ever before.

He touched his chest. No movement. He pressed his ear against Sany’s chest. No sound.

“Sany…”

Riri watched. She didn’t speak. She didn’t cry. Her eyes were hollow, as if nothing remained inside her.

Loy sat back. He looked at Sany’s peaceful face. No new wounds. No blood. Sany had simply stopped. Like a lamp that had flickered out because the oil had run dry.

“He’s gone,” Loy whispered. “Sany is gone.”

Riri didn’t answer. She just gripped Sany’s cold hand and didn’t let go.

Loy stared at the ceiling of the hut. The small hole was still the same, showing the dark, empty sky. No stars. No moon.

He remembered Tomas laughing, hugging Kancil. He remembered Sany’s thin smile, listening to the distant sounds. He remembered Riri hitting Kancil’s shoulder gently. He remembered himself saying, “We’ll wait.”

We’ll wait.

Kancil hadn’t come back.

Loy took Riri’s hand. Riri returned the squeeze.

“Loy,” Riri whispered. Her voice didn’t shake. There were no tears. Just a hollow sound. “Does Kancil still remember us?”

Loy was silent. He wanted to say yes. But the words wouldn’t come. He didn’t know anymore. He had waited too long. Tomas was dead. Sany was dead. And Kancil had not come.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. His voice was soft, barely a breath.

Riri didn’t answer. She only gripped Loy’s hand tighter.

Outside, the night wind hissed. Occasionally, a wolf howled. Sometimes, the bandits laughed. But inside the hut, there was silence. A silence Loy had never felt before.

Loy closed his eyes. He couldn’t cry anymore. His tears were spent. What remained was only an abyss.

We’ll wait.

That was the promise he had made. But that promise hadn’t saved Tomas. It hadn’t saved Sany. It hadn’t saved anyone.

Loy held Riri’s hand. It was still warm. Still alive.

“Riri,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“We’re still alive.”

Riri looked at him. Her eyes were vacant, but there was something there. Something Loy couldn’t explain.

“We’re still alive,” Loy repeated. “We have to stay alive.”

Riri didn’t answer. But her hand squeezed back.

In the dark hut, two children sat beside the body of a friend who no longer breathed. There were no sobs. No prayers. Only silence.

Loy opened his eyes. He stared at the locked door. Outside, the bandits could still be heard. They laughed, they drank, they lived as if everything were normal. As if Tomas had never existed. As if Sany had never existed.

But Loy remembered.

He remembered Tomas, who was always their shield. He remembered Sany, who heard danger before anyone else knew. He remembered Kancil, who promised to return. He remembered it all.

And he would never forget.

Loy gripped Riri’s hand tighter. They could do nothing now. They were weak. Bound. Weaponless. Powerless.

But they were still alive.

And as long as they were alive, there was one thing they could do.

Keep living.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep