Harlyn sat cross-legged on the bed.

  Her spellbook remained untouched in the corner.

  Instead—four wooden pegs were arranged in front of her like a small gathering.

  She held one in her hand, gently shaking it up and down.

  “Harlyn, do you want to play with us?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “But… I don’t know how to play,” she answered in a small voice.

  She made the peg nod in reply.

  “The game we play involves magic.”

  “Really?”

  A faint spark lit her eyes.

  “Then I want to play too.”

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  The sharp rapping at the door cut through the room.

  Harlyn froze.

  Slowly, she set the peg down.

  …

  Uncle?

  She crept toward the door and peeked through the narrow crack.

  Her breath caught.

  A soldier stood outside, tall as a pillar.

  Sunlight struck his polished armor—the glare forcing her to squint.

  No…

  Wait…

  He looked down at her.

  His lips were moving.

  But she couldn’t hear him.

  Her thoughts were louder.

  If a soldier asks—

  You’re Jukig’s little sister.

  Jukig’s face flashed in her mind, blurred and overlapping the soldier’s.

  Repeat after me, you’re—?

  …

  I’m Jukig’s little sister.

  “I’m Jukig’s little sister!” she blurted.

  The soldier sighed.

  “I know that. Jukig already informed us.”

  He paused.

  “What I’m asking is—why are you here?”

  Harlyn’s mouth opened.

  “Huh?”

  Her face drained of color.

  “I—I’m…”

  “Jukig’s little sister…?” The words barely formed.

  The soldier shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Kids from different provinces…” he muttered.

  “What are they so afraid of?”

  He crouched until they were eye level.

  Harlyn’s lips trembled—no sound came.

  The soldier studied her for a moment.

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  “Apprenticeship?” he guessed. “Wood carving?”

  “Wood carving?” she echoed.

  “You came to follow Jukig’s profession, didn’t you?”

  Like a rope thrown to someone drowning—

  Harlyn nodded frantically.

  “Yes! Umm! Yes!”

  The soldier exhaled.

  “Why didn’t you say that from the beginning?”

  He straightened with a grunt.

  “Be careful at home alone.” He glanced through the house as he spoke.

  “Yell out if there’s any trouble.”

  “Th-thank you…” Harlyn whispered.

  She watched until his armored figure disappeared down the street.

  ***

  Late afternoon.

  Swish.

  Swish.

  Harlyn stood before the bookshelf, brushing dust carefully from each wooden toy.

  Click.

  The door opened.

  Thump.

  Jukig dropped his tool bag onto the floor.

  “Ahhh—”

  He stretched as he stepped inside.

  Harlyn rushed over, still clutching a toy and brush.

  “Uncle! A soldier came today!”

  “Really?” he asked, startled.

  She nodded quickly.

  “Already…?” He muttered under his breath.

  “Did you say what I told you to?”

  With the brightest smile—

  “I told them that first!”

  Relief visibly loosened his shoulders.

  ...

  “Uncle… why can’t I say I’m your niece?” Harlyn asked softly.

  Jukig seemed hesitant to answer.

  "Oh,

  well..."

  “Cities love their forms. ‘Little sister’ keeps them happy.” he shrugged.

  Harlyn frowned slightly, unconvinced.

  Jukig raised an eyebrow.

  “Less questions.”

  “Less paperwork.”

  He noticed the brush in her hand.

  “Cleaning the bookshelf?”

  Harlyn tilted her head, then glanced down at her hands as if confirming it herself.

  “I am!”

  She hurried back to continue dusting.

  Jukig chuckled softly and walked into the kitchen—pulling out utensils.

  Yet his gaze kept drifting back to her.

  …

  At some point, he forgot what he was doing.

  He leaned against the counter, chin resting on his hand.

  The smile slowly faded.

  “Harlyn…”

  “Yes, Uncle?” she answered, still focused on polishing a peg.

  “Have you ever held money before?”

  She shook her head.

  “If… I asked Harlyn to buy food for dinner sometimes…”

  He paused.

  “Would you do it?”

  Harlyn turned slowly—eyes searching his face.

  Money?

  That’s what Dad worked so hard for…

  And that’s why Mom—

  Her chest tightened.

  To keep the house alive.

  She nodded firmly.

  “That’s the spirit!” Jukig pointed at her with a grin.

  “Every morning, I’ll leave money on the shelf.”

  “You can buy whatever you like—as long as it’s edible.”

  “And…”

  He noticed her anticipation.

  “You can keep the change.”

  “Really?” Her eyes widened.

  “Yes. The change is yours.”

  She bounced in place, unable to hide her excitement.

  Jukig pointed toward his tool bag.

  “Go see what I brought.”

  Without hesitation, she ran to it and opened it eagerly.

  She lifted out a brown cloak.

  “Woah…”

  But something else caught her attention.

  Woodchips scattered along the bottom.

  A small carving knife. A chisel.

  Both rusted.

  From behind her, Jukig spoke.

  “From tomorrow, whenever you go outside…”

  “Wear the cloak.”

  Harlyn nodded.

  But her eyes remained fixed on the rusted tools—