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"Here you go, boy. Now hurry on back. It's getting dark out."

Seonghwa sent the old baker lady of their village a fleeting grin. She tried to give one back, but a cough trembled through her hunched figure. As she turned away, wrapping her shawl over her mouth to stifle the sickness, wrinkly fingers beckoned at Seonghwa to go.

"Take care," he muttered, leaving her alone to fumble for some water. He ducked outside of her hut and back into the snowy landscape. The needle forest enveloped the village, towering and dark, looming with attentive eyes. Crows called into the night and Seonghwa stepped into the same traces in the snow that led him here. Already, they were covered by a fresh layer of crunching white.

With the bread cradled in his arms, Seonghwa hurried back to their cabin. He passed the stone well rimmed with a pale white coat. Few houses had the light flickering behind their windows. Most had tugged all shutters and doors closed to save warmth.

Alone with the watchful crows, Seonghwa dashed through the whirl of white. The forest was still around them, as if frozen under winter's frigid grip. When an icy zephyr whirled through the powdery snow to whip at Seonghwa's coat, he buried into himself, shuddering.

Soon, the promising warmth of his home drew near. Seonghwa huddled inside and slammed the door shut before the greedy grasp of the cold could follow. Since he didn't plan to go out again tonight, he shoved the bolt into place.

"I have the bread, mother," he chirped at the corner of the room, shrugging off his coat. He placed another log of wood on the fireplace and dusted off his palms before hooking the pot back on top of it in which he had been making soup when he realised they were out of bread.

A pleased sigh answered him. Their small space was cosy from the heat. Creaking wooden beams kept the cold out. When he was a child, the groaning of the wood scared Seonghwa. But he was old enough now to protect his house from any outer dangers, no longer scared of the lumber's whispers. His father died a few years back, so he was the man of the house. The one meant to shelter and protect.

When the soup was done, he poured some into a bowl and left the rest to simmer over the fire. With a fresh slice of bread, he approached the bed in the corner of the room.

"Our baker family seems sicker by the day. Her cough barely improved," Seonghwa muttered as he sat on the corner of the mattress and dunked the bread into the soup. "The entire village is sick. How long has it been since Wooyoung left to get the court physician? Will he ever come back?"

The narrow figure propped against the pillows didn't answer him. Deep shadows lined his mother's eyes and protruding cheekbones when he fed her the soup. Her skin was taut over her bones, just barely holding together the skeleton of her. When spindly fingers reached for Seonghwa's wrist, he gently pressed them back down onto the blanket.

Contrary to the rest of the village, his mother had always been sick. Seonghwa grew up playing outside only with the other kids and his father, but his mother was in poor condition from the moment he was born. She shunned the sun since it was too bright for her eyes and she moved little, always afraid when her brittle body might give out on her. Though she wasn't so old, her grey hair was sparse on top of her head and she often couldn't breathe in the night.

Seonghwa took care of her from the moment he was old enough to walk. Brought her water and books, beamed at her brittle smiles. She always cared. Made sure he wore his scarves and didn't forget his coat. Occasionally, she hummed melodies for him or managed to cook. But the strength in her slender limbs was that of a summer breeze.

She slurped the soup off the spoon and Seonghwa was glad she was fine today.

Recently, some disease struck all villagers. Young and old, even the animals. It started with a cough, but it got worse and worse. The flesh began fouling off their bones and they would lose limbs. Would wander ghostily, without sight or hearing. The priest tried to keep the ones in the last stages of the illness hidden away in the church to cleanse their souls with prayers for a smooth passing, but Seonghwa had seen some of them. Their teeth lay bare as their faces slipped off their skulls.

They walked longer than a living person should be able to walk. Driven by something inexplicable for they couldn't eat and no treatment seemed to help. And then, finally, they would collapse.

They buried so many already. Dozens of their people. The village shrank at an alarming rate and nobody dared go near the graveyard. People believed it originated from there. This foul curse which reaped the souls of good people. Some claimed they found the traces of bare feet in the snow and heard the moaning of a hundred tormented souls.

Seonghwa's mother also asked him to stay away. He listened to her advice, not one to tempt his luck.

Seonghwa was the only one who wasn't ill. The priest called him pure and blessed, the healthiest among them all. And while Seonghwa was more than glad to help those who couldn't work anymore, he was haunted by his health. Why did he watch everyone else die? Why couldn't he help them?

Wooyoung had already started coughing when he left for the desperate quest of their mayor to find help at the royal court. They feared carrying the illness over to the capital, but they were despairing. No one ran faster than Wooyoung on tricky forest paths, but he had been gone for weeks. Seonghwa couldn't bear to imagine some wolves might have ripped him apart a few days away from here.

They had to maintain hope; the priest had said. Needed to continue praying and trying. Someone would come to save them. One day...

Seonghwa ripped the bread apart for his mother. He hoped the help wouldn't come too late. With her sickly disposition and ashen skin, his mother couldn't afford to become even more sick. If Seonghwa could do anything to distribute his blessing, he would.

"My Seonghwa..." His mother whispered in her airy, light voice. The crackling of the fire was louder than her, but Seonghwa knew to listen for her hum. He knew her voice had once been beautiful. That she had once been beautiful. Perhaps her falling ill was the warning their village would have needed.

"How is the mayor?"

Seonghwa soaked the bread into the soup, softening it up for her to chew.

"Last time I saw him, he no longer had a jaw. He writes his wills on paper, and his wife reads them out for us. He forbade anyone from going to the graveyard before the priest can't cleanse the area. I'm sorry, mother. I wish I could visit father. If you also leave me, I..." Seonghwa hung his head. His collar dug into his skin.

"I will come see you. I promise. Even if it's scary. I can't let you be by yourself."

A deep sorrow marred her aged face. Brittle hands caressed Seonghwa's in an attempt to soothe him.

"I'm going nowhere," she whispered. "Let's stay here. Safe."

Seonghwa couldn't imagine how scared she was for him. Every day when he went out, he exposed himself to the disease. Couldn't just shun the people dying against their will. His mother couldn't move, couldn't hide him away. Seonghwa needed to chop wood and get food for them to survive. By now, he was the only man in the village at full strength, so he needed to help everyone at the well and make sure their homes were warm.

When Seonghwa was too lost in thought to reply, she continued.

"Something evil haunts the graveyard. Don't let it touch you," she pleaded once more, and Seonghwa returned to his smile.

"Of course not, mother. I am just worried father will be lonely." He continued feeding her, but he had long since developed a certain stubbornness for this tale.

Back when his father had still been alive, his parents warned Seonghwa he shouldn't go near the graveyard, even for burials or festivities for the dead. They spoke of an evil force lingering over the area, sucking up all light.

When he was young, Seonghwa believed to understand what they meant. Whenever he visited the graves up on the hill, a particular coldness seemed to grip him through his clothes. But as he got older, Seonghwa understood what he felt was grief. He mourned the dead as if he felt their spirits linger. Anyone would be saddened in the presence of lost friends and family. And Seonghwa wasn't surprised that the recent spike in deaths added to the haunting darkness engulfing the graveyard.

His mother had spoken of magic back then. Of a being slumbering in the hills of this village. Villainous and hungry, so greedy to devour anything alive.

Now that people fell sick, Seonghwa believed her this place was cursed. Her illness, his father's death, and now the suffering of the people. If they were wise, they should leave and find a place to settle somewhere else. Heal with better medicines and resources.

But the mayor mandated nobody to leave until Wooyoung was back. If the king disallowed them to spread the disease, they had to obey.

Every day, Seonghwa wished for someone to get better. To recover, so death wasn't the inevitable end. But they all wasted away. Everyone but him.

After dinner, his mother went to sleep, depleted of the energy eating demanded of her. Seonghwa silently washed her bowl and also ate while he listened to the wind howling around the buildings.

Now that they brought it up, he missed his father. Seonghwa hadn't visited his grave since summer and the guilt gnawed on him.

In the past year of everyone slowly getting sicker and sicker, Seonghwa never developed a single symptom. Was beautiful like a flower amid his diminishing people. His hair was glossy and black, healthy with the glow of his skin that retained the summer's rays. Even with his limited meals, Seonghwa didn't feel weak.

Was it so wrong to dare a brief trip? It wasn't scary during the daytime, and Seonghwa could bring his axe.

While he washed up with the remaining heated water, Seonghwa glanced at his mother. She didn't have to know. If she did, she would only worry. No need to challenge her friable health.

Seonghwa rinsed off his shoulders and down his chest, scrubbing between his toes and fingers. He didn't take off the leather collar laced around his neck. He was never supposed to stop wearing it. Seonghwa had worn it since he could think, probably since he was born. His father told him it would keep him warm and protect his neck from the attacks of wolves or blades.

Once, Seonghwa asked Wooyoung why he didn't also wear one. The boy asked his parents and started doing the same, if only to match with his friend. For Wooyoung, it was no family tradition, so he took it off when they bathed in the river streams, but Seonghwa didn't. Its soothing grip did warm him and he wore it as a memento of his father. With the passing years, Seonghwa no longer questioned it. He had no reason to take it off and his mother often made sure he still wore it, since her eyesight wasn't good.

After slipping back into his clothing, Seonghwa washed out his hair and let some fresh air into their humble abode before kindling the fire for the last time of the night. As he got cosy behind his mother and curled up to the shrill wind trying to blow their house away, his resolve was sealed in the privacy of his head.

He was old enough, and he took care not to get in contact with those at the end of their sickness.

He would make a quick trip to the graveyard and be back before the chickens woke to help the village with their water and firewood.