Trigger Warning: Short domestic abuse starts from ♤ and ends with ♧. Another one that is quite descriptive and triggering will start from ♡ and ends with ☆. Stay safe.

The weather finally decided to be helpful and released a chilly breeze throughout the tiny hill village. Hero took this chance to get out a worn out scarf, muddy gloves and a baggy shirt to hide his injuries. When he noticed how late he was a few days ago with Peter and Markus, he ran.

He ran as fast as he could with his two companions tailing after him. He exchanged a hasty goodbye to Peter and dragged Markus home. He pushed Markus up the stairs as their father entered the lounge from the kitchen, gripping a rather large bottle of whiskey.

Hero bowed politely and apologized for his tardiness, lying that he was caught up in school. His father gave a gruff 'mm' before spreading out on the couch, drinking every few minutes. Hero proceeded with his chores; cleaning up the house, cooking a few steaks for his father's dinner and of course, cleaning up all broken bottle shards all over the house.

He got at least five cuts from them. He also secretly cooked an extra steak, realizing that Markus had not really eaten anything that day. However, as he tapped his father lightly on the shoulder to inform him dinner was ready, his father grabbed Hero's wrist and pulled him from the back on the couch and onto the floor in front of him.

Hero wheezed as his chest collided with the hard wood and slowly sat up, folding his legs underneath him and hung his head, waiting for instruction.

"Make yourself useful and grab a bunch of cigars, will you?!"

The boy nodded and scrambled to his feet, wobbling slightly from the dizziness. He jogged to the kitchen and rummaged through the drawers, trying to find a box. He finally found the red box of cigarettes as his father yelled at him to hurry up. He accidentally stubbed his toe on an edge of a chair as he ran to his father. He took in a deep breath and limped to his father, presenting the box of cigarettes in one hand.

♤

His father sneered and snatched the box. He dug around his pocket and fished out a tiny lighter. He lighted a cigar and put it between his teeth as he pulled his son closer with a tug of his collar. Hero tried not to gag at the stench of alcohol as his father spoke, "Listen here, boy. Behave and sit down on the floor, facing me. I need an ashtray."

Hero nodded profusely and as he was free, he kneeled next to his fathers legs, wincing as his father pressed the lit end of his cigarette to his arm for the rest of the night, till he dozed off.

♧

The burns stayed for a long time and Hero was running out of excuses to tell the Yales, Markus and teachers.

So that's why the breeze helped. Autumn is starting and the trees were starting to turn brilliant shades of orange. However, neither the weather nor his injuries would stop him from seeing the wall guards. They actually had accepted him, training him and joking around with him.

One of them, a Russian called Ivan, had especially grown close to Hero. Hero looked forward everyday to exchange experiences and stories. Hero saw Ivan as a father figure, really. His own father had stopped being there for him after his mother had passed. Somewhere, a small part of him understood.

Hero knocked on the door on the wall, shivering under the cold. The door swung open and Ivan was there, his grin falling as he saw the boy's state. Ivan ushered him inside and dragged him up the stairs and to the guard post.

Hero sat down on a chair as Ivan handed him pieces of spare bread and a blanket.

"So, how's life, kid?"

Hero sighed and leaned back on the chair, "I skipped school again. The classrooms make me freeze to death."

Ivan gave a deep chuckle, his Russian accent was not that hard for Hero to understand.

"¹Ponimayu. How about your brother?"

"He's alright, I traded three pig carcasses for clothing that'll last him," he replied.

Ivan raised an eyebrow, "²Tri? Where did you, uh, find them?"

Hero shrugged and hugged the blanket, "Oh, I hunted 'em. Wasn't hard."

Ivan stiffened. He swerved around and spat, "You hunted the pigs? ³Les opasno, moya Rosa!"

Hero turned and shrugged it off. He ignored the Russian's warning and asked instead, "What does 'moya Rosa' mean? I mean, I get the rest but why do always call me that?"

Ivan's anger dissipated and was replaced with sorrow. Hero noticed and looked away, regretting it immediately. Ivan pulled out a picture from his back pocket and showed it to Hero. It was a picture of a little toddler girl in a plaid dress with her long hair swaying behind her. She had a huge grin plastered on her face and her eyes were bright and full on innocence. There were two young males peeking in for the shot as well. Hero found himself smiling.

"That is my first daughter, Rose. She fled. She fled with a young man away from the Russians, from me. I did find her again, in one of the previous villages I was posted to. We have some sort of mutual understanding so I try my best to keep in touch. I used to call her Little Rose or Moya Rosa in short. Your personality and smile match her so... ⁴Mne ochen' zhal'. I can stop if you want."

Hero shook his head profusely, "No, no. It's alright. Tell me more about your children."

Ivan took back the picture and stroked the girl's face with a thumb. He looked back at Hero's questioning and curious look and said, "I have three children, including Rose. The other two are my twin boys."

"They are grown up now. One of 'em is getting married next week with a Minecraftian woman. Lovely lady. I can't go, the general said we must stay at our posts," he said sadly.

Hero sighed. He slowly stood up and wrapped his thin arms around the gentle giant, who stiffened before patting Hero's back gently. Hero pulled away and muttered, "I have to go home. Good day, Ivan."

"You too, moya Rosa."

○

Hero stared up at the empty sky as he dragged himself to his home. At that time, surely his brother should be walking home. As he approached his home, ready to tear off his scarf, he froze at the door, which was left open, the door swinging under the tough wind. Hero gulped and entered the house cautiously and immediately smelt... Alcohol. He slowly turned his head towards the couch and saw a man leaning against the fireplace, arms crossed with all too familiar grin on his face.

"G-Good afternoon, father."

The man looked at the half empty beer bottle resting on the table. He reached out and took a long swig, gulping it down in a few seconds. He pulled away with content smile.

"Boy, get over here."

Hero put his boots outside and slowly sauntered over, head low with his hands behind his back obediently. He stopped in front of his father, staring down at two pairs of feet. The few seconds of silence were companionable, until his father made a move.

♡

Hero yelped out as his father took hold of his collar and pushed him into the nearest wall. The impact with his head made his ears ring and he looked around in confusion, groaning.

He felt something collide with his stomach. He heard a sickening crack underneath his father's fist and coughed out blood, the liquid splattering on the man's cheek. That seemed to have angered the man more as he delivered more punches to Hero's stomach and chest.

He then tightened his grip and threw him to the floor, getting on top of his son. He grabbed the beer bottle and smashed it against the wall. He poked the broken bottle at Hero's cheek and he felt the shard travel down his neck and into his side.

☆

He stopped struggling as his arms fell limp on his sides. He leaned his head back on the hard floor and groaned.

He did not understand.

Why was he doing this?

He did everything he could to make his family happy.

It was probably not enough.

He was not enough.

○

Markus bade goodbye to Dianne and Peter and rushed home. His brother attended only a few classes but skipped the rest. He already checked the blacksmith and the guard post. Ivan and Mr. Yale said he was probably at home.

Markus ran as fast as his short legs could make him, bumping into a man walking down the hill. He stood up and reached out for his satchel and looked up to see the man, who bore weird black eyewear, and he could not see the man's eyes. He saw just a glimpse of an oddly bright yellow glow from behind them. He wore a strange uniform, one that he have never seen any soldier or guard wear before. On his back, he wore a bright blue cape, with some sort of pickaxe on it.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the man spoke with a weird accent as he held out his hand, "Kid, you okay?"

Markus nodded and accepted the hand. The man asked, "Hey, do you know where am I right now?"

Markus raised an eyebrow. He has got to be kidding. Maybe he was drunk?

"You're in Minecraftia's Eastern hill Village, sir... Do you need a map or something?"

"No, no, I'm alright. Uh, thanks."

Markus shrugged and continued walking.

Until he heard a scream.

A familiar one.

Markus broke into a run, not stopping to rest as he climbed the hill, rushing into the house and freezing when he saw a trail of blood and glass leading to the lounge. He heard gasps, grunts and groans as he slowly neared the lounge. He poked his head out and paled as he saw the broken and battered up body of his brother underneath his father's fists.

Hero raised his bruised and bloody head to look at Markus. It was horrible and Markus could feel bile rising to his throat. Hero's once luscious golden hair was stained with dark red blood and was sticking to his forehead with sweat. He had a bruised eye, and his lip was split and bleeding. There was a bit of glass stuck in his cheek.

"R-Run!"

Markus did not have to be told twice.

○

"Excuse me, sir!"

Markus called out to the man he bumped into before. The man with the long brown hair tied to a ponytail swerved around, eyebrows raising behind his strange eyewear. Markus tugged at the man's blue cape, tears already running down his face.

"Please help my brother! He's hurt! Please! You're a soldier right? Help him!"

The man gulped and nodded.

"Alright, where is he?"

Markus pointed to his house on the hill. Immediately, he was scooped up by the man and was carried to the house again. The man dropped him at the porch and told him to stay until he returns. Markus could only manage a nod as the man disappeared into the house.

The boy sank to the floor, bawling out.

He just wanted all the lies to stop.

○

All noises rang in Hero's ears. He felt the rickety ground vibrate with footsteps and the weight of his father was lifted from his bruised back. He rolled to his side and hugged his stomach, desperately trying to breathe. His throat itched and his ribs ached every time he inhaled. He started coughing out more blood on the floor as he watched two blurry figures fight. He reached out a trembling hand, trying to get comfort from at least someone.

He saw another figure enter from the hallway and shrunk back. There was too much danger. Too many people. What would they do to him? Would they hurt him? Kill him?

His thoughts were interrupted as the blurry figure slipped on a shard and fell over backwards, hitting their head on the wall during the process. Hero winced at the sound of the figure banging on the wall and he watched as the smaller figure sank to the floor, shivering. He cried out when the other two fighting people fell directly on him, crushing him underneath them. He wheezed as his chest was pressed hard on the floor and he struggled to breathe before spots of black started to appear around him.

He groaned out one last time before slipping into unconsciousness.

▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒

1: Russian. "I see."

2: Russian. "Three?"

3. Russian. "The forest is dangerous, little Rose!"

4. Russian. "I'm so sorry."

These translations are from Google so obviously, they are not accurate.