novelraw Chapter 105 : The Boy at the Fence
Chapter 105 : The Boy at the Fence
(Rooga POV)
The next day felt lighter somehow.
The storm from yesterday — Mother’s fury, Father’s silence — had passed, leaving the air still and cool.
I went to the edge of the fields where Father and the workers were checking the soil lines.
The scent of grass and earth mixed with mana from the trees. It always smelled like rain before it fell.
That’s when I noticed someone by the fence.
A boy was balancing on the wooden rail, tossing small stones into the air and catching them again. His hair was brown and unkempt, his shirt torn at the shoulder, but his grin was easy and familiar.
Crome.
For a moment, I didn’t know whether to wave or walk away.
He looked up first and smiled. “Hey, you remember me?”
I blinked, still a little unsure. “Yeah. From the village.”
He jumped down from the fence and dusted off his hands. “I figured I should come by. My brother works here — Calen. He’s one of the farmhands.”
I nodded slowly. “Right. I’ve seen him before.”
Crome scratched the back of his head, suddenly awkward. “Listen… about what happened the other day.”
I tensed, expecting another argument. But he just looked down at the dirt and said quietly, “I should’ve said something when Fera yelled at you. I didn’t. I was scared, and… I felt bad afterward.”
That caught me off guard.
“You’re apologizing?” I asked.
He shrugged. “You said something dumb, but we all did. You just took the hit for it. Fera’s scary when she’s mad.”
I couldn’t help it — I laughed. “Yeah. She hits hard.”
“She does,” he said, smiling a little. “But she’s right most of the time.”
We stood there a moment, the wind moving through the wheat around us.
It wasn’t awkward anymore.
Then he kicked a pebble across the dirt. “You doing anything?”
I shook my head.
“Wanna play? There’s a stream down the road. Calen says there’s frogs big enough to ride if you catch them right.”
I snorted. “That sounds fake.”
“Only one way to find out,” he said, grinning.
I glanced back toward Father, who was talking to the workers near the field’s edge.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He must have felt my stare because he turned, brow raised.
“Go,” he said simply, a small smile tugging at his lips.
I nodded and turned back to Crome. “Let’s go then.”
Crome grinned wider, and we took off down the path — just two boys running toward the sound of water, the field fading behind us.
As we ran, I realized something simple.
He wasn’t a noble or a mage, or a hero waiting to be one. He was just a boy who worked, laughed, and tried his best — the kind of person I never got to be around.
And even though I didn’t say it out loud, something in me eased.
Maybe this was what Mother meant when she said I needed friends.
The stream wasn’t far — just a small ribbon of water that curved behind the Valemont fields.
Crome and I raced down the path, laughing so loud the birds scattered from the branches.
When we reached the edge, we threw stones into the current, arguing about who could skip theirs the farthest.
For a while, everything felt normal. The water, the wind, the noise — it was the kind of peace I didn’t know I’d been missing.
Crome crouched near the reeds, eyes scanning the water. “Hey, look at this.”
He pointed to a hollow under a root where the current pooled dark and still. A faint buzzing sound echoed from inside.
I frowned. “Bees?”
He shook his head. “Too low. And bees don’t sound like that.”
The hum deepened. The water rippled — once, then twice — before something black and chitinous crawled out.
Its eyes glowed dull red. A swollen insect, larger than a dog, its carapace cracked and leaking purple steam.
Crome’s breath caught. “What is that?”
I didn’t answer. My heart pounded. I’d seen sketches of corrupted beasts before — Father kept records of them.
But this one was small, half-dead… and still terrifying.
The thing hissed, its wings twitching like torn paper.
“Run,” Crome said quietly.
I blinked. “What?”
He stepped in front of me, arms outstretched, trembling but firm. “You go back. You’re Valemont's kid. You matter more.”
The insect shrieked, its mandibles clattering like metal.
“Crome—”
“Go!” he shouted, glancing back at me. His face was pale, but his eyes were steady. “If someone has to get hit, it won’t be you.”
And in that instant, something inside me froze.
All my life — in the last world — people avoided trouble, avoided me.
No one had ever stepped forward for me. Only my family and never a stranger.
Not once.
And now this boy, who barely knew my name, was ready to die for me.
Something snapped into place inside my chest — not anger, not fear, but a pulse of will.
The kind of motion that didn’t wait for thought.
“Move!” I shouted.
Crome hesitated, startled, and I pushed him aside.
The insect lunged — fast — but my body moved faster.
Lyra’s lessons rushed through me, every motion drilled by repetition.
Weight on the heel, pivot through the hips, strike through the gap.
My footwork flowed like instinct. The world blurred.
The monster’s claw swung wide as I slipped under it, twisting past its reach.
I raised my hand.
Mana surged.
The HUD flashed across my vision.
[Spell Cast: Violent Spark]
[Element: Lightning — Controlled Release]
A bolt of blue-white energy burst from my palm, exploding against the creature’s chest.
The crack echoed through the trees. Steam hissed from its wounds, and it screeched once before collapsing — legs twitching, then still.
The smell of burnt carapace filled the air.
I stood there panting, arm trembling from the feedback.
Crome peeked out from behind a rock, eyes wide. “You… you killed it.”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
He walked up slowly, staring at the smoking remains. “That was—” He stopped, then looked at me. “You could’ve run.”
I shrugged, still catching my breath. “You could’ve too.”
He grinned faintly. “Guess we’re both stupid.”
I laughed, the sound shaky but real.
We sat by the stream after that, saying nothing for a long time.
The air smelled of rain and ozone. The insect’s remains slowly dissolved into mist — maybe part of the corruption fading away.
When the silence grew softer, Crome said quietly, “I’ll get stronger. So next time, I can help for real.”
I glanced at him, surprised, but the look on his face was sincere — steady, not proud.
I nodded. “Then I’ll make sure you don’t die trying.”
He smiled, tired but bright. “Deal.”
We stayed until the sun dipped low, the stream carrying away what was left of the fight — and the start of something that felt like more than friendship.