Wearing her favorite skirt, adorned with beautiful gems,

she pretended to lift her skirt while playing hopscotch.

Archer walked to the bedside and saw the scene outside the window.

So bloody and brutal that a mere glance could induce visceral discomfort.

But Archer’s frown just deepened.

He drew the curtains.

The shadow was gone.

Hannah stopped her steps and looked up at him, "Archer, what’s wrong?"

Archer noticed the cup on the table.

Water was heating on the fireplace next to him, yet the water in the cup had gone cold.

The little girl had been sitting there for a long time.

This was just speculation, so he squatted down and asked seriously again, "Have you been sitting here watching for a long time, right?"

In her line of sight, as the boy crouched down, Hannah could lower her head to look at him.

She liked this angle because it allowed her to see clearly the boy’s beautiful eyes.

"Are you talking about the fight?"

Hannah responded, looking into his eyes.

The boy said, "Yes."

Hannah honestly nodded in acknowledgment, "I’ve been watching for a long time."

It had started at dawn and now nearly two hours had passed.

Still, no victor had emerged outside.

Archer’s lips were tightly pressed.

He felt such bloody scenes were not things a seven-year-old child should witness.

But what could he say?

Tell the little girl not to watch in the future, to learn to grow up like other normal children?

Impossible.

This was Brile, not a playground of innocent fun.

There was screaming outside.

Hannah suddenly reached out and gently patted Archer’s shoulder, "If you’re scared, you can hide behind me."

Her face wore an innocent and carefree smile.

Such a contradictory person.

Like the pristine moonlight, the shimmering stars belonged only to the night.

And only the night could make them shine.

Hannah was like that.

She might be strange, but purer than many.

"I’m not afraid," Archer said after a pause, "I can protect you too."

"But I don’t need protection," Hannah said, "You are mine because I found you, it’s right for me to protect you."

Her things, she had to protect them well.

Archer felt a bit tangled up.

There was something not quite right, but he did not know how to counter immediately.

Faced with the little girl’s round eyes, all he could do was nod and agree.

After that day, Hannah and Archer truly began a life of mutual dependence.

The "neighbors" living nearby all knew.

The little witch in the stone house had picked up a boy.

Initially, everyone thought he was Hannah’s brother.

Because both of them had equally beautiful eyes.

But Hannah had never called Archer "brother," she only called him by his name, "Archer."

It started to rain outside, washing away the heavy scent of blood from several consecutive days.

Hannah moved a small chair in front of the door, holding a pot of flowers in her hands.

The pot bore a single, blood-red flower, vibrant as fresh blood.

In the corner, someone was watching Hannah.

Every time after a fight, the people in the refugee area would reshuffle.

The victorious group would turn their attention back to Hannah.

Because everyone knew, Hannah had the best house and the most food.

Enough to get them through the upcoming cold winter.

But they were still watching, not advancing rashly.

Inside the house, Archer was preparing dinner for the evening.

Dinner was a mutant beast that Hannah had hunted earlier.