The word echoed in her mind for a long time, like something impossible. Lucia stood in the doorway of the small room and, for the first time in many years, did not feel cornered.

She looked at Nantan, trying to understand how it could be that the man everyone called a cruel savage was the only one who had given her the right to decide for herself.

That night, she barely slept. She listened to the wind in the hills, the quiet crackle of the fire, and Nantan’s footsteps outside. He truly stayed there, just as he had said. He did not try to enter, did not demand anything, did not remind her that by village law she already belonged to him.

At dawn, Lucia stepped into the yard. Nantan sat by the fire, quietly sharpening a knife. When he saw her, he simply nodded, as if their silent agreement were the most natural thing in the world.

And at that moment, Lucia felt a strange, almost unfamiliar emotion. It was neither fear, nor submission, nor even gratitude.

It was something deeper—a quiet certainty that perhaps her life had not ended there, in the village where she was considered a curse.

She slowly sat beside him and stretched her hands toward the warmth of the fire. For the first time in many years, she did not feel the urge to run from the future.

Months passed. One day, a villager riding through the hills accidentally saw their house.

He stopped and watched in amazement as Lucia laughed while helping Nantan with the chores, how they spoke calmly and simply with each other—like people who had found support in one another. What he saw shocked him so much that when he returned to the village, he immediately told everyone.

The rumor spread instantly. People could hardly believe their ears. The girl they had considered lost forever and doomed suddenly turned out to be happy.

Moreover—she had managed to bring happiness to a man everyone had grown accustomed to fearing.

And perhaps it was on that very day that the villagers first realized that sometimes the truth is not at all what they are used to believing.