Rogers

Rogers' battle axe is heavy and rough, much like the calloused hands that wield it. Yet in quiet moments, those same hands carve delicate wooden figurines. The strong men of the town admire his stone-like physique, and rumors claim he once fought a savage bear alone in the forest. But only he knows the truth beneath that fearsome exterior—a heart that longs for peace. When he speaks to a young fawn, even his deep voice softens like a gentle breeze.

During a harsh winter, when Sasha's family ran out of firewood, Rogers never knocked or announced himself. Instead, under the cover of night, he carried stacks of firewood as heavy as mountains and left them silently at her doorstep. By morning, the snow would reveal a trail of deep, heavy footprints, along with a small straw animal perched atop the pile—clumsy, yet filled with quiet warmth and care.

At the Harvest Festival, Rogers stayed hidden in the shadows by the bonfire, until a pair of small hands offered him a bowl of hot soup. Sasha looked up at him with shining eyes and said, "Uncle Rogers, Mom says you're a very brave warrior." The man who had never once retreated in battle now found himself strangely flustered, as if burned by something unseen. He gripped the bowl tightly, glancing toward the gentle figure standing in the moonlight, and quietly gave voice to a dream he had long kept to himself.

Years later, in a small border town, people grew used to the unlikely pair. The man once feared as a beast became someone children could rely on. No longer just a lumberjack bound by his appearance, Rogers stood like an unshakable lighthouse, while the woman by his side moved like a seabird dancing in its light. In a world of chaos, the two of them carved out a quiet haven together.