The golden dusk melted into the bright sky, streaking the highlands in shades of fire and honey. Birds returning to their nests. Amidst the open fields, two little flowers bloomed — Deevta and Vishaka — their laughter as light as the breeze that kissed the hills.
Giggling,
"You can't catch me, Deevta!" He chirped.
Deevta narrowed his eyes, determination flashing across his face.
"I will catch you, Vishaka!" he declared, taking off after him.
They danced across the field, dodging and weaving like sprites at play.
"When will you..." Vishaka panted "gasp catch me, huh?"
"You just wait!" Deevta shouted back, grinning fiercely.
With a final burst of energy, he lunged forward. His hands closed around Vishaka's arm.
"Caught you!" he cried triumphantly. "I win!"
Still giggling, Deevta spun in place, overcome by pure, irrepressible joy, jumping up and down. Vishaka stumbled, breathless and laughing, letting himself fall into the grass, surrendering to the moment.
"Come on, we should sit by the cliff," Vishaka said, his voice light with excitement.
Deevta hesitated, taking a step back. "By the cliff? No way!"
"Come on, you timid little thing," Vishaka teased, flashing a grin. Without waiting for an answer, he seized Deevta's wrist and yanked him forward, dragging him towards the cliff's edge.
They settled down at the very end.
"You know," Vishaka said, gazing out over the endless plains, "one day, I'm going to become a knight. I'll go outside the high walls."
Deevta frowned. "Without permission, you can't. It would violate the treaty."
"They say the war is near," Vishaka murmured.
Deevta let out a soft chuckle. "We're just nine, Vishaka. Even if a war broke out, they wouldn't throw children onto the battlefield."
Vishaka laughed too, a twinkle in his eye. "But you could."
"Shhh," Deevta hissed, sharply looking around. "Don't say that. And I won't."
Vishaka turned to him, earnest and a little envious. "Why do you have such an amazing power?"
"It's no power," Deevta said bitterly, his voice low and strained. "It's a curse. I will never use it."
"If I had it, I'd be a war hero," Vishaka said, his voice filled with innocent dreams.
"Don't say it like that," Deevta snapped, the words heavier than he meant them to be. "This thing... this thing can only bring harm."
A sudden high-pitched squeak broke the moment.
"Huh?" Deevta blinked, looking around.
A shrill, deafening BEEEEEEEEEP tore through the air.
Then — chaos.
"No! No! Please, no! Spare us! Deevta! Deevta!"
A woman's voice screamed, raw with terror.
"Please! Not my son! Not my husband!"
The sounds of bones snapping, flesh tearing, blood splattering —
the sounds of helpless horror.
"DEEVTA! DEEVTA! PLEASE! PLEASE!"
Deevta's head snapped up. The world blurred.
When his vision cleared, he realized—
His hands were wrapped around Vishaka's arm, squeezing it with a monstrous force.
Vishaka's face twisted in pain, gasping for breath.
"Please... Deevta..."
Deevta stumbled back, horror clawing up his throat. He fell onto the ground, scrambling away.
Blood.
Blood was everywhere.
Chunks of flesh. Shattered bone.
The meadow was no longer a place of laughter — it was a graveyard.
Deevta looked down at his trembling, blood-soaked hands.
"I... I... I did this..." he whispered, voice breaking apart.
The sky above remained silent.
The birds had long fled.
Only the echoes of his screams remained.
-------------
"I'm heading for wall inspection," a man barked.
Army officials had gathered in town today.
"If you find any compliance issues or defects in the wall paint, report directly to the Subedar," the man continued, adjusting his cap sharply. "Understood, Stan? I'm clocking out early."
"Understood, sir," Stan replied crisply.
This city is where I live now, Stan thought, but it's not where I was born.
No... his true beginning was far away, in a nameless village that now existed only in crumbling memories and ashes.
To be precise, Stan corrected himself with a small, wry smile, I was reborn there.
This was his second life. A second chance.
In this life, he had started from the bottom—another faceless recruit in the Imperial Army.
Low rank. Low pay. Lower respect.
But that wasn't the end goal.
No.
He would become a Hero.
He had promised himself.
But he had to be patient. No skipping steps. No cutting lines. No dreaming himself into greatness.
Just sweat, blood, and grit.
And maybe, just maybe...
Today would be the day he got promoted.
He clenched his fists tightly and shouted into the empty street, "TODAY, I WILL GET A PROMOTION!"
His voice echoed off the stone walls, but not a soul turned. People kept walking, ignoring him like he was not even there.
Stan coughed awkwardly.
"I must get to work..."
-------
"Sorry, no promotion."
"What?!" Stan slammed his palms against the receptionist's desk so hard.
"I've been working here for four years! THREE of them as Best Employee!" he shouted, pointing furiously at the framed portrait on the wall where his youthful face smiled awkwardly beneath the banner: EMPLOYEE OF THE YEAR.
The receptionist flinched. She leaned in closer, lowering her voice until it was nearly a whisper.
"I beg your pardon, Stan, but... you know how it is." She gave a quick, guilty glance around the room. "You're only seventeen. And..." her voice grew even softer, "well, many heirs of noble families are your age too. They're lining up for the same promotions. You'll have to wait... at least four more years."
Stan's mouth tightened.
His heart pounded with a deep, stinging betrayal.
Without another word, he spun on his heel and stormed out, slamming the heavy door behind him with a CRASH.
---------
"How could they?" he muttered furiously under his breath.
Maybe this world isn't so different from my last one. No respect for real talent, only connections and bloodlines.
It wasn't even the first time.
He had clawed his way up to his first promotion after two years of grueling service.
After that, he had doubled—tripled—his efforts, silently absorbing every insult, every misplaced blame, every cruel little sabotage attempt by jealous peers.
It's not easy to endure.
But he had a secret.
A slow, unsettling smile crept onto Stan's face.
----------
Dusk fell.
The world turned soft and dangerous under the dimming light.
And Stan transformed.
From a hardworking soldier to... something else.
A shadow among shadows.
"I am a vigilante," he whispered to himself, fastening a black coat that fell to his knees. He tugged a loose scarf over his face, ninja-style, leaving his sharp eyes exposed. His off-white trousers tucked neatly into battered brown boots. He blended into the twilight like a ghost.
Tonight, like every night, he would protect this city the only way he knew how.
--------
"Get away from me! Somebody help!!" a girl's terrified scream echoed from an alley.
Stan's boots landed with a heavy thud as he dropped from the rooftops, his coat fluttering dramatically.
"Oy, oy... look at what we found," sneered one of the bandits, grabbing the girl, his intentions anything but good. Another laughed coarsely, waving a knife.
The girl was trembling, paralyzed by fear.
Stan cracked his neck casually.
"You do know this is illegal, right?" he drawled, stepping forward. His voice dripped with dangerous amusement.
Six bandits.
Light work.
One of them lunged, roaring, "DIE!"
Stan sidestepped cleanly, ducked, and slammed his elbow into the attacker's gut with brutal precision. The man collapsed, gasping like a dying fish.
"One down," Stan said coolly, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. "Five to go."
"EVERYONE, GET HIM!!" their leader roared, brandishing a sword.
Rookie mistake.
Coming at him together just made them easier targets.
In a blur of movement almost too fast to track, Stan blinked from his position and appeared directly in front of the leader, smashing a devastating punch into his jaw.
The man flew backward like a ragdoll, crashing into a stack of crates.
Stan pivoted smoothly and clocked another thug across the face, sending him sprawling.
The girl watched, wide-eyed.
It's like he's blinking from one place to another... he's not even moving between attacks.
thud
slam
woosh
crack
Moments later, the alley was silent, littered with groaning bodies.
Stan wiped his hands on his coat and turned to the girl.
"You alright, miss?"
Her purse had fallen to the cobblestone street—broken open, spilling gold accessories everywhere. Stan crouched down, carefully picking up a gleaming gold ring between his fingers.
He hesitated.
Four months of my salary... right here. Just one ring. Would it be so wrong to take it as payment?
The thought curled dangerously in his mind.
"Excuse me..." the girl's voice pulled him back to reality. She was pale, clearly still shaken.
"You... you can keep it. For helping me," she offered hesitantly, clearly torn between gratitude and etiquette.
Stan stood slowly, pressing the ring and purse firmly back into her trembling hands.
"Thank you, young lady," he said formally, his voice steady.
"But my conscience would never allow that."
He tipped an invisible hat with a little smirk and melted back into the shadows from where he came.
---
Later that night, Stan lay sprawled on his small bed, staring at the ceiling.
"Today was... satisfying," he murmured, rolling onto his side to stare out the window at the moonlit wall.
A small sigh escaped him.
"Maybe I should've taken the ring... Nah. Offer's closed.
Goodnight, me."
Sleep took him swiftly.
--------
Dawn spilled weak golden light over the sleeping city, nudging Stan awake from a restless slumber.
He groaned softly, stretching out his limbs until his joints popped and cracked — not from yesterday's fight, but from the suffocating, bone-deep boredom that clung to him like a second skin.
Wake up. Serve. Get overlooked. Repeat.
Again.
And again.
And again.
"No excuses... no shortcuts," Stan muttered to himself.
He rolled out of bed, the old wooden frame creaking beneath him, and mechanically pulled on his standard-issue uniform — a plain grey shirt tucked into black trousers.
No rank insignias.
No medals.
No glory.
Stan shoved a piece of dry, stale bread between his teeth, grabbed his utility belt, and stepped out the door.
---
The city was already stirring.
Vendors lifted heavy clothes off their stalls, setting out bright fruits.
Children darted between carts and carriages, shrieking with laughter as they chased each other across the uneven cobblestone streets, shoes slapping against the ground.
Life pulsed all around — but not for Stan.
He slipped through the crowd like a ghost, unseen, unneeded, unnoticed.
---
The Wall Division office stood at the corner of the main square.
Stan entered quietly, letting the heavy door fall shut behind him with a dull thud.
The bulletin board hung crooked on the far wall, covered in hastily-pinned assignment slips.
Stan scanned the sheets, already knowing what he would find.
Wall inspection.
Again.
The same as yesterday.
And the day before.
And the day before that.
Stan's shoulders slumped.
The disappointment from yesterday clawed its way back to the surface, raw and stinging.
"Again," he muttered under his breath, the word heavy with exhaustion.
For the first time in four years, an ugly, dangerous thought slipped into his mind:
Maybe... maybe I should just leave this job.
---
"Hey, you work here?" a voice called from behind.
Stan barely registered it, drowning in his swirling frustration.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!" the voice insisted — sharper now, more demanding.
Something about it — the tone, the energy — pierced the fog in his mind, lifting it just enough for him to turn around.
Standing a few feet away was a young woman — no, not just a woman.
An elf.
Pale golden hair cascading over her shoulders, sharp ears peeking through, and bright green eyes watching him with an odd mixture of impatience and curiosity.
Stan blinked once. Twice.
The rare sight was enough to snap him fully back to reality.
"Yeah," he replied flatly, his voice stripped of emotion.
"I work here."
An elf... What's someone like her doing here? he wondered silently. She is such a beauty.
The girl stepped closer, eyeing him as if she were trying to gauge his usefulness.
"Are you the only one here?" she asked.
Stan let out a small, self-deprecating snort.
"Yeah. For now.
Actually, I'm the only idiot who shows up this early," he added, the bitterness leaking.
For a second, regret flared in his chest — not at her, but at himself.
The elf frowned slightly, opening her mouth to say something—
BOOOOOOM!
The ground shook under their feet, dust falling from the ceiling.
The explosion rattled the windows, a low rumble vibrating in the air like a growl from the depths of the earth.
Both Stan and the elf stiffened, instincts kicking in immediately.
"What was that?!" Stan barked, heart pounding, every nerve in his body electrified.
He grabbed his inspection kit by reflex, mind racing.
Something was happening — something big.
He exchanged a sharp look with the elf, who nodded tightly.
Without wasting another second, they both sprinted toward the source of the blast.
---