In the dim light of the cell, a youth slumped against the rough stone wall, barely moving. The wooden stool beneath him was splintered and worn, its jagged edges biting into his skin. A soft tsk escaped his lips—a sound of annoyance born from discomfort. He shifted slightly, reluctant but unable to find relief.
His silver hair caught the faint glow filtering through the narrow barred window, shimmering like strands of moonlight. His ruby eyes stared blankly ahead—empty, as if the world had long since ceased to matter. The weight of seventeen stolen years pressed down on his slumped shoulders, heavier than any chain.
From the corridor outside came the echo of footsteps and clinking armor—clang, thump, clang, thump—growing closer until a guard's shadow appeared behind the thick iron door. The youth spared a small glance at the guard. The guard's voice broke the silence, flat and emotionless, though a flicker of guilt lingered beneath.
"Tomorrow afternoon, your execution will take place. If there's anything you wish for, speak now."
The youth remained silent, unmoving.
"I see. If there's nothing, I'll be leaving," the guard said, avoiding the youth's gaze. His footsteps—clang, thump, clang, thump—faded down the corridor, heavy with regret.
Was that... empathy? the youth wondered, confused by the unfamiliar feeling.
His shoulders sagged further. A cold knot twisted in his gut—unsettling and strange. His breath hitched, and he pressed a hand to his chest, as if trying to contain the alien sensation. —huf, huf, huf—this was different from the physical pain he'd endured all his life. It wasn't fear of death. He knew death would come eventually, so he wasn't afraid. Then what was this pain? He didn't understand it. He had never experienced sadness before—never even thought it mattered. All his life, he had been deemed the blessed child, a weapon, a vessel gifted by the Lady of the Sun to fend off demons, nothing more. Now, discarded like a broken tool, the emptiness inside him began to fill with something new, something unfamiliar.
His breath caught in his throat. His chest tightened as a dull warmth pooled behind his eyes. He recalled the faces of others—those who cried, water streaming down their cheeks. What was that called? Sadness? Grief? The words felt strange, but the ache was real.
—Drip—
A single tear slid down his cheek. Then another. For the first time, tears flowed freely, and a burst of raw, overwhelming emotion enfolded him—fragile, confusing, utterly new. An experience he had seen many times before but never truly understood.
His mind drifted back to that day—dark and stormy, thick clouds blotting out the sun. Tattered banners fluttered weakly in the breeze, their colors faded from years of sun and storm. Stone arches bore scars of countless battles, silent witnesses to the empire's turbulent history. The ground was muddy, magic shot from every direction, flames danced upon the waters, and screams echoed from all sides. It was... chaos.
The youth stood drenched in blood and mud, towering over the corpses of countless abominations. For days, he had never once lowered his sword. Around him, soldiers fell—dying miserable yet honorable deaths.
"AAAAAARGHHH!" A scream tore through the air. He glanced toward the source—a soldier near him, legs crushed beneath a demon's massive limbs. The youth readied himself, gripping his sword tightly, preparing to dash at the beast. But before he could move—
With a shriek of burning air, a fireball slammed into the demon's back—FWOOOM-CRACK!—flames exploded outward in a roaring blaze. The demon screeched, "SKRAAAAHH!" as molten fire made of pure mana engulfed it, flames ordinary means could not quench.
The pressure from the demon's crushing leg made the soldier squirm in agony. But before the pain could worsen—SHNK-KRAK-THUD—the youth dashed forward, slicing through the demon's neck. The beast collapsed, lifeless.
The soldier, still writhing, stared breathlessly at his savior.
"Josh!" A female mage appeared, desperation etched on her face as she rushed toward the soldier. "Hhh-hah... hhhuuhh—Josh!" Her hands trembled, guilt shining in her eyes. "Bel?" Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I—hic—I'm sorry—hic—I'm so sorry."
"It wasn't your fault—huf—I was careless, though you did make it a little—huf—painful," the soldier said, chuckling weakly.
"Hic—I'm sorry, I can't use recovery—hic—I'll use the return scroll. Let's get you to the infirmary." She sobbed, shaking as she searched her bag.
The youth watched, confused. What were they doing? In battle, there was no time for talk. And why was water flowing from her eyes? He didn't understand sadness; the sight puzzled him deeply.
"Hey, warrior," the soldier said, glancing at the youth. "Thanks for saving me. If you weren't here, I wouldn't have lived."
The youth turned away. "It was just orders. I was told to save as many as I could. It wasn't my choice."
"B-but if it weren't for you—hic—Josh wouldn't be here—hic—you saved Josh—hic—that's why later on we'll definitely—sob—we'll repay you!" The female mage shouted, sobbing but determined. She poured her mana into the scroll, and a blinding light enveloped them, tearing through space.
When the light faded, they were gone—only a mark remained in the muddy ground.
After that, the youth focused on another target and killed more abominations. That was his first deployment to the battlefield.
At first, people did not believe the warrior of prophecy was an eleven-year-old boy. But after his overwhelming victory, most doubts vanished. Some still refused to believe, but there was nothing they could do.
—chirp chirp—
The youth was pulled from his memories by birds chirping outside the bars. Golden rays of sunlight warmed his face.
"It's already morning..." he muttered, staring outside, watching the birds fly away. "Hm, where's my payment now?"
That was the last time he saw those two.
As the weight of impending death pressed closer, his mind drifted back to another memory—long before, when he had been separated from his group in the forest.
Rain lashed down, each drop a frigid needle against his skin. The forest floor turned to slick mud beneath his bare feet, and the wind gnawed at his bones, mirroring the emptiness inside.
He was drenched when an old man stumbled upon him, carrying a bundle of herbs. Seeing the youth soaked, the old man furrowed his brows and approached.
"Hey, young boy," the old man said gently. "Why are you out here alone? Didn't your parents warn you it's dangerous to wander in weather like this?"
The youth only shook his head.
"Are you lost, then?" the old man asked, concern creasing his brow.
A slow nod was the only answer.
"I see... which town are you from? There are two nearby and one farther off."
Again, the youth shook his head.
"I'm not from around here," he said, denying the old man. "I got separated from my companions."
"Eh… a foreigner, huh? That makes sense—silver hair isn't common in any town or village. Usually only seen in cities," the old man said thoughtfully. "Would you mind staying at my small cabin until your friends find you? You might catch a cold. It's just nearby."
"But why?" the youth asked, puzzled.
"Well, why not? If there are people in need, don't shy away from helping them. Maybe the world will repay your kindness someday," he replied with a gentle smile.
The youth didn't understand those words—'the world will repay your kindness?'
"...Fine then," he said, reluctantly accepting.
He stayed in the cabin for a day, learning new things—what it meant to care for someone, how to ease pain. Not that he understood much, but the old man taught him a little about medicine.
In the corner hung a faded portrait of a woman. When he asked about her, the old man sighed quietly, as if the memory was too painful.
That day passed quietly, until his group found him.
—Knock knock—
The old man glanced toward the window, eyes narrowing at armored figures bearing the empire's emblem standing at his door. Slowly, he opened it.
"Y-yes?"
A large man clad in heavy armor stepped forward. His deep voice rumbled, "Have you seen a boy with silver hair and ruby eyes?" He scanned the area.
"Ah, yes," the old man replied cautiously. "Are you his companions?"
From the cabin's corner, the youth poked his head out. "Albert!"
The big man's face softened. "Ah, there you are! We've been trying to find you all day. Why do you always get lost?"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," the youth muttered, stepping forward past Albert. "Hey, can you pay that old man some gold?" he asked casually.
"What? Why should I?" Albert snapped.
"Because I'm your superior," the youth replied simply.
"Tsk, fine. Hey, old man," Albert grumbled, dropping a sack of gold coins into the old man's hands.
"No, no, it's fine. There's no need," the old man stammered, confused.
"Nah, take it," Albert insisted, gently closing the old man's hands around the sack.
"Old man, you said if you help people, the world might repay your kindness. I don't believe that. I believe people repay each other. So here's my payment," the youth said as he and his squad left for the battlefield.
That was three years ago. He wondered what the old man was doing now.
—clang, thump, clang, thump—
—clang, thump, clang, thump—
Time passed, marked by heavy footsteps and echoing armor. A female guard approached the youth's cell, fingers trembling as she reached into her belt pouch.
—Clink... clink... clink...—the iron keys jingled.
With a metallic clack, she found the right key and slid it into the rusted lock.
—CHK-CHK—KRNNNK!—
The mechanism groaned before yielding with a loud —KA-CHUNK!—
The heavy iron door creaked open slowly.
—EEEEEEAAAAAAARRRRGGGHHH...—
The hinges screamed under the weight, cold air spilling from the dark cell.
—clang, thump—
"Warrior, it is time for your execution," the female guard said, voice tight, hiding guilt.
"Yes..." After a pause, the youth sat up and stepped closer, holding out his hands.
—CHNK-CLACK!—
Iron shackles clamped around his wrists and ankles.
—Clink... clank... drag...—
Chains scraped across stone, echoing through hollow corridors.
—CHNK—Krrnnk—CLANK—
His hands drawn low by the short chain linking them.
Outside, in the vast circular coliseum, a towering guillotine stood at the center, its blade gleaming coldly under the overcast sky.
The crowd—commoners and nobles alike—filled the tiered seats, voices low and murmuring, careful not to break the heavy silence. Most watched with somber faces, a gloomy atmosphere settling like a dark cloud.
Among them, a few were indifferent, shifting impatiently or whispering dismissively. Some nobles exchanged bored glances, uninterested in the fate of a fallen hero whose glory had faded into inconvenient politics. A handful of commoners, hardened by hardship, muttered quietly, too weary to mourn what they could no longer change.
Still, the majority held silent respect, eyes fixed on the guillotine, mourning the warrior who saved their land but was now condemned by the empire he protected.
Near the emperor's elevated seat, high-ranking figures from neighboring kingdoms sat in stiff, ornate chairs. Their expressions were neutral, betraying no satisfaction or sorrow. Some ordered servants with curt gestures—"Bring the wine," "Ensure the guards remain vigilant"—their voices low but commanding. Others sat motionless, eyes cold and unreadable, as if the warrior's fate was mere statecraft, not tragedy.
The tension was palpable. Whispers floated, but no one dared challenge the decree. The execution was not just punishment—it was a political statement, a grim balancing act before the empire and its wary neighbors.
—clang, thump, clang, thump—
Guards emerged from a massive stone arch, armor clinking and boots pounding in steady rhythm. The crowd hushed, eyes turning toward the entrance as the procession began.
—Clink... clank... drag...—
—CHNK—Krrnnk—CLANK—
Bound in heavy iron chains, the youth appeared. His silver hair caught muted sunlight, shimmering like starlight, while his ruby eyes—deep, radiant jewels—held a calm that belied his fate. Each step was slow, deliberate, chains dragging and rattling behind him, echoing like a funeral bell.
The crowd's gaze followed him—some with silent reverence, others with cold indifference. Faces blurred into muted colors and whispered prayers. Among them, he caught glimpses of familiar faces—old acquaintances, his old squad, and Albert, who did not bat an eye. Hopeful villagers looked on with regret and sorrow. Their eyes spoke volumes: apologies for failing him, silent pleas for mercy, and the unbearable weight of helplessness.
The air was thick with unspoken sorrow and restrained anger, simmering beneath the surface of a people forced to watch a hero fall.
The youth's breath came steady, measured. His mind wandered—not to fear or regret, but to memories long buried: battles fought, lives saved, fleeting curiosity in his short journey. He felt the chains' weight, the rough stone beneath his boots, the guillotine's sharp edge looming like a dark promise.
Yet beneath it all, a quiet resolve stirred—a flicker of something more than fear or pain. A question, perhaps, or a final hope. The crowd held its breath, the world narrowing to the cold steel blade and the boy waiting for his demise.
His head was placed on the guillotine's cold wooden block, facing the emperor. The cold wood pressed against his neck, rough grain scraping his skin. His breath hitched—not from fear, but from the weight of all left unsaid. The crowd fell into heavy silence as the emperor rose slowly, gaze sweeping the assembly with somber authority.
"Citizens of the empire, today we bear witness to a grave but necessary act... The warrior who once stood as our savior has become a threat to the fragile peace we have fought tirelessly to secure.
Power, when left unchecked, breeds chaos and discord. It is not malice, but duty to the continent that compels us to restore balance—lest the foundations of our empire crumble beneath ambition and fear.
Let no one forget the heroism and sacrifices of this young warrior. His deeds are etched into our history, and his legacy will endure beyond this day. Yet loyalty to the empire—the greater whole—must remain steadfast, even when it demands the greatest cost.
May this solemn moment remind us all that the security of the many sometimes outweighs the fate of the few. For the empire to endure, justice must be blind, and mercy tempered by necessity."
The people listened in silence as the emperor sat.
"Now, warrior Kyle, be brought upon you the blade of the Lady of the Sun."
—snap—
The rope was cut.
—FWISSHH—
The blade dropped.
Time slowed, each second stretching into eternity. The world narrowed to the cold, gleaming edge, reflecting the overcast sky like a malevolent mirror. Kyle closed his eyes, a single tear tracing down his cheek—not of fear, but of profound, aching sadness for a life half-lived and a purpose left unfulfilled.
—THWACK!!—
And then, everything went dark and silent...
—Chirp, chirp, chirp—