#1

The door creaked as Blake pushed against it, the weight of the car flipped upside down, making it heavy to move. His hands shook, dust and debris falling as he squeezed his small frame through the opening. The world outside was a blur of chaos—smoke, fire, and the distant crack of gunfire echoing like thunder. His chest tightened with fear, his heart pounding as he searched for his parents.

“Mom? Dad?” His voice trembled, the sound barely carrying over the noise.

The road they’d been traveling on was now a battlefield. Cars were twisted and overturned, black smoke curling into the sky. The sharp scent of burning rubber filled the air. It looked like a war zone, though he and his family had no idea they were driving into it.

Beside him, his mother lay on the ground, her body still. For a moment, Blake’s breath caught in his throat, but then her eyes fluttered open, slow and weak.

“Blake…” she whispered, her voice strained like it took every bit of energy just to say his name.

“Mother!” Blake scrambled to her side, dropping to his knees. “I’ll get you out. We’ll leave this place. It’s too dangerous!” His words came out in a rush, his small hands already trying to pull her up, even as gunfire cracked in the distance, growing louder and closer.

Her hand, cold and trembling, reached for his face, brushing his cheek with a tenderness that made Blake freeze. “No,” she whispered, her eyes filled with an understanding far beyond the surrounding chaos. “The village… it isn’t far. Go into the woods. It’s a shortcut to the village. Your grandmother will take care of you.”

Blake shook his head, tears blurring his vision. “I-I can’t… I can’t leave you!” His voice was frantic—a child’s desperate refusal to accept the reality unfolding before him. “I can carry you… please, let’s just go! It’s not safe here!”

But the world seemed to mock his pleas. Another explosion rocked the earth, the shockwave rattling through the surrounding wreckage. Dust and debris filled the air, but his mother didn’t flinch. Instead, she smiled a soft, heartbreaking smile.

“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll never leave you.” Slowly, she pulled the scarf from her neck; the delicate fabric frayed and stained with blood. She gently wrapped it around Blake’s neck, her fingers lingering for a moment as if she were memorizing the feel of his skin.

Blake’s throat tightened, tears spilling freely now. “What about Dad?” he asked, his voice cracking.

His mother’s gaze drifted toward her husband, lying motionless nearby. Her eyes softened. “He’s just… taking a rest,” she said, her voice faltering. “Now go. You must run. Don’t waste any more time.”

Blake hesitated, but his mother’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m going to count to ten,” she said, forcing a lightness into her tone. “And if you don’t go, Mommy’s going to be very angry with you.”

Her words were a whisper of the games they used to play, but now they felt like the final request of someone who knew her time was slipping away. Blake swallowed hard, his small fists clenched tight as he nodded.

“One… two…” her voice was so faint now, barely audible over the distant sounds of war.

Blake wiped the tears from his eyes, turned, and ran. The scarf fluttered behind him as he sprinted toward the woods, the thick forest looming ahead. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, the tears blinding him as he whispered under his breath, “Please don’t die. Please don’t die.”

Behind him, his mother’s voice faded into the chaos. “Nine… ten… survive, Blake…”

And with that, her eyes fluttered closed, her final breath escaping as the world fell into silence around her.

#2

Blake ran through the thick forest, the underbrush scratching at his legs and arms as he weaved between towering trees. His mother’s scarf flapped in the wind, the fabric carrying her last warmth. He could barely see through his tears, but he pressed on, driven by her final words.

The sky above had darkened, a faint glow rising in the distance. Blake stumbled into a clearing and spotted a small village beyond the trees. It must be Grandma’s village. Relief surged through him, but as he moved closer to the entrance, two men stepped into his path. They wore ragged clothes and had scarves wrapped around their faces, their eyes cold and suspicious. Both were armed, the metallic glint of their rifles catching the dim light.

“Who the hell is this kid?” one of them muttered, lowering his weapon slightly but keeping a firm grip.

“Maybe he’s one of those kids the terrorists are sending,” the other replied, his voice dripping with doubt.

Blake froze, his heart hammering in his chest. His small frame trembled as he took a step back, but he summoned enough courage to speak. “I-I’m not a terrorist,” he stammered, his voice shaky, the trauma of the past hours still fresh in his mind. “I just want to see my grandma.”

The men exchanged a glance and then burst into laughter, a harsh sound that echoed off the surrounding trees. “Kid, there’s been a lot of bombing around here lately. These terrorist groups will send anyone—especially children like you—to blow themselves up. We don’t take chances,” one of the men sneered. “There’s a new order. No one gets in or out of the village without clearance. So get lost before you get yourself killed.”

Blake’s fists tightened, his body trembling not from fear, but from exhaustion and desperation. “I’m not a terrorist!” he cried, taking a step forward, arms spread wide to show his empty hands. “Look! I don’t have a bomb. I just want to see my grandma. Please!”

One of the men shook his head. “Sorry, kid. Orders are orders.”

Just as Blake’s hope began to fade, a familiar voice cut through the tension. “Blake? What are you doing here?” His grandmother’s voice was sharp with shock. Her eyes were wide as she hurried toward him from the village gate. She paused, her gaze softening when she saw his tattered clothes and the dirt streaked across his face.

“Please,” she begged the two mercenaries at the gate, “he’s just a child. Let him in. He’s my grandson.”

One of the men, his expression unmoved, shook his head. “Sorry, ma’am. We can’t just let anyone in. If something happens, if he’s not who you say he is, it’s on us. Our heads will roll.”

Blake looked up, feeling the weight of every word. He touched the scarf around his neck, his fingers trembling. “Th-the scarf…” he whispered, his voice cracking. “It’s from m-mom…”

His grandmother’s eyes flickered with recognition. Slowly, she unwrapped the identical scarf from her own neck, holding it up for the mercenaries to see. “This,” she said softly, “It’s my daughter’s scarf I made for her.” Her voice trailed off.

The guards exchanged uneasy glances. After a tense moment, they stepped aside and lowered their weapons. “Alright. You can go in.”

Blake’s legs almost buckled beneath him as his grandmother rushed forward, pulling him into a tight embrace. Her hands were gentle, but her grip was firm, as if she feared letting go would mean losing him too.

“Let’s get you inside, Blake,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “You’re safe now. You’re home.”

#3

8 years Later:

Blake sprinted across the village rooftops, leaping from one building to another with an effortless grace that had come from years of practice. His knives, small but deadly, glinted in the sunlight as he flung them with precision toward hand-drawn targets scattered around the village. Each blade hit its mark with a satisfying thud.

Below, the villagers grumbled, their voices a mix of irritation and exasperation. “There he goes again,” one woman muttered, shaking her head. “That boy never stops.”

“Is he playing that stupid ninja game again?” another scoffed.

“Get off my roof, you little menace!” an old man shouted, shaking his fist as Blake dashed across the thatched surface, his laughter ringing out like a bell.

Blake, hearing their complaints, merely grinned, his voice light as he called back, “Thank you, thank you! I’ll be here all week!” He waved dramatically, as if he’d just finished performing on a grand stage, and leaped down into a narrow alley.

Breathing heavily but still full of energy, Blake made his way toward his grandmother’s home. He ducked inside and quickly stashed his knives in a large clay pot near the entrance. “That should do it,” he whispered, patting the pot with a smirk.

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As he entered the main room, his mood shifted. “Grandma,” he called out softly, his voice dropping as he approached her bedside. The small, dimly lit room carried the heavy scent of herbs and medicine. His grandmother lay there, frail and pale, her breathing shallow.

“How are you feeling today?” Blake asked, his words coming out in a rush. “Do you need water? Or your medicine? I could run any errands for you, anything—just say the word.”

His grandmother smiled weakly, her voice barely a whisper. “No, no, dear. I’m fine. Just… tired.” She spoke slowly, her breath labored, the weight of age and illness clear in every word.

Blake frowned, shaking his head. “But you don’t look fine, Grandma. You look the opposite of fine.”

A faint chuckle escaped her lips. “Don’t worry, Blake. It’s just old age catching up with me. Who knows, maybe it’s my time to leave this world, too.”

Blake’s heart sank at her words, a deep sadness settling over him. “If you leave, this village will be boring without you,” he muttered, trying to hide the fear in his voice.

Her eyes softened, and she raised a trembling hand to brush his cheek. “Things change, Blake. Life has its way of turning things around. Maybe it’s time for you to leave the village and see the city. Make friends your age. A young man like you shouldn’t be stuck here with an old woman like me.”

Blake sighed, rolling his eyes playfully. “There you go with the city talk again.”

His grandmother smiled, though it was weak, an attempt to lighten the mood. “The villagers have been talking, you know. Complaining about how you’re jumping around on rooftops, throwing knives. They’re worried something might happen.”

Blake shifted uncomfortably, about to defend himself, when she cut him off with a raised eyebrow. “If you’re going to play ninja,” she continued, her voice firm despite her frailty, “at least do it somewhere safe, alright?”

Blake’s face turned red with embarrassment, his ears burning as he stammered, “Ninja? Wait, don’t get the wrong idea, Grandma. I wasn’t playing—I was training! I’m grown up now. I wasn’t just messing around.” His voice was flustered, and he ran a hand through his hair, trying to sound convincing, though his awkward movements betrayed him.

His grandmother’s eyes narrowed with curiosity. “You’ve been throwing knives ever since you started going out with General Kang. He’s not teaching you anything… dangerous, is he?”

Blake scratched the back of his head nervously, his grandmother’s serious expression making him shift in place. “N-no, Grandma,” he said with a nervous laugh, “just hand-to-hand combat stuff. Part of my training, that’s all. I promise I haven’t touched a gun or anything.” His smile was forced, and his voice wavered just enough to give away his unease.

“Good,” she replied, her voice softening again, though the concern lingered in her eyes. “Just be careful, Blake. I don’t want you getting hurt. Carry on with your training, but make sure you don’t hurt anyone in the process.”

Blake nodded, his face still flushed with embarrassment. He looked at her, a deep concern washing over him as he noticed the exhaustion on her face. “Alright, Grandma. I’ll be careful.”

As he turned to leave, her voice called out softly, “Blake…”

He stopped and looked back, eyes meeting hers as she gazed at him with a tenderness that tugged at his heart.

“If you ever feel broken,” she whispered, “don’t do things that would break you more.”

Blake’s eyes widened for a moment. He turned back fully, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, and forced a smile, though his heart felt heavy. “Yes, Grandma. I’ll keep that in mind.” His voice was soft, almost a promise whispered into the air.

She gave him a weak smile, her eyes fluttering as her strength ebbed. “I need to rest now.”

She smiled weakly, her eyes closing as her strength waned. “I need to rest now.”

Blake stood, hesitating for a moment, his heart heavy with worry. He gave her one last look before stepping out of the room, gently closing the old wooden door behind him. The door creaked as it shut, its weathered surface splintered and rough, a reminder of the village’s rustic life.

#4

WEEKS LATER

Blake stood by his grandmother’s bedside, his gaze fixed on her still form. She had passed peacefully, but the weight of the moment pressed down on him. He swallowed hard, his fingers trembling as he reached out to brush a stray lock of her hair from her face.

“I won’t cry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “You tried to prepare me for this day, didn’t you?” His jaw clenched, trying to force back the tears that threatened to spill. He stood there for a moment, his chest heavy with grief, and then let out a deep sigh. “You always told me to be strong.” He paused, glancing at the old wooden floor, remembering her words.

“I promise... I’ll make friends like you wanted. I’ll be better.” His voice faltered as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, his throat tight with the effort of holding back the flood of emotions.

Suddenly, a low rumble echoed in the distance, causing Blake to tense up. His eyes narrowed as he stepped toward the window, peeking out cautiously. His heart raced. In the distance, he could see dark figures moving outside the village’s perimeter. Not one or two, but dozens. He could hear the faint roar of engines—vehicles approaching.

His pulse quickened. Explosions erupted, the ground shaking violently beneath him. “The village is under attack...” he muttered, his mind racing. He squinted, scanning the outskirts. “Where are General Kang and his men? Did they know something like this would happen?”

Blake turned back to his grandmother’s lifeless form, regret, and urgency battling within him. “First things first,” he whispered, steeling himself. “I need to get you to your casket. It was your last wish to be buried here.”

He moved swiftly to the small drawer by the bedside and shifted it aside, revealing a hidden compartment beneath the wooden floor. Lifting the floorboard, he retrieved his knives, tucking several into his belt. “Just in case,” he muttered, before carefully returning the floor to its original state.

Blake gently lifted his grandmother’s body, her weight lighter than he’d expected. The strain was more emotional than physical. He carried her down into the small, hidden basement, where her simple casket lay, waiting. He placed her inside, his hands lingering for a moment as he whispered, “Grandma... Mom, Dad... Please watch over me on my journey. I’ll need all the help I can get.”

As he closed the casket, a loud bang erupted from above, the front door slamming open with a force that shook the house. His heart leaped into his throat.

“They’re inside,” Blake muttered, swiftly climbing back up, his hand instinctively reaching for a knife.

Two terrorists, armed and masked, had barged in. Their eyes swept the room, but before they could react, Blake threw a knife, the blade slicing through the air and burying itself in one of their throats. The man collapsed, gurgling, as his partner aimed his rifle at Blake.

Bang! Bang! Bullets tore through the air, but Blake was already moving, darting behind a pillar. The terrorist cursed, reloading his weapon, but Blake didn’t give him a chance. He dashed forward, slicing the man’s arm before delivering a final blow to his chest.

Panting, Blake stood over the two fallen enemies. “Too weak,” he muttered, wiping the blood from his blade. But his mind raced with worry. Where is General Kang?

The village was in chaos. Blake could hear more shouting from outside, and as he peered through a small crack in the wall, his blood ran cold. The terrorist leader, a towering figure dressed in dark tactical gear, had gathered all the villagers in the central square. They were forced to kneel, hands trembling as they surrendered their valuables—coins, jewelry, anything they had.

The leader’s voice boomed across the square. “Drop everything you’ve got! Gold, money, anything valuable! If you don’t want to die, you better have something to offer!”

Blake crouched in an alleyway, watching the scene unfold. Shit. He gritted his teeth. “I can’t take them all on by myself...” He scanned the square, frustration and fear bubbling inside him. “Why now, of all times, does General Kang decide to leave the village?”

He moved to retreat, hoping to regroup and think of a plan, but his foot slipped on a piece of glass. The sharp crack echoed through the alley.

The terrorist leader’s head snapped in his direction. His eyes narrowed. “Come out now!”

Blake froze, holding his breath, but when no response came, the leader’s face twisted in fury. He pulled out a pistol and pointed it at one of the villagers. Bang! A bullet tore through the man’s leg, and he crumpled to the ground, screaming in pain.

“If you don’t come out in three seconds,” the leader growled, “the next shot goes straight to his head. One... Two...”

From the shadows of the alley, a knife flew through the air, striking the leader square in the eye.

“Aargh! My eye!” The leader screamed, clutching his face in agony as he stumbled backward. “Get that bastard!” he roared, ripping the knife out, blood pouring from the wound.

The terrorists scrambled, searching for Blake, but before they could regroup, the leader, clutching his injured eye, turned to the terrified villagers. His voice, thick with malice, echoed through the square. “Now then, how do you all tend to compensate for a lost eye?” He grinned, revealing bloodstained teeth, his gun waving menacingly in the air.

Before the villagers could react, Blake appeared behind him like a ghost, his voice cold and sharp. “How about I use the other as compensation?”

In one swift motion, Blake leaped at him, plunging another knife into his remaining eye. The leader howled in pain, thrashing as Blake stabbed him over and over.

The remaining terrorists, stunned by their leader’s brutal takedown, began to retreat. But just as they scattered, a slow, mocking clap echoed across the square.

“Well, well, well... looks like my training paid off after all,” a voice called out, smooth and taunting.

Blake turned, eyes widening as General Kang stepped out of the shadows, his arms crossed, a cruel smile curling on his lips.

“General Kang!” Blake exclaimed, relief flooding him for a brief moment. “You’re here! The village is under attack. I took down their leader, but there are still more"

Kang’s smile widened, but it wasn’t the reassuring grin Blake had known. It was sinister. “You still don’t get it, do you, Blake?” Blake’s heart dropped. “What... what do you mean?”

Kang spread his arms, gesturing to the surrounding chaos. “I’m the one terrorizing the village, boy.”

A collective gasp rippled through the villagers. The village chief, his voice shaking with fury, stepped forward. “Kang! Stop this madness! This isn’t a joke!”

Bang!

A single shot rang out, and the chief collapsed, a bullet between his eyes. The villagers screamed, terror spreading like wildfire.

Kang’s eyes gleamed with malice. “Do you get it now, Blake? I’m not on your side.”