I
A lone swordsman emerged from the dense woods, his eyes fixated on a small shack perched on the side of a cliff. Many eyes watched him from the tree branches, hooting and clapping their wings. The bright full moon illuminated the surroundings, while the wind carried leaves down from the trees. Some landed gracefully on the ground, mingling with white flowers, while others took flight, dancing in the breeze. The clanging of the swordsman's cold chain armour ceased as he stood still, surrounded by nature's symphony. A single leaf floated gracefully toward him, and he reached out to catch it, but it eluded his grasp, gliding away on the wind.
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A lone swordsman emerged from the dense woods, his eyes fixated on a small shack perched on the side of a cliff. Many eyes watched him from the tree branches, hooting and clapping their wings. The bright full moon illuminated the surroundings, while the wind carried leaves down from the trees. Some landed gracefully on the ground, mingling with white flowers, while others took flight, dancing in the breeze. The clanging of the swordsman's cold chain armour ceased as he stood still, surrounded by nature's symphony. A single leaf floated gracefully toward him, and he reached out to catch it, but it eluded his grasp, gliding away on the wind.
From the cliff, he gazed upon the vast expanse of a giant lake, with the moon's reflection shimmering in its waters. Three moons adorned the world, one on Earth, and two above. He noticed a small house near the lake with lanterns. It was the only bright structure he could see.
Resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, he turned his attention back to the small hut. Steadily, he approached it, his sword by his side. As he reached for the wooden door, it creaked open, but he refrained from entering. He could feel his surroundings—the sound of the wind, rustling leaves, and even the small mice hidden inside the shack.
Suddenly, a crushed twig sounded from the woods. He stepped away from the door, standing tall and facing the woods, with the cliff behind him. A shadowy figure appeared from the woods, bathed in moonlight, filtered through the leaves. Slowly, the figure approached, and the swordsman strained to see who it was, but he sensed something familiar.
"Sorcery," he muttered under his breath.
His hair stood on end as the figure drew nearer, like a magnet pointing at the mysterious person. Finally, the figure stopped just before the direct light of the moon, shrouded in the shadows of the trees.
Owls gathered on the trees and atop the shack, silently observing the unfolding confrontation. The white flowers swayed in the wind, some taking flight alongside the leaves.
The swordsman finally saw the figure—a young woman adorned with a crown of flowers, walking barefoot in a flowing white dress. She smiled at him from the shadows, her innocent charm affecting the owls but not him.
"You have come a long way, master. What brought you here?" she asked sweetly, her voice carrying in the night air.
They were close to each other, separated only by the interplay of light and shade.
"You know well why I'm here," he replied, his gaze unwavering.
The two locked eyes in a silent standoff.
"I truly don't," she said with a smirk. “Would you like to enter? I will show you my hospitality.”
His hand moved beneath his cloak, still fixed on the woman. Slowly, he extended his right hand from his waist, revealing something in it. The woman's eyes widened in horror, and she stumbled backwards, covering her mouth in shock.
"I found your friend harassing the nearby village," he stated. "So I came," he continued, tossing an object before her. "His head came off easily, just like the others before him."
She landed on her knee in horror, staring at the lifeless eyes of a head.
"You evil bastard..." she murmured, her mouth closed to prevent herself from vomiting.
"Says the woman who kidnaps children to use them as objects," his voice lowered. "I'm here to seek your death, and I can grant you one. It will-"
Before he could finish his sentence, the woman used her sorcerous powers to send him flying with a powerful blast. He crashed hard to the ground, his body shaken but determined.
"I knew it," he grunted as he recovered from the impact.
The woman used trickery in her magic, commanding owls to attack him relentlessly. Dozens of claws swiped at him, and he fought back with his sword, but none hit their mark.
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"I thought you were dangerous for someone who killed those sorcerers!" she taunted, moving closer to him. "You'll die here like the animal you are. A savage, a brute, a southerner!" she hissed.
"If I'm an animal, then what are you?" he rebutted, defending himself from the onslaught of claws.
Quickly, he threw a small object to the ground, creating a blinding flash and a deafening sound. The owls vanished, and the sorceress dropped to the ground, disoriented. Snatching the opportunity, the swordsman approached her with his sword in hand. As her vision cleared, she saw him standing before her, his expression resolute. The sorceress rolled out before he landed the ending blow and avoided the sword that might’ve ended her.
They stood in a standoff, facing each other grimly. The swordsman gripped his weapon tightly while the sorceress breathed heavily after experiencing her near-death. Suddenly, he felt a pull. His hair raised when facing the sorceress. Something was about to happen. The ground trembled and swallowed the swordsman’s legs. Terrified, he tried to pull out his legs from the ground, but it was pointless. The sorceress laughed hysterically as she conjured a knife from the air. She approached him with murder in her eyes and grace in her steps.
“This is it,” she showed him the knife. “This is where it all ends,” she levels herself with the swordsman. “I never see myself this way with a Southerner who killed my…associates.”
“Associates?” the swordsman stopped trying to free himself.
“Classmates, to be precise. I would’ve divided the grades with them if it weren’t for you,” she pressed the knife to his cheek.
“All of this… for a grade?” he screamed in anger.
“Of course. We aren’t the only ones who do this.”
In rage, the swordsman’s armour bulged slightly, and he freed himself. He burst out of the ground and pinned the sorceress on the ground.
“How!?” her pupils dilate in shock.
The sun rose beyond the earth, bathing them in its warm glow. The two adversaries faced the dawn, and the swordsman turned his head back to the sorceress, concluding their battle with a decisive swing of his dagger.
He let go of her and surveyed the empty clearing before returning to the edge of the cliff, where he once again watched the sunrise. Embracing the morning.
II
The sun had climbed high above, casting its warm rays upon the swordsman as he rode along the dirt road. After a brief journey, his horse carried him to a small, tranquil village nestled by the coast. As he entered the village, the swordsman sought a particular house. He knocked on the door until a man in ragged clothing answered.
"Master Nazeir?" the man inquired, recognising the swordsman.
"I'm here about the kidnappings, sir," Nazeir replied, bowing slightly.
"Please, do come in," the man invited, opening the door wider.
They settled on poorly made wooden chairs inside the humble dwelling. The house owner's wife noticed their arrival and brought some drinks to the table.
"Where are the children, master? The parents keep asking me about your search. I told them to be patient, but I don't know how much longer they can endure," the man said with concern.
Nazeir's shoulders slumped, and he glanced wearily at the ground, his expression betraying a blend of exhaustion and remorse.
"I'm sorry, but I don't believe we will ever find them," Nazeir said.
"I'm sorry, but I don't believe we will ever find them."
The man sank deeper into his seat, his brows knitting together as disappointment and sorrow crept across his face.
"These kidnappers were a group of northerners, sorcerers. I discovered them using these innocent children as…” Nazeir persisted to give the full information. “Don’t worry, no more sorcerers linger in this area. I've dealt with them. One of them lived on a hill overlooking the lake."
"But what can I say to their poor mothers and fathers?" the man's voice and body trembled with grief.
Outside the house, a commotion erupted as a group of villagers called for the headman to address them.
"I should leave," Nazeir said, rising from his seat.
"Thank you, master. Here are the coins we've agreed on," the man offered, holding out a small pouch of coins.
Nazeir hesitated but ultimately declined the payment.
"Keep it," he calmly pushed the offer away and left the house.
As Nazeir exited the house, he was met with a heart-wrenching scene outside. The gathered villagers were mostly parents—fathers and mothers who had lost their precious children to cruel kidnappers. The fathers, with anger etched on their faces, were demanding answers and retribution. Their fists clenched tightly, ready to take matters into their own hands.
“Headman!” the father shouted as loud as he could. “Where are the children!? You are the one who invited those northerners here!”
Beside them, the mothers were inconsolable, tears streaming down their cheeks as they clung to one another for support. Their hearts ached with the unbearable pain of missing children, their cries piercing the air with a profound sense of loss.
Nazeir's face remained silent as he observed the raw grief that consumed the village. He couldn’t do anything but accept the grim fate of the children. While he recognised others might empathise deeply, he couldn't find it in himself to share the same anguish.
With a heavy heart that wasn't his own, he turned away from the anguished crowd, mounting his horse once more. As he rode away, he couldn't shake off the image of the devastated parents, but his emotions remained distant and indifferent.
The headman soon appeared, addressing the gathered villagers. Just as Nazeir was on the edge of the village, he heard a heart-wrenching cry from a woman among the crowd, making him look back in regret.