In the tranquil hush just before the dawn, a fleeting moment unfolded, as if the world itself had held its breath. The night became an empty canvas, delicate and fragile, painted by the restless spirit of a lone teenager navigating the turmoil of war. In that suspended space, time faltered, ensnared within the fragmented dreams of a young heart.

A heavy, oppressive air thick with the scent of pungent blood hung around the chaotic chorus of tormented cries, each echoing a mournful lament for those who lost themselves to the abyss of suffering.

Amidst this forsaken domain, scarlet pools gathered beneath motionless forms. Flames from the remnants of the battle still flickered while relentlessly burning, they soared towards the heavens, their unbridled intensity seemingly hungry to devour even the skies. The moon, shrouded in a mournful haze of red, cast its veiled light upon the night— a spectral witness to the horrors that had played out below.

There,  in this world unhinged by madness and chaos. Standing amidst the wreckage, was a lone figure— a boy, his body worn from the toll of survival, his eyes void of emotion, as if nothing in this shattered world could reach him any longer. His gaze was fixed on the distant horizon, where the chaos of battle had left its mark. Silence, a thick and oppressive scent, filled the space around him, broken only by the distant crackle of dying embers and the soft whisper of the wind.

But even in this desolate place, danger still lingered,  crawling beneath the surface of the silence. The stillness of the battlefield was deceiving, masking the lurking threats that waited just beyond the edge of sight. In the shadows, hidden from the boy’s vacant stare, beasts prowled— creatures born of the madness that had overtaken the land. They were drawn to the smell of blood, to the cries of the dying, and now, to the lone survivor who stood before them. Their eyes gleamed with hunger as they prepared to strike, sensing the vulnerability in their prey.

The beasts, with their jagged teeth glistening beneath the dim light of the blood moon, advanced slowly, methodically, as if savouring the anticipation of the kill. The scent of fear was faint, buried deep beneath the numbness that enveloped him, but the beasts were relentless. They did not need fear to fuel their hunger. Blood was enough.

One beast, larger than the others, stepped forward, its claws digging into the soft earth with each deliberate stride. Its breath, hot and rancid, filled the air with the foul stench of decay, and its eyes, glowing like embers, locked onto the boy with a deadly focus. The others followed, fanning out in a silent, coordinated formation, circling their prey like wolves closing in on a cornered lamb.

Yet still, the boy remained oblivious, his gaze fixed forward, lost in the aftermath of the chaos that had torn his world apart. The sounds of their approach— the soft rustle of fur against the undergrowth, the guttural growls that rumbled deep in their throats— fell on deaf ears. He did not flinch, did not move. He was a statue carved from grief, standing alone in a field of death, awaiting the inevitable.

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Just as the beasts closed in, a shadow stirred. From the darkness, a figure emerged— clad in a cloak as black as the night itself, moving with an eerie grace through the devastation. In one hand, they held a blade that shimmered like the void, and with each step, they cut through the beasts, a deadly force with purpose and precision.

As the first light of dawn pierced the sky, the figure paused, standing amidst the fallen, their blade dripping with the blood of those they had slain. The air, thick with death, seemed to clear for a brief moment, and the figure looked toward the child, their expression unreadable.

The boy, still silent, did not move. He did not cry out, nor did he flinch. He stood there, frozen in the wake of the carnage, a fragile vessel amidst the sea of chaos. Yet in the stillness of that moment, something shifted. His mind, once clouded with confusion and fear, began to clear, as if the presence of the mysterious figure had sparked a dormant flame within him.

The stranger, however, did not linger. They moved forward, toward the boy, their steps slow and deliberate. And though the boy remained unmoving, something in their approach— an unspoken promise, perhaps— caused him to meet their gaze.

For a moment, time stretched thin, and the world seemed to hold its breath once more. And in that silence, a question, unvoiced but heavy with meaning, hung in the boy’s mind: Who are you and why are here?

But before he could form the question, the stranger spoke. “This place is not for you. You do not belong in this world of death.”

As the cloaked figure moved to depart, a voice, trembling and fragile, broke through the stillness. “W-why… why did t-this have to happen?” The boy spoke with fear on his face.

The figure's gaze lingered on the boy for a moment, their voice low and steady as they spoke. “I can help you leave this place, but what lies ahead will be yours to face,” they paused, waiting for any response from the boy, but none came.

After a breath, the figure continued, their tone softened. “Sometimes... forgetting is the only way to move forward.” With their words hanging in the air, they watched the boy in silence, as if awaiting for a sign.

The boy remained still, silent as ever, but something shifted in his gaze. The emptiness that had consumed him, the void that had dulled his senses, began to crack— ever so slightly. His eyes, once hollow and distant, flickered with a faint glimmer of life. It was as though the presence of the stranger, a force both foreign and familiar, stirred something deep within him, something long buried beneath the weight of loss and despair.

For the first time since the battle had ended, his gaze wavered, no longer fixed on the distant horizon. Slowly, cautiously, his eyes found the figure standing before him, cutting through the haze of his grief and confusion. There was a pull, an unspoken connection, as if the figure's very presence demanded his attention, not through force, but through a silent, undeniable recognition.

The boy’s heart, though still heavy, began to beat a little faster, as if sensing that this moment, this encounter, was more than a fleeting respite. It was a crossroads, a turning point in the silent march of his existence. Something deep inside him— the faintest spark of instinct— told him that the figure standing before him held answers, or perhaps, the key to a future he hadn’t yet dared to imagine.

And with that silent realization, his legs, weak and unsteady, began to move. He stepped toward the figure, not out of conscious will, but as though some unseen force was guiding him— propelling him forward toward a path he could not yet understand. But before he could reach them, his body gave way. He collapsed, unconscious, falling toward the earth. The stranger moved swiftly, catching him before he hit the ground and gently laying him down to rest.

As they did, their eyes fell upon the boy's neck, and a faint smile tugged at their lips. Barely above a whisper, words escaped them, unbidden. “Unbelievable... this will be a story worth telling.”

In the not-too-distant future, a change was coming. Whether it was born of light or shadow remained unknown, but it had begun—its roots planted in the heart of this boy, whose fate, though shrouded in mystery, would ripple through time.