“Damn it.”
“Damn it, all!”
A boy howled into the sky, his voice was filled with rage and regret, his ragged body collapsed onto its knees and he dropped his two viscera covered swords.
The full moon seemed to look upon the boy in pity—moonlight scattering around him like a cascade of stars.
His body was filled with cuts and burns, dyeing his academy uniform a deep crimson.
A sword pierced his chest.
A knife in his thigh.
His black hair seemed almost red as it was blanketed in blood.
Dozens of men were collapsed around him, they laid all across the once beautiful lush grasslands.
Their bodies were littered throughout the fields leading to the top of the cliff, where fifty lightly armored men encircled the boy, creating a shield wall.
His light blue eyes stared onward in anger at the men surrounding him.
The men grinned in anticipation, they did not approach the boy, his death would come, along with their gold.
The fact that he was still alive was already shocking enough, but he wouldn’t survive much longer—not with those wounds.
Blood pooled underneath the boy, flowing like water. But behind him a small patch of land at the edge of the cliff was unblemished. Almost as if it was sacred ground he was protecting, it was where the body of a girl lay behind him.
She wore the same academy uniform as the boy, though it was significantly cleaner.
Blood seeped from beneath her blazer and spread across, blooming like a flower.
Her pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight and her blonde hair adorned her delicate features.
Her vibrant green eyes were ridden with guilt and worry as she glanced at the boy.
Her hand ever so gently tugged the hem of his shirt.
“I...I-Its okay, just ru—“
Her voice was so soft it was nearly drowned out by the wind.
“Don’t say it.” The boy growled.
“But then—“
The girl tried to continue but could only watch helplessly as the boy stood up and picked up his swords.
She grit her teeth, she couldn’t stop him and although she didn’t manage to say it, her thoughts still haunted her.
...We’ll both die.
The men only looked on with mild amusement at the boy’s pitiful stance.
His left arm hung at an unnatural angle and his entire posture was on the verge of collapsing.
His sigils were cut, blood ran from the snaking silver patterns on the backside of his hand.
But they wouldn’t underestimate him, the bodies scattered around were an eerie reminder.
But what could he do? He may have been a mage, but without his sigils, he was just a mediocre swordsman.
With a trained efficiency, the men readied their weapons and began to close the encirclement, they weren’t trained mercenaries for nothing, death was expected.
The boy suddenly charged toward the shield wall, closing the distance in less than a second.
Multiple incoming spears whizzed past him as he dodged and closed the distance.
He struck the shield of the mercenary in front of him with a sweep of his sword, digging into the wood of his shield. Cracks formed on the blade of his sword, an iridescent light shot out along with a quiet hum.
His eyes glowed a bright silver, his hair dyed in a pure white.
The light got brighter and brighter, forming a massive beacon of light.
The boy quickly ran away and dove into the ground.
Boom.
Steel shrapnel blasted outward, in a massive explosion of magic and seared metal, engulfing one third of the formation.
The blast instantly evaporated the men at its centre and shredded the ones further with shards of metal.
The furthest men were flung outward and knocked unconscious.
The few remaining quickly dispersed and ran away in fear and shock of the immense magic power.
Soot and Dirt from the explosion covered the boy in a layer of filth, almost blending him into the ground.
In his hand, the remnants of the hilt of his sword fused into his palm, through seared flesh and magic.
The girl stumbled over and collapsed, despite her concern, she had her own wounds to worry about.
A faint purple energy surrounded the boy in an ominous aura, maleficent energies spewed outward.
Looks like this is really it.
The girl closed her eyes, praying to the seven guardian deities and even the lesser gods she knew of.
She was no priest, she could not invoke miracles. But nevertheless she prayed, not like the measly prayers she offered at dinner, but a fervent prayer coalescing all her will.
But it went unanswered.
Gods would not concern themselves with every small mortal matter after all.
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She may be one loved by the spirits, but another such individual would appear in at least a hundred years, it was not a huge blow to humanity.
As for the boy, he needn’t even be mentioned, he may have an unique gift, but his magical talent was average at best, another could replace him in ten years.
To immortals, that time is but a drop in an endless ocean.
But it just so happened to be, that a minor deity would hear her pleas.
From within the cages that bound it, the deity let out a tiny sliver of holy light.
And so fate was changed.
**
The boy woke up with a gasp, digging his fingers into his chest as he screamed in agony.
In a frightful hurry, he ran his hand along his thigh, touching the smooth skin beneath his trousers.
His head hurt like something was digging out his brains with a scalpel, memories flooded his brain.
The phantom pain kicked in again, hard.
Once again, screaming in pain from wounds that no longer existed the boy knocked his head back and hit the crude clay wall.
His eyes widened as he stared at the ceiling in confusion.
He knew this place.
More importantly, why was he back here?
Bracing himself from the pain that continued to shoot through his body, the boy looked around.
The crumbling clay hutt and rotting straw roof were a sight he had seen often.
A distinct smell of blood and filth, a smell the boy had endured for years.
He was back in the slums in the capital.
As the realization kicked in, the boy stared at his shaking hands in shock.
Why are they so small?
An unbelievable thought came to mind causing the boy to run outside in panic.
He stopped in his tracks as he saw a familiar sight.
Groups of starving, almost skeletal, men and women lined every possible space around the streets.
Their eyes were dead and their bodies weren’t far off either.
They reached out their frail hands as if in reverence.
Suddenly a single copper coin dropped into the hands of one lucky beggar.
As if they had all gained the energy of a hundred men, all the beggars scrambled over each other to snatch away the coin.
The original lucky beggar could hardly be seen as his body was trampled, only his frail arm stuck out of the pile of starved beggars atop him, his arm squirmed around in fear before stopping.
He was dead.
As the rest of the frail men fought each other over the single copper piece, a guard came over and broke off the fight.
One particular man, grinned as he pocketed the coin and stumbled off.
Three men followed him, it seemed the coin wouldn’t be his for much longer.
And of course the generous saint who had given the coin was not ignorant to the outcome.
His blonde hair swayed in the wind, he would have looked gallant if not for his expression.
His face was contorted into a sinister sneer, a derisive grin plastered across his face.
This made his normally handsome face and clear blue eyes look incredibly sinister.
He wore an expensive ornamental white suit along with a dashing red cape and was surrounded by an entourage of knights.
Of course they fight for my scraps. What else is more fitting for the pigs of the slums.
He was a noble.
It was his birthright to rule and it was his duty to stand above his citizens.
It was only natural that he deserved more than the filth of the slums.
No matter how much pigs imitated humans, they would never be human.
It was written into their blood.
Just as he was born to rule. They were born to be used as cattle.
A country was built upon the foundations of its people?
How idiotic.
A country existed for the sake of its king.
And any who questioned such beliefs will be executed for treason.
That was only natural.
As the young noble continued to bask in his own superiority, he felt an intense glare on him.
A dark haired boy with blue eyes glared at him unwaveringly.
Before the young noble could get a good look, the boy disappeared.
“Sir, don’t you think we should get going?”
The old knight beside the young noble pleaded to him to leave.
The slums made the knights uncomfortable, the way the residents looked at them was off putting.
Looks of fear and envy, mashed together to form a crumpled expression of regretful longing.
The deal they were about to make already put the knight on edge and the hungry gazes of the slum dwellers only worsened his anxiety.
The young noble sighed, disappointed he couldn’t enjoy the sight of the pigs anymore and responded.
“I suppose we should get going, the hygiene here is absolutely rancid after all.”
He took one last look around to see if he could spot the dark haired boy again but he had lost him in the crowd.
And with a flick of his long flowing cape, the group left.
From behind a caravan of peddlers, the boy emerged with a grave expression.
He was only growing more confused and certain about his suspicions.
He had seen this before.
Quickly, before the guard from earlier left, the boy ran to catch up.
“Excuse me. Do you know what today’s date is?”
The guard looked confused but replied nonetheless.
“Hmm? Odd question for a slum dweller. It is the seventh day of Ralkar.”
“No.. I meant what year is it?”
“Year? It is the year fifteen seventy nine of the eighth era.”
The boy froze, how was this possible?
His memories were still hazy, but clearly the most recent events happened...
...Five years later.
The boy ran off in a hurry, leaving the guard confused about his questions.
He stopped by the nearest well and peered into the dirty brown water of slums.
Though it was murky, the reflection he saw was clearly that of himself from five years ago.
He racked his mind to reorganize his thoughts, but only ended up confronting the chaotic storm of memories in his mind.
Only one conclusion surfaced in his muddled mind.
That he, Aster, had traveled to the past.
“Hahaha.”
Ridiculous.
Aster laughed aloud, the guard and a few others glancing his way.
It simply was too good to be true.
He had broken the laws of life and death and travelled back in time.
—It was another chance, a miracle that may not happen in a thousand lifetimes.
So he decided.
This time will be different.
All the regret he had felt was condensed into that one statement.
And so he decided it so, that if fate would twist itself to have him survive, he would impart his will upon the world.
For it was fate that willed it so.