Asdras felt the weight of his vow keenly, as if a heavy mantle had settled upon his shoulders.

Making a vow to oneself was like stepping into a shadowy realm, where one's will was honed against the blade of deepest fears. The instant the vow took shape, an almost imperceptible trial commenced, subtly testing the mettle of his resolve.

Asdras's resolve was tested anew as he met their gaze. Their faces were etched with a haunting glow, eyes flickering with a pulsing light, like newborns seeing the world for the first time. The sight struck a chord deep within him, more profoundly than he cared to admit.

He had vowed to do it, with the crow and the forest as his witnesses. But now, facing their expectant eyes, his resolve was tested anew.

He felt stripped of all pretense, as if standing naked before the world, confronting the stark reality of his inner self. At that moment, he realized with startling clarity that he was merely a young man whose decisions were his alone to be accountable for.

‘I… promised it, I…’

He thought back to the tale the crow had told him and the three choices the young man had to make. He couldn't bring himself to accept any of those choices, so he did it differently. At that time, he felt powerful, as if the world were his to conquer.

Yet, when he returned to the campsite and saw their waiting faces, his confidence wavered.

First's lips curled into a sardonic smirk, a facade masking his own fears. Sixth strummed his lute quietly, the melody a haunting backdrop to the tension, his eyes fixed on Asdras with an intensity that pierced through the silence.

Eighth ceased her restless scanning of the surroundings, her gaze now transfixed on her sword, as if it whispered secrets only she could hear. Third helped Fifth with Second, an old man who could no longer walk or wave.

Seeing them all, Asdras nearly broke and ran away, thinking that the third choice in the tale wasn't so bad after all. But he held himself steady, something within him resonating deeply. It was as if his spirit armored his will, affirming and defending his vow, as if stepping onto a battlefield of sorts.

Every quality he believed in, every trait he thought solid, was scrutinized under the harsh light of their hope and materialized in their silent gazes. For a moment, he thought the sunlight paled under the weight of their unspoken words.

The villagers knew they had placed the pale boy before them in what could be called a personal hell, where one fights against demons and ghosts, falling if not winning with blood and flesh.

Their souls wavered, trembling with the uncertainty of their path ahead, questioning whether it was a noble commitment or a fool’s attempt to hide behind their scars and let a boy free them while bearing their burdens and making new ones.

It drained them, but just as Asdras felt the weight yet didn’t step back, they also firmed their will for the task. They were tired of years of suffering and not knowing what it was to truly live and dream.

They missed their families, friends, and once beautiful village, all taken from them by the curse and the monster. The remnants of their community were forced to watch, week by week, as their blood transformed into cursed trees after the promises and hopes of awakening their bloodline power to fight the beast.

With a near-Herculean effort, Asdras stepped forward first, his sword trembling in his hands as if catching fire. He moved to honor his vow, though his body attempted, with every passing second, to betray his resolve.

The villagers followed, determined to honor their willingness and not burden the boy before them. Their bones, once thought to be the framework of their strength, now felt as if they had turned to jelly.

As they lifted their feet to advance, overwhelming fatigue gripped them. It felt as though they had walked for years, every sinew and muscle crying out with the weariness of a lifetime.

First, whether it was due to his age or his name, kissed the cold steel while wearing his everyday grin. He looked ahead at Asdras standing at the village entrance. Memories of his past surfaced like specters, haunting his final view of the living world.

He remembered the day he lost his mother; the sorrow was so heavy it felt as if the sky itself had met the ground. His father, once an easygoing man, turned somber and never smiled again. His sister, once full of life, grew almost mute; her voice barely a whisper when asked to do something.

In those days, First tried to hide his pain behind a stoic facade. Yet sorrow gnawed at him relentlessly, rendering him silent. He would sit for hours staring into nothingness, his mind a whirlwind of dark thoughts.

One day, in an unknown act of self-preservation, he made a silly joke to himself — a nonsensical quip about a chicken and a shoe. To his astonishment, he heard a giggle — soft and tentative but unmistakably his sister’s. It was like the first ray of sunlight breaking through after a storm.

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From that moment on, First vowed always to make new jokes and wear a silly smirk as part of his coping mechanism against life's harshness. His sister's giggles evolved into laughter; even their father's somber eyes softened slightly as if touched by this newfound lightness in their lives.

First's humor became a cornerstone of his identity over time. The name 'First' stuck not because he forgot his real name but because it marked the beginning — the first step in healing their family's broken spirit.

As he felt the cold blade touch his skin, he knew it marked the beginning of his healing journey. For once in his life — a genuine smile spread across First's face; tears welled up in his eyes as he imagined reuniting with family wherever they might be. His smile endured until final words slipped from lips.

“Thanks, lad.”

Asdras barely heard First's voice trailing off. His mind whirled with confusion and sorrow, unable to halt his own actions. He glanced beside him and saw Sixth, the young boy he felt a brotherly urge to protect, yet now he was ending his life.

Sixth didn't scream as Asdras had expected. In the past, the boy's screams would persist until his mouth was dry and tasted of iron.

When Sixth was five, he began to see a shadow that always watched him — a presence that filled him with fear and made him scream uncontrollably. Orphaned and alone, he was raised in a church where the head nun showed no pity for his visions or screams.

Instead, the nun met his cries with the harsh sting of a wooden cane across his back. The relentless pain forced him to bury his fear deep within. Despite this cruel upbringing, Sixth discovered a fragile solace in the wood of a lute.

Given the chance to learn music, he clung to the instrument with desperation, finding in its strings a sanctuary from his nightmares. His fingers danced over the strings, each note a step away from his terror.

At night, Sixth would imagine himself playing the lute, his eyes tightly shut, picturing the scores taught by the priest. His favorite tune was 'The Twilight Crow,' the first song he mastered before moving on to others.

To him, this song symbolized hope — a light piercing the shadow that haunted him. However, as fate would have it, the shadow he feared took the form of a crow-like monster.

The sight of it shattered his belief that his beloved lute could protect him, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. Desperately trying to silence his fear, he tied his mouth with a coarse rope.

Without the rope and having carefully placed his lute in a wooden box with a makeshift note, Sixth felt himself falling, not into the clutches of the shadow but into the depths of his own terms.

The shadow had not conquered his spirit, but silencing himself was his way of controlling the uncontrollable. His gesture to Asdras, pointing towards the wooden box, was his final act of communication, urging him to understand his meaning.

Third took her chance, stepping forward with a resolve that carried more weight than she had anticipated, like a tune that snapped under its own intensity, breaking free from its constraints.

She couldn't bear the thought of seeing her daughter go before her time. It felt unnatural, as if the world had turned upside down. As her memories began to spin and fade, she watched them unfold as if time had stopped, giving her a final moment to recall her loving husband, the farm they nurtured with pride, and the herbs she picked early in the morning for tea and seasoning.

She remembered the small but comfortable stand where they sold the freshest herb bread with eggs that couldn't be found even in the city.

Alongside these cherished memories, she lamented the limited time spent with her daughter. Losing her firstborn and longing for a son had driven her away emotionally when she was blessed with a girl. This regret gnawed at her, especially as her daughter grew up in such a hellish environment, unable to hear her mother’s words of love and sorrow.

The regret of not being the mother she wished to be gnawed at her, especially as her daughter grew up in such a hellish environment, unable to hear her mother’s words of love and regret.

As she stepped forward, she avoided looking at her daughter, her guilt weighing heavily on her heart. She wished she could go back and change things, but she knew that was impossible. She did this not for herself but for her daughter’s freedom from this nightmare. If it meant her daughter could be free, she would ensure she went first.

With a final, sorrowful breath, Third made her peace. She stepped forward into the unknown, her heart filled with hope that her sacrifice would pave the way for her daughter's liberation, leaving behind a sliver of her redemption.

Asdras nearly doubled over but froze as a sudden warmth spread through his hand. His eyes barely registered the blade's odd angle where it had lodged itself.

Instead, his focus tunneled into the radiant, innocent smile that seemed to light up the world around him. Even though his memories had not fully returned, he knew he had seen something purer than anything the world had to offer him.

Eight felt truly happy. Since childhood, the songs had always been stuffy to her ears, as if the world around her was hidden behind a thick curtain, much like the one in her home.

She understood things differently and spent most of her time alone. Initially, Eight felt sorrow and loneliness, but when her doll first spoke to her, she realized nothing else mattered.

She didn’t grow angry at her mother's absence; the doll promised to stay by her side forever. She barely noticed when she caught her father with the neighboring woman.

For her, sounds were thin and distant, while the colors around her were a bright camp of fairy tales. She loved to watch birds sing, insects crawl, and flowers blossom.

Even when the monster appeared, even when her father and brother were taken while she was distracted, her ears refused to register it, and her eyes still saw the world differently.

It wasn't until she held the wooden stick she found with Asdras that she felt something strange happening to her, as if the fairies were calling her to become one of them.

When she saw Asdras's sword, it was like music to her ears — beautiful, calm, and magical. So she embraced it, and to repay him, she offered her warm hands for the first time to someone other than her doll.