Struggle uselessly, as you have your entire life, and die in vain. Your efforts are fruitless, and your pain unsung. Your existence will become a forgotten memory, your suffering a vain promise of a relief that will never come. He could almost see the words written in his blood as if it were fate. The deep crimson liquid seeped into the earth, as the eager soil absorbed what little life he had left in him. What an accursed thing it was, to live. And what a terrible fate it was, to die meaninglessly. 

Drip

Drip

Drip

The sky cried. In his place, lay a nameless being. Another nothing.

Drip

Drip

Drip

Strange, he was surely dead, yet he could still feel the rain on his skin. It was colder, the ground was softer and... then he remembered. He was alive. He had survived the culling, he lived while everyone he knew became martyrs to the harvest. Not for their bravery, not for a cause nor for the love of their country. But because they were weak. Or perhaps, unfortunate. That's right, he was considered one of the lucky ones, that is by the common folk and the Divine. But they knew the truth. All their lives whenever they saw death, they pitied the souls claimed by it. They thought about how meaningless it made their lives, and how terrible it was to die in vain, but then they realized,

"Not so terrible as living."

The young boy repeated the phrase he'd heard so often. The rest of the group did not so much as even acknowledge what he said as they aimlessly trudged forward. There were four of them, all young as they usually were. They had been on many similar journeys like this before. And each time they survived, they dreaded the next journey a little less. 'Death marches'. They called them, expeditions held by higher orders with the sole purpose of bringing these children as close to death as possible. Of course, they didn't want them to actually die, they only needed them to experience what it was like to nearly die. A harsh ritual, but much to their displeasure a necessary practice for their sakes, and the sake of humanity. In order for them to awaken the power that they all possessed,  they needed to experience an instinct so carnal and rare, that it could only arise, when their soul felt the sting of death.

But as one would expect, the rate of survival was incredibly low. So low, that it had forced humanity into a very serious predicament. Their soldiers were dying faster than they could replenish, and with the ever increasing threat of the monsters above them, they needed more power, and they needed it now. And so, faced with an existentially threatening decision, all families were forced to abandon their children to Divinity. To be chosen, saved, or sacrificed.

It was worse for poor families such as theirs', when the wealthier children would have powerful orders overseeing their progress, their group received a meager swordsman who had long since perished. The last human being they had seen fled past them in the opposite direction almost two days ago. They had burned through their rations this morning, they were hungry, tired, their clothes were in tatters and their eyes were sunken. Their group consisted of two little girls, a young boy and an older boy. The two girls were sisters, they silently clung onto each other for warmth throughout the journey. The young boy was just a little older than the other children, he was the most talkative, saying a few words here and there.

All three of the children followed behind the oldest one, one who had embarked on far more of these marches than any of them had. He was approaching adulthood, almost twenty years of age and yet he still had not awoken his power. Despite nearly dying several times, none of his experiences were enough to evoke his primordial instinct to survive. He was a mystery even among The Ascended, the divine race that lived in the centre of the world, of whom mere men could never lay their eyes upon. At first, they thought that perhaps he was one of the few exceptions to the rule. Perhaps his ability was so strong that it required more intense stimulation, or maybe he was one of the generational sorcerers whose powers were triggered by a specific emotion.

But after many years of experimenting, it was deemed that he was most likely… useless. Fated to witness death, and succumb to it. and so, of the few mages who were able to gain renown, he gained infamy. Of the fewer who were paraded as heroes and beacons of hope, he was scorned as the reminder of all that was profane. And of the fewer still were those who became legends, and promised knights of prophecy… he alone represented the ones lost to fate. Kingston Samuels, the unprophetic.

But despite all that, his years of living through the death marches were not completely useless.

"Go to where there is more rain. Then, your examination will be done."

He remembered the words of one of his escorts, but he couldn't remember which one. And of course, by done, they meant that he would die. Yet death never came for him, only for those around him.

The soft pitter patter of rain that kissed their faces earlier, slowly began to intensify, turning into a light pelting that stung more the further they walked. The heavier the rain became, the more they would look at the ocean sky above them. At this point, all the surface dwelling creatures would have fled, leaving behind a vast and empty abyss. They had learned to ignore it. That feeling of dread, the feeling of imminent death that constantly hung above their heads. Instead he thought about what monster the void would spit out this time. Hopefully it was small enough for him to defeat... or large enough to finally kill him.

After walking for some more time, the rain had become torrential, waves of water slapped them in the face, inhibiting their vision. The younger boy had started to murmur something faintly, but his words were lost to the storm. The girls held each other a little tighter, whimpering lightly, on the verge of tears but too afraid to cry. Then Kingston stopped suddenly, on the surface he remained calm, but his heart was slamming against his chest. No matter how many times he has experienced this, he will never be able to make peace with leading children to their deaths.

But if they abandoned this journey, their fates were sealed all the same. A powerless peasant was as good as a vagrant dog in this world. The girls especially were doomed to a life worse than even death. They were orphans of the church, he was certain of this when they first met. One of the sisters was a regular looking girl, dirty brown hair with doll-like features that resembled her more fortunate half he thought. She may have been able to pass as a lowly serf, but the other girl was another story. Her distinct golden yellow hair would have given away her superior bloodline. Paired with the fact that she was orphaned, one would easily be able to deduce that her birth was the result of a shameful affair. A bastard child. A product of evil, hated more than even he was. Only those of a noble lineage were born with that beautiful blonde hair, and it was strictly forbidden to mix higher blood with the blood of the common folk.

A twinge of pity pinched his chest, it seemed that empathy wasn't lost to him completely after all. Years of witnessing death had jaded his humanity, but he was still human all the same.

"We've entered a descent." He announced blankly. "Our handler is dead, so no one will be able to protect you. Once you see a monster, run as fast as you can, and as far as you can. If you're lucky, perhaps you will awaken an ability that might help you survive." His words were hollow and offered the children little hope.

Since the day they were grouped together, the little boy had never once looked at him. It was the same to end, the boy's eyes were pasted to the ground as he began to drift away from them. Wading listlessly in no particular direction, whispering of hearth and home.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Kingston thought about stopping him, but he lacked the conviction to do so. Why should he stop him? What was he saving him from? Death would reach him all the same. But maybe he could save him, maybe this time he'd finally awaken his ability and protect all of them... A foolish thought, a hopeless endeavor, he was useless in all his other marches. This one was no different. Just then, a little hand tugged at the corner of his shirt.

"Mister?" A small voice called him. "Please don't leave us." The brown haired girl spoke to him for the first time. "We're scared." The other sister remained silent, but her doe brown eyes pleaded into his.

Kingston knelt down beside the girls, and looked at them solemnly.

'I can't help you. Run away and do not try to save each other.' The words caught in his throat. Hope was a luxury, one that was easily abandoned when faced with the cruelty of the harvest. But it helped him, it made it easier to watch these innocent children be fed to beasts, when they had already surrendered to death. And so now that these girls were pleading for their lives, he just couldn't tell them the truth. Kingston lifted his face upwards, and swallowed his fear. Then standing up he told the girls, "Follow me closely, and do exactly as I say."

The sisters nodded fervently, inching closer to him, their eyes which he had never looked at before... were filled with hope.

Then, they felt it. A disturbing presence, a vile entity. A monstrous aura that constricted his entire body. The girls were paralyzed, incapacitating fear forced their gaze downwards. Their minds unable to acknowledge the threat above, and though they shook, terror had frozen their limbs.

Then, they heard it. An eerie whisper, a predacious dissonance, a depraved screeching that reverberated from above. It was a monster. He was sure of it, its beastly cries became more and more pronounced as it neared them. Then, the monster turned into many. There was more than one he realized with dread. Their murderous hissing overlapped one another, creating a terrifying disharmony that almost sounded like laughter. They were being preyed upon.

Then, he saw it. He saw them. Several pairs of bright red eyes, descending from above. A swarm of Great white serpents unlike anything he had ever seen before. They fell from the sky with animalistic ferocity, their scaly bodies intertwined and twisted around each other, each beast violently trying to free itself in the air as it neared its prey. Their jaws were hung open, boasting an impossibly wide maw, large enough to contain two fangs far greater than any sword he had ever held. And as they descended, several more serpents fell after them, out of the ocean.

"Mother!" They heard the young boy exclaim somewhere off in the distance.

Kingston could see his silhouette through the thick of the storm. His arms were outstretched, waiting for the embrace of his mother. But it was not his mother who embraced him. Instead, a much larger being swallowed him whole. The ground shook beneath them, he could feel their lurching movements, their hulking bodies slithering all around them. It was only a matter of time before they were found. The girls were both grabbing onto the ends of his clothing. They were trembling with fear but they didn't make a sound. The boy whirled around, searching for anything to hide behind. He would find nothing but a pale, silver desert that stretched as far as his eyes could see.

'Damn it all.' He cursed silently. Never before in any of his other marches did he desire to live. Yet why then? Why then was he given the opportunity to? Why then was he given the protection of a forest, the edge of a blade? Why then, did fate defend him? And why now? Why now, that he had a reason to survive, did they curse him with an endless desert.

BOOOMM

An explosion of brilliant light sparked from behind them, followed by sounds of fighting. Another group must have entered the descent a little after they did, and the presence of a soldier must have attracted the beasts. Flickers of red briefly illuminated their surroundings, providing a constant strobing light that seemed to grow closer with each cast. And each pulse would provoke a monstrous scream that made them tremble with fear. He had to be a soldier of at least a second order, he thought, which made him much more trustworthy than a simple sword for hire. If that was the case, they could definitely survive if they joined his group.

Kingston took a step in the direction of the soldier, his eyes wide with anticipation, hoping that he'd be able to fight off the monsters. But their cries continued to echo through the storm, and they grew closer... and closer... and closer. Then from the chaos, the figure of a man emerged in front of them. He was in a full sprint... more or less, the man was clearly injured, blood covered his face as he stumbled frantically in their direction. But more importantly, he was alone. Where was his group? It was common for there to be deaths in the group, but a handler being the last one alive was unheard of, and actually forbidden. If he was here, and still alive... then that meant... that he abandoned the children.

As if to answer his most ominous thoughts, he could begin to barely make out the cries of wailing children in the distance. And one by one, they all disappeared, consumed by the storm and its beasts. His head was pounding, and he had frozen in place. Their best chance would have been to travel alongside a soldier. One who was trained by his respective order in both combat and navigation. But if he deserted his group, and in turn rejecting his oath and forsaking his duty as a soldier of the second order... Kingston could absolutely not follow this man.

But just as he was thinking that, the man finally reached them.

"YOU!" He pointed at Kingston with a trembling finger, and demanded with wild and frenzied eyes. "GIVE ME THOSE GIRLS!" 

This is exactly what he had feared. The soldier had abandoned his group, he had left children of noble lineage to be eaten by beasts. And he would have known that even if he survived, he would surely be executed for this grave mistake. So upon discovering them, in his desperation and delirium, he would try to come back with these girls instead. So that perhaps he may be given a lighter punishment, since returning with these children was better than returning with none at all.

"GIVE THEM TO ME." He repeated with increased anger.

'No.' The boy thought, but he couldn't muster the courage to say it aloud.

"NOW!" The man glared at Kingston frenetically, "THE SERPENTS WILL BE UPON US SOON! JUST DO AS I SAY!"

'NO.' He bit his tongue, still unable to openly defy a soldier of the second order. Kingston instead stood there frozen in place, shuddering, nearly convulsing with rage... and fear. All of a sudden, his feelings of exhaustion, and surrender disappeared. Replaced by buried fury that was always hidden underneath the numbing dread of death. Instead of wallowing in self pity and abdication, he felt bitter, and spiteful. Why was a cowardly man given such power? Why was he blessed with a good life while Kingston was forced to suffer? If he had been given just half of what this soldier was, how much better, how much more? Could he have done?

Fate laughed at him, the gods mocked him, and as if to answer his thoughts, a red pulse blasted him backwards. The soldier had grown tired of his silence and took matters into his own hands. After dispatching the boy, he scooped up the brown haired girl into his arms, and led the other girl by her wrist. Kingston laid on his back, barely able to lift his head up, he watched as the three of them disappeared into the storm.

All was still, and all was quiet, the ocean continued to pour down its wrath, but it's tears fell silently into the sand. Wisps of smoke curled up from the hole that was made in the centre of his already torn shirt. And he just laid there, unmoving and defeated. A flash of thunder revealed them once more, the three of them were running towards a mountain. Another flash exposed the outlines of the structures that covered the hillside... along with the beasts thrashing alongside them.

"You fool..." He croaked helplessly.

A soldier's presence of mana gave off a strong scent, as taught to everyone from a young age. The girls were no safer with him than they were with the cursed boy. Seeing that he was still alive, all the monsters would then be completely drawn to the three people climbing the mountain instead. Every instinct screamed at him to remain still, to play dead, and let the storm pass. The rain will end soon, he could escape then, find a village, and be sent out once more. Again and again, his cowardice was all that saved him. His insignificance had always kept him alive, just long enough to return. But each time he came back, he was only met with more and more looks of disdain. Disgust. What waste it was, for a life as meaningless as his, to be all that would return. He agreed.

And so slowly he rose. The arcane blast stung his chest, but he had suffered worse injuries before. Periodic bursts of magic would paint the mountainside alight with the glow of the soldier's red mana, revealing his position. And from what he could see, they were climbing the mountain far too slowly. The serpents were closing in, the gaze of their piercing red eyes were ever present as they slithered alongside them. Normally, a soldier of the second order should be able to easily hold his own against a handful of these beasts. Yet it seemed like it was all he could do to keep them at bay. Of course. Kingston suddenly remembered, why would they ever send a soldier this far out for a death march?

Even without the danger of a descent, the Risean desert was already treacherous territory. They would never commission a second order to this area. There was nothing out here worth such an honor after all. His desire to save the girls had caused him to forget their circumstances. This man was no soldier, he was a marauder. A raider, a mercenary and a thief, only he stole much more than just gold. Kingston knew their kind all too well, all children who grew up in the outlands did. Life outside of a stronghold was already untenable as it was, but these men made it that much more impossible to endure.

Peasant families who were too poor to afford safe haven in towns protected by The Orders, were forced to inhabit the harsh lands around them. And thus, becoming victims to the wrath of sandmen. Unspeakable atrocities would befall any settlement in the outlands, who either did not have a protector, or could not provide any services to the Drameran Empire of whom these sandmen owed their allegiance to. Their homes were destroyed, plundered, belongings pillaged, women raped and children stolen. Indescribable acts were commonplace, and all this happened at the doorstep of many strongholds.

But to care about such things, was below them. The nobles, the aristocrats, the people of importance who should spare no thoughts for lesser men. Within those walls they did not exist, not even as an inferior species they were just... dust in the wind. Vacuous beings. Their legacy stained the walls of better men with crimson slaughter. But the walls facing the outlands were already dirty... why would they ever bother cleaning it?