In every boy's life comes a moment when he feels powerless. He cries, grieves, and lifts his hands to the sky, praying for someone—anyone—to come. But one day he learns the truth: no one is coming. He must stand, fight, and become a man… or remain a boy, waiting quietly for the day death finds him.
"Ahh! Mercy—show me mercy! I swear, I was only following orders!" A voice shrieked, high and trembling, as its owner stumbled back from the blade pointed at his chest.
"Mercy…?" The figure answered, voice low and cold. "Once, I had mercy. But no longer. If you hurt someone, you should know you will be harmed. If you kill, be prepared that you too might be killed."
The speaker stepped forward, cloaked in a long, black shroud. Grey eyes glinted like steel in the half-light, and silver hair, unkempt and rough, hung behind him.
"You… you can't," the man stammered, kicking and clawing at the dirt as he crawled back. "You're a hero! You can't kill me…" His words cracked, choked by terror. A foul stench rose as he lost control, the dry earth turning to mud beneath him.
"You disgust me. Have you no shame? You prey on the weak and cower before the strong." The cloaked man lowered his blade and turned away in disdain.
"You fool…" The wretch who had been weeping—pants still damp with fear—suddenly leapt forward, blade flashing with desperate resolve. He was inches from the killing blow.
The strike never landed. Harald was faster.
A blur of shadow and wings swept through the air. In one merciless motion, the beast struck—the man's head severed cleanly, spinning like a grotesque wheel before thudding to the ground. Blood sprayed in violent arcs, soaking the mud as the body crumpled to its knees.
"Meow!" Harald padded toward his master, feathers and fur catching the dim light.
"Yes, I know, Harald. I knew you had my back," the cloaked man said, resting a hand against the beast's mane as its low purr rumbled through the night.
"Th-thank you… Thank you, savior," an old woman stammered. Her face was like chewed leather, her frame thin from malnutrition. Blue veins bulged along her hands, and behind her two small children hid, wide-eyed with terror.
Their home was no more than rubble now, the walls broken, beaten into ruin.
The cloaked man approached the children and knelt before them."Don't worry. The bad people are gone now. You're safe," he murmured, brushing a hand gently through their hair.
The children whimpered at first, then slowly relaxed, trembling breaths easing.
The man glanced up at the woman. "How did it come to this? Do you have money… or anywhere to go?" he asked, reaching into his cloak.
"Money? Ha!" The old woman spat on the ground, her voice cracking with rage. "The royals don't help us. All they care about are their taxes. Cowards! The realm is burning, and they think only of their own fat bellies."
The man reached into his cloak and drew out a small coin sack. From it, he pulled the last five coins it carried and pressed them into the woman's trembling hands.
"Take this," he said firmly. "Leave everything behind and go into hiding."
Her lips quivered as she clutched the coins to her chest. "Sir… what is your name?"
The question struck him, and for a moment he faltered. His eyes lowered, shadows crossing his face.
"…It is James," he murmured, the words barely audible. His voice lingered like an echo as he turned and disappeared into the night.
It had been five years since James was separated from Henry. At first, survival was nothing but hunger and silence. He scraped by on mushrooms and berries, his body wasting away while his spirit wavered between despair and defiance. Nights stretched long and merciless, haunted by memories of what he had lost.
Without his sig, channeling Sar was torment—like holding fire in bare hands. Every attempt left him shaking and drained, but he refused to give in. Each struggle etched something harder into him.
Through solitude, James learned to endure. Through suffering, he grew unyielding. The boy who once cried out for help had died somewhere along the road. What remained was a man—scarred, hollow in places, but forged by pain into something sharper, something resolute.
"Oh, our beloved patron! You've returned!" The rat-faced innkeeper greeted James at the door. He wore a leather coat that hung awkwardly over his small frame, as if it had once belonged to someone much larger.
"And you look especially dashing today," he added, rubbing his hands together nervously.
"Enough with the flattery… Just give me stew and bread," James replied, sliding into a nearby table.
"Right away," the innkeeper said, scurrying off.
The inn was rundown, the air thick with the smell of smoke and damp wood. Unsavory characters lounged at tables, making the place a haven for petty criminals—a true common ground.
Cheers and chatter filled the rooms as they drank. Since the decay of the kingdom, more and more mercenaries were coming for a chance to get hired by any one of the lords.
"Hey… pretty boy, why don't you join us?" A brutish man called out. He was nearly twice James' size, and with him sat three women and another equally imposing figure.
"Stop it, Nathan," a soft-spoken girl pleaded.
"I'm quite alright," James said, waving them off, his voice calm but firm.
"Come on now, my friends want to get to know you," Nathan said, draping his arms around the shoulders of the two girls standing on either side of him.
James stayed silent this time, focusing on the food that arrived surprisingly quickly.
"James! "You've come!" a bubbly voice called out. A young girl, perhaps his age, stepped forward. Her orange hair framed her pale skin, and her green eyes sparkled like emeralds.
"Yeah…" James muttered, barely audible.
"Don't 'yeah' me! You left without a word. Do you know how worried I was? You were gone an entire week!" Her tone was sharp, yet carried a hidden warmth beneath it.
James' gaze remained fixed on his meal as it slid across the table. "Please… can I have that?" he asked quietly.
"Mhpt…" She placed the food down with a flick of her hand. "See if I care," she muttered, turning away.
James' eyes followed her retreating figure as he shoveled a spoonful of hot stew into his mouth.
"Hey! Don't just stare—Nathan's talking to you!" A booming voice called from behind.