Koran was descending the hill as if leaping between his shattered dreams. His feet sank into the mud and blood, his eyes half-closed, seeing nothing but a blur of sound dragging him.
That sound...
It rang in his ears like a familiar bell... the voice of "Mother."
Mother?
Had she returned?
Had she come back to call him again?
He wasn't truly hearing the screams of an unknown girl, but deep within... he heard only her voice, hers alone, the one who had died in his arms, calling him as she used to in the early mornings.
"Koran... wake up..."
His breath faltered, and he ran... ran like a madman.
All he could see in his eyes was that hazy image of his mother, in her faded dress, calling him and crying. He saw her with strange clarity amid the smoke and destruction, as if she were truly there, returning from death, raising her hands toward him, pleading for help.
- (If I listen to them... they won't touch you again... this time, I'll be there.)
He ran as if fleeing from hell, stumbling, falling, rising, running harder...
His words fragmented in his burning chest:
- "Mother... wait... I won't let them take you again... you won't leave this time..."
The dust lashed at him, his clothes burned, but he didn't stop.
All that was in his mind now was that she was there, calling him, crying, needing him.
And finally, he saw what he had been searching for... the sight that froze the blood in his veins.
There, under the light of a fire devouring the nearby ruins, was "his mother"... crawling on the ground, screaming and trembling, her dress stained with blood and ash, just as he had seen her in his nightmares.
He didn't see a strange little girl—he saw only his mother... nothing else.
But before her stood a soldier from the Fifth Kingdom, laughing coldly as he reached out toward her!
His voice was like a dagger shoved into Koran's chest when he said to her, in a mocking, triumphant tone, taking a step forward:
"Forget it, your father died with the rest... and now, it's your turn."
The entire world froze.
Koran was panting heavily, but he hadn't moved yet.
The scene before him was like a vile dream...
And in his heart, fire was born.
Everything around him was dark...
No, not the stubborn darkness that comes with dusk, but a deeper darkness...
A darkness that creeps into the chest, slows the heartbeat, and fills the head with a maddening buzz.
The air was suffocating, saturated with the smell of burning smoke and human flesh... a disgusting mix, but he felt no nausea.
His eyes were fixed on one thing only.
A knife.
There, beside the wreckage of a shattered window, a small knife, coated in mud, its edge dull, but... it gleamed, gleamed as if it were the only truth in this broken world.
Koran didn't think.
His eyes stared at the knife, and deep within him, a strange whisper began.
< (A knife?... Can I?)
His hand moved slowly, his fingers trembling as if touching fire... no, as if trying to touch fate itself.
Everything around him faded.
The screams of the girl grew distant, the voice of the approaching soldier became mere incomprehensible whispers.
Everything faded...
Nothing remained but Koran... and the knife.
When his fingers touched its cold blade, he felt a strange shiver run up his arm...
The knife was whispering to him...
The cold metal was pouring something deeper than blood into his skin.
< (This is all you need, Koran)...
(A knife, some hatred, and that's enough).
He raised the knife slowly; it felt heavy, despite its size... no, not heavy in itself, but heavy with what he intended to do with it.
His hand trembled, but his gaze was steady, unwavering.
The air was suddenly still... no wind, no screams, nothing.
The sky above was gray, like thick dust settling over the city's chest.
Koran, inside, was screaming madly:
- (If they take her from me again).
- (If I let them).
- (If I lose her again, I won't lose her).
With slow, terrified, yet decisive steps... he advanced toward the soldier.
Every sound in his head became like the drums of death, pounding in his hand as he repeated, like a madman inside:
- (She's my mother... I'm the only one who can save her... no one else.)
- (This time... I'll end it all.)
Every step he took felt like a journey to hell.
And when he got close enough, the blade rose in his trembling hand.
His eyes were like those of a trapped beast, half-mad, half-despairing.
Koran raised the knife slowly; the air around him was suffocating, as if the smoke and ash had decided to trap the city's breath in his chest alone.
He could no longer see anything.
He could no longer hear anything but his inner voice, that broken whisper that had become a roar in his head like a storm:
< (If they take her from me... they won't take her again!)