Kael stood frozen, gripped by a guilt he couldn't explain, as he searched the eyes of the little girl for traces of a past he couldn't remember. The accusations aimed at him by those tiny hands echoed in his soul, carved into his mind. "Did I really do this?" he thought—but he had no answer. No matter how hard he tried, not a single fragment existed in his memory of when, how, or why he might have done such a thing.
The little girl was still there. She looked at him with tearful eyes, her face carrying a mask of both loss and fury. Kael wanted to step back, to turn and run, but a firm tug on his arm snapped him back to reality. Luther had grabbed his right arm tightly without saying a word, dragging him through the crowd. On his left, Arthur walked in silence, eyes sharp, ready for any stone, blade, or scream that might fly toward them.
As Kael was pulled along, he kept turning his head, still watching the small figure of the blonde-haired girl vanish into the distance. Something inside him cracked with every step away from her. He no longer knew what to believe or what to reject. What if it's all true? What if I really am the person they think I am? This Artemus?
The noise intensified as they reached the square. The suffocating atmosphere of thousands of people's rage converging in one place seeped into Kael's skin. Everyone was shouting, everyone was full of hatred. But Kael's eyes locked on something else—at the very center of the square stood a wooden structure, as though it had fallen out of time. A rope hung from it—thick, coarse, unforgiving. Below it, a narrow wooden platform. Kael's throat tightened.
His eyes widened. His heart raced, slowed, then raced again. His legs wanted to stop; his knees weakened. Arthur nudged him on the shoulder. "Walk," he said coldly. One thought echoed in Kael's mind:
"Is this... my grave?"
What had he done? What sin had dragged him here?
In that moment, everything lost meaning. Names, faces, the city, time... All faded. Only the square, the rope, and that cursed moment remained. Amid the crowd's roars, Kael's inner voice screamed:
"What did I do to deserve this punishment?"
But there was no answer—not from himself, not from the crowd, not from the sky. Only silence grew within him. And as Kael neared the stone steps, he felt with every part of himself what it meant to approach your own grave, one step at a time.
Beyond the wooden structures, on the stone terraces overlooking the square, another kind of crowd had gathered. They were not common folk—it was clear from their clothes, their postures, the cold but flamboyant expressions on their faces. The women wore elaborate hats and elegant dresses; the men, long coats, canes, and suits made of heavy fabric adorned with golden chain pins. All of them had their eyes fixed on Kael. Some whispered, some laughed, some merely curled their lips in scornful amusement.
Kael avoided their eyes. "Are they laughing at me?" he thought. "Or at the pain of the crowd?" But it didn't matter anymore. Trying to read their faces had become pointless. Because a far greater truth drew nearer by the second: death.
His steps were heavy, but he didn't stop. His shackled hands hung by his sides, his head slightly bowed. His body looked less like a prisoner's and more like a ghost resigned to fate. With every step, the square's muddy stones echoed the crowd's fury. The sun was hidden behind thick clouds; a gray haze dulled everything. Even the sky seemed unwilling to witness what was coming.
And when Kael reached the foot of the stairs, time stood still.
Luther on his left had let go. But Arthur still held his right hand tightly. Kael said nothing. His eyes fell to the ground. The wooden steps... marked with mud, oil stains, and in places, dried blood. How many had passed this way? How many had climbed to the noose without ever finding answers?
As thoughts swirled in his head, Arthur leaned in and whispered into his ear in a cold, almost delighted tone:
"You'll pay for everything… in hell."
Kael closed his eyes. "But what did I do?" he thought. "What did I do?" But no sound came. His lips parted, but the words stuck in his throat. Only his heart spoke now—and it was tired, broken, and silent.
At that moment, life opened before his eyes like a curtain. His childhood… corridors he walked alone. Cold, gray rooms. Faces that never smiled. He had never seen his parents. He watched every passing family with longing. His youth, his despair. Years of struggle, only to fail at everything. In a world where everyone had their place, he remained on the outside, as if he never existed. Thrown into the streets. Nights when hunger was silenced only with cigarettes. No friends. Fear of the future. And in the end… here.
He felt there was no escape from this life. Maybe… maybe this was the escape. Death wasn't an end; it was a door out of a decaying order. Maybe it was time to stop fighting.
He stepped onto the stairs one by one. With each step, the crowd's noise faded from his mind. The grip of Arthur no longer mattered. Nothing could be heard but his own thoughts.
"I just wanted to live."
He had never wanted to be a hero, or a monster. Just a place. A little peace. A cup of warm tea. A face. A name.
But it never came.
When he stepped onto the final stair, the wind surged. His coat fluttered. He looked up to the sky. A clearing opened between the clouds—as if the sky itself was finally looking at him. And Kael, without tears in his eyes, without anger or fear on his face, slowly bowed his head.
Kael's steps grew heavier as he neared the gallows, but it wasn't his legs that carried the weight—it was the fatigue in his heart.
He saw a father and son embracing at the edge of the crowd. The child had buried his face in his father's coat, staring at Kael with fear. The man covered the boy's eyes with his hand, but his own gaze was angry, judging. Kael's chest tightened—not from envy, but from a slow, aching longing.
"No one has ever looked at me like that," he thought. "No one has ever held me like that..."
He had never known the faces of his parents. No memory, no sound, no scent of them. As a child, he would stare out the orphanage window at night, listening to the rain, dreaming the same dream: a mother entering the room. A hand stroking his hair. A voice saying, "I'm here."
But that door had never opened.
And over time, even the dreams faded. Silence took their place—a silence that became a blanket of emptiness each night. As he grew older, that emptiness grew too. The child inside him remained unfinished.
Walking down the street, in the park, at school, at the market, at the bus stop… wherever he went, whenever he saw a mother with her son, or a father with his daughter, his heart ached. When those children cried, there was always someone to comfort them. But when Kael cried, no one had ever heard. When he fell, when he bled, when he feared… no one had ever asked, "What happened?"
Maybe that's why he never felt like he belonged anywhere. Because to belong, someone had to be there to greet you into the world.
Kael climbed the stairs slowly. With each step, the creaking of the wooden boards echoed—matching the silence inside him, competing with the crowd's roar.
The sky was gray, the clouds circling like an angry god above. The wind brushed past the crowd as if saying goodbye to every face, whispering a farewell across Kael's skin. It was soft, like a kiss on the forehead.
In the center of the gallows, the rope swung. The crowd's voice drifted away… People were shouting, cursing, some perhaps even crying—but Kael no longer heard. His mind echoed like a cave, and the whispers within drowned out the chaos outside.
He didn't hesitate as he placed his foot on the chair. It felt like he'd spent his whole life trying to climb something, only to slip each time. But now, he wasn't afraid of falling. Because this was the end. And an end… didn't always have to be frightening.
He placed his other foot on the chair. The cold wood beneath his shoes seeped into his soul. Without lifting his head, he looked at the rope. Thick, aged, but strong. It had likely embraced hundreds of necks. Now it waited for his.
Kael took a deep breath. It was as innocent as a newborn's first cry, and as heavy as his final surrender.
"If there's life after death..." he whispered, "...I hope it's peaceful. Isn't it?"
He said it like a prayer. He didn't know the answer, but he wanted to believe. Life had given him no home, no belonging, no love… Maybe death would.
Fragments of the past wandered his mind. A mother that never came. A warm smile from a forgotten friend. Rejected job interviews. The feeling of being invisible in a crowd. Shielding his cigarette from the rain on endless evenings...
Maybe this was all just an excuse.
Maybe the execution wasn't for a crime he'd committed, but a reason to finally let go of the weight he'd carried for years. Maybe it didn't matter whose punishment it was. Kael had already been punished.
Life had consumed him—slowly, cruelly, and silently.
Loneliness, poverty, purposelessness... Life had stared him in the face and crushed him.
To Kael, this death wasn't fate; it was the shroud life wrapped around him.
He had defended himself, shouted, screamed. But no one heard, no one understood. There was no need to explain, no need to pretend anymore. For a moment he thought he was facing justice—then realized even that was fake. Everyone was ready for him to die. Now, so was he.
When the rope touched his neck, the final coldness felt familiar. The world had been cold the first time it touched him. And now, it still was. Maybe that's why he didn't fear it.
Everything gathered, sitting like a lump in his throat. But soon, a real rope would wrap his neck. And the knot would finally loosen.
They slipped the noose around his neck. It was cold. But this cold was different—it was the chill of closure. Kael closed his eyes.
Darkness… was peaceful.
"I'm ready," he thought.
Whispers collided, people's judgments hung in the air.
A woman pulled her child back into her arms.
A young soldier tried to hold his ground under the crowd's pressure.
People were impatient now.
From someone nearby:
"Look at his face, not even afraid."
That one line… summarized Kael's entire life.
He had never once been heard. Never truly spoken. Always silent. Or silenced.
Only judged—from the very beginning, before anyone knew who he was.
Prejudice always came before truth.
A hand reached under the chair. Kael felt it. Time stopped. Or at least, Kael thought it did. Maybe a second, maybe eternity… He waited in that moment.
This was it—his moment of fate. The line between letting go and being held back. Sometimes, all a person wants is to fall. To have the courage to fall... And perhaps, that was the one thing Kael had never been able to do.