The weekend was quiet in Arka's house, a silence that had its own weight. It was so thick, so real, that it felt deafening. The only sound that accompanied him was the slow tick of the wall clock in the living room, each second seemingly underlining the emptiness of the rooms around him. On the table, a scrap of notepaper lay: Had to leave for a business trip overseas. Here's enough for the month. Love, Mom & Dad..." The same message, the same words.
"Tch, just one day together and they're gone again," he muttered in annoyance.
Arka didn't move from his bed. The sky outside the window had shifted from orange to a deep indigo, but his real world was spread across his lap. His fingers gently turned the pages of a fantasy comic, his eyes sweeping across each colorful panel. There, silver-armored knights slashed shadow monsters, wizards chanted spells that bent light, and friendships were forged in the heat of battle. That world felt more real than the monotonous ticking of the clock.
"If only..." he murmured, his voice absorbed by the silence of his room. His imagination took flight, painting himself as the hero.
Grrroowl.
A rough and embarrassing sound jolted him back to the real world. His stomach was screaming—a brutal reminder that while comic heroes might live on courage, he lived on food. With a long sigh, he put down his comic; his vibrant world was now closed beneath a dull cover. Walking to the kitchen, he opened the food cupboard—empty. Cold air from the fridge hit his face. He knew exactly what this meant.
"Ran out again..." he sighed, a habit that no longer surprised him.
Reluctantly, he grabbed his jacket and stepped outside, heading towards the glittering streetlights that felt foreign and cold.
The night was bustling, but Arka felt invisible, just another dot in a sea of people busy with their own affairs. As he walked, he kicked a small pebble, his mind drifting back to his comic. He was so lost in his daydream that he didn't notice a figure running towards him.
The collision was inevitable. Hard and sudden. Arka stumbled backward, a startled cry escaping his lips. In front of him, a woman in strange clothes and disheveled hair stared at him with wide, panicked eyes. She was panting heavily, and sweat dampened her temples.
"Finally... I found you..." the woman breathed, her voice almost like a whisper on the wind.
Before Arka could ask anything, the woman's cold, trembling hand gripped his wrist. With a quick movement, she slipped something into his palm—a necklace with a blood-red gemstone that felt warm to the touch.
"Take this," she said, her gaze so sharp it seemed to pierce through Arka's soul. "Don't let them get it. You must return to..."
Her sentence was cut short. The light in her beautiful eyes faded instantly, like a candle blown out by the wind. Her body lost its strength and collapsed forward, right into the shocked and unprepared Arka's embrace. The weight of her lifeless body felt heavy, cold, and horrifying.
"Hey! Hey, wake up! What's wrong with you?!" Arka shouted in panic. People around them stopped, forming a circle of onlookers who just stared without helping. That night, under the gaze of dozens of curious eyes, Arka felt a part of himself die along with the nameless woman.
In his panic, Arka managed to find someone willing to help him take the woman to the nearest hospital. But fate had other plans. When the doctor emerged from the emergency room, his face was serious and expressionless.
"I'm sorry, we did our best... the patient died on the way."
Arka froze, his heart seeming to stop. He looked at the necklace in his hand, its red stone glowing softly under the hospital lights. Why did she give this to me? Who was she? Hundreds of questions filled his mind, but he couldn't answer a single one.
That night, Arka went home with faltering steps. His appetite was gone, replaced by a feeling of emptiness.
The next morning, Arka woke up still feeling hollow. His sleep had been restless, filled with the shadows of that woman's eyes and the cold sensation of her body. The red-stone necklace lay on his bedside table, emitting a faint glow that seemed to pull him in. He didn't know why, but a strong impulse made him pick up the necklace and wear it under his school uniform. The stone felt heavy on his chest, an anchor from another world, a promise he didn't understand.
On the crowded streets heading to school, the morning sunlight pierced through the gaps in his uniform, illuminating the red stone. For a moment, the necklace shone with a blinding glint, reflecting light like a beacon. A fatal mistake.
"That's him! The necklace!" a rough shout came from behind.
A burly hand snatched the necklace from his neck, leaving a painful red scratch. Arka turned and saw a man in a shabby robe running through the crowd. Logic told him to stay quiet, to let it go. It was just a necklace. But his heart screamed no. The face of the dying woman flashed in his mind. Take this. Don't let them get it.
Without thinking, Arka gave chase.
His heart pounded, his lungs burned, but he kept running. Adrenaline pumped through his blood, dulling the fatigue. The chase took them off the main road, into a labyrinth of narrow, smelly, and dirty alleys, until finally the thief found himself in a dead end.
The man turned, his breath ragged like a cornered animal. A cruel, sinister smile curled on his lips. "Stupid kid. You should have just let it go," he hissed.
"Give it back!" Arka yelled, his voice shaking from exhaustion and fear.
The thief's laughter echoed off the dirty walls. "Come and take it if you can."
In the blink of an eye, a knife glinted in his hand. Arka froze, and in that moment, the thief lunged forward.
The pain Arka felt wasn't like in movies or comics. There was no dramatic scream. There was only the cold shock of the iron blade piercing his stomach, followed by a burning heat that spread throughout his body and stole his breath. Strength left his legs, and he fell to his knees. His vision began to blur, the sounds of the city fading into a faint buzz. He could feel warm blood flowing profusely, soaking his uniform. So this is what dying feels like? he thought bitterly.
The thief laughed, satisfied. He was about to turn and leave, but he didn't see the cold fire igniting in Arka's eyes. It wasn't courage. It was something more primal: the last resolve of someone who had nothing left to lose.
With the last remnants of his consciousness, Arka's trembling hand gripped the handle of the knife still embedded in his stomach. Unimaginable pain erupted as he pulled it out. Blood spurted, but he didn't care. Driven by pure adrenaline and the image of that woman, he lunged forward.
The thief didn't even have time to react. Arka stabbed the knife back—the very weapon that had stolen his life—into the thief's neck. The man collapsed, his last breath catching in his throat, his eyes wide with shock. The necklace fell from his grasp and clattered onto the dirty asphalt.
Arka stood frozen for a moment, the world around him dissolving into a dull, muffled roar. He stared at his own hands, now slick with the thief's blood and his own, trembling uncontrollably. The coppery smell of blood filled his nostrils, thick and nauseating. He had just… killed someone. He, Arka, a normal high school student who spent his days reading comics, had just taken a life. A wave of revulsion and horror washed over him, so powerful it made him want to vomit. His mind fractured. This wasn't heroic. This wasn't an adventure. This was ugly, horrifying, and wrong. He felt a part of his soul shatter, long before his body began to fail him.
Arka's last bit of strength was spent. He fell beside the thief's body, his blood-soaked hand outstretched, his fingers just inches from the gleaming red stone.
Darkness began to swallow everything. As his last breath left him in a thin plume of steam, one final question echoed in his fading mind.