The day began under a brilliantly clear sky, as if the very light itself wished to fill the city with its presence. Houses stood close together, streets buzzed with life, and garden leaves danced lightly in the morning breeze. Birds chirped in delicate melodies, while golden rays of sunlight spilled over the rooftops, painting the world with warm, vibrant colors that pulsed with life.
The camera moved forward slowly, drawing near a window overlooking the street, revealing a young man seated at his western-facing desk. His name was Kilian Eliarten. His brown hair fell smoothly, cascading harmoniously behind his head, with a single delicate strand brushing his temple—a subtle touch of artistry in the stillness.
His face was oval, radiating calm and composure. His crystalline green eyes shimmered like almonds in the morning light, reflecting the depth of his thoughts and the intricacy of his inner contemplation. A short, slightly flat nose and finely tuned features gave his face a balanced harmony between gentleness and strength.
Kilian sat by the window, placing a pen gently against his lips, playing along with the silence of the moment. His gaze remained fixed outside, tracing the movements of life in the distant street, while tangled thoughts swirled within him—each sunbeam, each fluttering bird, prompting a quiet, profound reflection.
The first rays of sunlight filtered through the windows, casting golden lines across the dusty wooden floor. Kilian sat on the edge of his desk, his fingers idly toying with a pen. The silence in the room was heavy, pressing down on his chest, the air still except for the whispers of sunlight brushing against the walls.
He lifted his head slowly, his eyes following the beams as they painted long shadows across the wall. Boredom etched itself on his features like a permanent tattoo, and the mechanical motion of his hand drawing the pen from between his lips hinted at a deep, internal loneliness.
The silence shattered abruptly. A sharp voice called from the bottom of the stairs, cutting through the suffocating stillness:
"Kilian! Kilian! Come here, Kilian!"
He froze for a moment, then gently removed the pen from his mouth, as if this final action detached him from his inner world. He descended the stairs with light, hesitant steps, each one deliberate yet inevitable, his own echo of boredom filling the space around him.
At last, he faced his mother, standing at the kitchen doorway. Her face was pale as the moon on a starless night, her large, sharp yellow eyes carrying years of quiet worry. Her long, wavy red hair floated slightly in the breeze, and her small nose added a delicate touch of human fragility that had never left her anxious gaze.
Mother (calmly angry, yet firm):
"My son, why do you shut yourself away like this?"
Kilian replied in a low, calm voice, as if speaking more to himself than to her:
"Please, Mother, let me return to my room."
She stepped closer, her voice trembling between concern and firmness:
"My son, I've been worried about you ever since your father passed. Since then, it seems you've lost all passion for life!"
Kilian gazed at her with still eyes, as if observing the world through a temporal window, his voice carrying a cold, philosophical detachment:
"I wish you would leave me be."
Without looking back, he stepped out of the house. The camera followed from behind, his steps heavy yet measured, while the outside air brushed against his face, carrying the scent of life that persisted despite his inner fracture. The trees whispered to him with the wind, and the bustling streets passed like a glass curtain—separated from his inner world, yet alive, vibrant, and unstoppable.
As Kilian wandered between houses and shops, the reflection of his body shimmered across the window panes with each step, as if every window were telling him a story about himself, about the inner struggles he carried. He paused for a moment, glancing down at his hands—silent, still, yet seemingly bearing all his questions, the weight of his decisions, and everything left unsaid.
Suddenly, his memory drifted back nine months:
"Father! Please, let me do what I think is right!" Kilian shouted, his voice sharp, brimming with defiance and a desperate desire for independence.
Words collided between him and his father, as if the very air had become charged with anger and rejection. Kilian felt that every step in life demanded facing the limits of authority and imposed constraints.
Ferran Eliarten, his father, sat on the floor, legs crossed, arms resting lightly on his knees. His body remained still, like a statue of silent strength, shadows dancing across his angular face as faint sunlight filtered through the window. His slightly damp blue robe clung to the lines of his body, lending a chill of seriousness to the room.
His narrow, dark brown eyes radiated a calm authority, fine hairs on his chin adding a touch of command. His broad forehead and thick brows framed a stern expression, while his straight nose and taut cheeks revealed the tension in every muscle—his whole body exuding an aura of power and control.
Then Kilian erupted, his voice striking the air like lightning:
"Father! Why won't you let me meet my friend?"
The air seemed to tremble between them, as if the room itself inhaled and exhaled with every word. Ferran's response was low, rough, yet filled with the weight of authority:
"Kilian, don't defy me. Stay away from him."
But Kilian ignored the warning, shouting louder, his voice charged with anger and rebellion:
"Silence, Father! I can't take this anymore. I'm leaving!"
The floor trembled beneath his words. Ferran tried to stop him, his voice emanating silent strength:
"Kilian, stop!"
Kilian's tone shifted suddenly, calm yet sharp, carrying an icy finality:
"Father… I don't know why, but I truly hate you. If you won't interfere in my affairs, then let me go."
Ferran remained seated, silent and steadfast, while Kilian pushed open the door with firm steps and left. Every movement, every pause, every reflection of light on the floor felt as heavy as stone, as if the room itself bore witness to the weight of the words, the grief, the suppressed anger, and a father-son struggle neither could easily forget.
Outside, Ferran moved with measured steps, his face furrowed and eyes brimming with worry, yet his voice remained calm.
Ferran (calm, yet serious):
"I need to check on my son…"
His wife sprang lightly, her tone trembling with concern:
Mother:
"Ferran… I wish you would just leave him alone…"
Ferran raised his head slightly and exhaled slowly, his voice steady and controlled despite the tension:
Ferran (firm, composed):
"My dear… please step back a little. I just want to make sure my son is safe."
The camera shifted gradually, weaving through leaves and the colors of blooming flowers, revealing Kilian seated on a wooden chair in a small garden surrounded by lush trees and vibrant blossoms. He sat across from his friend Albert Franky, whose face held a childlike softness, rounded edges and a smile full of innocence. His wide hazel eyes radiated warmth, while his small, pointed nose and delicate lips gave him a gentle charm. His blonde hair, slicked back as if damp, added a touch of vitality and clarity to his presence.
Kilian leaned slightly forward, hands clasped over his knees, eyes lost in thought, his expression heavy with irritation and the weight of worry.
Albert smiled softly, his voice flowing gently:
Albert:
"What's wrong, Kilian? Why do you look so sad?"
Kilian replied in a low voice, as if speaking first to himself before it reached Albert:
Kilian:
"Nothing… Franky… don't worry about it."
Albert remained calm, tilting his head slightly, his tone carrying a quiet warmth of empathy:
Albert:
"Did you have another fight with your father?"
Kilian answered, his voice contemplative, more calm than angry:
Kilian:
"I don't know… I don't know why my father dislikes you, even though you're a good person."
Albert moved a little closer and gently placed his hand on Kilian's shoulder, his voice carrying a hidden reassurance:
Albert:
"It's okay, Kilian… My father will understand eventually, and he'll accept me as I am."
Ferran froze in place for a moment, his heart pounding fiercely. The wind whipped through his hair, as if every particle of air shared in his tension. His hands were clenched at his sides, yet he did not step back, his eyes cautiously fixed on the knight before him.
Kilian, standing beside him, felt the weight of the moment, a slight shiver running through his body, while the sky above glowed with a pale yellow light emanating from the knight's circle, casting its mark on everything around them, as if the very air itself breathed under the weight of his presence.
Albert stepped forward cautiously, trying to gauge the stranger's power, but stopped abruptly, sensing that even the smallest movement could draw the knight's attention. The ground beneath them trembled lightly—not from the wind, but from a hidden spirit that inhabited the space, making everything feel poised on the brink of explosion.
The knight's movements were slow but majestic, each step radiating deep confidence that reached into souls before it reached eyes. He turned his head toward Ferran, raising his metallic arm deliberately, as if sweeping through the air itself. Every motion harmonized with the glowing circle on his shoulder, casting shadows across the ground, turning every tree and stone into a silent witness of his presence.
Ferran took a deep breath, then shifted his body slowly into a defensive stance, his right foot moving slightly forward as he gripped the hilt of his sword, his heart whispering: Now… everything begins.
Kilian stepped closer, placing a hand on Ferran's shoulder, yet spoke no word. Everything between them was silent language—a language of danger and anticipation.
The air grew heavier, each passing breeze carrying faint sparks of energy emanating from the knight, as if the place itself were testing them, weighing their resolve before forcing them into the true confrontation.
Then the knight spoke again, his voice unshaken, piercing the silence:
Knight (calm, resolute): "I have found you… and now, there is no escape."
In that instant, Ferran felt everything around him become more real than ever—the light, the shadows, the wind, even the silence itself—all breathing around him, daring him to choose: face the unknown, or flee.
The knight stood in silence, his voice low yet charged with certainty and menace:
"Finally, I have found you, Kilian… I will take you with me, son of Ferran."
He raised his right hand slowly and confidently, forming a bow of dark energy that colored the sky with its shadowy threads, while in his left hand, he steadied an arrow pulsing with dark, almost void-like power, as if carrying nothingness itself.
Then he added in a deadly calm tone:
"I will eliminate anyone who stands near you, and I will force you to come with me."
The camera shifted to Ferran, standing frozen in place, his heart hammering violently as he screamed his son's name, trying to summon scattered courage:
"Kilian… run!"
But Kilian, trapped between fear and willpower, spoke in an eerily calm voice:
"Father… go… please, step back!"
The ground trembled beneath him as he stood on the chair, every muscle quivering, yet his resolve remained anchored. Ferran, eyes brimming with tears and voice shaking with concern, repeated:
"Please, my son… you have to run!"
This silent moment was the calm before the storm. The knight drew the bow with immense force, and the dark arrow shot toward Kilian, spanning the distance between life and death in the blink of an eye.
Ferran screamed in a fractured voice of terror:
"Kiiiiiilian… run… pleaaase!"
Kilian, paralyzed by fear and astonishment, stood frozen, mouth agape, unable to comprehend what he was witnessing.
Then the explosion happened… a massive detonation that erupted into the sky like a blazing canvas, shaking the entire city to its foundations. Winds roared violently, trees bent under the pressure, cars flew and overturned, and everything around him trembled as if the earth itself cried out in anguish.
The air filled with the smell of smoke and dust, and the silence that followed was deeper than any echo, as if the entire city paused for a moment to witness the raw, overwhelming power standing between life and death, hope and despair.
We return to the present, where Kilian stands alone in the street, staring at his hands as if trying to read a hidden secret etched in their lines. The air is heavy, and the hot rain pours down relentlessly, striking his cap and sliding down his face, each drop feeling like a strange pulse of life touching his skin.
He lifts his head slowly, his eyes roaming between the sky and the street, searching for an unknown answer.
Kilian (whispering): "Who is this person…?"
The camera rises slowly, gliding above the wet buildings before descending again to follow him as he walks, his steps heavy. Each footfall sinks into a shallow puddle, producing a wet sound that echoes the beat of his weary heart.
Kilian (internal voice): "I feel… something strange…"
Suddenly, the world begins to spin around him. The ground moves beneath his feet, trees and buildings sway as if they were blurred paintings. The camera closes in on his face; his eyes widen, his mouth opens slightly, and a flicker of inner terror shines in his gaze.
Kilian (anxious): "What's happening to me?"
The tremors intensify. The rain grows heavier, striking his body like punishment from the sky. Then, suddenly, Kilian collapses to the ground. The scene darkens around him; the wind and rain roar, before the timeline shifts back nine months, to the site of the disaster.
Smoke slowly disappears into the sky. Police cars rush through the streets, their lights flickering against the destroyed walls. The sounds of sirens mingle with screams and chaos—the scene is filled with panic and destruction.
Kilian, his face covered in ash, stands frozen. He cradles his father's head in his lap, every movement around him slowed as if time itself had stopped.
Kilian (in disbelief): "What just happened…?"
He shakes him gently, then more violently, his voice rising in a desperate attempt to bring his father back to life:
"Father… please… wake up!"
He turns his head left and right, his voice echoing through the ruined walls, the reverberation filling the space with sorrow. He bows his head, gritting his teeth, tears streaming slowly, glimmering on his cheeks like tiny sparks illuminating the darkness.
Then he looks toward Franky, his friend, whose face is smeared with blood and clothes torn. Without thinking, Kilian clutches his father to his chest, hugging him fiercely, as if his embrace alone could stop time.
Tears scatter around him like sparks from a small fire. The rain washes everything away, each drop adding another layer to the suffering. The air moans among uprooted trees and charred plants; the scene is silent except for the raci
ng heartbeats and the distant echoes of screams, leaving Kilian, his estrangement, and his father in a space of agonizing silence that nearly chokes the soul.