After long minutes in absolute silence, the man found a cave. His legs no longer responded; his exhaustion was evident after how quickly everything had happened.
The cave was a small refuge, hidden among the rocks. Deep enough to feel safe. The man entered and collapsed against one of the walls, his breathing ragged. He could barely move.
Now that the adrenaline had faded, his body began to charge him the price of overexertion. His muscles burned, his wounds throbbed—a deep, unbearable pain. One he had not felt until now.
He looked at his hands; they were trembling. Drops of the ninja's blood, covering his skin, mixed with the dirt. He was a mess. He let out a dry, humorless laugh.
He had died once. He had returned to life in this strange world. But his body was still human, weak, mortal—he was definitely not invincible.
Little by little, his consciousness began to fade, his eyelids grew heavy, darkness wrapped around him. His body slid down the wall and fell to the ground.
At last, he collapsed. His exhaustion was so great that, without realizing it, he fell into an indefinite sleep. And while he slept… he dreamed. He dreamed of blood, of screams. He dreamed of a woman draped in gold. He dreamed of the weight of a curse he still did not understand. And most importantly, he dreamed of the name of someone who had betrayed him.
The dream began— a silent abyss where not even his breathing existed.
Through the darkness, shouted orders could be heard in a language he recognized. Sharp gunfire breaking the silence. Screams choked by blood.
—Voices?—
No, they were childish laughs. The sound of boots echoing on a metallic floor. Footsteps in narrow hallways.
And then… a blinding glow enveloped everything. The world took shape.
The light of floodlights shone over a vast concrete hall—no windows, no colors, only cold and hardness. A training ground surrounded by high walls and electrified fences.
There, his childhood had passed. He and other children. Children who did not know the meaning of "home" or "family." Children who only knew how to obey orders, train, and kill.
There were no families or toys there. Only children like him, training relentlessly under the watchful eyes of men in dark uniforms. His life began and was molded according to the ideals of an assassin.
The days in the training complex had no sun or moon. Gunshots, blows, cold, and hunger were his daily companions.
Running until their legs gave out. Lifting weights until bones cracked. Enduring pain until the mind ignored it. Not to mention the missions imposed by their superiors.
All that mattered was being better than yesterday. An endless succession of merciless trials.
Though to common eyes they appeared to be just children, for the adults who trained and oversaw them every day, they knew something others did not. They were not ordinary children. They were soldiers.
They infiltrated dark buildings, eliminated targets with precision. Without mercy. Without remorse. Every time they went out, they returned with blood on their hands. They were ruthless children.
But among all those children, among all those faces marked by the same misfortune… only one mattered.
—Him.—
His friend. His brother in everything but blood. They looked almost the same: two slender but strong bodies, two pairs of calculating eyes, two souls marked by the same fate.
—"Tied again,"—said the boy, with words full of mockery. He didn't need to turn to know who was at his side.
The man saw his reflection in the eyes of his only friend. Breathing heavily, with a knife in each hand, his friend smiled at him.
Both were covered in sweat and dirt, surrounded by shattered targets. The knife-throwing test was over. Each of them, with knives still in hand, as always, they had tied.
The hit count… equal.
—You can't be better than me. You still can't surpass me, huh?—his friend mocked with a tired smile, letting his knife fall.
The man—now just a boy—only exhaled through his nose, barely smiling, without responding. They didn't need words. He simply let go of his knives.
For as long as they could remember, they had always been together in everything. From the moment their hands were big enough to hold a knife, they had learned to kill together.
Since their bodies could bear the weight of a gun, they learned to shoot together. And likewise, when their muscles endured the pain of blows, they learned to fight together. And when their souls were marked by the blood of their first missions… they learned to survive together.
The days in the complex had no names. There were no Mondays or Sundays. No vacations or rest. Only training. Each dawn, a new trial. Runs until collapse. Hand-to-hand combat until one was unconscious. Disassembling and assembling weapons in under thirty seconds. Precision shooting in the dark.
And when daylight faded, the trials only became crueler. Sleep deprivation. Pain resistance. Psychological torture to eradicate fear.
Even despite it all… they always had each other. Together, they were unstoppable.
Every mission, every kill, every bloodstain on their hands, they faced together. No doubts. No fear. No remorse.
But there was something deeper they never dared to say out loud. A buried desire. A yearning that burned inside them…
That night, while the complex slept, they looked at the sky from the rooftop of the tallest building. Lying on the frozen concrete, they saw the stars for the first time in years. One of the few nights without training.
His friend broke the silence first.
—Do you think one day we could… not do this?—he asked, his gaze lost in the sky.
The man didn't respond.
—I mean… what if we escape? If we find a place where no one looks for us. A quiet place, where we can be normal.
The word sounded strange. "Normal."
The word itself felt alien. What did it mean to be normal?
The man looked at the stars, wondering how it would feel to be a normal person. How would it feel to wake up without receiving orders? Without the need to kill. Without the obligation to survive every day.
—Maybe.—His voice sounded more hopeful than he expected.
Maybe they could. Maybe they could be something more than assassins. Maybe they could live. Together.
But this was only a childish dream. Something simple children wished for, without considering the heavy price of leaving their place in the ranks. A dream that, as years passed, shattered further and further.
On one of those harsh nights, the stars in the sky were covered in blood.
The world twisted, and memories warped. The night was filled with screams and blood. And the last thing he saw before waking…
Was the image of his friend, reaching out his hand… with the other drenched in blood.
__________________________________
He gasped.
The cold air of the cave struck him like a blow. His body was covered in sweat, his chest rising and falling violently. His hands trembled, but not from the cold. For a moment, his mind was still trapped in the dream.
He brought a hand to his face, feeling his hot skin. He could still feel the heat of the floodlights in the complex, feel the scars. The memories still burned inside him. His friend's voice echoing in his head. The stars. The fire. He could still feel the weight of weapons in his hands.
He exhaled with difficulty. He was no longer there. That world no longer existed. He took a deep breath, wiped the sweat from his forehead.
No matter how much the memories hurt. Now, he had to survive.
He stood, ignoring the pain in his body. He still had a long road ahead. And whatever awaited him outside…
Would not be more ruthless than his own past.