Forest of Dreams
The world where a small desire was born is now heading toward its end...
In one of the villages in the northeast, amidst destruction and crumbling ruins, stood a figure with jet-black hair. He wore a pure white cotton jacket adorned with blue stripes around the waist. In his hand, he held a sword made of blue crystal, engraved with ancient letters.
He gazed at the cloud-filled sky with cold blue eyes and smiled faintly. Then, in a flat tone that one might hear from any passerby, he said,
"Looks like it's going to rain."
Yet somehow, those words brought joy to his own heart.
No one could ever guess what a young man like him might be thinking at that moment.
With steady steps, he moved away from the rubble, heading toward the dense trees surrounding the place, searching for something edible.
Suddenly, he heard the faint clashing of swords—so subtle it was nearly imperceptible, coming from within the ruined village. Though curiosity stirred within him, he ignored it and continued his search.
With each step he took, the sound grew louder until he reached a small hill. Climbing to the top, he looked down and saw two young men—both seemingly human. One had stark white hair and wore the uniform of the First King's Army, wielding a sword.
The other had black hair and a hostile expression, dressed like any ordinary man untouched by war. He held a sword that clearly wasn't his—perhaps one he'd found nearby. Yet the way he fought made it clear: he wasn't just defending himself.
Raindrops began to fall on them, but even the cold downpour couldn't stop their blades from clashing.
Intrigued, the observer on the hill sat down beneath a nearby tree, placing the bag on his shoulder beside him. It was filled with spices meant for cooking—an odd interest for someone his age.
The sound of the rain enchanted him, like a symphony composed by a renowned artist.
He sat there, watching the two young men battle as countless questions filled his mind. Who were they? What reason could they have to fight with such ferocity? But how could he possibly know?
The rain persisted for hours, showing no mercy to the two combatants. Eventually, both reached their limits. Moments after the rain ceased, the observer grew bored and decided to resume his search. But then something caught his attention once again—the two fighters had stopped and sat down, apart from each other.
Cold and hunger gnawed at them. The black-haired boy remained motionless, perhaps overcome with fatigue, or perhaps strategizing his next move. The white-haired boy, however, stood up and began rummaging through the ruins of nearby homes.
Driven by hunger, he returned minutes later with a piece of burnt bread—barely enough to satisfy anyone. His eyes met those of his recent opponent, who quickly looked away as if he hadn't been staring.
The white-haired boy smiled faintly, broke the bread in half, separated the burnt part from the good, and—without a word—tossed the better half to the black-haired boy, keeping the charred piece for himself.
Without reaction or thanks, the black-haired boy picked it up and began to eat.
The observer stood silently, stunned by what he had just witnessed. Something about it captivated him, and he decided to stay longer.
As the sun set and the November winds began to howl, darkness fell. The storm clouds started to disperse, and the wind whistling through the ruined homes created a melody that heralded the start of a terrifying night—a night with no moon, harsh even for the monsters that roam the dark.
Minutes passed. The white-haired boy fell into a deep sleep, as if he were lying in his grandmother's bed—not in the middle of a battlefield beside the one who tried to kill him. Yet his frail body still trembled from the cold.
The black-haired boy, with a dull gaze, watched his sleeping foe. Rather than end him, he walked to the ruins and began gathering wood from doors and walls.
Once he had enough to build a small hut, he reached out his hand—and without flint or lighter, the wood ignited instantly.
The observer began to smile, enjoying the show.
"Fire from the hand… Could he possess Yang energy? Is he even human? They don't look like travelers—maybe locals. Given their wounds and condition, they've been fighting for days. Six? No, less than that. Enemies by morning, allies by night… how fascinating."
The white-haired boy's trembling stopped, and peace slowly returned to his face. Seeing this, the black-haired one lay down to rest as well.
Morning came swiftly. The sun's rays sparkled through dew on the grass, announcing the beginning of a new day.
The two young men remained asleep as the observer sat quietly, seemingly guarding them. The long, cold night had not wearied him at all. His cold eyes and gentle smile were all that showed.
Soon, the boys awoke—and without speaking, prepared to resume their fight without so much as breakfast.
That's when the observer's expression darkened. His smile faded, and his eyes filled with tension.
"As I thought… I'm not the only one watching. But this time, things are... interesting."
Before the boys could cross blades again, black smoke began to rise from the rubble, swallowing everything around it. It emerged in vast amounts, forming a massive floating sphere with a single glowing eye in the center.
Everything it touched withered to ash.
The boys froze in horror. Before they could speak, the smoke lunged at them—fast, deadly. The white-haired boy barely saved his head by sacrificing his shield. The black-haired boy tried to block it, but the smoke consumed his sword and injured his hands.
It was as if the smoke had a mind of its own.
Just as the next attack was about to end them, the observer stood between them, still smiling faintly. In the instant before the attack hit, he waved his left hand—and the smoke vanished without touching them.
The boys were left speechless.
To the creature, he said:
"It's been a while… But you're meddling where you shouldn't be."
The smoke took on a monstrous form—six arms, one eye in the center, stomping feet that cracked the earth. But the observer stood firm, calm.
"You won't retreat this time? How lucky for you—I'm in a good mood."
The boys, realizing the danger, retreated behind him.
The monster struck the ground, launching debris. The observer leapt between the flying rocks, breaking them with his bare hands, charging forward.
The beast reached to grab him, but before it could touch him, he drew his sword—a blade glowing like the dawn in darkness—and sliced off its arm.
"It always vanished when I drew my sword. Not this time. It's after something… or someone."
He looked back—realizing the target was the two boys. Smoke surrounded them.
With urgency, he gripped his sword, inhaled deeply, and swung with all his might. A burst of wind swept the smoke away.
The white-haired boy stabbed his sword into the ground to anchor himself, but the black-haired one was blown away.
The observer dropped his guard, puzzled by the monster's intentions—only to nearly be struck by a massive hand. But the white-haired boy dashed forward and pulled him to safety.
Both collapsed.
The monster charged—intent on finishing them.
But the black-haired boy reappeared, hand engulfed in fire, blocking the attack for just a second—enough time for the swordsman to recover and strike the monster's face with the broad side of his blade, launching it back like a baseball.
The creature hit the ground and, sensing defeat, began to dissolve into the earth.
But the observer appeared before it, gripping his sword with a deadly tone:
"Not so fast, coward."
In a flash too quick to see, he drew the blade. Time seemed to stop. The world dimmed, and the sword's light became the only star in the sky.
The white-haired boy thought:
"What is this terrifying light? It's as if it stares into my soul, seeing everything I try to hide. It's beautiful… and terrifying."
And the black-haired boy:
"I don't understand… risking your life to save strangers? Every time I see this kind of moment, I admire it more.
Maybe one day… I can…"
He smiled—a long and beautiful moment.
Reality resumed. The light from the sword burned away the creature completely, leaving behind only smoking limbs.
The swordsman took a deep breath and sheathed his sword. Behind him, the two boys had fainted.
His face turned serious, then weary.
"Of course… Looks like I'll have to start over. First, food.
These two… they're strange. In a moment of death, they chose to act. Was it instinct? Or foolishness?
But that black-haired one… he flew through the air to block my attack earlier. Then moments later, he reacted and saved them again—covered in flames. Who is he?"
He looked at the ruins, sighed deeply, and muttered,
"Well… time to get work..