Soldiers from the royal court sealed off the entire slave district. That very night, without a single warning, they set the place ablaze.
"Ah, why is it so hot?" The boy wiped the sweat from his grimy, calloused hands and rubbed his eyes.
He had worked all day, was exhausted, and had just lain down for a short rest. Being woken up like this made him unbearably irritated.
An old slave rushed over and shouted, "It's bad! They're trying to burn us all alive!"
"Huh?" The boy froze. He was used to seeing guards kill people, but killing everyone—that was new.
"No time to stand there, you idiot! Run with me!" the old man barked.
The boy nodded and followed, though he didn't really know why he was running.
Born a slave, dying at the will of his master—that was supposed to be normal. And yet, now, he had the absurd thought of escaping.
He kept running, wondering why, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't understand his own actions.
The two of them merged into the chaotic crowd of fleeing slaves, all rushing toward the main exit.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
A burst of gunfire erupted. The fastest runners dropped instantly, blood pooling into a river of crimson beneath them.
"You worthless insects! Do you even know what you're doing? Dying for the great Lord is the highest honor of your pathetic lives!" the royal commander roared.
The slaves froze in place, trembling uncontrollably.
For decades, they had been taught to obey every command without question. Yet, in this moment, their bodies refused to stay still.
Normally, only a few would die each day; it had become routine. But now that everyone was dying, fear gripped their hearts.
"Kid, we'll take another way," the old man said, tugging at the boy's hand.
The two turned and ran in a direction few others knew.
Before long, they reached a steep cliff, several dozen meters high, overlooking a raging sea.
"There's no path here," the boy said doubtfully, glancing at the old man.
The old man walked to a far corner and pulled out a long-rotted raft, holding a weathered wooden box in his hands.
"This place… it's where I once prepared to escape. But after all these decades… I still… couldn't do it," he said softly, his gaze distant, as if seeing an entire lifetime flash by.
He had always been curious about the world beyond, yet the vast, unknowable ocean had kept his feet rooted here.
Humans, deep down, fear many things. The unknown is one of them.
He handed the box to the boy and said, "Inside lies a treasure. See if you can use it. If you can… then maybe… one day, you might free this world."
His words sounded like the final wish of a dying man—entrusting the hopes and failures of his generation to the next.
"Free the world? What's that supposed to mean?" The boy muttered as he opened the box.
Inside was a round, jelly-like mass that looked like a giant blob of trembling water. For some reason, his mouth watered. It looked… delicious.
Without hesitation, he opened his mouth wide and swallowed it whole.
"Burp… not bad," he grinned, satisfied, letting out a loud belch.
It was easily the best thing he had ever eaten. Far better than the scraps he usually survived on.
The old man's eyes widened in horror, nearly popping out of his skull. He grabbed the boy by the collar and shook him violently.
"Spit it out! Hurry, spit it out!"
But then something strange happened. The more he shook, the more the boy's neck stretched. It stretched so far that his head nearly touched the ground.
"Ah! Damn it, old man! What are you doing to me?!" The boy shouted, panicking, his voice trembling as his neck twisted unnaturally.
The old man froze, staring at the bizarre transformation. Then he murmured under his breath, almost in disbelief, "Could it be… he's the chosen one? Maybe… a miracle will come, after all."
Then the old man yanked hard on the chain locked around the boy's ankle. The boy's strange, pliable body seemed able to twist into any shape, and the shackles that had bound him for years slipped off with ease.
The boy's eyes widened, his neck quickly shrinking back to its normal size. For some reason, the world before him suddenly looked different—familiar, yet utterly strange.
The ground was the same as ever, but it somehow felt vaster. The endless, perilous ocean below now seemed to beckon him, calling him closer.
"So… this is freedom?" The boy muttered, his gaze lost in the distant horizon.
Before he could even process what was happening, the old man seized him and shoved him toward the raft. A powerful shove struck his back, sending him tumbling off the cliff.
"Ahhhh! You crazy old man!" The boy screamed in terror, clutching the raft tightly as he plummeted toward the sea.
He didn't know how to swim—he had never even touched the ocean before. If he let go, he would surely be swallowed whole by the waves.
Up on the cliff, the old man stood still, watching as the boy's figure disappeared into the raging sea.
"Boy! You must live free! You must free this world!" he shouted, his final words echoing like a dying will.
Everything he hadn't dared to do in his lifetime, he had now entrusted to a child who didn't even understand what freedom meant. The irony was bitter.
He turned slowly toward the burning village behind him but then stopped.
"After all these decades… I still don't know what freedom really is," he murmured, glancing back at the sea.
"Maybe… I should be a little braver." He took a deep breath, and for the first time in his life, his eyes burned with determination.
He ran—faster than he ever had—straight toward the cliff and leapt. In that instant, his eyes widened, and a wondrous, indescribable feeling bloomed within him.
It was the first time he had ever left this cursed land. For decades, it had been his prison, yet he had always been too afraid to escape it.
"So this… this is what freedom feels like," he whispered, closing his eyes and surrendering himself to the vast ocean.
In that moment, he no longer cared whether his understanding of freedom was right or wrong. All he knew was that his final choice was the right one.