Tormo reached the end of the Forest of the Last Breath, as if his feet no longer belonged to his body.
The road he had walked with blind stubbornness began to vanish behind him, and the air changed suddenly. It was no longer heavy and damp, but sharp and cold, as if every breath entering his chest carried tiny knives, tearing at his soul before his lungs.
Snow began to fall.
At first it was light, hesitant, then it grew thicker, until the ground became a white surface with no features.
Tormo felt the circle turning again.
That feeling…
The same feeling he had known before.
The old fear. The tension pressing on his heart until it almost stopped. The despair that crept in quietly like slow poison.
He had returned to this place… alone.
He couldn't believe it.
Ravan was always here.
Behind him, ahead of him, or at least within his shadow.
But now…
No one.
Every step was heavy, every memory struck him without mercy.
The forest had not forgotten him. The air did not welcome him. Even the ground itself seemed to reject him.
Then he saw it.
The cabin.
An old, crooked cabin, its roof half-collapsed, its door cracked open, snow piled around it.
That place…
The place where he and Ravan had lived.
Time stopped.
As if seeing it clearly for too long would break something inside him.
His knees weakened.
He fell.
He hit the ground, but the pain was not physical.
It was heavier.
Deeper.
He didn't scream.
He simply lost consciousness.
In the darkness, the voice came to him.
A voice he knew well.
"Come…"
Then closer:
"Come to me, my brother…"
Tormo opened his eyes suddenly.
Night.
He was inside the cabin.
The air was brutally cold, his breath coming out white, his body shaking despite everything he had endured.
He moved slightly and heard the wooden floor groan beneath his weight.
He stood up.
Approached the door… and stopped.
Red light.
Fire.
He stepped outside slowly.
The village.
It was burning.
Houses in flames, fire rising, shadows moving among the blaze.
His heart tightened.
There was no other path.
He entered.
And the closer he came…
The clearer the image became…
He recognized it.
It was his village.
But it was no longer the village he knew.
The smell of burning mixed with iron.
Childhood memories attacked him all at once.
Fear returned.
The fear of a small child—the same feeling he had felt that day, the same helplessness, the same desire to disappear.
His teeth chattered, and his bones felt as if something was gnawing at them from within.
Then…
Anger.
A different kind of anger.
Not weakness.
Not escape.
The anger of someone who knew that what was happening was no coincidence.
He clenched his fist.
He decided to face it.
And at that moment…
Light split the sky.
A sword of light, drawn, embedded atop one of the houses.
He stood there.
The white sword.
It looked at Tormo, and its voice came calm, cold, provoking:
"Do you remember me?"
Tormo's eyes flashed.
He pulled the chain and struck.
Wood shattered, the house collapsed, fragments flying in every direction.
But the white sword vanished.
And suddenly appeared in front of him.
One strike.
Tormo's body was hurled away, crashing through another house and smashing inside it.
Rubble fell over him.
He staggered out, bleeding, his voice hoarse, but his scream was clear:
"I will kill you…
And everything will end!"
The white sword drew closer.
It looked into his eyes.
The world stopped.
Tormo lost consciousness.
Memories burst open.
The village… before everything.
He was small, running after his older brother.
Mok.
The brother he loved.
The brother who protected him.
Mok joined the knights.
Then…
He "died."
But the truth was different.
A demon attacked him.
Broke his bones.
Left him alive, shattered.
The village believed he was dead.
They left him among the branches.
His father looked at him.
With eyes that knew the truth.
Then he turned his face away.
The knights lied.
They told the village that Mok had died.
Mok remained alone.
And on the last day…
A girl appeared with a group of people.
They poured blood into his mouth.
Then vanished.
Mok woke up.
No wounds.
He stood.
He looked at the village… and did not enter.
He understood its truth.
Its curse.
He disappeared.
The girl followed him, spied on him, then offered him to join them.
The Order of the White Swords.
He accepted.
Then he discovered the mistake.
He killed them.
But the truth had already taken shape.
Tormo opened his eyes.
The white sword stood atop one of the houses.
It removed its mask.
The face.
Mok.
His brother.
Tormo's eyes widened, as if he had returned to life only to shatter instantly.
The memories were too heavy to endure.
And suddenly…
The sky split open.
Something fell.
Ravan.
He descended from above, his hands transformed into blades.
He struck the house.
The building was torn apart completely.
Mok vanished amid the rubble.
Ravan stood there, his hair long, covered in blood, laughing like a madman.
Tormo felt joy… but it did not last.
Ravan had returned.
But happiness was not meant for him.
Ravan looked at him and said in a low voice—broken, filled with madness:
"I've come back."
And in that moment, Tormo knew that fate was not finished.