A bloody red moon rose over a simple village, its two-story wooden houses scattered here and there. Above the village rose a green hill, and the hill was stained with light—black mingled with crimson—as if the moon were trying to expel the darkness that had thrown itself upon it.
The village was called "Bath," one of the villages belonging to the "Golden Feather," the largest of the three noble tribes that dominate the kingdom. The village housed one of the small families affiliated with the Feather Tribe. Here, everyone knows each other; everyone grew up together. They were, or at least they used to be, that way.
At the foot of the hill, there was a black shadow of a figure carrying something in its hand. The figure was a young man whose face was covered by darkness, but the faint moonlight cloaked his form in a bloody red color. No, the color wasn't from the moon; it was from a liquid that dyed his hands, his feet, and even the massive sword he was carrying.
There were dozens of people lying at his feet. Their faces were calm, unafraid of this sight; rather, they appeared reassured.
"Ah... Kael, why do you look so serious? It's not worth it."
A low voice echoed in his ears. A shiver ran down Kael's spine.
Down below, there was a woman. A horrific wound pierced her chest, and blood was drowning the brown mud beneath her. A loud scream rose up, covering the blood-stained hill. Flocks of crows took flight, as if searching for the source of the sound.
Kael was startled by the scream, but he soon realized it was his own. He was the one screaming. He felt a chill creep into his fingertips, dispelling the warmth of the blood that coated them.
"Ah... Kael..."
The voice called to him. Ever since he was little.
"Ah... Kael... There's no need for all this sorrow."
Kael raised his sword. The sword that had always seemed to understand him now felt unbearably heavy in his hand. He dropped it.
"Ah... Kael..."
The voice stopped. Silence prevailed. Nothing remained but the sound of cicadas, as if singing a mournful melody.
Kael knelt beside his mother's corpse. Drops of water fell onto her face, washing away a few drops of blood where her head had been severed from her body. There was no regret in her face, no fear, no anger. Nothing. Except for the look Kael had always known: a calm look. That's what made it most painful.
Kael snapped his fingers, and a flame ignited in his fist. For a moment, the fire sputtered—uncertain, as if it too was shocked by what had happened. Then it grew. He raised his hand, and light invaded the red hill. It banished the darkness that had rested upon it, making the shadows of corpses and trees dance under the light of the red full moon.
Kael turned. He walked a step... then another... then another...
Then his knees gave way.
---
When he opened his eyes again, the moon was gone. The sky was pale gray, dawn breaking somewhere beyond the trees.
He was lying in a cart. His body shook with every pebble the wheels passed over. His back ached. His neck was stiff. And there was something in his chest... something burning.
He clutched his chest involuntarily. The familiar burning pain. It was always there, waiting for him.
A wooden ceiling, cracked and damp. The smell of old hay and wet timber filled his lungs. The cart jolted again.
He was in a cart. Moving.
"Five hours."
The voice came from across him. Kael turned slowly. A massive man. A scar ran down his face like a river on dry land—starting just below his left eye, cutting through his cheek, ending at his jaw.
"Five hours you've been asleep." The man rubbed his nose. "You okay?"
Kael thought about the word. Couldn't find a meaning for it.
The man let out a short laugh. "Ah... right. Stupid question. Of course you're not okay."
Kael looked at his hands. They were covered in dried blood. He looked at his clothes. Same thing. Blood everywhere. He tried to remember how it got there—really remember, not just see the images—but his mind slid away every time it got close.
Suddenly, another voice returned. Not the man's voice. "Ah... Kael..."
He pressed his chest hard. The burning pain flared up, spreading like fire through his ribs, leaving a metallic taste at the back of his throat.
"You're bleeding internally again." The man's voice cut through. "Calm down. Slow breaths. In... out..."
Kael followed the instructions without thinking. His body knew what to do better than his mind.
"Good." The man relaxed against the seat. Pulled out a black scarf and placed it over his eyes. "The pain will fade... it's not the problem. Losing it... that's the problem."
Kael stared at him. "Where are we going?" His voice trembled.
"To the headquarters." The man didn't open his eyes. "The leader's waiting."
Kael took a deep breath and stretched his back against the seat. Silence returned, broken only by the wheels carving their path toward the unknown.
---
Hours passed. Then the cart stopped.
A massive metal gate rose before them, set in a stone wall that surrounded a huge palace. Above it flew a banner: a rose, its root bearing thorns.
Kael stared at it. Beautiful. But it hurts whoever touches it. Just like him now.
The gate opened with a heavy creak. The cart entered.
Servants moved in silence like shadows, their golden bracelets catching the light. One glanced at Kael—at his bloodstained hands—then returned to work. As if seeing a man covered in blood was normal here.
A butler greeted them with a rigid smile. "My lord is expecting you."
Kael followed him through hallways thick with incense. It mixed with the smell of dry blood on his clothes, creating a scent that would haunt him for years—the smell of luxury and death intertwined.
He passed a large window. Saw his reflection for a moment. A stranger. Empty eyes. A smeared face.
Then they stopped before a wooden door.
"Please, go in."
---
Inside, a fire crackled in a beautiful hearth. Leather sofas and chairs surrounded it. On the walls, paintings: battles, important men of the family. Men with the features of power. Men who looked like the ones he had killed last night.
But Kael didn't see them.
Near one painting stood a man, one hand resting on its frame. In his fifties. Gray hair at his temples. A face carved by years and fatigue. Not handsome, but his presence filled the room.
He turned slowly. Looked at Kael for a long time—from head to toe, pausing at his stained hands.
"James brought you." It wasn't a question.
The scarred man—James—stepped forward. "He finished the mission, sir."
"I can see."
The leader stepped closer. Just one step. But it was enough for Kael to feel the man's weight, his gravity, as if the ground beneath him shifted.
The leader looked into his eyes. There, in the depths, he saw something he hadn't seen often: a living pain. A pain that hadn't died yet.
"You can go wash up." His voice was quiet. Then, with a slight smile: "You really need it."
Kael didn't move. He stood there, his hands trembling slightly, his eyes fixed on the leader.
Finally, he whispered: "I killed them."
The leader nodded slowly. "I know."
"All of them."
"I know."
"My mother was smiling."
For a brief moment, something like sadness crossed the leader's face. Then it vanished.
"Go wash up, boy. When you come back, we'll talk. And when we talk... you'll understand why."
Kael turned toward the door. Paused. Looked at James. James nodded: Go. I'm here.
Kael left. The door closed softly behind him.
---
Inside, James stood before the leader.
"Is he ready?" the leader asked.
James sighed. "I don't know, sir. But he's the only one who could do what he did."
The leader looked at the closed door. "The only one capable... and the most broken."
He turned back to his painting.
"The fire didn't get out of control," James added quietly.
The leader's hand stopped.
"It obeyed him."
The leader turned. His eyes widened slightly, then he regained his composure. "That quickly?"
James nodded. "It wasn't an explosion. It was... control."
The leader lit his pipe, took a deep drag. "So he's advanced."
"And he didn't lose himself," James said.
The leader smiled—a small smile, its meaning unclear. "Then we still have hope."
A long silence.
"Watch him," the leader said. "Don't pressure him. A few days will be enough."
James stood. "And if he breaks down?"
The leader replied without looking at him: "He won't break down. Not anymore."