"No one lives by the values they preach. Life is nothing more than a contest between those who fake virtue… and those who see through the lie."
It was already midday when the young man went into the forest searching for firewood. Winter was approaching, and his family would need it.
As he walked through the trees, something caught his attention.
"These trees have been cut."
He ran his hand along a fresh mark carved into the trunk.
Kairos began searching the surrounding area, looking for more signs that might explain what had happened. Suddenly a ray of light struck his eyes, forcing him to turn toward its source.
His gaze froze.
He ran forward, unsure if what he was seeing was real.
The light had reflected off the blade of a sword buried in the ground.
When he reached it, he saw everything.
More than twenty bodies lay scattered across the forest floor.
Kairos couldn't recognize the faces of the few who weren't wearing helmets, but something about them felt wrong. The texture of their skin… it was as if something didn't quite fit.
He frowned.
The smell of iron filled the air. Flies buzzed around the corpses. A deep unease settled inside him, as if he were witnessing something he was never meant to see.
"This can't be happening," he muttered.
The village where Kairos lived had no name. It didn't appear on any map—because it wasn't supposed to exist.
It was a village of outcasts.
People born with a mark on their skin.
A mark that had become the source of all their suffering.
Kairos confirmed that none of the men were alive. He said nothing. He simply walked among the bodies, unable to look away.
He had never seen a dead man before.
When he finally decided to run back to the village and warn everyone, his foot snapped a dry branch beneath him.
The sound echoed through the forest.
Kairos immediately froze and looked around.
"Who's there?"
Dozens of blades suddenly emerged from the shadows, rushing toward him like a swarm of angry wasps. The floating knives moved in strange patterns—not just because they hovered in the air, but because their movement felt almost organic, like a living hive.
A woman's voice spoke from the tree where the blades had appeared.
Kairos took a few seconds before answering.
"Wait! I'm not with them! I live in the forest village—I have nothing to do with this!"
His voice trembled as he spoke.
The figure removed her hood.
Her expression was filled with suspicion, but also curiosity.
A village here?
That could only mean one thing.
"You… do you have the mark?"
The blades hovered around Kairos, as if staring directly into his soul.
Kairos knew this was the most important question he had ever been asked. The wrong answer could put not only his life in danger, but his entire village.
"If you're going to kill me just because I'm marked, you should know that even without tricks… I can still surprise you. Especially with that wound in your abdomen."
His voice was firm now.
Fear had faded. This was no longer only about him.
"Show me where your mark is," the woman said as she leaned against the tree. Her injury was clearly worsening.
Kairos slowly raised his left hand and turned it over, revealing the mark on the back of it.
"That's a relief," she said with a faint smile.
Then she collapsed.
At the same moment, the floating blades fell to the ground.
Kairos rushed to her side.
The wound in her abdomen was deep.
He had no choice.
He lifted her into his arms and ran toward the village.
Halfway there, he suddenly stopped.
Is it really the right thing to bring her back?
What if it's a trap?
He looked at her carefully.
Reddish hair. Pale skin.
Then he noticed the mark on her wrist.
Every marked person had one, but no two marks were the same. They moved slightly across the skin, almost as if they were suspended rather than engraved into the flesh.
Kairos took a deep breath and continued running.
He couldn't stop now.
The village was quiet, as it always was.
The dense forest blocked most of the sunlight, and the small huts made from branches and scraps looked as fragile as ever.
Only twenty or thirty people lived there.
Most of them were marked.
The rest were family members who had chosen exile with them.
"Help! This girl needs help!"
Kairos's shout broke the village's silence.
People turned in shock.
The village's only doctor rushed forward.
"Go talk to your father and explain what happened. But first help me carry her inside," said Adel, the village doctor.
When Kairos stepped back outside, his father was already waiting.
Aram embraced him immediately.
"What happened? Are you alright, son?"
"I don't know… there were many bodies in the forest. More than twenty. I think she killed them."
Aram's eyes widened slightly.
"But she's one of us, father. She has the mark."
Aram's expression barely changed.
Kairos felt relief knowing she was marked too.
But his father's look conveyed something else entirely.
That doesn't matter.
"Go wash yourself. You're covered in blood and dirt. We'll handle the rest. When she wakes up, we'll see what we can learn. And later you'll take me to where you found the bodies."
Kairos nodded and walked toward the lake.
Normally he would have wanted to stay involved, but even he knew he needed time to process everything.
While washing himself in the lake, the same images replayed endlessly in his mind.
The bodies.
The girl.
The blades.
The fear.
His father's expression.
When he finished washing, he looked at his reflection in the water.
Long hair.
Sharp features.
And an expression he had never seen on his own face before.
He didn't recognize it.
Later, he returned to his father.
"Are you feeling better now?" Aram asked gently.
"Yes, father."
"Then take me to where you found the girl and those men."
After several minutes of silent walking, Aram spoke again.
"You seem deep in thought."
Kairos sighed.
"I keep wondering if bringing her to the village was the right thing. Maybe I put everyone in danger. Maybe I trusted a murderer."
Aram laughed softly.
"But that's exactly what I've always wanted you to do."
Kairos looked at him in confusion.
"You must help people—not because they deserve it, but because that's who you are."
Kairos hesitated.
"So… feeling relieved when I saw her mark… that wasn't wrong?"
"No," Aram said. "I'm sure you would have helped her even if she didn't have it."
"But what if this brings trouble to the village? What if soldiers come here next?"
His voice trembled.
Aram placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Son… people who do the right thing cannot end up with a bad fate."
Kairos looked down at the mark on his hand.
"That doesn't make sense," he said quietly. "You and mother have always tried to be good people… and now you live in exile because I was born like this."
When they finally reached the battlefield, Kairos stopped.
The signs of the fight were still there.
Blood.
Broken branches.
Fragments of armor.
But the bodies…
The bodies were gone.
Kairos didn't need to say anything.
His expression alone told Aram everything.
They were here.