"Your will knows no boundary, as it split through the dreams and reality."
---
The enemy drew closer.
Luke moved first.
The crossbowmen followed, behind them a a few of the reinforcement ready to support.
He knew he couldn't win an unnumbered fight, to begin with he might die just fighting one of them head on. But Luke 'talent' is not about the swordsmanship he had learned, but the will to survive even at his lowest point, 'this much is fine' he whispered to himself, hoping for a possibility that he could never reach.
The sky began to droole, as droplets of life reached the earth.
Luke vanished — leaving behind false trails among the trees and brush, the squad of crossbowmen and a knight follows, tracing the mud stained with boots mark.
The knight among them, he walks front first following the trail meant to be a fake. As he was getting lured by the trail, Luke had already jumped out from one of the bushes taking down the nearest crossbowmen and another in silence.
The forest was his home, his battlefield, his cloak.
Experience had made him precise — but survival had made him ruthless, something he both pitied and felt grateful for.
For him, life and death weren't strangers.
They were daily companions, a stingy and cruel partner, that same partner now is just one mistake away from catching up to him.
He used sticks, stones, and broken branches to fake his movements and locations, but the rain grew heavier, washing away his deception, shortening the amount of time he can buy. The group went slower, they gradually adapt to their surroundings and started being more aware of Luke's tricks.
Each drop blurred his fake footprints… and his chances of surviving.
One of the reinforcement finally caught sight of him.
Two more followed.
After playing a cat game of chase and run, one mercenary finally cornered him.
The first mercenary swung wildly — the wet ground betrayed his footing as his sword missed by inches. Luke countered instantly, slashing low and cutting through the man's leg.
Not deep enough to kill — just enough for Luke to win in a marathon against him, he escaped swiftly.
He stop for a breathing, slowly getting himself draint he wanted to hide. But he knew more reinforcement would just catch up to him.
The deeper he went into the forest, the sharper his mind became. He could almost feel the rhythm of the land beneath his boots.
Now only two enemies trailed him — a swordman and a crossbowman. He bit the sword's hilt. Letting his hand to act more free.
Then, Luke climbed into the trees, blending into the branches. He muttered under his breath, frustrated:
"Who in their right mind hire this many men for an empty forest?" He said as he realizes by wandering around the forest for quite a while that there was nothing precious inside, at least to what he can see with his mortal eye.
The crossbowman stopped directly beneath him.
Luke froze, holding his breath.
Time went by so slow, it might even stopped. But Luke's rhythm of battle kept drumming, things had never been so smooth in his life.
And it never will.
Then — snap.
The branch gave way. The other branches watched him as he fell, the ground getting ready and steady for his fall.
He landed perfectly between his feet… right in front of the man. He pulls his sword forward, wanted to land the first attack.
But... The crossbow was already drawn.
Luke swung his sword, deflecting the line of fire — but his effort was too late.
The bolt tore through his left leg.
He staggered back.
Behind him — a valley.
Not deep, but steep enough that even a roll would take minutes to reach the bottom.
As his balance faltered, Luke grabbed the crossbowman by the leg and pulled him down with him.
They tumbled through mud and stones, disappearing into the roaring rain.
The sounds of the water striking the muddy earth was dampening the sound of the rolling soldier. Desperately fighting for their life.
The knight above tried to follow, but the storm thickened, and his vision faded. He could barely see his own boots, let alone the bodies below.
He hesitated — unsure if there was even anything left alive down there, as the rain's fog swallowed them until their trails were left traceless.
He decided to grip his sword tight, whispering to himself.
"Damn it! He's just your rookie, you've got a family waiting back home!"
Despite his rambling he slowly slide down, slowly and carefully, one false step and his body will roll down with their corpse.
---
Wind howled through the same valley years before. It rubs against tree trunks, twists and turns among the leaves, and often rolls about on the green ground.
Deep within, an ancient structure lay half-collapsed — stone pillars and arches eroded by time.
And beneath its shadow… something stirred.
A spirit.
Its wind moved like a living thing — a thousand eyes and ears hidden in every gust.
The spirit had long been a collector of stories.
From kingdoms and continents afar, it listened to tales carried by its wind: of heroes and prodigies, chefs and scholars.
But it's now filled with boredom as there's no unique story he could find.
So, one day, the spirit sent a many fragments of its wind to fly freely— just to witness a different kind of story, none of them survived the harsh environment, slowly they began to fade, scattered and forgotten... Except one.
By chance, the very same wind fragment drifted into a noble castle.
There, a queen was crying out for her life, but the very same queen then decidedd to cry happily. There were only one specific occasion how her pain turn into her light in a mere seconds. She had just given birth to her own child, her second son.
The king gazed upon the child with a small and barely noticeable smile underneath his mustache, he put his hand in front of the crying baby. To which the baby replied by holding his giant finger and began calming down. The mighty king approaches his descendant closer and said:
"I shall name you… Luke."
"Luke Rutherford."
The spirit watched him grow — a bright, gifted boy.
Smart. Energetic. Loved by all.
It stayed for a while to observe the castle and later the whole kingdom. But it had yet to found something that can piqued it's interest.
the spirit sighed.
Then the wind turned away…
Years later, the wind fled back to the castle's gate, to find the very same beloved boy standing outside as if he had been set aside. the boy was exiled from his own home — cast out by the very blood that once adored him.
The child — whom the spirit and the whole castle believed was born to be a prodigy, but was forced to become 'The failure'.
He who had encounter every night inside his locked room out of disgrace were now roaming freely.
Luke wandered through cold nights and hunger; his endurance alone was already impressive. He lived by hunting, ate what he could, and slept under the open sky, never knowing what might attack him at any moment. Until one day, desperation led him to the life of a mercenary—fighting not for glory, but for bread.
He served four long years in the same platoon, surviving countless battles and carrying scars that told stories of their own.
He abandoned his last name.
He was simply Luke.
He told his backstory once. No one believed his noble origins.
To most, he was just a man with a mediocre skills, but a formidable experiences.
His comrades teased him endlessly:
"Luke, the noble's blood!"
Only his commander and lieutenant knew the truth, but even then they didn't want to pry into his scar that had already began to heal but ready to open again any moment.
He also never corrected the others. What good would it do?
His name — Rutherford — was now nothing but a wound that chain his fate, name and future.
And so the spirit kept watching.
For years, it listened to Luke's quiet struggles… unseen, unheard.
Until now.
Until this moment — in the valley, beneath the storm — where that same spirit found him in flesh.
---
The deepest part of the valley was colored in green, filled with many vegetation and peaceful surrounding as the land curved towards the sky.
That green sanctuary is now stained with blood.
A man with a crossbow on his had laid in the mud, breathing heavily, half-conscious, bleeding fast.
Beside him there was a body of an armored knight. Not far from them, a man with mercenary clothing was lying by the trees, lifeless, with a strangely oversized clothing.
The crossbowmen was covering his eyes and face with his palm. Then it slid down, revealing a familiar face, Luke. He had swapped his outfit with the crossbowmen, launching his last deception, getting into a fight that leave dignity behind.
His breathing shallow, his pulse fading, his blood merging with the puddle of the rain.
A voice reached him amidst the chaos on his mind, soothing him at his last moment.
"You look hopeless," it said softly. "Yet your eyes still hold a glimmer of hope."
Luke forced his head up.
"What — who are you, what are you doing in a place like this?"
His voice was hoarse, trembling.
The spirit smiled faintly. And told him it's name while deliberately ignoring his question.
"Just call me… Aisle."
Luke stare at the spirit with a confused look, still trying to grasp the situation.
"Luke Rutherford, captain of splatoon 8." the spirit said then smiled
The spirit's eyes gleamed.
"I've heard stories of you. Perhaps… you could tell me more?"
Luke exhaled slowly, his vision blurring.
"How do you know my-"
He shook his head slowly and painfully.
"More over you're not after me are you?"
"Not at all, we just 'coincidentally' meet here."
Luke let's out a breath he had been holding since who knows when. At the same time his body grew weaker.
Though his senses is going numb, he could feel a terrestrial presence beside him.
"So, are you going to introduce yourself?"
The spirit asked.
"Luke."
"So, Luke. How did you end up here?"
Aisle insist.
"I have no story worth of sharing, except if you really want to know how it feels like to be standing in front of death's door... I wouldn't know what to tell."
His words faded into silence. As darkness took him away towards his end.
The spirit watched him — still, peaceful, a faint smile carved on his face, Aisle could tell that his smirk was nothing but a mask to hide his disappointment.
"A lot," Aisle murmured. "You could tell me… or show me."
She took a human — a girl body as a new form and placed her hand over Luke's chest.
Wind began to spiral around them — fierce, alive.
The dropping water around them scattered, failing to land on top of Luke and the ground around him.
Rain turned into storm. Storm lashes out thunder. And those thunder strike the land of the living. They were all so different, yet they came to witness the same thing.
"From this moment on," Aisle whispered,
"I will stay by your side."
Aisle leaned closer, it's voice echoing like a whisper carried through ages.
"To you who sleeps… but never dream."
---