"F**king hypocrisy…
We're sinners, yeah? We deserve death…
I'm only sixteen though. Was I that dreadful?
Even my parents left, and I'm the only one here. How does that make sense? I sinned? They sinned every night without restraint. I had to listen to them… every single time.
And I'm the dreadful one…?
…curses… curse it all… hypocrites."
Ragnar exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening.
"I'm stuck here. Whose maw will I escape from later ? And who even invented those heavy buildings… tsk. What an idiotic thing to do. I'd rather sleep in an open field."
He paused.
"Thinking about it… I was only twelve. Just four more years and I'm already losing my mind… well, who isn't? Staying sane is the real insanity…"
________________________________________
"With an open heart, I wield my sword.
With a pure mind, I cleave my foe.
With steady feet, I clear my path…
May mercy find me…"
"…damn hypocrites."
Ragnar's lips twitched in irritation as he muttered under his breath.
"Now I'm forced to chant this cringe just to stay alive… I might as well die of shame. Who even came up with this? Something is definitely wrong with the previous generations. The inventors couldn't have been sane."
"Save me, oh holy one…
Save this lowly one…
I'll march forward to the promised land…
Holy one, look upon my path with benevolence…"
"Holy one… whoever you are… just don't let me die of shame. Save me from these old men…"
Ragnar kept alternating between hollow chants and blasphemous thoughts festering in his fractured mind.
Of course, he couldn't be blamed.
In this world… madness was the norm.
He was only sixteen.
He just matured too fast.
His parents had been… insufferable. Lustful. Careless. Open-minded, they called it.
Whenever he complained, his father would smile and say,
"It is our mission on this earth to multiply and fill it. What your mother and I do each night is simply fulfilling the will of the Almighty."
"Multiply and fill the earth my ass," Ragnar had snapped back once.
"Then why am I the only son?"
His father had only smiled wider.
"One must not question the will of He who knows all."
Thinking back on it now, Ragnar couldn't help but scoff.
He had been raised in cringe… shaped by it… destined for it.
And now?
Now he was forced to memorize it.
"…just as amazing as it gets," he thought bitterly. "Of course it is—earth, humans. Ruin everything, then try to fix it with even more ruin. Why these cringey prayers when it's already too late…?"
His gaze drifted north.
And his thoughts stopped.
His throat tightened.
His heart slammed violently against his ribs as cold sweat slid down his spine.
He turned away immediately.
He wasn't ready.
Not for that.
He clenched his teeth.
"…curses…"
He thought he would have gotten used to the horror by now.
He hadn't.
"How are we supposed to survive this hellhole for another thousand years…?"
His fingers curled slightly.
"I can't even kill myself… curses… curse it all… curse them all…"
The tension wasn't his alone.
It was written on every face in the tattered tent.
Wariness.
Restlessness.
Eyes that never stayed still—always scanning, always expecting something.
Four years ago, it had all seemed like a joke.
People laughed.
Then some tried to escape.
Suicide.
A simple act.
Or at least… it used to be.
Now?
It only earned you a ten-day visit to The One of the North.
And when they returned…
They weren't the same.
Their eyes held nothing but dread.
Despair.
Hatred.
They would stare at the sky, jaws clenched so tightly their gums bled… and yet, the pain only made the hatred burn brighter.
Ragnar glanced at the elder seated across from him.
The man recited each chant with a face that screamed:
I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE.
LET ME GO.
I WANT TO KILL SOMETHING.
He was one of the "fortunate" ones.
One of those who had gone north… and returned.
They called him an elder.
But he didn't look a day over thirty.
Why is he here?
It was a question everyone asked.
Not aloud.
Never aloud.
But it lingered in every mind still walking this broken earth.
Why him?
Why me?
Why anyone?
The Almighty judges the heart, not appearance… right?
Ragnar slowly raised his head, staring through the torn holes of the tent.
The sky stretched endlessly above him.
Empty.
No sun.
No moon.
No stars.
Nothing.
Just a vast, suffocating void.
And far in the north..
That thing.
A gargantuan silhouette towering beyond the clouds. Always there. Always watching.
No matter where you stood… it was visible.
No matter how far you ran… it remained.
Nobody knew what it was.
All they knew was that it appeared… the moment the first person tried to escape.
Some called it The Punisher.
Others believed it was the last eye of the gods...
proof that even if they had abandoned the world… they were still watching.
"You may all return to your tents. Gather again after four rotations."
The elder's voice cut through the air.
"Dismissed."
He stood and walked away without waiting.
Ragnar exhaled sharply.
Frustration coiled inside him.
This man had appeared out of nowhere—forcing them into this routine torture of chants and hollow devotion.
And in return?
They were given four rotations to rest.
Four.
"I can't wait to get out of this damned shelter…"
He muttered under his breath as he stepped away from the center.
"We were denied ascension because we weren't worthy…"
His voice dropped.
"And now we're stripped of freedom… just to prove that we are?"
He paused, scanning his surroundings.
Rows of worn tents.
Beyond them...
Nothing.
Just endless desolation.
"I survived a tribulation as a normal human… only to end up in a cage…"
His eyes dimmed slightly.
"…I wish I could join one of those terrifying families…"
His mind drifted.
Back to that day.
The day of the tribulation.
The memory alone made his blood stir.
That power.
That defiance.
"…the defiance…"
He muttered, almost unconsciously.
He snapped back to reality and continued walking.
But the thought lingered.
If those families were still here…
Then they had to be just as monstrous.
He had seen children younger than himself among them.
"…why are they still here?"
He asked quietly.
Not expecting an answer and not receiving one.