POV: Matias Castleboar
I could feel the damp air clinging to my skin, freezing each breath I took in the cold wind of that day.
The rain kept falling—a symphony of endless drops striking the ground. Its murmur couldn't drown out the roar of the crowd demanding my death.
"Citizens! Let this be a reminder of what happens to those who defy the rules!" shouted one of the champions.
His voice faded, and the next instant, they forced me to my knees. The chill of the wooden platform seeped through my legs, crawling up my body until it made me tremble.
I clenched my fists in fury as the rope was pulled downward, raising the guillotine's blade that waited eagerly to taste my neck.
"Any last words?" the same champion asked, gripping my hair with disdain. "You're nothing."
Before I could answer, his fist crashed against my face. Heat spread across my cheek as I gritted my teeth, fighting through the pain.
Dazed, I lifted my gaze—and among the crowd, I saw a familiar figure: a woman dressed entirely in red.
Her lips moved slowly. Words flowed from her mouth as if time itself had stopped.
"End them all," she whispered with a wicked smile. "Show them the power I gave you."
The moment I heard her voice, my body reacted. Power surged through my veins—intoxicating, wild, like a storm finally breaking free.
"This is your end," the champion laughed.
The hiss of slicing air marked the blade's fall. I shut my eyes tightly. In the void, I felt the universe fold into me.
A thunderclap shattered the sky, shaking the world. I opened my eyes. The raindrops hung suspended in the air, and in them, I saw my reflection—my once-brown pupil now glowed with an emerald light.
Divine energy coursed through my being. Time had stopped; I could even see a lightning bolt frozen mid-sky, branching like a vein of light.
With effort, I lifted my neck from the icy wood and pressed a hand to my thigh to stand.
"This is the power of the Goddess of History…" I whispered. "The Eye of God, the one that weaves the threads of time—Calur."
I ran a hand across my face, still disoriented, my eyes wandering through the stillness of the world. Crows hovered motionless in the air, frozen mid-flight, waiting to feed on my corpse.
So mesmerized was I by the sight that I failed to notice the sharp pain hammering in my skull.
The veins in my temple throbbed violently, and before I could resist, I fell to my knees. The power faded, and time flowed again.
Rain struck the ground once more, and the murmurs turned into gasps of astonishment.
Behind me, the blade crashed down, embedding itself in the empty wood where my neck had been seconds earlier.
A wicked smile curved my lips. The champion staggered back, colliding with his comrade—his arrogance replaced by fear.
"B-but… how?" he stammered, fumbling to draw his sword. "How did you escape?"
I took a deep breath and met his eyes. His hands trembled so violently he could barely hold the weapon.
A blink was all it took. My figure vanished from his sight, replaced by a burst of dust swirling with the rain.
When he tried to react, my arm was already across his throat. I brought his head close to mine until my voice slipped into his ear, barely audible through the chaos.
"This is the last time you hit me," I whispered.
I felt him swallow hard, frozen, aware of the weight behind my words.
Slowly, I released him and stepped back with my hands raised, as the other champions pointed their blades at my neck. The cold metal brushed my skin—a feeling I knew all too well.
I lowered my hand slowly and pointed toward his companion. Everyone turned at once—only to see him clutching his throat as a thin line of blood slipped through his fingers.
The body hit the ground with a dull thud. Silence spread, and the wooden floor beneath us turned red.
Without a word, I walked toward them. Kneeling down, I picked up the sword lying on the ground—its hilt still warm from another's blood.
As I rose, I swung it firmly. The blade sliced through the air, releasing a metallic hum that blended with the rhythm of the rain. In front of me, the two remaining champions took their stances.
Their bodies tensed, weapons ready to meet my charge.
"Why is this world so cruel…?" I whispered into the air.
Confusion flickered across their faces—but instinct forced them to move the moment my attack came down in fury.
The clash of steel echoed across the square, followed by the terrified screams of the crowd as they began to flee.
The sheer force of impact drove them backward, forcing them to fight side by side just to hold me off.
I blinked once—then again. A warm liquid ran down my face: blood, frozen midair, unable to fall, painting my mask like a grotesque work of art.
I turned my sword, sliding behind them in a single, swift motion. The blade tore through the silence before it met flesh.
Time resumed. Choked screams merged with the wet sound of death. Their bodies fell, swallowed by pools of their own blood.
A sigh escaped me, drawn from the deepest part of my soul. This wasn't the ending I had sought.
All I had wanted was to reunite with my family in the afterlife… to end this pain once and for all. But then—she appeared. Dextrina.
My weary eyes scanned the place, searching for any trace of the goddess of fate. Nothing. Not even a shadow.
In frustration, I drove my sword into the wooden floor. The crack echoed beneath my feet, blending with the distant murmur of the rain.
"Champion Castleboard," a cold, authoritative voice spoke from behind me. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
I turned slowly. A formation of soldiers surrounded me, their spearheads gleaming beneath the rain.
Among them stood a man who stood out—not because of his armor, but because of the calm radiance he carried. At his waist rested a sword so magnificent it didn't need to be drawn to command respect.
The serenity in his eyes said more than words ever could. And the golden crown upon his head confirmed his authority.
"I would have liked to meet you under different circumstances," he said, glancing at the corpses scattered around me. "But given your condition… I suggest you calm yourself."
His tone lit a spark inside me. My gaze sharpened, anger pulsing once again through my veins, desperate to be unleashed upon him.
But before I could take a step, my body froze. An overwhelming presence filled the air.
"Champion Marcois," the man ordered quietly. "Put our guest to sleep."
Before I could react, a figure appeared before me—a young man with long hair, his eyes as cold as steel. With a single strike to the back of my neck, everything went black.
My consciousness faded as I collapsed into the arms of the very man who had struck me down.
Even in the darkness, my mind refused to rest, chasing unanswered questions. Why had I come here in the first place?
Traveling from Germany to Taured just to die… not exactly my best decision. But the alternative had been worse—being slowly consumed by radiation.
Deep down, I wasn't searching for death… but for reunion. With my parents. With my sister. Just thinking of them tore at my chest.
The last to go was my little sister. Even in death, she smiled, wishing me well… when I was the one who wanted to leave the most.
I couldn't bear the weight of watching them die. Of seeing my world consumed by fire, hatred, and war.
"Seems he's still asleep…" a distorted voice broke through the silence of memory.
Pain surged through my body once more, forcing my consciousness to rise from the fog. I gasped awake amid the confusion.
The air smelled of iron and old wood. Darkness surrounded me, and the distant echo of footsteps marked the beginning of something worse.
When my vision cleared, I noticed I was separated from the young man by a set of steel bars.
I tried to stand, but an invisible force slammed me back to the ground. A metal collar pressed against my neck, stealing the air from my lungs with every attempt to breathe.
"Where am I?" I asked weakly. "Why didn't you just kill me?"
The young man didn't answer. Silence filled the cell, broken only by a faint laugh. He leaned against the bars, turning his back to me in disdain.
"Kill you?" he repeated calmly. "You're useful. And right now… your death doesn't serve us."
I pressed my back against the stone wall, feeling the sharp pain burning in my neck.
"How old are you?" I asked suddenly.
He turned his head, puzzled at first, then a faint smirk appeared on his face.
"Are you seriously asking me that… in this situation?" he said between soft laughter.
His tone was different now—more relaxed, almost human. I realized he wasn't much older than me.
"Seventeen," he finally said, crossing his legs. "You?"
"I think I'm your age," I murmured, forcing a half-smile. "I lost track of my life a long time ago."
A short laugh escaped his lips. Even with the weight of pain pressing against my chest, I found myself smiling too.
A faint tingle spread across my lips and turned into quiet laughter. It had been years since I'd laughed like that.
"How do you forget your own age?" he teased, wiping a tear from his eye.
I tapped the back of my head against the wall.
"When you have no reason to live," I whispered, "you stop counting the days."
For a while, we talked aimlessly—just trying to distract ourselves from the weight of reality. I didn't want to think about my family. I didn't want to feel that pain again.
Despite the stench of mold, the rusted iron, and the dried blood on the floor, there was something strangely human about that conversation. For an instant, the darkness felt a little less heavy.
"I think our little chat is over," Marcois said, standing up.
The metallic echo of footsteps filled the corridor. A group of soldiers approached, escorting the same man who had ordered my capture.
"I see you've made a new friend, Marcois," the voice said firmly.
Marcois nodded and straightened, standing behind him.
"I'm glad to see you're more human than the stories suggest," the man added, studying me with quiet curiosity.
With a subtle gesture, he ordered them to open the cell. The soldiers stepped inside, removing the metal collar and untying the ropes that bound my wrists.
"Aren't you afraid I'll kill you?" I asked, rubbing my aching hands.
"By the time your brain processed the thought," he said in a calm yet threatening tone, "you'd already be dead."
They forced me to stand. Two soldiers held me by the arms and positioned me in front of him.
"My name is Leonard Kaiser," he said, placing a hand on his chest. "But you may call me Prophet."
At his command, the soldiers withdrew. I was made to walk beside him and Marcois through the corridor.
As we left the dungeon, light blinded me for a moment. It was daytime. The sun pierced through the clouds with an almost divine brilliance, illuminating the capital of Taured. It was as if the heavens themselves were blessing every corner of the kingdom.
The corridor we walked through was magnificent—polished marble, golden banners, and the solemn echo of our footsteps. It amazed me how, after so much chaos, commerce and life had somehow returned to normal.
"I've never seen anything like this," the Prophet said, resting his arms on a stone ledge. "We used to be a government… and now, we're back to kingdoms."
He sighed, his gaze lost in the horizon of the city.
"Instead of moving forward," he added quietly, "we've gone back in time."
I nodded and stayed by his side, while Marcois followed behind us, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips.
Our walk unfolded in silence, broken only by the Prophet's voice.
He seemed to want to know every corner of my story—every shadow, every wound. It wasn't mere curiosity. It felt as though he was confirming something he already knew all too well.
"So, you worked for the Castleboard family for some time," he asked suddenly, stopping in his tracks.
I swallowed hard. That name dragged up a torrent of memories I'd rather have left buried.
The weight of my mother in my arms, the warm blood of my father running through my hands, the screams, the fire… it all came back with a sharp, almost physical pain.
"Your real surname is Van Geast," he said, studying me closely. "Why replace it with your masters'?"
I lowered my head, trying to hide the sadness spilling over inside me.
"There was someone I loved in that family," I answered in a trembling voice. "I promised her we'd build a family together… but in the end, I only carried a piece of her soul with me."
The Prophet gently lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. His gaze wasn't cold—there was a depth of understanding there that disarmed me. For a moment, I felt a strange calm… almost paternal.
Before I could say another word, he took my hand and led me down the corridor. With each step, the sound of children's laughter began to fill the air—a sound so pure it clashed with the darkness I carried within.
At the end of the hall, an opening let the sunlight flood in. The rays spilled across the marble like a golden river.
Beyond it stretched a vast meadow dotted with flowers and trees. Dozens of children played there, their laughter dancing with the wind.
Their smiles were fragile, almost sacred. They were the embodiment of something I had lost long ago—innocence.
"By now, you already know the rule of this life," the Prophet said, watching the children with a melancholic smile. "Innocence doesn't survive war."
His words pierced through me. For a brief moment, I was back on that old estate with my parents, running under the sun—no fear, no loss.
Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice the boy who had come closer. He watched me curiously, with those clear eyes that seemed to see beyond what was visible.
"Why are you crying?" he asked, wiping my cheeks with his small hands.
"It's nothing, little one," I said, forcing a smile. "Just… dust in my eyes."
The boy giggled and ran back to his friends. I remained still, watching as a white leaf drifted slowly down from a tree.
I caught it between my fingers. It was so alive, so pure, that I felt a sudden ache—a desire to protect everything it represented.
"It's worth sacrificing for this," the Prophet said, his voice firm yet calm. "Don't you think so, Champion Castleboard?"
I turned to face him. His figure was bathed in sunlight, his hand extended toward me. It was a silent invitation—a pact. A new purpose.
I bit my lip, remembering the face of the one who once showed me the world could still be beautiful. Then, without hesitation, I reached out my hand.
The Prophet smiled. He knew the path ahead would be impossible—but he also knew that this time, I wouldn't fight for myself… but for what still deserved to be saved.