The air was still, thick with the scent of ash and silence... one birthed not by peace, but by aftermath. Trees blackened by fire stood like mute sentinels. Charcoal and ruin marked what was once a village, a home, perhaps even a future.
Veythor stood among the wreckage, unmoving. His cloak hung like a shadow against the dying light, and his face... serene, unreadable... carried the quiet of someone long past grief. He watched the horizon the way a grave watches its mourners: patiently, indifferently.
Luwarm faced him, chest heaving, sword shaking in his hands. His eyes flickered... not with fury, but with doubt. Doubt in himself. Doubt in the story he thought he was living. Daniya stood behind him, silent, trembling. Her fury had faded into something quieter. Not fear. Not even hate. But the dull ache of a person who no longer knew what to believe.
Veythor's voice slid across the air like a scalpel:
"Tell me, Luwarm. Do you truly believe that loyalty, love, or any of the little myths you clutch will save you? You want to be the hero. But you are not. None of us are. We're footnotes, written in margins no one reads."
Luwarm's grip faltered. His knuckles whitened. But still... he didn't move. Not because he feared the blade. But because somewhere deep in the marrow of him, Veythor's words rang true.
"You played your part well," Veythor said, stepping forward. "But the curtain's falling. And you... like the rest of us... are merely trapped under it."
Daniya's voice broke the silence, raw with despair:
"Stop! Just stop... this isn't a game!"
Veythor turned. For a moment, something in him twitched... like a memory trying to resurface... but the cold smirk returned just as quickly.
"It's the only game worth playing," he said. "And you've been dancing to its tune since the beginning."
Then, a pause. Rain began to fall. Soft. Inevitable. Like judgment.
"I can help you both," Veythor said suddenly, his tone flat as stone.
"What?" Daniya and Luwarm spoke in unison.
"Why would you?" Luwarm asked, voice trembling. "You have nothing to gain. We have nothing to offer."
A ghost of amusement passed through Veythor's face.
"You're wrong. There's plenty to gain. Your dear Prime Minister seeks to chain me... through Daniya, through marriage, through politics. If I accept, I become his puppet. If I resist, he'll crush me. But if you disappear… if you run… then his little plan collapses."
Luwarm looked dazed, like a man halfway through a dream he couldn't wake from.
Daniya stepped forward, tears welling in her eyes.
"Then why did you obey him in the first place? Why come to kill Luwarm? Why?"
"Because he offered me fifteen thousand Silham," Veythor replied, flatly. "A man must eat."
Daniya flinched.
"So what's your plan?" Luwarm asked. "What happens if we listen to you?"
"You run to Firhan. The empire may be your enemy, but it is vast... and blind. There, no one will look for two lovers running from power. If you join their army, Luwarm, you'll earn a house. A new life."
"That's madness," Luwarm said, eyes wide. "Firhan is a graveyard."
"In love and war," Veythor whispered, "everything is fair."
Daniya looked to Luwarm. Luwarm looked to her. Hope... fragile, stupid... bloomed in their eyes. They nodded.
"Yes," they said. "We'll go."
Veythor said nothing. Just turned and began to walk.
Love is blind, he thought.
It is a sickness, and like all sickness, it must run its course.
He heard their steps behind him. Sheep to slaughter, and yet so eager.
At the riverside, he paused. The water was clean, cold. Legends spoke of beasts living beneath it, forgotten monsters that surfaced only when summoned by betrayal.
"I'll wash," he said.
He knelt. The water was sharp on his skin. Refreshing. Quiet.
Then the kick came... hard, sudden. Luwarm's boot caught him square in the back. He fell into the river with a splash that echoed like a gunshot through the trees.
Veythor let himself sink for a moment. The water clung to him. Cold. Ancient.
When he rose, they were gone.
He laughed.
Not loudly. Not bitterly.
But with the mirth of a man who had just watched a comedy unfold exactly as scripted.
"Nice move," he said to no one. "Let's see how long you can run."
He climbed out of the river. His clothes clung to him. His hair dripped like blood. And he walked.
-----
Meanwhile, Daniya and Luwarm ran... through brambles, through fog, through stories they no longer understood. Trees clawed at them. Shadows whispered.
"That man," Daniya cried, "he was leading us into a trap. I know it. My father would never kill you. Never. He loves you like his own"
"I know," Luwarm whispered, but even he didn't believe it.
Why would a man like Veythor obey Safhire?
Why would a god bow to a butcher?
Then he stopped. Breath caught in his throat. Before them stood the shadow again. Not a man. Not anymore.
"Lord Supreme Commander…" Luwarm whispered.
Daniya screamed, "Just leave us alone! You don't understand—you're cold. You're empty. You've never loved anything in your life!"
For a second, something inside Veythor cracked. Not visibly. But deep. Like a bone under strain.
He laughed.
"Love," he said, "is a candle in a hurricane. Beautiful. But foolish. And always extinguished by the world."
Rain fell harder. Blades of ice against the skin. Luwarm stood frozen.
He thought of everything... of chains, of blood, of the little girl Daniya had once been. Of the dog he had been trained to be. Of the forbidden love he dared to feel.
"Then what do you want?" he whispered. "Just tell us. What do you want?"
Veythor's voice was quieter now.
"I wanted," he said, "to help a lovely couple… and destroy a Prime Minister's plan in the process. But I see now…"
He looked at them both. Soaked. Shivering. In love.
"…it's no longer possible."
Suddenly, Veythor grabbed Luwarm by the neck and lifted him off the ground.
"W-What are you doing?! Stop it!"
Daniya's voice cracked with panic. She unsheathed her sword and dashed forward, but Veythor calmly drew a small dagger and pressed it against Luwarm's eye.
"Come closer," he said coldly, "and he'll never see this beautiful, tragic world again."
She froze in place.
"Why…? Why are you doing this? Just let us leave, please…"
Veythor said nothing at first. Then, in a voice colder than steel:
"Luwarm, your time is over. I've come to take your life in the Reaper's stead. The love you fight for... it isn't worth dying for. Tell me... what did love ever give you? What did you gain from it?"
Luwarm gasped out, "No! You know nothing! In this cruel, monstrous, tragic... yet beautiful... world, only love is worth fighting for. I'm not the one who's worthless… It's you. You are the most hopeless, tragic man I've ever seen."
Veythor didn't flinch. He wasn't amused. For the first time, he looked… shaken.
Am I supposed to hope for myself?
That thought came and went like a ghost.
"I gave you a chance," he finally said. "But you refused. I'll take you to the Prime Minister."
Daniya screamed, "No! Stop... don't do it!"
"If you want to save him," Veythor said, turning to her, "come back to your father. I'll bring him there... but under one condition. Don't get seen. Not by the guards. Not by anyone."
Then he dashed forward, dragging Luwarm with him.
Tears spilled down Luwarm's cheeks.
"You're going to kill me, aren't you?"
Veythor looked back, his smile strangely gentle.
"Yes. You are correct."
Luwarm, still crying, smiled through it.
They were about the same age.... Veythor and Luwarm.... but they were born on opposite sides of fate.
"Lord Veythor…" Luwarm whispered. "I always wanted to live a happy life, but… every time I find joy, it slips away. Again and again. I always wanted to be someone like you. I always wanted to"
Shnnk.
Veythor decapitated him mid-sentence. He didn't let him finish.
Blood sprayed across his cloak. A red parrot circled overhead, though it didn't seem like a bird at all. Then, as if it were never real, it vanished.
Veythor held Luwarm's severed head in his hand.
He didn't laugh.
He wasn't pleased.
He wasn't even angry.
He felt nothing.
And yet, Luwarm smiled even in death.
And we all know what happened after this.
Veythor returned to the present. The smoke from his cigarette curled like ghosts in the air the door burst open. A soldier stood breathless.
"Supreme Commander! I bring grave news from the southern border!"
Veythor didn't even turn.
"Yes? What of it?"
"The Firhanian Army… They're coming. One hundred forty-seven thousand soldiers. And one of their top generals leads them. The Emperor has ordered you to intercept them and resolve the matter."
Veythor exhaled smoke into the dim room. His eyes did not betray a single flicker of emotion.