Chapter 3: Break the Grief – Part A
"Even shadows tremble when grief breaks free."
"Why am I still alive?" Leornars whispered, his voice barely a breath. "I should've joined Mother by now… My mind aches… my bones feel dry. Am I hungry? Am I thirsty?" He paused, eyes unfocused, head banging lightly against the cold stone wall. "No... that's not it… then what is it? Who... am I?"
Leornars sat slumped in the corner of a cramped dungeon cell, bound by rusting brass cuffs—two around his ankles and one on his left wrist. His right hand had been left free, the only mercy given to him so he could eat. He stared silently at the ground, mumbling incoherent phrases as if trying to stitch his fractured mind back together.
The only person who visited him with any semblance of care was Sahara Kurnov, the mayor's daughter. Under strict supervision, she brought him food—never speaking much, only watching. But today, she knelt beside him.
"This isn't you…" she said gently. "This isn't the same Leornars I knew back then."
He didn't look at her—only at the bowl she held: a mix of dry bread and thin soup. She placed it slowly on the floor as a guard stepped forward and unlocked his right cuff. Leornars immediately grabbed the bowl and devoured the food ravenously.
The guard sneered, spitting on his head. "Disgusting freak."
Leornars glanced up at him—not in rage, but with a cold, vacant stare that made the guard instinctively step back.
"You should leave now, Sahara," the guard grunted. "This little pest is about to get his treatment."
He shoved her toward the exit. She hesitated, casting one last glance at Leornars before disappearing behind the thick iron door.
Days passed. Then weeks.
Unbeknownst to the guards, Sahara had been slipping healing crystal dust into his food—subtle, nearly undetectable. And for the first time in four years, Leornars muttered aloud in the darkness:
"I… I am Leornars… son of Emalian Seers Avantris… and I'll get my retribution."
His voice was hoarse, cracked like dry parchment, but it was enough. Enough to remember who he was.
Every day, he scraped the metal fork he'd been given to eat with against the cuffs. Slowly. Quietly. Relentlessly.
Two weeks later, when Sahara returned, the routine began again.
The guard unlocked his cuff.
That was his mistake.
With swift precision, Leornars stood, and the ankle cuffs fell away. The guard looked up, startled. He opened his mouth to shout—but gagged suddenly, staring in shock at Leornars, who had shoved a rusted fork down his throat. Blood splattered against the stone walls as the guard collapsed.
Sahara screamed. He turned to her, kicked her in the head, and sent her crumpling to the ground. He gently placed the bowl beside her, sat, and continued eating—humming a strange, tuneless melody.
When he was done, he stepped out of the cell—and into chaos.
The halls ran red that night. With only a tree branch and a fork, Leornars tore through the prison and into the streets. Screams filled the air. Kurnov Town descended into bloodied madness.
"The scent of fresh air… divine," Leornars said softly, drenched in blood. "Life is never fair. Never kind. One wrong move… and you're dead."
A baker tried to flee. Leornars tackled him, found a pot of boiling oil, and poured it over the man's face, laughing maniacally. That night, over 10,000 people perished—slain by a boy who had once been caged, forgotten.
---
The mayor, desperate, called an emergency town assembly.
"This crisis will be dealt with!" he declared to the terrified masses. Then, without delay, he rushed to the dungeon—only to find his daughter barely conscious, bleeding on the cold floor. His face twisted in fury.
"If you see him, kill him!" he roared. "Kill the boy!"
Knights stormed out.
Only to be met by a blood-curdling scream.
The door burst open. Leornars stepped through, soaked head to toe in blood. In his hand, he clutched a tree branch, completely red and dripping.
The mayor drew his sword and charged.
Leornars didn't flinch.
With one devastating kick to the jaw, he sent the mayor flying, disarming him instantly. Leornars walked toward the blade and picked it up.
"You know…" he said, examining the sword. "I've always been curious... What color is the human heart? A quick test won't hurt."
The mayor tried to crawl away.
But Leornars was faster.
He pounced, pinning the mayor down.
Then, with cold finality, he plunged the blade into his thigh.
"Now I'm pretty sure… you're not going anywhere," Leornars whispered with a cruel smile.