One hand rested on his sword's hilt. His mind may have refused to remember, but his body had not. After all, this was a body that once destroyed gods.
Every battle had landed on him like a heavy hammer. Each blow hardened him, made him stronger. Even if his mind rejected the past, his body had learned every lesson.
With heavy steps, Aelor studied the Cathedral.
He was waiting for the next move from the strange presence that gave him this uneasy feeling.
But it never came. That presence, that malignant intent, had suddenly vanished. Yet that didn't matter. Aelor had always left the choice to fight to the other one.
It was something he had done for centuries. He never chased those who ran. Never fought those who didn't want to fight. He had never broken this rule — and he wouldn't now.
He moved on. Once again, alone among the ashes. Eternal.
Aelor left the cold stone of the Cathedral behind. Each step echoed across the ruined walls, but that echo did not belong to him. It was the world trying — and failing — to mimic him. A broken imitation. The echo of something already long gone — a ghost of a ghost.
The sky was still the same: colorless, blank, expressionless. But now there was something else in the air — a waiting silence. It wasn't calm, nor was it dark. It was alert. Like a beast hidden behind the trees, watching its prey without breathing.
Aelor noticed. But he didn't turn his head. Sometimes, not knowing what watches you is safer than facing it.
Some intentions couldn't be cut with a sword. Some enemies fought by refusing to fight.
Aelor's hands were still empty.
But his stance — it wasn't one of aggression. It was one of existence. He endured not through immortality, but through walking on even when forgotten.
He stopped when he reached a hill. Below him lay a city buried in ash. Once blessed by the gods, then destroyed by their own hands. No prayers remained. No curses. Only ruins.
And at the center of those ruins... movement.
Small. Unclear. A blinking shadow.
Aelor saw it. But he didn't move. His rule still held: a fight only had meaning if the other chose it too.
The shadow didn't move. So Aelor walked on.
The path led him somewhere unexpected.
In a valley still smoking, behind the ash-covered hills, there was a living settlement. Houses of stone. Moss on the roofs. Faint footsteps moved between them. People.
They were few. Maybe fifty, maybe sixty. But the activity was intense — so intense it could be seen from kilometers away.
Of course, Aelor saw it as if it were only meters from him. He had gained that inhuman clarity long ago.
A monster was attacking the village. Unlike any he had seen before. Green skin, four meters tall, three hundred kilograms of brute strength.
A few villagers, lightly armored, tried to fight it. But their efforts were useless. One by one, they fell. Desperate farmers grabbed tools to defend themselves, but they couldn't stop it. How could they stop a beast that a dozen trained fighters couldn't?
They couldn't. They can't. The monster swung its arms, collapsing buildings, killing anyone in its path. And Aelor kept walking.
The rule was clear: he would not choose the battle. He walked his path, untouched, uninvolved.
But he watched.
The villagers ran in panic, looking for shelter.
All but one.
A small girl, holding the hand of her mother trapped under rubble, refused to run.
When Aelor saw her, his body trembled uncontrollably. Pain surged in his head — worse than anything he had ever felt. It was as if his skull would burst.
***
The sky was bright blue. Birds sang lullabies from the trees. The sunlight welcomed a beautiful day.
Aelor watched from his window. It was his day off. But his sword was beside him, and his tunic already on. It was wartime. An attack could happen any moment. A battle could begin at any time.
Aelor was a warrior. He had trained in the academy. Fought many duels. Swung his sword countless times. But he had never seen real war. Never felt its terror.
What he didn't know was that today, he would face everything he had never known.
Hours passed. Like everyone else, he went to the cathedral to pray, to ask forgiveness.
During his worship, the building began to tremble. At first, like the others, he assumed it was just another earthquake — common in those days. But the screams that followed changed his mind.
They lived in an age ruled by gods. The gods waged war against each other. The easiest way to destroy a rival god was to destroy their worshippers.
That's what had come to this peaceful town.
There were warriors in the village, yes. But they were trained to fight men or beasts — not the Sihiz, the god-army's vanguard.
Before Aelor could even understand what was happening, the cathedral collapsed. A place once full of life became hell. In the streets, everything was dying — humans, animals, buildings.
Aelor barely escaped the rubble. But it was too late.
Everything had happened in seconds. The town was gone. The Sihiz had left.
Some people survived. Mostly those lucky enough to be buried under debris. A few crawled out. Very few.
A girl — maybe eight years old — was trying to free her mother from the ruins. So focused, she didn't notice the wall behind her about to fall.
Aelor wanted to shout. To warn her. But he couldn't. He had never seen horror like this.
His feet were frozen. He couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Could only watch. He wanted to help her. To protect her. But he couldn't.
The only thing he managed to do was shut his eyes as the wall collapsed.
When he opened his eyes, it was over.
He rushed to the girl. Hoping she was still alive, he removed the stones.
But all he saw was her face. Smiling through the blood.
A girl he had watched grow. Given sweets. Played games with.
Now dead, trying to save her mother.
***
It was a memory from centuries ago. One he never wanted to recall.
Aelor dropped to his knees.
Ash had risen to his ankles, but he remained there, still. In front of him lay the body of another small girl — still holding her mother's hand. Just like before. The same look. Same grip. Same innocence. Same helplessness.
But this time, things were different.
This time, he could save her.
He had made the rules. And never broken them — because the world didn't deserve more.
But now, this girl had made him remember something:
Some lives deserve to be saved even if it means breaking the rules.
The monster had stopped chasing the villagers. It now looked at the little girl who hadn't even tried to escape. It raised its massive hand to crush her tiny body — but never brought it down.
Aelor's sword had flown across nearly two kilometers — and split the beast in half.
It was the first time he had broken his rule in centuries. He hadn't waited for the enemy to choose. He had chosen.
He sheathed his sword and walked on.
He didn't look at the girl. Didn't look at the villagers staring at the man who had killed a monster with one strike. Didn't look at the broken houses.
He only looked forward. And as he walked away, he said one thing:
"Forgive me, Lirya."