In the marble halls of Bellborne, the capital of Varex, the throne room trembled with King Lumen's voice. His crown beamed under the torchlight as he slammed his fist on the golden armrest.
"A whole village… destroyed… by a boy?!" His eyes burned with disbelief as he snapped at the trembling messenger.
"Tell me, was there anyone of worth in that rotten place?! Or have I wasted my time listening to you babble!?"
The messenger stammered, sweat rolling down his forehead. "N-no, Your Majesty. N-nothing important, only… only the Von Seraphis family."
The king's jaw clenched. "The Von Seraphis…? You dare say nothing important when you mean them?!"
His voice thundered like a storm. "Do you know who you are speaking of?!"
The messenger dropped to his knees, choking out apologies, but King Lumen's fury only deepened. His voice echoed against the pillars.
"The heir… of Von Seraphis was c-c-crushed under a rock like a dog by a b-boy..." His teeth ground together.
Then, with a wave of his hand, his voice came cold and sharp. "All of you. OUT!"
The line of armored knights instantly struck their fists to their chests, bowing before rushing out. Only one man remained—General Ruford, a towering figure clad in black steel, his hand resting on the hilt of his massive blade.
King Lumen's glare softened only slightly as he leaned forward. "Ruford. This disgrace… this insult to my crown. A boy running free, leaving ashes in his wake. I want him hunted. Do you hear me? Hunted."
General Ruford bowed, his voice steady as stone. "Yes, my king. The boy will not live long. I'll see to it."
---
Elsewhere in Bellborne, in the quieter district where the air wasn't so thick with politics, Mash Valeender sat on a wooden bench outside her small house. She hadn't spoken much since morning. Her hands gripped her skirt, her eyes blank, as if her soul had left her.
Across from her, Remy, a short-haired girl with round glasses and a gentle expression, sat with a folded newspaper in her lap. She reached out, touching Mash's shoulder.
"Mash… you don't have to hold it in." Her voice was soft, coaxing. "Your whole village… your family… I can't even imagine what you're going through."
Mash's lips trembled, but no sound came. Her mind replayed it endlessly—her brother's face, the rumors, and the cruel truth that her own blood had caused this tragedy. Her home was gone, her mother was gone.
Remy looked down at the paper in her hand. Her brow furrowed as she read aloud.
"'A giant boulder crushed the village, destroying homes and lives. The disaster was caused by a single boy, now missing. Marine Marina, a surviving villager, has testified that she was kidnapped by this boy, Ash Valeender. Evidence found on-site points to him burying multiple bodies, including missing villagers, a noble, and a mercenary. His current whereabouts remain unknown.'"
Remy lowered the paper, her voice tightening. "They've put a price on him of two hundred gold coins."
"Big brother.... What are you doing...?"
Mash squeezed her eyes shut, her fists trembling on her lap. The words on the paper burned into her chest. Her brother's name, printed for the whole world to see.
---
The wagon creaked as it rolled along the dirt road. Inside, between sacks of grain and a few traveling peasants, sat a boy with his hood pulled low.
He kept his head down. His breathing was shallow, as though afraid the world might hear him.
One of the peasants, a tanned man with rough hands, looked his way. "Kid. What's your name? I haven't seen you 'round here before."
Ash raised his eyes only slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. "...Mashen Chevalian."
The man grunted, accepting the answer without much thought, before returning to his own conversation with another traveler.
Ash pulled the hood tighter, hiding his face. Mashen Chevalian. That's who I am now.
The wagon swayed, but his mind was far heavier than the road beneath them. Guilt dug into him like knives. He remembered Marine's face. He remembered the houses falling apart, the boulder crashing down, the silence that followed after screams stopped.
I wasn't trying to prove myself to begin with, I ran because I was afraid. After what happened, he simply left Marine. He was really scared.
He clenched his fists so tight his nails bit into his palms. His throat burned as he tried to swallow the lump that had been there since that night.
He tilted his head, staring at the floorboards of the wagon as if they could give him answers. But I don't want to die yet. I… I wanted to change. I told myself I would become kind, that I would tell people the Tale of a Failure. But what kind of tale is it if the failure dies before it even begins?
His chest tightened, and he gritted his teeth. I'll get out of Varex and I'll cross into Luthian. I'll live as Mashen Chevalian, and maybe one day… I'll atone. But right now… I can only run.
The wagon hit a bump, jerking him from his thoughts.
The wagon rolled toward the borderlands where Varex met Luthian, and the air changed as soon as they neared the frontier.
The paved roads from Varex were gone, replaced with dirt paths with holes. Smoke rose in the distance where whole shanty towns sprawled along the edge of the forests, built from scraps of wood and sheet metal that looked intirely from low class residence.
There were beggars crouched by the roadside with hollow eyes, children clutching bowls, waiting for passing travelers to toss coin or crumbs.
Merchants tried to sell rotten fruit and rusted tools and their voices was hoarse from shouting the same desperate offers all day.
Mercenaries loitered near taverns built from mud-brick and stone, their weapons displayed more proudly than the inn signs.
Thieves worked in the open, grabbing what they could before ducking into alleys, knowing the guards here didn't care.
Closer to the crossing, watchtowers leaned over the road. The soldiers stationed there looked tired and underfed.
Some took bribes openly, coins slipping into their hands before they waved wagons through. Others simply didn't bother checking papers at all, so long as wagons paid the toll.
This was the borderlands.
It was where the failed and the desperate came. People who had no homes, no families, no countries that wanted them.
Ash sat with his hood low, pretending to be one of them. He had paid extra just to keep the wagon moving without questions, slipping the driver coins that were once meant for his survival.
Then, the bench creaked as someone leaned toward him.
A young man with striking red hair and a sharp jawline grinned at him.
His eyes were the kind that carried mischief, like someone who never stayed long enough in one place to regret anything.
"Hey, kid! Who are you?" His voice was loud, careless, as if the whole wagon needed to hear him.
Ash hesitated before muttering, "I'm Mashen."
The red-haired man slapped his knee and leaned back. "Mashen, huh? Name's Faintz. I used to run with a crew, but we got caught hitting a bank. So the whole plan went to shit. Half the group's in chains now and the rest scattered. So here I am." He tilted his head, smirking like the world was a game.
"You're here to survive too, right?"
Ash glanced at him. Faintz looked young, but his build and the tired creases around his eyes put him closer to his twenties. Still, his energy felt wild, untamed, and almost boyish.
"…Yeah," Ash said softly, lowering his eyes again. "I'm just here to survive."
The wagon rocked as it crossed a patch of dirt road, but Faintz leaned in closer until his words were drowned beneath the noise.
His grin faded into something quieter.
"Do you want to join me?" he whispered.
Ash raised his head slowly. "Join you…?"
Faintz chuckled. "Yeah. You see, Luthian's my home. I grew up in the alleys of those border towns, knew every corner, every rotten tavern, every guard who'd look the other way. But when I left, someone filled the hole I left behind."
He paused, his grin twisting into something bitter. "My cousin. He runs a crew now. They scrape by on robberies and smuggling, nothing big, but enough to keep bellies filled. When I came back, I found him sitting where I used to sit."
Ash listened, his hands tightening on his knees. He already knew where this was going.
"They'll be hitting caravans, shops, anything worth a coin. We don't care what burns down as long as something's in our pockets. You—" Faintz tapped Ash's chest lightly with two fingers, "—you could blend right in."
Ash stared at him.
For a long time, the wagon's creaks and the murmurs of other passengers filled the silence. His heart sank with the weight of what had already happened in Varex.
"No." His voice came out steady.
Faintz tilted his head. "No? Kid, you don't survive here unless you take what isn't yours. You got nothing? Then you earn nothing. You said it yourself, that you're here to survive, right?"
Ash looked down at his hands, the dirt wedged under his nails, the faint scars across his knuckles. Survive? No… that's a lie. I wasn't here to survive.
He clenched his fists and whispered. "I was lying earlier. I'm not here to survive. I'm here to atone."
Faintz blinked, confused, then let out a laugh that startled a few passengers. "Atone? For what, kid? You don't look like a priest."
Ash didn't reply. "Why would I answer?"