"Have you ever wondered why everything began? Who was it that set it all into motion? How was it done, and what is the essence of this thing we call existence?"
And now, after all of that, it seems as though everything has already come to an end.
The other man spoke in a hushed tone:
"But… how many times have you done it?"
The strange man answered with a voice as hollow as the night:
"I have done it m—"
Acrivos, a twelve–year-old boy, woke suddenly from his sleep, his chest weighed down by an unfamiliar heaviness. He could not understand what he had just seen in that dream, but the words and the images refused to leave his mind.
He dragged his small body toward the kitchen beside his parents' room, where the muffled groans of his mother and the faint murmurs of his father bled into the silence of dawn.
He whispered to himself, almost as if trying to convince his own heart:
"I've grown used to this sound."
In the reflection of the old mirror on the wall, he caught sight of the five strange creatures, suspended in the air, motionless as statues. A voice deep inside him whispered:
"Since the day I was born, they've been there. No one knows what they are. But I've heard stories—there's a band of heroes searching for answers. I want to be one of them. I want to learn. I want to understand."
Suddenly, his mother's warm voice called out:
"Acrivos, come. We're going to Lady Kretinaza's house. I must finish sewing her gowns. Walk with me."
He replied with a mix of enthusiasm and hesitation:
"All right, Mother."
His mother worked as a servant for Princess Kretinaza, whom everyone whispered about as "the cursed one."
Once, Kretinaza had been nothing more than a beggar, scavenging scraps to survive. But then she married the king, and overnight became arrogant, cruel—acting as if she herself had built the empire she now flaunted.
Acrivos' father worked as a shoe shiner on the dirty streets, and so their family's life was drenched in humiliation and constant degradation.
That truth burned inside Acrivos' chest, but beneath the ashes he hid a small flame:
"One day I'll have my revenge. I'll join the Great Band, and the age of disgrace will end forever."
At last, they arrived at the grim palace.
"Mother," Acrivos said with a spark in his eyes, "I want to go to Cain's house."
But she stopped him gently:
"No, wait a little. Today's work will be long. Stay with me."
Yet Acrivos' mind drifted elsewhere, consumed by a single thought: the Legend of the Three Swords, which he had heard in school. It filled him with awe, as if hope itself had been forged into steel.
"I love this legend. I wish I could see it with my own eyes. But how?"
Just then, a commanding voice rang out:
"Neir!"
"Yes, my lady?" his mother answered meekly.
"Your son will not stay in the palace today," Kretinaza declared.
"As you wish," Neir replied.
She turned to her son:
"Go to Cain, Acrivos."
He smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Mother."
---
On his way, Acrivos overheard whispers about "the child of the crucified corpse." They said a woman, condemned over eleven thousand and eight hundred years ago for conceiving a child in sin, had been executed—her head severed, her body nailed to a cross as a warning. And from her corpse, the child had slipped into the world. No one knew if he had lived or died.
Acrivos did not understand why people spoke of such horrors, and he did not care. His only concern was reaching his cousin Cain.
When he arrived, he called out loudly:
"Cain! Cain!"
Cain greeted him with a grin:
"Oh, Acrivos! How are you?"
"I'm fine. Tell me, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"The Fifth Band," Cain answered.
They spoke the words together like a secret oath.
"Yes," Acrivos said. "We'll go today and learn what it takes to join them."
At that moment, his uncle Krezitch appeared, smiling faintly.
"How are you, boy?" he asked.
"I'm well, Uncle. But… what is it you wish to teach me?"
With a cryptic look, Krezitch said:
"The end should never come at its time. It is only natural for it to arrive at the beginning."
Puzzled, Acrivos pressed him:
"What do you mean?"
"You'll understand when you climb upward," his uncle replied. "But do not forget the mark of d—"
Cain interrupted, bubbling with energy:
"Acrivos, come on! Let's go!"
---
Together, they made their way to the great hall.
"How do we get inside?" Acrivos asked.
"Easily," Cain said with confidence. "We'll just meet the leader."
Inside, the beauty of the chamber struck them, but the faces of the people were pale, stricken with fear.
"They look haunted," Cain whispered.
"It doesn't matter," Acrivos muttered. "Let's see the leader."
They knocked firmly, and a tired smile greeted them.
"Enter," said the man within.
"Greetings, Commander," they said together.
The leader's eyes narrowed kindly. "What brings you here, children?"
"We wish to know the requirements to join the Fifth Band," they replied.
The leader chuckled softly. "Few requirements—but strict ones: you must be at least twenty, have a strong body, the blessing of your parents, and a unique skill we can use. Above all, your will must reach level six. Only then may you enter."
Acrivos asked earnestly: "How do I measure my will?"
"There is a ritual," the leader explained. "The Pool of Boiling Blood, within the Great Temple. But no one under twenty may attempt it."
"I will try," Acrivos said firmly.
Then the leader's tone sharpened.
"You, child with the white strand… stay. The other may leave. I wish to speak to you alone."
Cain obeyed reluctantly.
The leader asked: "What would you do if one or both of your parents died?"
Acrivos frowned. "Why such a question?"
"I ask it to everyone," the leader replied.
"But you did not ask my cousin," Acrivos protested.
"He came once before, with his father."
Acrivos took a breath. "Then I would kill the one who killed them. And if no home remained for me, I would sleep in the streets."
A small smile crossed the leader's lips. "A good answer. Farewell."
But as Acrivos turned to leave, he noticed a strange mark upon the man's hand.
"What is that mark?" he asked.
The leader's eyes darkened. "Why do you care?"
"It looks strange—a circle split into two perfect halves."
"It was given to me when I was your age," the leader said.
"By whom?"
The answer came cold and final: "Ankh."
And with that, the conversation ended.
---
Hours later, after playing with Cain, Acrivos returned home.
"Father? Mother? Where are you?"
"I'm here, my dear," his mother's gentle voice answered. "How was your day?"
"I'm fine. What's for supper?"
"Bread and water."
He smiled faintly. "Thank you, Mother."
She closed her eyes, tears slipping silently down her face.
That night, Acrivos dreamed again—a figure wielding three swords, the mark glowing on his hands as he strangled him.
He woke, shaken, and went for water. But from his parents' room came noises unlike the familiar ones.
He pushed the door open.
A man was there—splitting his father into three bloody pieces. His mother screamed as the blade pierced her belly, then her head fell before Acrivos' feet.
The boy screamed and lunged at the stranger. But the man seized him, strangled him, and in the dim light Acrivos saw it again: the same mark as the leader's.
Three swords tore into his stomach. He fell, gasping.
The stranger fled to the left. Another man rushed from the right, hearing the cries. He saw Acrivos on the ground.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"No… it was the commander, it wa—"
But Acrivos froze. The commander himself stood there, his hands clean, his skin bare of any mark.
Darkness swallowed the boy.
When he woke, he was surrounded by Cain, his uncle, and a nurse. Midnight struck, but outside the window stood a figure with burning red eyes, gazing with hatred hoarded for millennia. Slowly, the man raised his hand. The mark gleamed.
Acrivos screamed with all that was left in him, before consciousness slipped away once more.