The last drop of wine slid down Dada's throat, leaving a faint burn that did little to warm the coldness settling inside him. He stared at the cup for a long time before setting it aside. Around him, the noise of the marketplace faded into a distant hum — laughter, chatter, clinking coins — yet none of it reached him.
He leaned back on the rough wooden chair outside the small tavern and tilted his head toward the sky. The sun was still bright, but above it, dark clouds were slowly forming, gathering like a secret the heavens were too afraid to tell.
"Trouble's coming." he muttered, watching them swallow the light bit by bit.
That sky reminded him of the day he left the old man's house — the day he refused the favor that man had asked for him and the first prince. The memory came sharp and bitter, like a knife dipped in salt.
He had run that day. Run like a coward.
"He's better off with the prince," he whispered to himself. The words sounded empty, even to his own ears.
Anyone passing by would have thought him drunk — just another lonely man enjoying the afternoon sun. They would never guess what he truly was: a man on a murderous mission, sent to hunt the emperor's blood.
Dada's hand brushed against the hilt of his sword. He thought of the three princes he was supposed to kill. He'd met the first one already — strong, steady, and sharp- eyed. That one would be hard to kill. The other two? He had no clue where they were. Since the day he left the palace, the wind had carried no news of them. Only silence.
He was still lost in his thoughts when a woman's cry pierced the crowd.
"My child! My child!"
Dada turned his head, frowning. A woman stumbled through the busy street, her face pale with fear, her voice breaking as she called. "Please! Help me find my child!"
People stopped what they were doing and gathered around her. Some asked questions. Others whispered.
Then it hit him.
A sudden, sharp pain — deep and unbearable — exploded in his head. He pressed his hand to his temple and groaned. It was not a normal ache. It felt as if someone had cracked open his skull and poured a thousand voices inside, all shouting at once. His breath came in short, shaky bursts.
He tried to stand, but his vision blurred. The ground tilted, the world spun, and before he could steady himself—
Darkness.
---
He was running.
A little boy, barefoot, tears streaking down his cheeks. The boy's voice trembled as he called out, "Mother! Where are you? Father! I am here! Please answer me!"
He ran past broken fences and through the overgrown path behind a small house. His heart pounded with fear. "Mother! Father!" His cries echoed into the emptiness until only the sound of his breathing remained.
Then everything turned white.
---
Dada jolted awake with a gasp, his body drenched in sweat. His eyes darted around the room. A low, unfamiliar ceiling. A chair. A table. A sword leaning against the wall.
"What was that?" he muttered, running a hand down his face. His heart was still racing.
A dream. It had to be.
But it felt too real — like a memory.
He groaned as another wave of pain struck him, forcing him to grab the table for balance. The sound of something clattering echoed — maybe a plate, maybe a cup. He didn't care.
"It… it isn't a dream." he whispered.
The door creaked open and a young man rushed in, dressed like a servant. "Sir, are you all right?"
Dada's hand moved to his sword out of instinct. "Who are you?" His voice was cold and low, like steel.
The servant blinked, startled, but quickly smiled. "You do not remember, sir? You fainted in front of our inn earlier today. There was commotion — a woman lost her child, and everyone went to help. You passed out, and no one noticed until a man walking by found you. He brought you here and paid for your room… and even your meal."
Dada's eyes narrowed. "A man?"
"Yes, sir." the servant said, nodding eagerly. "He did not stay long. Just asked us to take care of you and left."
Dada turned toward the table and saw the meal laid out neatly — rice, a bowl of soup, and a jug of water. He had not noticed it before.
The servant continued, "You have been asleep for hours, sir. I thought you were dead at first."
Ignoring the man's chatter, Dada asked, "Who was he? The one who helped me?"
The servant frowned, trying to recall. "I do not know him, sir. Never seen him before. He looked ordinary, but… something about him felt different. Like he did not belong here."
"Leave me." Dada said quietly.
The man bowed and turned to go, but stopped suddenly, snapping his fingers as though he remembered something. "Ah, yes! That man — he had a mole on his neck. A small one, just below his ear. And there was a dog with him."
Then he left, closing the door softly behind him.
Dada stood still for a long time, staring at the empty space where the man had stood.
A mole… and a dog.
He did not know anyone like that. But for some reason, the description made his chest tighten. Who would go so far for a stranger?
"There are still kind people left." he murmured. He did not sound convinced.
He sat down, took a careful look at the food, then began to eat slowly. Each bite tasted like nothing. His mind was elsewhere — back in that strange dream.
The little boy's voice echoed in his head again. Mother. Father.
His hand stilled.
He had no memory of his childhood. None. The earliest thing he could recall was the palace — the emperor's cold gaze, the sound of steel against steel, the endless drills. He had grown up with orders, not lullabies. With blades, not parents.
But that house… that voice…
"What if they are alive?" he whispered.
He looked down at his trembling hands.
"I must find that place."
---
A muffled voice came from the room next door. Dada's instincts kicked in immediately. He froze, then leaned closer to the wall, listening.
"Are you sure about this?" someone asked.
"Yes. People said they have seen the third prince around here."
Dada's breath hitched.
"The third prince? Here? In the capital?" he whispered to himself.
Another voice scoffed. "You sure? I heard he is sick. Been sick for years. Maybe he is dead already."
A loud thump followed — perhaps the first man hitting the other. "Watch your tongue before you lose it! The emperor gave them a task. Sick or not, he will fight to win. I am telling you — it is really him."
Their voices faded, but Dada stayed still. His mind was spinning.
The third prince. Here.
He clenched his fists.
The mission the emperor gave him demanded that all three princes die. But now… his heart hesitated. He had his own questions to answer — about his past, about that strange dream, about who he really was.
Two paths stood before him — one paved in blood, the other in truth.
After a long thought and silence, he rose from the chair, tightened the belt around his waist, and reached for his sword.
When he stepped out into the street, the clouds had swallowed the sun completely. The wind had changed.
"First, I will...Yes. That is what I will do." he murmured. His voice was calm but heavy.
Then he disappeared into the crowd — just another shadow among many, walking toward fate.
---
Author here
I think I'll be stopping the story here. It got rejected and I don't think anyone's actually ready it. I love this story though and wished to know how it'll turn out. It's quite unfortunate