Life is beautiful, yet death terrifies us.
We are born, and so we die.
We live to protect, and often—we die for what we protect.
Life is life, after all.
But each of us clings to something precious, something worth crossing every boundary for if it is ever threatened.
From hundreds of kilometers away, explosions echoed through the sky. The clash of swords rang out, mingling with the agonizing cries of the fallen.
War is ugly—yet so, at times, is peace.
Amidst all this chaos, a young boy struggled to climb a mountain. His hands trembled, not from fear, but from exhaustion. In this world, both blessed and cursed, existed a force known as Soul Essence—or Soul Energy, as many called it.
The people of this realm could fly, heal, and perform feats beyond even the wildest imagination of magic itself.
But this boy—he was different. His eyes showed no emotion, yet within those beautiful, hollow pupils swirled an ocean of loneliness. It was as if, even if he were to weep endlessly, the oceans themselves would be too shallow to contain his sorrow.
After a long, painful struggle, he reached the mountain's peak. His hands were caked in dust, his clothes drenched in mud and torn to shreds. He sat near the cliff's edge, knees pulled close to his chest, gazing at the blood-dyed battlefield below under a fading crimson sky.
The mountain was dusted with snow yet still held patches of green. Breaking the silence, the boy whispered to himself:
"Life is happy. Life is sad.
Life is people—and people are terrifying."
He closed his eyes for a moment before murmuring again,
"What good is life, when all one does is take what was never theirs?"
Running his fingers through the dirt, he traced invisible words into the ground.
"I cannot understand what life truly is. Why do they fight so hard to live? Why do they steal from others when death awaits them all the same?"
He shut his eyes again, letting memories flood his mind.
The Land of Eryndor—a continent so vast that no soul truly knew its bounds. Over eight billion humans dwelled within it, not counting the countless other races who, despite their power, lived in fear of humankind's cruelty.
Eryndor was split between two colossal powers:
The Empire of Vaelora, and The Empire of Nhemora—locked in a War of Faith for thousands of years.
No truce was ever possible, for their gods themselves were enemies.
The empires divided the land based on conquest, yet the continent was so immense that even they had lost track of how much they truly ruled.
Those far from the battlefields knew nothing of the true war. Each believed the other side to be evil, salvation attainable only through extermination or conversion.
But not everyone was fortunate. Those who rejected both empires' faiths were branded as heretics—cast aside, exiled into what was known as the Neutral Zone.
It was the only place where people of forbidden beliefs could exist. Poverty plagued them, but survival itself was their greatest victory.
Over time, the Neutral Zone grew. Clans formed, each crafting their own laws and systems to survive. But still, inequality persisted.
"You cannot betray your god. You cannot forsake your faith," they were told.
And so, peace here existed only beneath the shadow of war.
Thirty cities lay scattered across the Neutral Zone. They minted their own currency, but fear governed their lives. Either empire could enter at will, under the pretext of divine inspection.
And if anyone was caught mocking an imperial god—they were tortured in public, their screams echoing until death claimed them.
Amid this fragile calm, there existed a small, nameless faction. They never chose a name, believing that nothing in this world was truly theirs—not land, not gold, not even their lives. Only their blood belonged to them.
From this forsaken land of wounds and hope, a new light began to shine.
A man rushed through the narrow streets, colliding with several people along the way. Though he possessed the power to fly, he seemed to have forgotten it in his panic.
After a frantic sprint, he arrived before a wooden house surrounded by a crowd. Nervously, he pushed through and knocked on the door.
It swung open—and a wooden stick struck his head.
"Oooh! I'm sorry, Master! I thought it was one of those scoundrels again!" cried an elderly maid.
The man—Ryder—muttered inwardly, "How many more people have you hit, you maniac?"
With a forced smile, he said aloud, "It's fine, I'm not hurt."
Though his bleeding nose betrayed him.
Inside, a gentle woman lay on a bed. Ryder rushed to her side and asked softly, "Are you alright? Does it still hurt?"
With a tender smile, she whispered, "I'm fine, love. I knew you'd worry, but everything's alright now."
The old maid entered again, cradling a newborn baby wrapped in thick cloth to keep him warm.
Ryder and his wife, Sophia, looked upon the child—their first. A miracle amidst war.
Ryder's voice trembled. "Can I… touch him?" he asked, glancing nervously at the maid.
"Of course, Master," she replied with an unsettling grin. "But please, be gentle. The young master is fragile."
Sophia chuckled softly as her husband carefully held their son.
"So this is what it feels like to be a father… I—I don't even know what to say!" Ryder stammered.
Sophia smiled. "It's alright, love. You don't have to say anything. You're a father now."
Ryder laughed, "Yes… I'm a father."
They gazed at their child, whose stillness was uncanny.
"Look at him," Ryder whispered. "So calm… even as a newborn."
Sophia smiled faintly. "Like father, like son."
That night, the village rejoiced. A grand banquet was held in celebration—Ryder, the village chieftain, had an heir.
Music filled the air. Laughter and joy rippled through the crowd.
But happiness never lasts forever.
As the night deepened, one of Ryder's men approached him, grinning.
"Boss, now that you're a father… how about I ask that patrol guard out for a drink?"
Ryder froze. Sweat rolled down his temple, while Sophia's expression turned unreadable.
The man chuckled. "Kidding! I know Boss would never dare flirt with her. After all, he already called her the most beautiful woman in the world!"
Ryder's thoughts screamed, "Are you trying to get me killed, you fool?!"
Sophia smiled sweetly. "Oh? I'd love to hear more about what you and that 'beautiful patrol lady' discussed. Why don't you and I have a little chat, darling?"
Ryder's soul left his body.
The night went on with laughter, food, and cheer—but beneath the joy lingered a strange chill in the wind.
A cold breeze swept through the village, carrying the distant thunder of galloping horses.
"Is it… them?" whispered a woman to her husband.
Moments later, a royal envoy burst into view. They fired blazing energy spheres into the air to announce their arrival. Joy turned to dread.
This was not an unexpected visit—but the fear it brought was suffocating.
At the head of the envoy rode a commander from the Empire of Nhemora.
He dismounted, flanked by soldiers, while others surrounded the village to prevent escape.
The commander's horse stepped forward, its hooves pounding like drums of doom.
"You seem to be enjoying yourselves," the commander said coldly.
The villagers immediately fell to their knees, bowing in respect before the imperial banner.
"You may rise," he ordered. "Where is the chieftain of this village?"
Ryder stepped forward, kneeling once more. "I am here, my lord."
"No need for formality," said Commander Tyran Asfuma. "I come bearing a decree from His Majesty the King. Listen well."
The crowd fell silent, hearts trembling.
Tyran unrolled a parchment and read aloud, his voice echoing like thunder:
"By command of His Majesty the Emperor, guided by the grace of the Divine Father,
a decree is hereby issued to all who dwell within the neutral lands of Eryndor.
To those who kneel in faith—mercy shall be their shelter.
To those who deny the divine order—the sword shall be their judge.
You are granted seven days to abandon false gods and swear allegiance to the one true throne.
Beyond that, no plea shall be heard. No mercy shall be shown."
The parchment rolled shut. The silence that followed was heavier than death.
Mothers clutched their children. Men clenched their fists but dared not speak.
Ryder rose shakily. "My lord," he said, "His Majesty once granted us the right to remain neutral. He himself said he would not force submission upon us."
Tyran's gaze darkened. "You fool," he hissed. "You dare question the King's will?"
He drew his sword and placed the blade against Ryder's throat.
Ryder bowed his head, trembling. "Forgive me for my ignorance, my lord. My unworthy tongue meant no offense to His Majesty's grace."
After a pause, Tyran smirked. "Ryder Wendrol… you and I were once friends. Out of respect for that, I'll spare your life. But hear me well—
The decree is clear. If you wish to live in peace, join us. Otherwise… feel free to cross the border."
His words were laced with venomous calm.
The crowd stood frozen in fear. Sophia clutched her newborn son tightly to her chest, praying the nightmare would end.
Commander Tyran's gaze turned sharp and cruel.
"All I can say is this," he sneered. "I'd love to see you try to escape. You trash aren't worth being part of our faith."
He drew in a slow breath, the corners of his mouth curling into a savage smile.
"Tell me, where in this world would you even go? Just so you know, we'll be watching your every move. So don't try to beat around the bush."
With that, he tugged at his reins. His horse turned toward the exit, but he stopped briefly to glance back at the trembling villagers.
"I'll give you four days to decide. The fifth… will be your mass funeral. Though I wonder—who'll even be left to shed a single tear?"
And with that, the envoy left.
Their presence faded into the distance, but what they left behind was worse than death itself.
The crowd erupted into frightened whispers. Some broke into panic, clutching their children or muttering desperate prayers.
The man who had betrayed Ryder finally spoke, his voice trembling.
"Boss… what should we do now?"
Ryder, still dazed from the shock, could barely form words. After a long silence, he muttered quietly,
"Prepare for the Doomsday Table."
It isn't death that kills a man—it's fear.
And Ryder felt it. Deep within his chest, fear twisted like a blade. He wanted to speak more, to comfort his people, but hesitation bound his tongue.
The crowd slowly dispersed. No one had the will left to stand; they simply returned to their homes, haunted by the weight of what was coming.
From the corner of the room, their newborn child watched everything in eerie silence, as though he understood every word.
Sophia placed a hand on Ryder's shoulder. "Honey," she said softly, "you know I'll always listen. Whatever it is you're hiding."
Ryder didn't answer. He simply took her hand and led her back home.
The "Doomsday Table" was a code name—a secret meeting agreed upon by all the smaller villages of the Neutral Zone.
It was where they would gather if the empire ever came for their throats.
The next morning, before dawn, representatives of the lesser clans assembled in a concealed underground chamber. The air was thick with tension.
An old man, head of the council, spoke first. "Now that we're all here," he said gravely, "let us begin… and decide how we can survive this disaster."
Old maps were laid out across a worn wooden table, their edges frayed by years of desperate planning.
"The decree is clear," one of the chieftains said bitterly. "They mean to cleanse us. Where can we even turn? We're insects before the empire. I say we surrender—it's better than dying like dogs."
Another slammed his fist against the table. "And what makes you think surrender will save you? Did you already forget the northern border? They 'accepted' their surrender—and sold every man, woman, and child into slavery!"
The old man exhaled sharply. "Then what do you suggest?"
Voices rose. Arguments flared.
A woman among the representatives spoke up hesitantly, "What about… the Forbidden Woods?"
Another scoffed. "If you're so eager to die, you don't need to go that far. Stay here—the empire will gladly oblige!"
Ryder sat quietly at the edge of the room, Sophia cradling their child nearby.
"The monsters in that forest," said an elder, "are remnants of the old world. Beasts born from divine wrath. Entering their domain is suicide."
Then, Ryder finally spoke. His voice was calm—but it carried a weight that silenced the room.
"I believe," he said slowly, "that we might have a chance to survive… in those woods."
Silence thickened like fog.
The chieftains exchanged uneasy glances. One of them, a greedy-looking man, scoffed. "I'll take my chances with the empire. Slavery's better than following your suicidal ideas."
Several others muttered in agreement. "We're sorry, Ryder. Don't involve us in whatever plan you're brewing."
They began to leave, their footsteps echoing against the stone walls.
Ryder raised his voice. "We can escape! I know a way! I just… don't want any of us to die!"
But no one turned back. Only the council head and the woman who had first mentioned the Forbidden Woods remained.
Ryder sighed. "Just as I suspected," he whispered bitterly.
The council head leaned forward. "Chief of the unnamed village… what do you have in mind?"
Ryder straightened. "When I served in the imperial army, I discovered a hidden path that leads deep into the Forbidden Woods. Survival there is difficult, yes—but not impossible. There's a dungeon tunnel running through the mountains. After about a mile, there's a vast lake—so enormous that even the mightiest rivers seem like streams before it. The empire has never explored those peaks. The soul waves there are so violent they shred anything that dares approach."
The room fell dead silent. A bead of sweat rolled down the elder's face.
"If this is true," said the council head, "then we must gather everyone immediately—"
"No," Ryder interrupted. "We can't take everyone. The path is narrow, unstable. If too many go, it will collapse. And if this information leaks, the empire will accuse us of treason and wipe us out completely."
The council sat frozen.
Finally, the lady chieftain spoke. "Ryder… I trust your judgment. My village—forty houses strong—will follow your lead."
Others nodded in agreement. The council head declared, "Then it's decided. This plan remains secret. We act normal by day—and at night, we move."
Leaving their land was like tearing their hearts apart. But what good is a home when it's destined to become a graveyard?
For two weeks, they traveled under cover of darkness, following the hidden trails Ryder had memorized. Each dawn, they hid among the cliffs, weary but determined.
After fifteen long days, they finally saw the outline of the Forbidden Woods—an endless stretch of shadow and mystery.
Hope flickered in their eyes for the first time.
They rested before nightfall. The woods were teeming with predators that hunted under the moon, so their warriors stood guard, weapons drawn and souls blazing faintly.
Ryder studied a rough map he'd drawn, his brow furrowed in focus.
"Aha, so what is it now, Sir Ryder?" Sophia teased softly, her voice like music in the tension of the night.
"Not you too," he groaned, chuckling. "I'm sick of this 'Sir Ryder' thing already."
Sophia laughed quietly beside him.
"We haven't named our son yet," Ryder said suddenly, a trace of sorrow behind his smile.
"That's to be expected," she replied gently. "When we reach the sanctuary, we'll name him after we give thanks to the gods."
Her calm conviction soothed him.
But something in Ryder's chest felt heavy—as if he were forgetting something important.
The dawn crept closer.
Cold winds howled from the mountains, where the weather changed every few hours.
The people carried their wounds, their fears, and their dreams—but they were close. So close to freedom.
And then… the world burned.
A thunderous explosion ripped through the night.
Carriages in the rear burst into fire, screams echoing through the air. Panic spread like wildfire.
From the shadowed woods, soldiers poured out—blades drawn, their armor gleaming with cursed soul energy.
A cold, familiar voice thundered through the chaos:
"Didn't I tell you the decree was absolute? You scum were never meant to live anyway. Hahaha! Start the slaughter! Don't let even one escape!"
It was Commander Tyran.
Flames devoured the camp.
Warriors with soul essence rushed forward to hold the line while Ryder fought desperately, cutting down the soldiers who advanced on his people.
The plan was perfect, he thought bitterly. What did I do wrong?
"Everyone!" he shouted. "The path—east, behind the large boulder! Go! Don't stop until you reach the tunnel!"
Sophia tried to stay, but Ryder pushed her away, forcing her to flee with the others.
He turned and unleashed a massive surge of soul energy, obliterating the incoming unit—but the recoil crushed him to his knees.
Then, from the smoke, Tyran emerged.
"Well, well… Ryder Wendrol of the Fugal Clan," he said mockingly. "The man I once admired—and hated more than anyone—stands before me. How poetic."
Ryder spat blood but stood tall.
"Silent, are we?" Tyran continued. "Perhaps you're wondering how I found you. How your perfect plan fell apart."
He tilted his head. "Tell me, what do you think humans desire most? Life? Family? Wealth?"
"Cut your nonsense," Ryder growled. "Say what you came to say."
Tyran grinned darkly. "It's authority, Ryder. Power to rule. For that, men will kill their own kin. Even their own blood."
Ryder's voice turned cold. "Stop playing games. How did you find us?"
"Dead men," Tyran said softly, "don't need to know."
He released his soul essence—an explosion of violet energy—and Ryder countered with his own.
The collision shook the mountains. Trees tore from their roots. Beasts fled in terror.
Sophia, having reached the cave's entrance, felt her heart twist.
That energy—it was Ryder's.
Ignoring everyone's pleas, she turned back, sprinting toward the battlefield.
When she arrived, all she saw was devastation—bodies burned, souls extinguished. Even from afar, she could barely withstand the storm of their clashing essence.
Then—an explosion.
A body flew through the air and crashed beside her.
"Ryder!" she screamed.
He lay mangled—both legs gone, one arm missing. She ran to him, only to feel a sudden sting in her shoulder.
A soul-poisoned arrow had pierced her from behind.
Through the pain, she saw the archer—an imperial elite.
With trembling hands, she pulled a glowing orb from her pouch. She whispered a spell, and the orb exploded into light.
In an instant, they were gone—teleported deep into the woods.
Hours passed. The sun rose.
The child was awake, his tiny hands pushing against his mother's face, trying to wake her.
Sophia stirred first. Her vision blurred, her body weak. When she saw Ryder beside her—barely breathing—she broke down.
She crawled toward him, sobbing. "I'm sorry, my son… I'm so sorry. I'm the worst mother in the world. I could have teleported us earlier—but I was too selfish…"
Ryder's faint voice answered, "No… don't blame yourself. It's me… I failed to protect my family."
"Honey, please," she cried. "Don't say that."
Ryder turned his fading eyes toward their baby. "What kind of father am I," he whispered, "leaving my child alone… in a world worse than the monsters we fled from?"
Sophia clutched his hand. "Then I too am cursed—because I chose to follow the man I love, even if it means leaving my soul behind. I don't want to die. I want to live. To be his mother…"
Ryder forced himself up, every breath a battle. He cradled his son in his one remaining arm.
"Son," he whispered. "Your poor father has only one thing left to give you. Even if I can't be with you… please, live on, Kael."
He smiled faintly, pressing his forehead against Sophia's.
"Live for us… Kael."
Their breaths stilled. The cold wind blew.
The ground was painted red.
Only the child remained.
Kael stared blankly at their lifeless bodies. His face was calm—but his eyes overflowed with silent tears.
"I will, Mother. I will, Father.
I am Kael… and I will live."
His voice trembled, yet his heart turned to steel.
Years later—
The scene shifted to the present.
That same boy, now grown, stood atop the mountain once more.
Tears streamed down his face, though his expression never changed.
He raised his left arm and pointed toward the battlefield below.
"I'll live," he said softly. "No matter how much blood it takes."
Dark red energy spiraled around his hand, bursting outward in a cataclysmic explosion.
A blinding fireball engulfed the land—its force leveling mountains and scorching sixty kilometers of ground into dust.
When the flames faded, only silence remained.
Kael looked up at the snow-filled sky, whispering,
"I'm Kael."
And as the first flakes touched his face—
it began to snow.
To be continued…