Rolin took a deep breath…
or at least, he tried.
Pain did not acknowledge attempts.
It allowed him only a broken groan,
a sound torn from a body that had shattered long ago.
Still—
he tightened his ruined frame
and dragged himself across the snow,
inch by inch, humiliatingly slow,
as if each movement tore away a piece of his soul
rather than flesh,
until he reached the center of the summit.
Behind him—
the collapsed stone arch,
a silent monument to a battle already decided,
and beneath it the corpse of the giant panther,
its massive body lifeless,
still reeking of burned fur and blood,
only a few meters away…
As if death itself
had chosen to sit behind him,
watching closely,
to make sure
he would not escape this time.
And before him—
A building.
Black.
Colossal.
Silent.
A structure sealed completely,
its walls swallowing light
the way graves swallow names.
At its peak rose a long, triangular dome—
sharp, unnatural,
so strange that the eye recoiled
before the mind could comprehend it.
It was not a temple.
Not a fortress.
Not a ruin.
It was something
that should not exist here.
Rolin reached the center.
Behind him stretched his final trace—
a long trail of blood
cutting through the white summit
like an open wound
in the body of the mountain itself.
He could move no farther.
Clenching his teeth,
as he always had when no choice remained,
he forced his body to turn
and collapsed onto his back.
His blood-smeared face tilted toward the sky,
toward the endless black above,
strewn with distant, frozen stars—
beautiful,
indifferent,
just like the world had always been.
With his one remaining eye,
he stared at them.
How beautiful they were.
How cruel.
"…So this is the end."
It wasn't a scream.
Nor a dramatic confession.
Just a quiet sentence,
spoken the way a final breath leaves a tired chest.
A faint sigh escaped him,
barely audible,
and at that moment—
Snow began to fall.
Soft white flakes drifted down,
onto his body,
his face,
his open wounds.
He felt them melt slowly,
mixing with blood,
turning the snow beneath him
into a deep crimson—
as if the mountain itself
were laying out a carpet of death
just for him.
The cold seeped into his bones,
yet strangely…
he no longer hated it.
Perhaps
because pain had grown warmer
than life itself.
He closed his eye for a moment,
then opened it again,
his thoughts unraveling,
colliding,
returning from places
he thought he had buried forever.
How many times have I told myself it was over?
How many times did I think—this is the last night?
And how many times… did I still stand up afterward?
Faces surfaced.
Voices.
Distant laughter
entwined with old screams
that had never truly faded.
He spoke to himself,
in a voice no one else could hear:
Was I a fool?
Or just… too stubborn for my own good?
A hoarse, broken chuckle slipped from his chest—
not laughter,
not madness,
but something in between.
Something already shattered.
If this truly is my last day…
then I've walked a long, exhausting road—alone.
The stars offered no answer.
The black structure did not move.
And the mountain—
remained silent,
as it always had
when Rolin needed answers most.
Yet deep inside,
in that tiny place
that had not yet died,
something refused
to fully close its eyes.
Something stubborn.
Naive.
Human.
Memories flooded in at once,
as if his mind had finally decided
to open every door—
without mercy.
Rolin remembered everything.
And then he understood—
no…
he had always known.
Since the first time hunger gnawed at him.
Since the first night fear slept beside him.
Since the first dawn
he wasn't sure he would see.
This world…
is not fair.
Then—
He laughed.
A hysterical laugh tore through the summit's silence,
a broken sound
rising from a chest
that could endure no more.
Tears streamed from his lone eye,
mixing with blood,
running down his cheeks
as if his body were crying in his place.
He didn't know…
was he laughing
because this cursed life was finally ending?
Or crying
because he had never once managed
to take from it
something worth living for?
"Damn it…
Why?"
His voice trembled.
"Why are some born
with everything…
while others are born
without even the right
to dream?"
His laughter continued,
but it was crying.
"Why do some need do nothing
to be safe, respected, protected…
while others do everything—
everything—
just
to stay
alive?"
Salty tears slipped into his open wounds,
igniting pain once more,
yet he didn't stop.
He no longer wanted to.
"How can there be justice?
How can there be equality?
Where is fairness
between someone who lived comfortably—
learning,
eating,
sleeping without fear…
and another
who spent his life exhausted,
ignorant,
hungry,
shivering every night
waiting for the worst?"
His voice broke.
"Where is justice in this world?
And are there conditions
that must be met
before one is allowed
to be…
human?"
And he wished.
He truly wished.
For a family that loved him,
that asked about him
without reason.
For friends
who would share everything—
even silence.
For warm, ordinary food,
eaten not for survival,
but comfort.
For clothes that protected him from the cold,
that were not stolen,
not torn away.
For school.
A wooden desk.
Homework to complain about
instead of hunger.
And more than anything—
A warm home.
A door to return to.
A place he could call
mine
without fearing tomorrow.
But in the end…
He received
none of it.
"What sin did I commit?"
he whispered.
"Was it simply…
being alive?"
His voice grew faint.
"I truly wanted…
to live
like a human."
He remembered everything he never had.
Everything he was forced to lose.
And worse—
he remembered all the terrible things
he had been forced to do
just to survive.
The laughter shattered,
turning into silent sobs—
the sobbing of a child
who grew too fast,
and a man
who lived far beyond
what anyone should endure.
In the end…
Rolin was human.
Or at least—
what remained of one
who was never given the chance
to be more.
He slowly closed his eye.
The pain faded,
as if his body had finally decided
to surrender.
And he whispered,
with a faint, exhausted smile:
"…At last…
I can rest."
But the world—
had never been known
to grant rest
to those who deserved it.