In front of thousands of graves, a man stood silently. The pitter-patter of heavy raindrops created a constant rhythm, interrupted by frequent thunder. The heavy rain pouring from the dark clouds covering the entire sky concealed the tears streaming down his cheek.
While trembling, he spoke in a gloomy and sorrowful tone. I, Nov... "Thunderstrikes," the sole heir of the Solaris kingdom, had failed to protect its people from their doom. I should shoulder the heavy guilt of not being able to protect those who loved and cared about me, even at my lowest.
"For I..." he cried in a piercing voice as a massive thunderbolt struck the tree he was standing next to, burning it and sending its pink petals to the damp ground. Like a knight who honours and is loyal to his lord, he buried his sword in the sopping wet ground while half kneeling. I beseech you with my promise that those who committed this crime shall pay for their sins. It matters not whether it was a single person, thousands, or the whole world; I shall pass my verdict on them even if it leads to my demise….
After a suffocating silence, the man forced himself to his feet, his clothes plastered to his skin from the relentless rain. He stepped onto the narrow trail that wound between two endless fields of graves, packed densely, uneven, and unsymmetrical, the stones leaning into one another like weary sentinels. The air was thick with the rich fragrance of wet earth, mingled with the cold scent of rain-soaked granite and the faint decay of long-forgotten graves. Every step sank slightly into the muddy trail, the hollow chap-chap of his boots echoing through the grey stillness, mingling with the soft drum of rain on stone and a distant rumble of thunder that rolled across the sky like a sorrowful heartbeat.
Graves stretched endlessly on either side, some cracked, some toppled, all silent witnesses to lives extinguished. Rain slid in rivulets down the stones, soaking his hair and mingling with the tears streaking his face. The trail narrowed in places, forcing him to move carefully, each grave seeming to lean closer, whispering the weight of unspoken grief. The fragrance of wet earth grew stronger here, almost intoxicating, as if the ground itself mourned with him.
Finally, he came upon two graves, slightly larger than the rest. With a shuddering breath, he collapsed to his knees, mud and rain soaking through him, the scent of drenched earth rising around him like a heavy, fragrant shroud. His voice cracked, trembling:
"Mother… Father… I have… failed you both. …"
After a long period of anguish, the man removed his white coat bearing the lion's crest and placed it on the rough stone platform before the two graves. He then picked up a few wilting flowers, their petals drenched by the downpour, and gently laid them upon the golden lion's emblem.
The man rose to his feet and cast a glance to the left of the graves. There stood a mansion, its architecture echoing that of a grand church. He remembered his mother telling him that his ancestors were buried there, yet he had never set foot inside. A quiet hesitation lingered in him, as if the place held both reverence and untold mysteries that he had not seen.
….
"Mother, listen!"
A young boy ran across the golden courtyard toward a towering mansion. On its balcony stood his mother, a young woman in her mid-twenties, her golden hair catching the sunlight.
The boy's small feet pounded against the stone steps as he reached her. "Mom… every year on this day, everyone in the village, and even Father, gathers at the city's centre. They bow, all of them, and look toward the mountain peaks!" Why?
She smiled gently, the wind stirring her hair. "That's because those peaks hold our ancestors' graves," she explained.
The boy blinked, curiosity lighting up his eyes. "A grave? What's a grave?"
"It's a place where people rest in peace after completing their work in this world," she said softly.
"But… why so high up? Wouldn't it be easier if they rested here, on the ground?"
She gazed toward the distant mountains, where sunlight glinted off blue-and-silver granite. "That place is special. It's carefully built and protected. Only our family and those whose deeds were noble in life may enter. Long ago, the first king of our kingdom commanded his son to build his grave in these mountains.
"From there, our ancestors can watch over the kingdom and see its progress," she added, her voice calm and proud.
The boy's eyes widened with understanding. "So… that's why. Then I should give my respects too! Goodbye, Mother!"
From the balcony, she watched him dash toward the city centre, joining the gathering below. A faint, serene smile played across her lips as she stood there, the golden sunlight highlighting every strand of her hair, and the white flag with the lion symbol above the mansion's top fluttered in quiet honor.
….
After recalling the fragments of his past, the man slowly rose to his feet and began walking toward the ancestral tomb. Ahead stood a grand mansion forged from gold and gleaming rubies, its massive doors tightly shut as if guarding the secrets of the dead.
His steps were steady despite the storm. Rain poured from the dark heavens, yet his weary eyes, sunken beneath deep shadows, remained fixed ahead. His piercing gaze cut through the falling droplets and locked onto the mansion built against the face of the mountain, standing upon the same ancient platform where the graves of his people rested in silence.
Creak…
With a loud groan, the massive, shining doors slowly pushed backward. A violent gust of wind burst from within the mansion and slammed into the man, throwing him several meters away.
Instinctively, he raised his forearm to shield his eyes.
When the wind finally settled, he slowly lowered his forearm to look inside.
Inside stood five graves, one at the center, with two aligned on each side.
The man slowly walked forward. His footsteps echoed softly against the stone floor. The interior of the mansion was far simpler than its magnificent exterior—nothing but rough, ordinary rocks without any intricate carvings or luxurious decoration.
Rainwater dripped from his clothes as he took the wet flowers he carried and placed them gently upon each grave he passed.
One by one.
Until he finally arrived before the grave at the center of the mansion.
It was the grave of the First Ancestor.
Unlike the others, the ground surrounding it was covered with light blue grass, delicate and almost glowing in the dim light. Tiny pearls, yellow and red, were scattered across the blades like fragments of fallen stars.
The entire grave radiated a faint brilliance, making the others appear dull and lifeless in comparison.
The man stood silently before it.
As he slowly bowed to place the flowers down, something unusual caught his attention.
On closer inspection, the blue grass was not ordinary at all. It was transparent, and within it flowed a faint, shimmering blue liquid, though it appeared to be half-depleted.
He knew about how extraordinary the first grave was, and it did not surprise him much.
He watched the grave for a while, then unsheathed another sword that he had with him. The sword's hilt had a small ribbon attached to it, and its greenish-blue color glowed.
He placed his right forearm on the grave and slashed it with his blade, but the shocking part was that his sword got stuck in it and didn't pierce through; meanwhile, huge amounts of blood gushed out of his arm.
The pain was unbearable, yet he clenched his lower lip between his teeth with such force that blood began to seep from the wound. His teeth dug deep into the flesh, but he refused to stop. With his left hand gripping the sword, he forced the blade down harder, trying to sever the bones that resisted the edge.
The sight was horrifying. The sword moved back and forth slowly, scraping and pressing against the bone as it struggled to cut through. He pulled the blade back and struck again with even greater determination. The impact sent another wave of pain through his body, and more blood spilled onto the ground, yet the bone still refused to break, though it had begun to crack.
The reason for his struggle was simple; he was right-handed, forced to act with his weaker hand. But the ritual did not test strength. It tested something far crueler—the will to sacrifice everything, even oneself...
He withdrew the blade once more. His vision blurred as dizziness crept in from the loss of blood, but he forced himself to continue. Gathering the last of his strength, he drove the sword down again. This time the blade finally cut through, separating his forearm from his arm.
It was far from a clean cut. Torn muscle and flesh hung loosely from the wound, and the flow of blood only grew heavier.
"Aaaaahhhhhhhahahhaaa…!"
A terrifying scream echoed through the vast hall.
The man gasped for breath, his heart pounding violently against his chest. His face turned deathly pale as blood continued to pour from his body.
Bones and scattered blood slid into the pool before him, disappearing as if devoured by an unseen force. Not a single trace remained.
The blue liquid within the pool surged upward, its volume increasing rapidly as it absorbed everything.
Yet the man could no longer witness the horrifying transformation.
His vision darkened.
And in the next moment, his body collapsed onto the cold floor.