Aron was walking along the narrow dirt path, carrying a small list of items Balrad had told him to collect. The morning breeze brushed against the trees, and the smell of wet soil hung in the air. Aron kept a steady pace, not in a hurry, just quietly following the trail toward the small market.
But then… he heard a sound.
Wheels.Wooden wheels grinding against the rocky road.
Aron shifted his eyes toward the left and saw a cart being pulled—but it wasn't moving like a farmer's cart. It felt heavier, slower, almost suspicious. Aron paused. His instincts told him something was off, something strange. So he followed, walking behind the trees where the leaves hid his presence.
The cart rolled into the village.
As soon as it stopped, men jumped out of it—hard-faced men with rough voices. Their eyes carried trouble. Raiders.
They marched into the village center and raised their swords.
"Bring out all your supplies!" the leader shouted. "Food, grains, anything! Otherwise we burn this place down!"
The villagers froze.
They were powerless, frightened, hopeless. Their old wooden houses, their small bags of grain—nothing could stand against armed men.
An old woman stepped forward, trembling.
"Please," she cried. "If you take everything, we will starve… my grandchildren—"
Before she could finish, the raider leader slapped her across the face.
Her small grandkids clung to her as she fell back in fear.
And as he raised his sword toward her—
Aron moved.
He stepped out from the shadows, walked straight toward the old woman, and crouched beside her. He gently helped her up, placing a hand on her back, guiding her toward her house.
The raider leader glared.
"Who is this guy? Does he have a death wish?" He unsheathed his sword. "Say something, boy."
Aron turned his head slightly, his expression blank.
"What is the point of slapping a woman," he said, "who only wants to feed her family? Look at her… bruises on her face. Why do you do this?"
The leader scoffed and laughed.
"Ohhh? You gonna stop us? Beat us? Who are you supposed to be? You high or something, kid?"
Aron stayed emotionless.
"Go away. And don't come back to this village again."
The leader raised a brow.
"Hm. Okay."
He turned his face toward the cart, pretending to leave.
But suddenly—
He spun around and delivered a powerful punch straight to Aron's face.
Aron flew backward, crashing into a tree. His head hit the bark, and he slid to the ground. The pain struck him like a burning flame, and blood dripped slowly from his nose and lips. The world tilted. The sky spun above him.
The raiders laughed loudly.
Aron stayed sitting, the tree supporting his back, his eyes half-open. The birds in the sky reflected in his dark pupils, swirling in circles.
What should I do?
Kill him?
After what he did… he might have hurt many people before…
The leader spread his arms.
"What happened? One punch and you're done? Come on, get up! I want you to suffer. Give me a fight!"
Aron felt his consciousness fading. His vision blurred. His head leaned to the side.
I guess this is my end…
His eyes began to close.
But then—A voice.
Familiar. Warm. Painful.
"What happened, Aron?"
Aron's eyes widened. Through his blurry vision, he saw Carlos standing there. His heart trembled.
"Carlos…" he whispered weakly. "You…"
Carlos stepped closer in the vision.
"You were always the strongest," he said, his voice calm and proud. "You told me once that no one would ever beat you."
Aron tried to breathe but the pain made his chest tighten.
"So why am I seeing you fall?" Carlos asked. "Is this the great Norm you once were? Do you feel weak, brother?"
Aron felt tears press behind his eyes—but none fell.
Carlos placed a hand on Aron's shoulder.
"You once told me… forget the past and live through your future."
Carlos extended his hand toward Aron.
"Stand up. And fight."Aron reached out.
The moment his fingers touched Carlos's hand—Carlos vanished with a fading smile.
But Aron stood up.
Shaking. Bleeding. But standing.
The raider leader grinned. "Ohh? You're up? Good. Makes killing you more fun."
He threw a sword at Aron's feet.
"Pick it up. Honor your death."
Aron bent down slowly. His veins tightened. His fingers curled around the sword's grip. He lifted it, the weight settling into his palm.
The leader laughed.
"Come on then!"
He charged.
Aron didn't hesitate. His body moved with a speed fueled by pure instinct. He stepped straight forward, slipping past the leader's swing.
In one motion—swift and decisive—
the blade struck the raider's chest.
The leader's movement stopped. His eyes went wide.
He collapsed onto the ground.
The other raiders panicked.
Some ran to the cart.
Others picked up their leader's body and fled the village.
Silence.
Aron stared at the sword in his hand.
So… today I killed someone again.
The thought hit him like a wave.
A cold, heavy wave.
He took a slow breath and dropped the sword.
He walked to the old woman's house and knocked gently. She opened the door, her eyes still wet.
"Thank you," she cried. "Those men… they killed my son. I only want to raise his children now. Thank you for saving us."
Aron nodded softly.
"Don't worry. They won't come again. I'll send you some rice and flour later. That's all I can do for now."
He stepped outside.
For the first time that day, he noticed the black clouds gathering above. Rain was coming. He felt a strange calmness in the air as he headed back toward Balrad's home.
His face was swollen and bruised, every step filled with pain. When he reached the flower field, his strength finally gave out. He dropped to the ground, lying on the soft grass.
He stared up at the black sky.
A deep rumble of thunder echoed.
Then—a raindrop fell onto his cheek.
Another.
Then a thousand.
The rain fell harder and harder, washing the blood from his face, soaking his clothes, covering him in mud and sand. But he didn't move. His body hurt too much. His mind too tired.
"What a great experience…" he whispered, barely opening his mouth because it hurt.
The rainstorm grew fierce. Thunder rolled across the valley. The cold drops fell onto his eyelids and cheeks, cooling his pain.
For a moment, the world felt completely quiet.
Balrad rushed through the rain, searching desperately.
"Aron! ARON!"
Then he saw him—lying in the field.
Balrad stopped. Aron was bruised, bleeding slightly, and soaked, but he wasn't unconscious. He was… thinking. Feeling the rain. Lost in a moment of strange peace.
Balrad didn't interrupt.He just waited.
Aron slowly opened his eyes and turned his head.Balrad stood beside him, rain hitting both of them.And for the first time in hours…
Aron felt safe.