"Burn it all..."
Those were the final words of a young man whose destiny had been cruelly stolen from him.
And so begins the tale of Almond Trustenort, A.K.A. William Zoin Mubarak—his rise, his trials, and his journey into a world he was never meant to lead, yet was destined to rule.
---
The golden morning sun crept gently through the dusty panes of William's window, casting narrow beams of light across his sleeping face. A subtle gust stirred the curtains, drawing them aside just enough for the sunlight to blind him awake.
With a groggy groan, William raised a hand to shield his eyes. He slowly sat up, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, before dragging himself out of bed.
The chill of the tiled floor stung his bare feet as he shuffled toward the bathroom.
A warm shower washed away the heaviness of the morning. Steam filled the room, clinging to the mirror and fogging the glass.
Moments later, William emerged from the bathroom with a towel hanging around his neck and a toothbrush in hand. He lazily brushed his teeth, barely awake, when suddenly—
Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
His phone vibrated violently against the counter.
He glanced at the screen.
Emi.
William quickly snatched up the phone.
"Where are you?" Emi's voice crackled through the speaker.
"At home. Why?"
There was a brief silence.
Then—
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"
The outburst nearly made him drop the phone.
"Don't you know what today is?!"
"Uh..." William glanced around awkwardly. "Not really."
"IT'S MY BIRTHDAY, YOU GOOF! You were supposed to be here by eight! It's already ten!"
William's eyes widened as he looked toward the clock.
"Oh my God."
Panic immediately set in.
"Emi, I'm so sorry! I overslept. I swear I'll be there in minutes."
Emi let out an exasperated sigh.
The call ended.
William stood frozen for a moment, guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders.
"Damn it..."
He shook it off and hurriedly got dressed, rushing through the rest of his morning preparations.
By the time he finally stepped outside, it was nearly 11 a.m.
He had barely reached the front of his compound when sudden cries of panic pierced the air.
Screams.
Shouts for help.
William stopped.
The voices were coming from the building beside his.
His new neighbors.
For a moment, he considered turning around.
Then he shook his head.
Not my business.
He continued walking.
He had taken only a few steps when—
BANG!
A gunshot shattered the morning.
William froze.
Another shot followed.
His heart slammed against his chest as he slowly turned around.
Four men came storming out of the building, weapons drawn. Their faces were tense, their movements hurried, and their eyes carried the unmistakable coldness of men who had already decided what they were willing to do.
One of them spotted William.
Their eyes met.
William's stomach dropped.
"Shit."
The man's gun rose.
William ran.
BANG!
Pain exploded across his left leg.
A bullet grazed him, tearing through flesh without hitting the bone.
"Ah!"
William stumbled but forced himself forward, blood quickly soaking into his jeans.
He limped into a nearby alley, gritting his teeth as he pushed deeper into the maze of backstreets.
He needed to reach the expressway.
People.
Witnesses.
Anyone who could help him.
But every step became harder than the last.
His breathing grew ragged. His vision blurred at the edges.
Finally, he staggered toward a crumbling wall and leaned against it, desperately trying to catch his breath.
Just a little farther...
Then he heard them.
Footsteps.
Fast.
Approaching.
William's eyes widened.
He pushed himself away from the wall and tried to run.
His injured leg gave out.
He crashed onto the concrete.
Before he could recover, a powerful shove sent him sprawling.
The cold ground scraped against his skin.
Slowly, painfully, William rolled onto his back.
Four men stood above him.
They exchanged brief glances.
"Why did we chase him?" one of them asked.
"He saw us," another replied.
A pause.
"We can't leave any witnesses."
William's blood ran cold.
His eyes moved from one gunman to another.
He understood.
This was the end.
One of the men stepped forward.
His face was hidden beneath the shadow of his hood.
He raised his Glock and aimed it directly at William.
"I'm sorry."
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Three shots.
He could feel the searing pain in his abdomen.
The world slowed.
The sounds around him faded into nothingness.
Time itself seemed to lose meaning.
William's body went numb.
His thoughts drifted.
Not toward fear.
Not toward hatred.
But toward his mother.
The woman who had left him behind to care for her newlywed sister and his mentally ill father.
He thought about the dreams he had never chased.
The places he had never seen.
The person he could have become.
The life he would never get to live.
Why?
His thoughts became fragmented.
Why? How could you deprive me of living?
I had been minding his own damn business.
As if life's miseries weren't already enough...
His breathing grew weaker.
Now this?
His vision began to fade.
What the hell is this?
He wanted to scream.
He wanted to curse the heavens.
He wanted to demand an answer from whatever cruel force had decided that his life was worth so little.
But there was no answer.
William wasn't a saint.
He wasn't some chosen hero.
He hadn't asked for this.
It was simply an unforeseen twist of cruel, meaningless luck.
His eyelids grew heavier.
The world disappeared behind him.
And as William's final breath escaped his lips, one thought remained buried within his fading consciousness—
I didn't even get the chance to live.
Then everything went black._*