Chapter — The Desert of Resolve
"So you are here too, Ryn. Is it you?"
A familiar voice came from behind.
He turned and saw me . I said "Uncle… what are you doing here?"
He smiled faintly. "Just wanted to confirm whether you've finally moved on from that incident."
"How did you know I would come?" I asked.
He looked at the stars. "It's your birthday, isn't it? You always come here on this night."
I sighed softly. "You remember that… neither you nor Lina ever mentioned her to me."
He nodded slowly. "It's a long story, but… she isn't my blood relative," I admitted.
"Oh," he said with a hint of sadness, "then it's okay."
"Uncle, how's your life going?"
"Just going as normal," he replied, then stopped me gently. "And don't call me uncle, Ryn. You're like my son."
"Alright then," I said quietly. "Dad."
He smiled, patting the bench beside him. "You must be tired. Want to rest your head in my lap?"
Without thinking, I lay my head down. The night was calm, the desert wind warm against my face.
"I don't know why," I whispered, "but last night she came in my dreams — not once, but twice — saying the same line she did back then: 'No one in this world should die lonely or in regret, not even monsters.'"
He stroked my hair gently. "Why don't you just forget her and move on?"
"She once said I was her best friend forever," I replied. "So I'll remember her forever too. The debt she left me with… I can never repay."
Taking a long breath, I continued, "They nominated me as group leader again. I don't even know why. How can they choose a person who couldn't protect his friend even while holding a weapon?"
He looked down. "Can you remove your mask, Ryn?"
I looked at Mira, who stood silently a few steps away. "It'll stay between us," I said, and removed it. Her eyes widened in shock. My so-called dad chuckled softly and pulled my cheek.
"Lina would've done the same if she were here and listen it," he said. "So… what do you think? Ever thought of getting a girlfriend or maybe even marrying someday?"
I looked away. "That's not a topic to talk about with me."
He laughed. "Then let me rephrase — do you even have friends?"
I exhaled deeply. "None. The people around me just use others or mock them. They joke about war, appearances, and death. They abuse each other without thinking once about how to lift their country, not tear it down. They laugh at death, but when it stands before them, they tremble. They curse their enemies for being born elsewhere, and call that patriotism."
He was silent.
"They show bad results to their parents," I said, "and expect encouragement but they curse army to not able to defeat India but not seeing loss of lives They say they'll defend the nation — yet all they do is argue, waste time, and chase cheap laughter. They want a prosperous life but never work for it. Tell me, isn't that hilarious?"
He sighed. "It's fine, Ryn. I understand you. But you should have someone to talk to — someone you trust."
"There are two people," I said after a pause. "Serin and Eron. And… you. You're always there when I need to talk."
Mira thought silently: This isn't something you'd expect to hear from a child. These are the words of someone far older inside.
I looked up. "Dad, aren't the stars beautiful tonight? I could watch them for the rest of my life."
He gazed at them for a few moments. "Ryn… do you know—" He stopped, noticing I had already fallen asleep. "You're still a kid, Ryn," he whispered softly.
Turning to Mira, he asked, "Young lady, would you like to stay the night at our home?"
"Thank you, uncle," Mira replied gently, "but the commander ordered me to return Ryn safely to his bed tonight. He's still a child carrying the weight of 180 lives on his shoulders."
"Let me help you carry him," he offered.
She shook her head. "It's alright. I can handle him."
She lifted Ryn on her back and carried him to headquarters. Serin met her at the gate.
"Where's Silent—"
"Quiet," Mira whispered. "He's asleep."
They laid him gently on the bed. Serin sighed and collapsed onto her own.
---
The Next Morning
Ryn woke up more energetic than ever. He called for his laptop, and Serin handed it over. He began reviewing terrain maps, his own mana notes, and profiles of every mage under his command.
Then came the day of war.
That morning, under the burning desert sun, Ryn wore a pure steel armor—no helmet—his face calm yet fierce. He stood before the assembled mages, his voice echoing across the dunes.
> "We are the living proof that hard work can surpass talent.
We defeated soldiers trained longer and harder than us.
Their losses run deeper than ours because we refused to break.
We fight not to survive, but to embrace death with pride.
Why fear what will come anyway? Run toward death — not from it!
Today is our redemption. Today we prove that humans can rise from dust and prevail!"
The soldiers roared back, their chant shaking the air:
> "We will prevail! We will prevail!"
As they took positions, a massive crack tore through the desert floor. From it emerged twenty-one demons, each ten feet tall, their bodies made of obsidian and molten rock, crimson eyes gleaming like blood in moonlight.
Their general stepped forward. "So, human… this will be our last war. Shall we begin?"
Ryn tightened his grip on his sword, a faint smirk on his lips.
> "Then start it. We're ready."