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Arc 1 - Blind Faith
Blind Faith - Crackle.
Written by - Ellien S. Vorein
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A man was on his knees.The room was a mess.Chairs tipped over.Rubbish overflowing.Glass smashed across the floor.A small cube plug hung half-loose from the wall, its tiny light still glowing faintly.Papers and letters lay scattered across the carpet — some crumpled, some torn.Dirty dishes filled the sink, crusted and cold.The air smelt of sweat, dust, and something faintly metallic.
Outside, distant sounds moved through the night — soft, rhythmic, passing.The faint hiss of tyres through rainwater.The low hum of something that came and went, alive but indifferent.
"Don't—"His voice cracked, splitting the quiet."Don't leave… please."
He tried to breathe, but every inhale came out uneven, half sobs, half gasps.His throat tightened. He retched — not from sickness, but from the sheer force of crying — a dry, broken sound, as if his own voice were turning against him.
"You were right," he said, voice trembling. "I'm… I'm ill."Tears ran down his face, slipping into his mouth, breaking his words apart."I'm ill," he stammered again, shaking."I'm ill… I'm ill… you're so right."
The sound of his crying and breath filled the room.It was uneven, messy — like the rhythm of a body trying to remember how to live.
She blinked slowly as she stared at the sight of the man —his body shaking, his fingers trembling against the carpet,his voice collapsing into itself.
A weak laugh escaped him — hoarse, wet, pitiful."I'll grow up," he said, voice breaking mid-sentence. "Just like you asked.""I'm ill," he whispered again, quieter now."You're right about me. You always were."
His hair was scruffy and black, short but uneven.A plain white shirt clung to him, stained with sweat and water.His trousers were black, wrinkled, knees pressed into the carpet.His bare toes curled, digging into the fibres from the tension running through him.
He reached out, gripping the hem of her coat, holding on with both hands — not with strength, but with fear."Just… please stay."
She blinked slowly again, watching the man clutch her like someone drowning.Her heart lurched. Her lips parted, but she couldn't answer.Her body turned without trying to. Her legs moved on their own.
The faint light from the cube flickered across the wall, casting his shadow over the scattered letters.She looked down — strands of her long brown hair stuck to her damp face — then looked back at him.
He was a sorry excuse for what he once was.Skinny. Rough-looking. Eyes red and swollen from hours of crying.
She blinked slowly once more, as if her body was trying to memorise this — the man on his knees, the ruined room, the silence that followed.
His mouth opened again, trembling.A name tried to leave his lips — but the sound never reached her."…—na…"
And then it was gone.The rest vanished into silence.
His coughing and stammering still echoed in her ears.The silence stretched.
And then —
Crackle.The sound of a campfire.
Elyra's eyes opened.The forest was still.The campfire whispered beside her, orange light flickering across her face.
Her breathing was slow, uneven. Her palms trembled faintly.Kairo was asleep, arm resting over his sword.Faran leaned against a log, motionless.
Elyra blinked, slow and unfocused — the same way she had moments ago."…What was that?" she whispered.
She rubbed her eyes, the taste of salt still on her tongue."Where… was that place?"
A single ember lifted from the flame, twisting upward until it vanished into the dawn.A drop hit her cheek.She looked up.
There was no rain.In the dying glow she thought she heard a voice — faint, broken.Don't leave.But when she looked around, there was only wind.
Slowly, she touched her face — and realised it was her own tear.
The world said nothing.Only the fire answered — a soft, endless crackle.
***
1Kairo lowered himself towards the dirt. His palms pressed into the cold ground as his arms trembled.What was that I saw…?
2He pushed upward again, muscles shaking. There was no wind, no sound — just breath and effort.When was the last time it snowed…?
3He lowered himself once more, slower this time, his body dragging against fatigue."Who was he…" he muttered under his breath.
4He strained again, teeth gritted, his breath uneven.What the hell — why does this feel five times heavier all of a sudden?
A voice came from above, groggy and dry."You couldn't sleep?"
He tilted his head upward. Faran stood over him, boot pressed lightly against his back.
5Kairo exhaled. "Eh… was just trying to tire myself out," he said.
Faran nodded once. "Hm. I see."He stretched, cracking his neck. "Tell you what — why don't I teach you that thing?"
6Kairo looked up, curiosity flickering."That… thing? What thing?"
"You know," Faran replied, smirking faintly.
Kairo frowned. "Huh?"
"How I slap away your attacks and leave no impact," Faran said. "Surely you remember."
Silence.
Kairo's eyes flickered — a faint image crossing his mind.The first time they met.The dagger at his throat.Faran's calm voice.His pulse pressed against cold rust.
The memory faded. Kairo looked down at his hands.They were already raw.
Faran chuckled. "Or were you too embarrassed after that beating?"
Kairo's voice was quiet. "No. I was just outmatched."
Faran raised a brow. "Didn't expect you to say that," he muttered. "Where's that fire from earlier?"
Kairo's jaw tightened."Faran…" he said softly. Then, sharper — "Please."He gritted his teeth.
The wind moved faintly through the grass.
A flash of snow.A memory.The priest's cold breath on his neck.They are dead.I killed them.
Kairo's breath trembled. "...Help me become better."
The words left him before he realised he'd spoken them.They hung there — fragile, unguarded, too human to take back.
Faran blinked. "Uh… yeah. I guess I can."
He looked away for a moment, exhaling quietly before stepping back.
"No weapon this time. Just your hands."
Kairo nodded, steadying himself.
The first punch came fast — to his ribs. He tried to parry. Missed.
"Too slow," Faran said.
Again.Miss.
"Too stiff."
Again.Miss.
"Too early."
Again.Miss.
Hours passed. Sweat mixed with dirt, blood, and failure.
Kairo's palms stung. His breathing faltered.He could feel his heartbeat in his fingers.
Each attempt blurred into the next — effort, pain, correction, silence.
Faran's fist met his jaw.Then his shoulder.Then his stomach.
He kept getting up.And failing.Over and over.
Until his body started to shake.
Faran exhaled through his nose — quiet, almost guilty — then raised his hand again.
Faran's next punch landed cleanly against his nose — the crack echoing through the clearing.Kairo stumbled back, blood spraying from his nostrils.
"You're not fast enough," Faran said flatly.
Kairo wiped the blood away, the metallic taste spilling across his tongue.He clenched his fists. The smell of iron filled the air.
Faran drew both daggers, blades glinting."Again."
Kairo tried to parry.Steel met rust.And rust won.
His katana spun from his hands, clattering against the dirt.The dagger cut through his shoulder — shallow, but deep enough to sting.
The red stained his black suit, spreading in thin streaks across the fabric.
Faran didn't pull back. "Are you actually trying?"
Kairo's jaw locked. He said nothing. Just breathed.
"...Shut up."
His voice was low, barely audible.
He picked up his katana again, the blade trembling in his grip.
Faran moved first — elbowing him hard in the stomach.Kairo's sword didn't rise in time.
The hit dropped him to the ground.He spat saliva and blood, gasping for air.
"Kairo," Faran said, tone almost bored."Are you actually trying?"
Kairo pushed himself up slowly.Bruises mapped his skin. Scratches lined his arms.The bushes rustled nearby as sunlight broke through the branches. The wind brushed the dirt across his feet.
"Again…" he muttered, his breath shaking."I'm ready."
He wiped the drool from his mouth and grabbed his katana, gripping it tighter than ever — as if that would make a difference.
Faran blinked, unimpressed. He yawned, rolling his shoulder.Then he spun, his leg cutting through the air.
His foot slammed into Kairo's ribs.
The impact cracked through the silence.Kairo's katana slipped from his grasp.
It hurts.It hurts…It burns.
He coughed violently, blood streaking his chin.
Faran watched him. "Well?"
Kairo sat there for a moment, staring at his hands — bruised, trembling, empty.Then, somehow, he stood again, leaving his sword on the ground.
"Are you even trying?" Faran asked.
Kairo's breath shook. His voice cracked."I…"He swallowed."I can't."
He looked down, his vision blurring."I can't do it.""Don't you get it?""I'm nothing more than a damn failure."
His eyes watered. His knees hit the ground.
Faran said nothing. He stepped closer quietly."Kairo."
The bushes behind them rattled.
A low, distant crack split the air.
A massive wooden trunk tore through the forest, swinging down like a hammer.
The ground convulsed. Dust exploded upward, blinding everything.Animals fled into the trees.
Faran didn't move.He lifted one dagger — calm, composed.
"You need to—"
The words cut off as the blade met the tree.The impact roared. Bark shattered. The air imploded with a deafening shockwave.
"—stop trying to be older."
The trunk splintered apart. The giant red orc that swung it froze mid-motion — its head severed cleanly a second later.
The body collapsed, shaking the ground.
Kairo stared — breathless, frozen.A second… and it was killed. What…?
Faran lowered his dagger, brushing dust from his sleeve."You see," he said, "that ability's called a parry. You don't fight the blow. You let it kill itself."
He looked over his shoulder and smiled faintly."You just need to relax," he said. "You'll get wrinkles."
He extended his hand.Kairo hesitated — then took it.
Faran pulled him back to his feet.
Elyra drank from a wooden bar mug, the water catching the light — faintly blue, almost alive.She lowered it slowly, wiping a droplet from her chin."Woah… what is that thing?" she asked, eyes wide. "It's giant."
Kairo followed her gaze, still catching his breath."I think they're called… orcs," he said.
Faran crouched beside the fallen corpse, inspecting the remains. "Yeah, you're absolutely right," he said with a small grin. "And that one was a general too. You're lucky I was here, you know that, Kairo?"
Elyra leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity. "Woah… an orc. It's massive."She tilted her head slightly. "Do you think they'd taste better than stale bread?"
Faran laughed, shaking his head. "Maybe."
Kairo barely heard them. His hand rose slowly to his shoulder, fingers brushing over the spot where the dagger had cut him.The skin was smooth. No wound. No blood.
Where did…
The thought trailed off, lost in the sound of wind and the faint laughter between the other two.
Kairo glanced towards the camp.Elyra was still talking, her laughter faint under the drifting wind. Faran said something in return, low and calm, his words lost to distance.
Kairo didn't answer.He just sat there, hand still pressed against his shoulder, staring at the trees where the orc had fallen.The air around him felt different — colder, thinner.
The laughter faded.The embers glowed faintly, then dulled.
The fire from the camp had gone cold.