"A house set apart, surrounded by the trees of the forest. A figure seeks shelter from the storm that had begun to form.
A hooded being, tall, emanating an indescribable presence. The wind pushed against his robe as I opened the door.
A few hours earlier.
My life was never easy. I was always the target of jokes because of my appearance, my mannerisms, and especially because of my titles...
Let's just say that being born with the title "The Most Miserable" is no one's dream. That title prevents me from progressing in this world. I am among the very few people in history who were born with such a condition.
I had to watch my friends become warriors, mages, rogues—one of them even advanced to the second stage—while I remained here... compared to them, I am... miserable.
So after many years suffering with all this rotten feeling building up inside me, I decided to move away from the city where I grew up. It's not as if anyone would miss me, but I still somehow miss my old home— even the house of the old man of classes, the blended scent of perfumes from the locals.
That's why whenever I go out to hunt for lunch, I pass by there.
"Looks like a storm is coming," I said when I looked at the dark sky, almost like a night arriving too early.
Quickly, I grabbed my bow and my only arrow and ran into the forest. I already knew what could and could not be hunted. Bears, wolves, and deer were too fast—impossible for me. I was always satisfied with smaller meats, from rabbits to insects. Something I can take pride in is my palate.
The first gusts of wind swept through the trees at the moment I captured the first rabbit. My arrow had pierced through its side. Blood still trickled down as it struggled.
With sad eyes, I looked at the creature as someone who sees himself in the same position. Anything could bring about my end—perhaps even a rabbit. That's why this was always the hardest part.
"Killing someone you feel some kind of connection to is always difficult."
I ended up reading that line in one of my father's books. I never knew him, since he died a few days before I was born. But from the stories my mother told, he was clever—always with an idea to solve the village's problems. He seemed extraordinary. I even tried to be like him, but...
Whenever I thought of something, people didn't believe me. And some time later, I would be forced to watch someone else have the same idea and be glorified for it. It always upset me, but I kept my head held high—mostly thanks to my mother.
I miss you, Mom. Your embrace, your affection... your lessons.
"It's important to feel hatred, but even more important to know how to control it."
She used to say that often. It's a shame that Plague took her. I never even got to thank her.
"If you're listening, Mom, thank you."
Talking to myself—what did I expect, an answer from a tree? laughs But a warmth filled my heart, one of the few positive things about living alone in the distant forest.
I can express whatever I want freely. After all, no one ever comes to this dark side of the forest.
I thought, I spoke—everything alone. I was my own greatest companion. But as I made my way back, the rain began to fall..."