The prison was no more.
Smoke writhed through the ruins like wounded spirits, rising from the rubble in mournful tendrils. Embers floated in the cold night air, catching briefly on the ragged edges of collapsed stone.
He stepped through the shattered arch barefoot, bloodstained, and unbothered.
No chains. No gods. No mercy.
Above him, the sky choked on its own silence—moonless, starless, as if the heavens themselves turned their gaze away.
The Yuruke mark still smoldered on his chest, no longer a brand of punishment but of prophecy. His body trembled with exhaustion, yet he moved like memory—relentless, impossible to kill.
And then—
"Stop."
A voice like drawn steel.
Familiar. Unforgiving.
The Hero.
White cloak torn but gleaming still, sword in hand, eyes filled with the kind of conviction that had once saved cities—and condemned innocents.
"You broke the seal," the Hero said. "You chose this."
A laugh, low and bitter.
"I didn't break it. You did… the moment you let her die."
The Hero flinched. A ripple in the mask.
"She was… necessary."
His smile vanished, buried beneath silence that burned colder than fire.
"She trusted you."
"She was dangerous."
The villain stepped forward, slow and sharp as a blade unsheathed. "You knew what they were going to do. You stood by the door. You heard her scream."
A heartbeat of hesitation. The Hero's hand tightened on his blade.
"She wasn't normal," he said. "She—she couldn't be controlled."
"No," the villain said quietly, voice like thunder with its teeth clenched. "She was kind. That was her power."
A beat.
Then, softer:
"She asked me once what the moon looked like."
---
FLASHBACK
The girl with no voice.
A jar of fireflies in her lap.
A trembling smile. Her hands spelling the words in clumsy signs:
I want to see the moon with you.
---
He trembled now—not from fear, but from fury made divine.
His hand rose. The earth obeyed.
Stone cracked. Fire danced. Magic screamed into being.
And for the first time, the Hero stumbled.
The wind howled. Shadows spun.
Each strike was a requiem. A memory in motion.
Not vengeance. Not justice. Something far more dangerous—grief unbound.
And the world watched, breathless.
This was no tale of heroes. No simple war of right and wrong.
This was a story of a boy who once believed in mercy—
Until they taught him how to kill the things he loved.
---
The battle ended like all tragedies do—quietly.
The Hero lay broken, cloak scorched, sword shattered.
The villain stood above him, breath ragged, the glow of a single firefly pulsing in his pocket like a heartbeat.
"She believed in monsters," he whispered. "Because she thought even they could love."
He looked toward the sky, now clearing, stars blinking into view like old regrets.
And maybe, just maybe—
He still could.