Sarion's mind raced, but his body moved on autopilot, following the young man in silence, every step heavy, every breath shallow. The darkness around him felt suffocating, pressing in on all sides as though the night itself was conspiring to swallow him whole. His mother… his sister… they had fallen, disappeared into the abyss below. He tried to shut out the image of their terrified faces, but it wouldn't go away. He couldn't. The screams from the village, the flames licking at the night sky, all of it seemed to reverberate in his head like a never-ending nightmare.
His thoughts flickered to the chief of guards. He had fallen too, but there was still hope, wasn't there? The chief would protect them. He had to. The chief of guards was the best fighter Sarion knew. Stronger than anyone else in the village. He would get his mother and sister to safety. They had to be fine. They had to be.
But his father… where was his father? Was he still alive? Was he facing the one who had caused all of this? The one who had turned his world into a battlefield in the blink of an eye? He should be fighting, right? He had to be—he had always been strong, always so composed in the face of danger. But what if he… No. Sarion didn't want to entertain that thought. He couldn't afford to.
Then there was the chef. His stomach churned as the image of the butchered body flashed in his mind again. The man had prepared the meals for years, the one who made sure every dinner was perfect, every dish carefully crafted. And now… now he was a corpse, a pile of flesh and bone, the very person who had fed them for so long reduced to nothing. Sarion had seen animals slaughtered, had even helped with the butchering. But this... this was different. The humanity of it, the utter finality, it felt wrong in a way he couldn't quite explain.
He was shaken from his thoughts as a flicker of motion ahead of him caught his attention. The young man was still leading him, his dark cloak flowing like smoke in the night. The man hadn't said anything since the last cruel words. He didn't need to. Sarion could feel the intensity of his presence, could feel the calm, almost eerie certainty that hung around him like an invisible cloak.
What kind of person was he? What kind of monster found enjoyment in this? Sarion could feel the unsettling weight of the young man's gaze on him, as if the very act of being in his presence was enough to twist the air. The cruel smile, the words about art, about death—everything about him screamed danger. The calmness, the mockery, the delight he took in Sarion's fear. But most disturbing of all was the feeling that this young man didn't see Sarion as a person. To him, Sarion was just another piece in the game—a test, a prize, or perhaps even a toy to be played with.
Sarion's mind was a blur of thoughts and emotions, but through the haze, one thing stood out: he couldn't run. He had to stay alive, stay conscious. He had to survive for them—for his mother and sister, for his father, for the people still out there fighting.
And yet, despite it all, a part of him couldn't help but feel the weight of the hopelessness pressing down on him. How could anyone survive this? How could they face something like the Black Tower?
The young man stopped suddenly, and Sarion almost collided with him. He had been too lost in thought to pay attention to where they were going. The young man glanced back, and the cruel smile was back on his lips. "I know that I told you to be quiet," he said, his tone mocking. "But you're still here, aren't you? Not screaming, not running. Just… thinking. I like that. You might actually be useful after all."
Sarion wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn't come. What could he say? What could he even do? His body was numb, his mind frozen, and all he could do was follow.
Follow and pray. Pray to God that somehow, someone would save them.
...
Sarion's feet moved on their own as the young man led him down the dim hallway. The darkness was thick here, as if the shadows had become a tangible presence, pressing in on them. Only faint slivers of moonlight filtered through cracks in the walls, casting fleeting patterns across the floor. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the very weight of the night was bearing down on him.
The silence was suffocating.
They reached the stairs that led to the ground floor. Sarion's heart thudded louder, a rhythm of dread pounding in his ears. He had no idea what would come next, but he knew, in his gut, that this was far from over. The blood had barely dried on the floor upstairs, the image of the butchered chef still seared in his mind. And now, this—this new horror.
As they rounded the corner, the dim light revealed two figures bound to chairs at the far end of the hallway, just before the stairs. Sarion's breath hitched. His mind processed the sight slowly, the recognition creeping in like cold fingers. One of the figures was a young man, a new guard who had joined just a few months ago. His face, usually so bright and full of potential, was now twisted in fear and confusion, his body tense as he struggled against the ropes that bound him. His eyes were wide, searching the darkness, but they could barely move.
The other figure, though, made Sarion's stomach churn. A servant girl, no older than sixteen if he wasn't mistaken. She had been married to the young guard only weeks ago. A union born of love, a young couple with their whole lives ahead of them. But now, tied together in the shadows of the hallway, they were nothing more than prisoners—helpless and broken. Their heads were slightly bowed, their mouths sealed shut with cloth. But Sarion could see their chests rise and fall with shallow breaths, the faint tremble in their bodies speaking volumes of their terror.
He could feel the air around them, thick with tension. The hallway seemed even colder now, as if the walls themselves were watching them, waiting for the next cruel move. The young man leading Sarion stopped in front of the couple, his presence like a dark cloud hanging over them. He pointed toward them, a gesture that seemed almost casual, though it carried a weight of inevitability. "There they are," the young man said with a smirk. "Two pieces in the game, just like you."
Sarion's heart pounded in his chest, and he took an involuntary step forward, but his feet seemed rooted to the floor. His breath caught in his throat. He didn't understand. Why were they here? Why were these two—newly wed, so full of life—tied up like this?
He glanced at the couple, his eyes shifting between their pale, terrified faces. He could see the fear in the young guard's eyes—wide, pleading, but helpless. The girl, too, her eyes were wide with panic. Her hands strained against the ropes, her body rigid, like she was trying to escape the nightmare unfolding around them. But they couldn't. They couldn't do anything.
Sarion's mind swirled with a hundred questions, but none of them made sense. Why them?
The silence between them was heavy, almost suffocating. Sarion could hear the muffled sounds of their breathing—soft, shallow, interrupted by the occasional sound of the young guard's attempts to say something, his lips moving as if he were mumbling through the cloth gagging him. It was unintelligible, just faint, desperate noises. But that was all they could manage. And those sounds only seemed to emphasize the helplessness of it all.
The young man at Sarion's side didn't react to the couple's cries, the tremors in their bodies. Instead, he leaned in closer, his voice low and mocking. "They'll make for a fine test, don't you think?"
Sarion's chest tightened. His thoughts screamed in protest. He couldn't let this happen. But how could he stop it? How could he even make a move when his heart was in his throat, his body frozen with fear and indecision?
The young man's eyes never left Sarion as he took a step back. His smile didn't fade. "Decisions, decisions," he murmured. "Which one would you prefer? You're the one who gets to choose."
Sarion's eyes locked on the couple once more. His mind screamed to look away, to shut it all out, but he couldn't. He had to face it. The terror in their eyes. The hope that was already being ripped away from them.
His gaze flickered back to the young man standing beside him. The man had said it was his choice. His choice.
But what choice did he really have?
Sarion's voice came out shaky, almost a whisper, as he tried to keep his composure. "What do you mean?" He looked at the young man, his eyes filled with confusion and dread. "What are you asking me to do?"
The young man's smile stretched wider, and for a brief moment, he looked like a predator circling its prey. He stepped closer to Sarion, his boots making soft, deliberate clicks against the stone floor. His eyes twinkled with a dark amusement, the kind that came from watching someone struggle. "What do I mean? Oh, it's simple, really." He paused for a moment, watching Sarion's face, as though savoring the tension. Then, with a deep, mocking breath, he continued. "You see, you have a decision to make, don't you? A decision that will determine the fate of two souls. You know them, don't you?" He gestured toward the young guard and the servant girl. "They're the ones who tried to defy fate, thinking they could live their little life, get married, be happy. But, you see, life doesn't work like that, does it? We can't have nice things... not without someone taking them from us." His voice lowered, but Sarion could feel the venom in every word. "And now, you get to choose who goes first. Who deserves to die first."
The young man's laughter was low, almost sing-song, as he circled Sarion like a cat with a mouse. "Should it be the soldier?" He tilted his head, considering. "He looks strong. But I guess that doesn't matter when you're tied up and helpless, does it?" The young man's finger tapped the side of his head, as if lost in thought. "Or maybe you think it should be the girl? She's young. So much life ahead of her." He leaned closer to Sarion, lowering his voice to a whisper, almost as if they were sharing a secret. "Which one would you choose, if you could? The man who's trained to fight? Or the innocent little thing, all fragile and soft?" He took a step back, a wicked grin on his face. "You know, you can't save both, can you? Which one will you sacrifice?"
Sarion's mind was a whirlpool of conflicting thoughts, his body still frozen in place. He couldn't make a decision. He couldn't choose. His throat was dry, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His gaze shifted from the young guard to the servant girl, their bound forms helpless against the ropes. They both struggled, their heads jerking in random directions as if they were trying to speak, but only muffled sounds emerged through their cloth gags. The girl's shoulders heaved as she tried to twist free, but the ropes cut into her skin, leaving angry red marks. The guard's legs trembled, his boots scraping against the floor as he shifted uncomfortably, trying desperately to break free.
The quiet struggle was the only sound in the hallway, save for the young man's voice, which seemed to grow louder and more triumphant. "You see? You can't choose, can you? Not a single one of them deserves to go first. But that's what makes this so fun." He walked around Sarion in slow, measured steps, savoring the silence, his voice now taking on an almost sing-song quality. "It's like a game, really. You're caught between them. You know it's not about who's better, who's more deserving. It's just about deciding. That's the true power, don't you think?" He laughed softly, the sound light, almost childlike. "And yet you're stuck. You can't decide."
Sarion's stomach twisted. His hands clenched into fists, but he couldn't move. His gaze flitted back to the couple, struggling weakly against their restraints. The young man was still ranting, his voice growing more animated as Sarion stood motionless.
"What's the point of life if we don't decide things? What's the point of having the power to choose if you don't use it? It's beautiful, isn't it?" The young man's voice grew soft, almost affectionate, like a lover's whisper. "The feeling of choosing someone's fate. To hold that power over them, even if you can't bear it. It's like... like being handed the reins to a carriage, and then just driving. You can take it anywhere, go as fast or slow as you please, make your own path. And here you are, frozen in place, too afraid to move."
His tone grew darker, more contemplative, as though he were speaking to himself as much as to Sarion. "I don't blame you, of course. Most people freeze up. When faced with death, when forced to choose who lives and who dies... we all hesitate, don't we?" He took a step closer, his eyes glinting with sadistic glee. "But that hesitation? That moment? That's where the real beauty lies. In the struggle. The pause before the fall."
Sarion's breath hitched in his throat. The weight of the young man's words pressed down on him like a suffocating fog. Every syllable twisted like a blade, carving deeper into his chest. The young man could see it, couldn't he? The way Sarion's mind was unraveling, the conflict that waged inside him. And worse yet, the young man enjoyed it. There was something perverse in the way his smile widened, how his eyes shimmered with twisted satisfaction.
The couple in front of him remained still now, their earlier struggles stilled by exhaustion. Their bodies were bound to the chairs, their limbs secured tightly, but their eyes—those eyes spoke volumes. The young guard's face was pale with fear, his head jerking in futile attempts to break free. His hands were trembling violently, but the ropes dug into his wrists, each movement a desperate attempt to free himself. The servant girl's chest heaved in shallow, rapid breaths, her face flushed with panic. She, too, tried to twist her body, but the bonds were unyielding, cruelly keeping her in place.
Their silence seemed to fill the room, heavy and oppressive, broken only by the soft sound of their muffled whimpers, barely audible through the cloth gags. Sarion's heart pounded in his chest as his gaze flitted from one to the other, then back to the young man who was watching him with such anticipation, like a wolf waiting for its prey to make a choice.
"It's all up to you now," the young man said, his voice gleeful and unnervingly calm. "Choose. Who dies first?"
Sarion's mouth went dry. His head spun as his chest tightened, the weight of the decision suffocating him. His throat was paralyzed, his mind blank. The world seemed to narrow down to that single moment, the air thick with dread and the crushing pressure of the choice that was being forced upon him. The two lives in front of him, their fate resting in his hands—he couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He couldn't choose.
The young man's grin never wavered, his eyes sparkling with sadistic amusement. He took a step back, folding his arms across his chest, as if he were enjoying the spectacle of Sarion's turmoil. "No rush, of course," he said lightly. "But, really, don't take too long. This kind of thing always gets boring when it drags on too much."
Sarion felt his blood run cold, his limbs shaking as he stood, rooted to the spot. His eyes locked on the young couple—so young, so full of life, and now reduced to this. The young guard's lips moved, but no sound emerged. The servant girl's eyes were wide, frantic, her whole body trembling. And yet, they couldn't even speak. They were just... waiting. Waiting for him to decide.
The young man's eyes glinted with a twisted curiosity as he leaned closer to Sarion, his voice low and teasing. "What's your name, then?" he asked, breaking the silence with the question. "You seem... lost in thought. Tell me your name. Let's make this more personal."
Sarion's throat felt dry, his voice barely a whisper as he spoke, almost as if the weight of the moment made his words harder to find. "Sarion," he answered, his eyes still locked on the couple, unable to pull his gaze away from their pleading expressions.
The young man nodded thoughtfully, then clicked his fingers with a quick, sharp snap. As he pointed toward the couple, a tiny spark of fire appeared in the air, the flame flickering dangerously close to the cloth gagging the guard. With an almost delicate precision, the fire burned through the fabric, but it didn't touch his skin. It didn't burn his mouth. The young man's control over the flame was perfect, and the guard's gag was destroyed without a trace of harm to him.
The young man's gaze remained fixed on Sarion as he addressed the guard. "Well then, what about you? Who do you choose?" His tone was light, almost playful, but there was a sharpness to it that cut through the air. "I'm getting a little bored of this indecision, you know. You've got a life hanging in the balance, and here you are, dithering."
The guard's eyes darted between the young man and his wife. His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, but his resolve was clear. "Let her live," he said, his words heavy with emotion. "Please, let her live... and let me die."
The servant girl's eyes widened in shock, and she shook her head frantically, her breath hitching as tears began to form in her eyes. "No, please!" she begged, her voice muffled by the gag. "No, don't! I won't let you die for me!" Her body trembled with each desperate attempt to speak, the tears running down her cheeks as she twisted in her restraints.
Sarion watched in silence, frozen in place. The words of the young man, the pleas of the couple, everything seemed to swirl around him in a haze, but he remained unable to react. His body felt like it had turned to stone, his mind paralyzed by the weight of the choice he was too terrified to make.
The room was thick with tension, and the young man's eyes remained fixed on Sarion, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his lips.
The young man's grin widened, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he lifted his hand, this time not using fire but air. The atmosphere shifted, the weight in the room growing even heavier as he manipulated the air around them. It whipped through the darkened hallway, swirling with unseen power until it solidified, taking shape.
A large spear, its edges sharp and deadly, formed from the very air itself. The woman's eyes widened, and despite the cloth sealing her mouth, she seemed to scream out in pure panic, her body straining against the ropes as if she could somehow break free. Her desperate gaze locked onto her husband, the silent plea in her eyes clear—Please don't let him die for me.
Sarion's feet felt as though they were planted in the earth itself, frozen in place. His heart pounded in his chest, his body trembling, but he couldn't move. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. He wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything, but nothing happened. He could only stand there, paralyzed by fear, watching the inevitable unfold before him.
The young man's eyes flicked briefly to Sarion, but he didn't seem to care anymore. His focus remained on the couple, on the man whose life hung in the balance. The guard, eyes wide with fear, caught his wife's gaze for one final time. His voice came out hoarse, desperate, but his words were soft, touched with the raw emotion of someone facing the end.
"I love you..." His voice cracked, but he smiled, even in the face of death, as though it was the last thing he could give her. "I always will..."
The air shimmered as the young man tightened his control over the spear of air, pushing it forward with a swift motion. The guard's expression went blank for a split second, as if the realization of what was happening hadn't fully hit him. Then, in the next breath, the spear pierced through his chest, and he fell forward with a lifeless thud. The world around them seemed to still for just a moment, before the sound of blood splattering against the wooden floor echoed through the silence.
The blood spread quickly across the once-brown wood, painting it red. It pooled around the lifeless body, the contrast stark and horrifying. Sarion's breath caught in his throat, the scene unfolding before him one he could hardly comprehend. He had seen death before, but never so close, never like this.
The servant girl's eyes widened, her body trembling in fear and grief as she watched her husband, her protector, collapse before her. Though her mouth remained sealed, her face contorted in silent anguish, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Sarion couldn't move. He couldn't do anything. He simply stood there, frozen, as the couple's fates were sealed before him.
The moment the guard's lifeless body hit the ground, the air in the room seemed to grow even colder, thicker. Before Sarion could even process what had happened, the young man didn't hesitate. His fingers flicked once more, and a second spear, just as sharp and lethal as the first, formed in an instant, its deadly edge gleaming in the dim light.
The servant girl, her eyes wide with disbelief, had no time to even register her husband's death before the spear pierced through her chest with brutal precision. A final gasp, silent and choking, left her lips, and her body crumpled, lifeless, onto the ground beside her husband. Blood pooled around them both, staining the floor in a chilling, silent testament to the violence that had just occurred.
Sarion stood there, frozen, his wide eyes locked on the two bodies. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. His world seemed to spin, and before he could even grasp the enormity of what had just happened, his body betrayed him. His legs gave way, and he staggered back, his feet dragging against the cold, hard floor.
His mind was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, confusion, grief, helplessness. He wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything, but all that came was a shaky, horrified breath as his eyes rolled back in shock. His small, trembling hands reached out to steady himself, but nothing in the world seemed real anymore. Nothing made sense. Not the violence, not the deaths, not the terrifying figure standing behind him.
The young man, seemingly delighted by Sarion's reaction, chuckled darkly. His voice oozed with amusement, almost as though he was enjoying a performance.
"Well, well, look at that," he said, a mocking edge to his tone. "Finally reacted, did you? Took you long enough. Look at you, taking a step back. For a moment, I thought you were just going to stand there, paralyzed forever."
He stepped closer, his presence imposing, a wicked smile on his lips. "I must admit, it's a bit amusing to see someone finally react to what's happening. You were doing so well with that little frozen act of yours. I thought you'd be just like everyone else, frozen in fear. But look at you now... finally realizing that you're in a world where nothing matters, nothing's safe."
Sarion couldn't form words. His mind felt numb, the weight of the situation far too much for his young mind to handle. His legs shook, and all he could do was back away, instinctively, from the chilling presence that loomed over him.
The young man only smiled wider, amused by the fear he'd elicited from Sarion. It was a twisted kind of satisfaction—seeing the boy's innocence shattered in such a brutal, sudden way. The fear, the disbelief, the complete helplessness—it was everything he had hoped for.
As Sarion took another step back, he couldn't even find the strength to fight it anymore.
Sarion's heart pounded in his chest as his instincts screamed at him to run. Without a second thought, he turned and bolted for the stairs. His small feet slapped against the cold, hard floor as he pushed himself faster, trying to distance himself from the horror that had just unfolded.
Behind him, the young man's voice floated through the air, taunting and detached, full of amusement. "You think you can escape, little boy? Go ahead. Run. I want to see how far you can make it."
Sarion didn't dare look back. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body already aching from the effort of running so hard, so fast. He reached the base of the stairs and almost tripped as his foot caught the first step. But then, something—something invisible—pushed against him, supporting him, guiding him.
The air itself seemed to bend and shift around him, a strange force that kept him from tumbling down the stairs. He didn't understand it, but he felt it. The air around him was not his own—he was being helped.
The realization hit him like a cold wave. Why? Why was the young man doing this?
Sarion's mind was too young to fully comprehend, but the twisted cruelty of it all was clear enough. The young man was letting him run—not because he cared, but because it amused him to see Sarion struggle, to see him scramble to escape a fate he couldn't outrun. He was toying with him, playing a sick game.
Even as Sarion made it down the stairs, his legs burning and his breath ragged, he knew it wasn't about escaping anymore. It was about the young man watching him, enjoying his suffering from a distance, taking pleasure in the helplessness that he was so eager to inflict.
The fact that Sarion was being allowed to run—it was more cruel than if the young man had chased him. Because, in a way, this was worse. He wasn't even worth the effort.
Sarion stumbled backward as he pushed open the front door, gasping for air, his legs unsteady beneath him. His heart raced, and he could barely think straight. But as he stepped outside, the ground beneath his feet felt real, solid, and the cold night air hit his face with an almost cruel clarity. For a moment, it seemed like he might be free—until he heard a soft sound behind him.
Sarion froze.
Turning just in time, he saw the young man, floating gently down the stairs, his feet never touching the ground. He was calm, almost leisurely, as if he were strolling in the park, a cruel smile still playing on his lips. "You can't run forever, little boy. Did you really think—"
But before the young man could finish his sentence, a flash of motion interrupted him. It was so quick, so sudden that Sarion couldn't even comprehend it in real time. A figure had appeared in the doorway in front of him, blocking his escape completely. A swift, almost imperceptible movement, and then—
The young man's head flew clean off his shoulders, landing with a sickening thud outside, rolling toward the grass. His body crumpled lifelessly to the ground with a final, brutal thump, still twitching for a second before everything went still. Blood sprayed from his neck in a wide arc, staining the dirt at the entrance.
Sarion's body went cold. His breath caught in his throat as he couldn't process what had just happened. One moment, the young man had been standing there, taunting him, and in the next, he was gone—vanished without a trace, as if he had never existed.
Then, the figure that had done it stepped forward, stepping into the faint light of the moon that spilled across the doorstep. Sarion's eyes locked on to the figure, his mind scrambling to make sense of it.
The man was dressed in dark, battle-worn armor, a heavy, black chest plate that gleamed faintly even in the dim light. It was smooth and ominous, shaped perfectly to fit the man's lithe yet muscular frame. The armor had an eerie, terrifying presence to it—unforgiving, unyielding. There was no cape, no flourishes, just the cold, steely metal. His gauntlets were tight, and his boots heavy, leaving deep prints in the ground as he stood tall in the doorway.
The man held a black short sword in his right hand, its blade dripping with fresh blood, and in his left, a scimitar with a curved edge, made for swift, precise strikes. The swordsman's movements were calm and controlled, his eyes scanning the surroundings with careful precision.
The helmet he wore was terrifying—like the skull of a wolf. It was crafted from dark, almost obsidian-like metal, with sharp, angular features that exaggerated its wild, feral appearance. The visor slits were narrow, fierce, giving the impression of piercing eyes hidden behind them. And when those eyes were revealed, they glowed with a haunting crimson red, a light that seemed to burn into anyone who dared to meet them. It was a gaze that paralyzed, a gaze that filled the soul with an overwhelming sense of dread. The top of the helmet rose into a jagged crest that resembled a wolf's mane, sweeping back like a predator's vicious snarl. The overall shape was sleek, ominous, and it gave off a sense of relentless, unstoppable death.
Sarion's body shook as the realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
"The Shadow Assassin."
That's all Sarion could think in that moment, the only word that came to his mind when his eyes locked onto the warrior. This was no ordinary fighter. This was someone skilled—deadly—and merciless.
And Sarion… he had no idea why he had been spared.
—End of Chapter.