A cold wind swept across the desolate battlefield, carrying the acrid scent of scorched earth and blood. The land, once teeming with life, lay in ruin. Blackened trees stood like charred skeletons, their twisted branches clawing at the smoky sky in silent agony. The distant mountains, jagged and indifferent, bore witness to the carnage—a testament to a battle that had shaken the heavens.
Amidst the devastation, two figures stood locked in time. A blade, its surface still pulsing with dying embers, had pierced deep into a man's chest. His dark heart, once untouchable, now lay impaled, and blood dripped onto the cracked earth, sizzling as it met the lingering embers.
The wielder of the blade trembled, his grip firm but his body wavering. The weight of his actions bore down on him like chains forged from his own sins. A ragged breath escaped his lips before he spoke.
"For the atrocities and misery you've brought upon this world... and your own soul... you are an anathema."
His voice, hoarse yet resolute, carried not
hatred, but sorrow.
"Unfortunate. Unforgivable... You.. shall suffer."
A gust of wind howled through the battlefield, carrying the scent of ash and fading magic. The swordsman coughhed violently, blood staining his lips. His strength abandoned him, his knees buckling beneath the weight of finality. As his body gave out, he collapsed—breath shallow, life slipping.
The man who had been struck remained motionless. His once-dominant gaze was distant, as if staring beyond the confines of this world. A slow blink. Then another. His breath, once steady, now faltered. The echoes of countless lives whispered through the air, a chorus of regret and inevitability.
Then, his eyes closed.
The battlefield fell into silence.
A single ember, caught in the breeze, flickered—dancing for a moment before vanishing into the void.
—
Raizen jolted awake, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. Cold sweat clung to his skin. For a moment, the ghost of the battlefield lingered—the scent of blood, the phantom pain of steel piercing flesh.
"Raizen!" A small, trembling voice pulled him from the abyss.
He turned. In the dim candlelight, Ryan stood at his bedside, clutching his tiny fists. His wide, innocent eyes shimmered with worry.
"You were... shaking again."
Raizen exhaled slowly, running a hand through his damp hair. His pulse was still erratic, but the sight of his little brother grounded him. He reached out, resting a hand atop Ryan's head.
"It was just a dream." His voice was calmer now, quieter. "Nothing to worry about."
Ryan hesitated before climbing onto the bed, wrapping his small arms around Raizen's waist. The warmth of his embrace, so fragile yet so real, melted away the remnants of the nightmare.
The battlefield was gone. The sword, the blood, the endless war—vanished into the recesses of his mind.
But the ember remained.
Smoldering. Waiting.