The moment Ryuxian's fingers brushed the black knot—
The world convulsed.
A sharp, deafening silence swallowed the forest, an abrupt vacuum where sound had been. The tangled black threads snapped not like mere strings, but like the tearing of something fundamental, a rupture in the very fabric of existence.
And then
A man collapsed before him.
"To sever a fate is not to undo it, but to accept the weight of its absence."
"A man is not lost when the darkness takes him—he is lost when he ceases to fight against it."
"There are wounds too deep for time to heal, burdens too heavy for the soul to bear. Some can only be carried until they break."
He hit the ground hard, gasping, his body wracked with tremors. His skin was a canvas of black sigils, ancient and writhing, as if they were alive, each symbol pulsing with an eerie, internal light, shifting like ink seeping into his very skin, a macabre tattoo of corrupted power.
His eyes—brilliant, wild, fractured—locked onto Ryuxian's, a desperate plea amidst the chaos.
Not a monster.
Not a shade,
A man,
And yet power surged within him, a torrent too vast for his mortal vessel. His body trembled violently, his breath uneven, ragged.
"Kill me." His voice was rough, edged with desperation, a raw plea against an inevitable fate.
Ryuxian stayed still, his gaze unwavering.
The man clenched his fists, knuckles bone-white. The sigils on his arms twisted, growing darker, the light within them pulsing with malevolent energy. His jaw tightened as a raw, primal force surged through him, contorting his features. His body convulsed, a violent struggle against itself. His nails dug into the dirt, fighting against the encroaching darkness.
He's holding it back.
But for how long?
His muscles tensed, coiled like a beast chained at the edge of madness, straining against its bonds. His mind—fracturing, losing to the power within, a desperate battle against oblivion.
Still, he fought it.
He fought it with everything he had, a testament to the sliver of humanity that remained.
The Breaking Point
A shudder ran through the air, a ripple in the very atmosphere. The sigils darkened further, the energy around him twisting unnaturally, a vortex of dark power.
He gritted his teeth, a low growl escaping his throat. His fingers dug deeper into the ground, tearing at the earth.
"I can't… hold it much longer"
Then
He moved.
Fast. Faster than Ryuxian had anticipated, a blur of raw, chaotic power, attacking without thought—without control, a desperate lunge against the inevitable.
A battle.
Ryuxian barely avoided the first strike, the air whistling past his ear. He twisted, drawing obsidian stones from his pouch, their dark surfaces gleaming in the dim light. The moment they left his hands, the symbols reacted, flaring with dark energy, repelling the obsidian like opposing magnets.
The man staggered, but he didn't stop, his eyes burning with a dark, frenzied light.
Another surge of energy exploded from him—dark tendrils spiraling outward, like living shadows reaching out to consume.
Ryuxian weaved between them, his breath steady, precise, focused, his movements a dance of evasion and calculated action.
This isn't just power. It's a curse. A fate imposed on him.
A fate twisting him apart, a cruel puppeteer pulling the strings of his existence.
If I don't end this soon…
He'll be lost.
The sigils spread faster, creeping up his neck, his jaw tightening, his features contorting into a mask of pain. His body shook violently, a vessel on the verge of shattering.
His golden eyes—pleading, but still aware, a flicker of humanity amidst the encroaching darkness.
"DO IT!" he shouted, voice raw, a desperate plea. "Before I "
A violent tremor ran through him, a final, convulsive shudder.
His breath hitched, a final, ragged gasp.
Then—
His gaze changed, the light fading, replaced by an empty, hollow stare.
The moment Ryuxian saw it, he knew—
There was no more time.
A Fate Severed
Ryuxian didn't hesitate, but for a moment a flicker of doubt: If I do this, what will happen to him?
He moved fast, weaving through the darkness, his movements fluid and precise. His fingers reachednot for the man
But for the thread.
The one binding him. The one damning him.
His golden eyes sharpened, focused on the unseen connection.
One decision.
One cut.
He exhaled and severed it, a clean, decisive motion.
A pulse of pure silence followed, a sudden void where the man's corrupted fate had been.
The black thread unraveled, the strands dissolving into nothingness.
And the moment it did,
The man's body stilled, the violent tremors ceasing.
The overwhelming surge of power vanished—gone as if it had never existed, leaving behind an empty shell.
He collapsed to his knees, his body limp.
Then—his body fell, hitting the ground with a soft thud.
The sigils faded, their glow dimming, the malevolent light extinguishing. The tension in his muscles released, his body finally at peace. His breathing slowed, becoming shallow and then ceasing altogether.
And then—
Black shadows emerged, coalescing from the surrounding darkness.
The air grew cold, a sudden drop in temperature.
The darkness—silent yet watching—descended, a gathering of unseen eyes.
The moment the man's thread was cut, the shadows that had been lurking—waiting—began to move, flowing like liquid night.
They gathered around him, their forms shifting and swirling.
Slowly. Silently.
"The sun may return, but the shadows do not simply disappear—they linger in the hearts of those who once called them home."
"Not all chains are visible, not all prisons have walls. And sometimes, even freedom feels like a cage."
They didn't attack. They didn't consume with violent hunger.
Instead—they took him, a gentle, almost mournful embrace.
His body, weightless in their grasp, was lifted from the earth, rising into the darkness.
The shadows swirled around him—like a mourning veil, like something claiming what was always theirs, a final, somber procession.
Ryuxian stood still, watching, his expression unreadable. He didn't stop them.
There was no need to.
This was how it was always meant to end, a final act in a tragic play.
The man's final fate, claimed by the shadows that had waited patiently.
The Sunlight's Return
As the shadows carried him away, something shifted, a subtle change in the atmosphere.
The thick clouds, the lingering darkness that had choked the village—
Began to lift, dissolving like smoke in a gentle breeze. The air cleared, the stifling heaviness faded, replaced by a sense of lightness. For the first time in what felt like centuries, the sky opened, revealing a vast expanse of blue. Sunlight spilled through the trees, illuminating the world once more, casting long, dancing shadows. The village—long trapped in its cursed twilight—was finally free, bathed in the warmth of the returning sun. Ryuxian exhaled, tilting his head up to the warmth, letting the light wash over him. but the villagers blink too slowly, as if still half-trapped in a dream.
And for the first time since arriving—
The threads of fate no longer wept, their mournful whispers silenced.
The sky cleared. but the villagers blink too slowly, as if still half-trapped in a dream.
A warmth, long forgotten, spread through the land, a comforting embrace. The suffocating clouds that had loomed over the village—silent, watching, eternal—began to unravel, their dark tendrils retreating. Like mist retreating before the dawn, revealing a world reborn.
The once-dim streets of the Clouded Village were no longer trapped under shadow, now bathed in the golden light of the sun.
And yet—
Ryuxian stood still, his senses alert.
His fingers twitched slightly, the phantom sensation of the cut thread lingering against his skin, a subtle reminder of the act. His blade remained at his side, but there was no more battle left to fight, or so he thought.
The black shadows had already taken the man's body, their silent procession fading into the depths of the forest.
The sigils.
The curse.
Everything that had bound him, seemingly gone.
It's over.
Or at least—it should have been, a sense of unease lingering despite the apparent resolution.
A Silence was too Loud to ignore and the villagers did not rejoice.
There were no cheers, no relieved sighs, no cries of victory, the sounds of liberation.
Instead—only silence.
Heavy. Stagnant.
The kind that settles after something unspoken, a weighty hush that hangs in the air.
The villagers, who had once moved in whispers and wary glances, now stood at their doorways, their faces shadowed in the fresh light of day, their expressions unreadable.
Their eyes—hollow, yet filled with a strange, unsettling intensity.
Not in fear, the fear they had lived with for so long.
Not in grief, for the loss of the man.
But in something far more unsettling.
Uncertainty, a blank canvas of unspoken thoughts.
They've lived in the dark for so long…
Do they even remember the sun?
Ryuxian let out a slow breath, his golden eyes scanning the empty streets, his senses heightened.
Something felt wrong, a subtle dissonance in the air.
"To be remembered as a monster or to be forgotten as a man—perhaps there is no crueler choice."
"When the silence is louder than the storm, it is not peace—it is the whisper of what Ryuxian still cannot see."