The desert wind slipped through like an ancient whisper, herding grains of sand that carried the memories of a world long dead. The ruins stood like tombs that refused to be forgotten—yet were never truly remembered.
Cael walked slowly, his feet pressing against cracked stone slabs. His eyes gazed forward—into a darkness that breathed, not with lungs, but with an unsettled soul.
And from within that darkness... a voice emerged.
> "Your steps are silent, yet we hear them."
> "Not because of their sound… but because your heart is unrooted."
Cael stopped. The voice was not an echo. It was a vibration, resonating directly into his awareness, bypassing all senses.
> "Who are you?" he asked, his voice calm.
> "We? We are what remains. The remnants of failed hopes. The spirits of those who died with imprisoned desires. We, who refused to vanish… and endured through longing."
> "Desire is not power," Cael said, his gaze sharp yet silent. "It's merely a snare wrapped in light."
> "And that is enough… to shape the little world we created."
He felt something—like countless eyes watching from within the ruins. Not physical eyes—but awarenesses peering through the veil of reality. Spirits… fused with walls, soil, and air.
> "My friends… are they trapped in illusions?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
> "Yes. We gave them the lives they longed for. A world tailored to their emptiness. And through that, we fortified our existence. Every laugh is a feast. Every tear, a surge of strength."
> "So you feed on humans?" Cael said.
> "We merely offer what they seek. Those who fail remain. Their souls… fuel our hope."
Cael fell silent. A gust of wind passed by, carrying fragments of voices—a mother's laugh, a child's cry, a teacher's praise. None of it was real.
> "And you… why are you not ensnared?"
> "Because I do not seek," he answered. "I live not to pursue, but to walk."
The spirit fell silent for a moment.
> "…a soul that does not move. A soul that does not cling. You are not hope… but silence."
> "And in silence," Cael said, "there is no door for illusion to enter."
Silence followed. Then from the depth of darkness, the spirit spoke:
> "But even silence can carry weight."
> "Touch that sword. If you can endure our anger, sorrow, and resentment… then you may carry us out. Not as a hero, but as a path."
Cael turned slowly. At the end of the ruin's corridor, a broken sword stood embedded in the ground. A dim light wrapped around it—not bright, but like a wound laid bare.
> "But if you fail," whispered the spirit, "you will shatter. Not in body, but in soul. And none shall remember your name."
Cael walked slowly.
> "A name is but a sound that quickly fades," he murmured. "But meaning… meaning is buried behind silence."
He approached the sword, and in his stillness, all the residing spirits prepared to test him.
The moment his fingertips touched the cold, ancient metal, the world collapsed.
Not with a roar… But with a profound hush, as if time itself held its breath.
Then black light engulfed his mind. He was no longer standing in desert ruins, no longer surrounded by his friends, but in a narrow hallway of an old house—silent and worn.
Small footsteps echoed. A thin boy with messy hair stared from the end of the hallway. His eyes were hollow. And Cael recognized him—it was himself, age seven. His tiny chest heavy with silence.
> "This is not a home," Cael murmured. "Only a shelter from the cold wind."
From behind a bedroom door, a woman sat—her body thin, her eyes red— and shut in a long sleep she would never wake from.
His mother. The one who fed him before he could hold a spoon. Who carried him when the world was too large. But Cael did not cry.
> "She died before I understood love," he said inwardly.
"But I didn't lose anything. Because loss only exists when there is something to hold."
The spirit's voice echoed in his consciousness.
> "You truly are… empty. Even affection cannot bind you?"
> "It's not that it cannot," Cael answered in silence, "but that it should not."
His eyes gazed at his mother's body.
> "Human relationships are reciprocal. A mother gives because she must. A child repays because his time will come. Not out of love—but out of the world's balance."
"Love is a mist… sometimes pleasant, but deceiving."
The hallway cracked. The illusion began to waver.
> "Do you not wish to hold her? To cry just once?"
> "If I cry, will that make the world fairer?"
"I was not made to lament. I am merely a small part of a greater law."
"And that law is: give, receive, then vanish."
Suddenly, the space trembled. The illusion began to burn—not by fire, but by an undeniable truth.
The spirits fell quiet.
> "You… you do not endure because of love?"
> "No. I endure because I live. And because I live, I must keep walking."
"Not because I hope—but because I am aware."
In a flash of dark light, the hallway turned to ash.
Cael opened his eyes.
His hand still gripped the broken sword, now faintly glowing. Around him, the wind felt calmer. In the distance, the illusionary voices of his friends began to fade.
And the spirit spoke once more…
> "You may not possess love, but your soul is untouchable… And in your emptiness, you have freed some of us."
Cael stared into the blade's surface. Its soft light danced—not from warmth, but from its purpose: to reveal truth.
His steps were slow.
Before him, the bodies of his classmates lay still. Their eyes open yet unseeing. Smiles etched upon their faces… false smiles born of dreamt happiness.
He walked toward the first.
A boy who once mocked him, now sat dreaming of power: a golden palace, followers, women, and a world bowing to his tongue.
Cael raised the sword.
> "This dream is too beautiful to save," he murmured.
"But someone like this—might be useful if the wind shifts."
The sword's tip touched the boy's forehead. In an instant, the illusion shattered… his body trembled, breath ragged, then he fainted.
Cael moved to the next.
A girl, her eyes glistening, lived within a dream of a warm family. A laughing father, a mother's embrace, a younger sibling running through a garden.
Cael frowned.
> "They've all died in the real world."
"And she… is offering her soul just to return to a time that will never come."
He hesitated—not from empathy, but because he knew: such a soul was fragile… it could break if awakened too harshly.
> "If she breaks, she's useless. But if she awakens… she might become a mirror for the others."
He touched her forehead.
The illusion crumbled… and she wept in silence.
Cael moved on. One by one—those trapped by desire for love, power, revenge, or freedom.
> "Desire is a crack.
And a crack is a gateway to ruin."
He saved not out of mercy, but from judgment— of who was worth keeping. Who might be of use. And who should be left behind when there was no other choice.
---
> "I do not care for you," Cael whispered in his heart.
"But this world is too vast to walk alone.
If I must sacrifice something, at least I'll know what it is."
And within the broken blade, the old spirits whispered… no longer in anger. But in observation. They knew… Cael was no savior.
He was the measurer.