Lili slowed her steps, her cloak swaying in the settling dust.
Her eyes narrowed. Hmm… seems like it's over.
But then—movement.
The haze tore apart as a figure pushed through. It was Ezo.
His armor was cracked and broken, blood dripping from his lips, yet his eyes burned with a wild yellow aura. A twisted, almost gleeful smile spread across his face. Despite his wounds, he clenched his massive sword and dragged it along the ground with a metallic screech before suddenly vanishing—
In an instant, he was in front of her.
Lili's heart skipped for half a second, but instinct saved her. She darted into the air, wings of magic carrying her higher. "Huh… nice try. But it didn't even hurt me."
Ezo tilted his head, blood still leaking from his mouth. His voice was low, mocking.
"Are you sure?"
Her eyes flicked down—and her breath caught. A thin red line was etched across her hand, blood trickling from the shallow cut.
For the first time, Lili's lips curved into a genuine smile. "So… you can scratch me after all."
Her expression shifted. Serious now.
She raised both hands, her aura swelling like a collapsing star.
Suddenly, the very air around Ezo warped, a crushing weight pressing down on him. His knees bent, the ground cracked beneath his feet, and his sword trembled in his grip.
"Gravity…" she whispered, her voice calm, lethal. "Let's see how long you can endure this."
The crushing weight of Lili's gravity pressed down on Ezo, forcing his body closer to the ground. His armor cracked, blood dripped from his mouth, but his burning yellow eyes refused to dim.
And then, a voice—his own voice—rose inside him, narrating a past that refused to stay buried.
"My father… he was a respected man," Ezo whispered, his breath ragged. "A leader in the Holy Empire during King David's reign. People saw him as a great soldier, a man to be trusted. Everyone thought I would walk the same path… that I would carry his legacy."
The dust around him swirled, and for a moment, the battlefield dissolved into memory.
He was twelve again, maybe fourteen. His hands were smaller, calloused from wooden practice swords. His face, though younger, carried the same determined fire that burned in his eyes now.
And standing before him was his father—broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed, his presence commanding even in silence. The kind of man who looked like he could hold the weight of an entire kingdom on his back.
"Ezo," his father's voice was steady, almost weary. "I know you don't want to be like me. My work is dangerous… every day, I wonder if I'll even live to see the next sunrise. I chose this path because it's what I wanted. But you… you don't have to."
Ezo shook his head quickly. "No, Dad, it's fine. I'm even learning sword skills—just like yesterday, when you were teaching the villagers how to swing properly. I was watching."
His father raised an eyebrow, almost surprised. "You were there?"
"Yeah," young Ezo admitted with a faint smile. "I don't want people to think badly of you. If they hate me, they'll say you failed as a father… that you didn't raise me well. I can't let anyone think that about you."
For a moment, his father froze, eyes widening at the boy's words. Then he stepped forward and pulled Ezo into a sudden embrace, holding him tightly before letting go. His expression softened, a rare gentleness flickering in the man's usually hard features.
He turned toward the door, his boots echoing against the wooden floor. Just before leaving, he paused at the threshold. He didn't look back, didn't allow his son to see his face—but his words carried all the weight of a father's love.
"Ezo," he said quietly, "you can choose whatever you want. Your dreams, your goals—no one can take them from you. So follow them. Live for them. Do your best."
Ezo's voice trembled as the memory dragged him deeper. "As my father said… I did it. I didn't follow his path. I chose my own. But…" His eyes darkened. "That thing I feared most—happened. People began pointing their fingers at him. The same way they judged me, they turned to him, whispering that he had failed as a father. That he raised a weak son who couldn't carry his name."
The vision shifted, the battlefield fading into the crowded streets of the empire. Merchants gossiped, neighbors whispered behind cupped hands, and soldiers muttered in disdain as Ezo passed by. Their sneers weren't only for him—they reached for the shadow of his father, staining his reputation.
Ezo clenched his fists. "I didn't say a word. How could I? Deep down… I knew they were right. I was supposed to continue his legacy. To inherit his strength, his duty. But I didn't. I walked away."
For a moment, his younger self stood frozen, head lowered, unable to meet anyone's eyes. His father walked beside him in silence, the old man's back still straight, his steps unwavering despite the weight of public scorn.
"I thought… my father would hate me for it," Ezo whispered. His voice cracked, his lips curling in a bitter smile. "But he didn't. Not once."
The memory brightened—warm light spilling through a wooden shop window. Shelves filled with goods, the scent of fresh wood and spices lingering in the air. Ezo stood behind the counter, older now, calloused hands moving with practiced ease as he handed coins back to customers.
"I opened a shop," he said softly. "I wanted to make it work, to build something of my own. And it did. Slowly, it grew. I… I married a beautiful woman."
The vision shifted again, and the shop became a home. Laughter echoed in the air, the laughter of children. A little girl clung to his arm while a baby boy slept in his wife's embrace. His wife's smile was radiant, her eyes filled with love, and Ezo's own smile—so different from the man crushed beneath Lili's magic—was bright, almost unrecognizable.
"My children were born," he continued, his voice thick with emotion. "My family was everything I ever wanted. A peaceful life, far away from the battles my father fought."
But through all of it, one figure remained unchanged in the background—his father. Hair streaked with gray, wrinkles marking his once-youthful face, yet the sword in his hands never wavered. Even as the years passed, he stood on the walls of the empire, blade raised against every threat that dared approach.
"And yet," Ezo whispered, "my father… still did his work. No matter how many times I told him to stop, no matter how old he became… he never quit. Even when his body ached, even when the weight of time bent his shoulders, he never let go of his sword. He never stopped defending that empire."
The memory held there—his father standing tall in the twilight of his years, a lone figure against the setting sun, unshaken, unbroken.
Time passed. Queen Marine came—the daughter of King David. When she ruled, the empire felt alive again. She stopped the whispers, silenced those who spat on my father's name. I can still see her now—soft golden hair that flowed like silk, gentle brown eyes that carried nothing but kindness. Her words linger even now: "You have every right to choose your own path. No one can stop you."
But her reign did not last. Her brother, King Agrest, took her place. A man young in years, yet old in cruelty. His unkempt black hair framed piercing brown eyes that held no warmth—only judgment. From the moment he sat on the throne, corruption spread like fire.
I remember that day. My father stood before him, pointing to a bloated officer.
"My lord, this man has been kidnapping children, selling them beyond our borders. End him."
Agrest leaned back, lips curling in a smile. "As you wish."
And then—my father's head rolled.
The guards panicked. "My lord, he was important! What do we tell the people?"
Agrest's reply was simple, cruel. "He has a son. Make him a knight. Tell the people his father died fighting assassins and for evidence they can ask his own child as he was saving the king agrest and his child ezo simple."
I stood there, frozen, as blood stained the floor. My father's lifeless eyes staring at nothing. Agrest came close, his voice sharp as a blade. "Become my knight. Forget your family."
And I obeyed. Eyes empty, voice hollow. "As you wish."
From that day, I was no longer my father's son—I was a soldier without mercy. A shadow of what he was. I laughed at myself in bitterness. They told me I could choose my own path, but when fear gripped me, I bowed. Unlike my father. He was afraid too—I see that now—but he carried it alone, hidden beneath his duty. He had courage. I had none.
I lost everything. My family. My goal. Even my pride. When I saw that boy, Leo, living freely, I grew jealous. I raised my sword against him, knowing deep down I was wrong. How pathetic I must have looked—hating a life I never had the strength to fight for.
But then I remembered my father's words: "You can choose whatever you want. Your dreams, your goals—no one can take them from you. Follow them. Live for them. Do your best, and enjoy every moment of life. Even if it's only for a limited time."
I asked myself—was there ever a moment I was truly happy?
Yes. I remembered my wife's laughter, my children's small hands reaching for mine. My father's proud smile. Even if brief, I was happy. That means my goal was never wrong. What followed was my weakness, my cowardice. But in truth… I did have happiness.
And so, Ezo smiled.
The ground cracked beneath Ezo's feet, stone splintering under the crushing weight of gravity. Blood streaked down his chin, soaking into the earth, yet his hands gripped the sword tighter.
With a roar, he swung upward. The suffocating pressure shattered, the air splitting as he cut through the invisible weight pressing him down.
Ezo lunged forward. His blade came crashing toward Lili.
But her form blazed with light—an ethereal shimmer. The steel passed harmlessly aside, cutting nothing.
Tears welled in his eyes for the first time in years, yet a faint smile curved his bloodied lips.
"I'm sorry… and.....yeah thank you."
Lili's gaze softened with calm finality. "Goodbye. You're free now."
Her strike fell swift and clean. Steel tore through flesh. Ezo's body collapsed to the ground, broken and still.
Above him, Lili lingered in the air.