The cold wind rustled against Elijah's face as he slowly opened his eyes. A dim light flickered above, and the rhythmic clatter of passing trains echoed around him. He found himself sitting on a hard, metal bench inside a quiet, empty station. The floor was wet, glistening with reflections of the midnight lights.
Alaric sat beside him, calm and still, his eyes closed as if meditating.
Elijah slowly sat up, his body mostly healed — but not his soul.
I killed them, he thought. I murdered them.
He wrapped his arms around himself, shaking slightly. The words slipped from his lips like a curse.
"I killed them… I'm a murderer… I'm a killer…"
His voice was a hoarse whisper, but the weight behind it felt like thunder.
Alaric opened his eyes.
"People become killers or murderers for different reasons," he said quietly, "Some do it for fun. Some out of a desire to conquer. Others are forced. Some kill because they're obsessed with someone… or driven by greed, by the hunger for power, money, or fame. Some do it to protect themselves. Others, to protect someone they love."
Elijah turned his haunted gaze toward him, but said nothing.
Alaric continued, "But killing — it's neither good nor bad by itself. It's a dual-edged blade. What matters is the reason… the purpose. That decides whether it becomes a tragedy or salvation. You can see what you did as murder — or you can understand it as self-defense."
He looked up at the midnight sky, the stars veiled by a shroud of passing clouds.
"To see the truth of this world at such a young age… it's cruel. But also," he paused, "it's helpful."
Elijah blinked. "Helpful…?"
"Yes," Alaric nodded. "Because now… you are no longer bound by anyone's guidance. You can guide yourself. Every step you take, every choice you make — it forges your future. You've broken free from the chains that once held you down."
He looked directly at Elijah, his eyes sharp. "From now on, you are the master of your own path. And now on, you will live."
Elijah lowered his head. "Live…? Live for what? I've lived without a reason."
Alaric chuckled — not with amusement, but a cold, bitter irony.
"Everyone has a reason. A meaning. Whether they know it or not. You do too — that's why you're here. Alive. In front of me."
He paused, letting the silence linger.
"Tell me, Elijah. Why did you live till now?"
"…For shelter," Elijah muttered. "To have a roof over my head."
Alaric's laughter this time was biting, like steel scraping bone.
"Wrong reason, boy. If you live only under someone else's roof, you're just a servant. A puppet waiting for its master's command. That's not living — that's slavery."
Elijah clenched his fists. "…Then what should I do?"
Alaric shrugged. "That's not for me to say. It's your life. Your decision."
Silence returned, heavy and introspective.
Elijah stood wordlessly and walked toward the station's bathroom. The door creaked as he pushed it open. He stepped inside, the mirror above the sink cracked and dirty.
He turned the faucet on. Water splashed over his hands, then his face.
He looked into the mirror and saw not a child — but a broken figure staring back at him. Blood still crusted the corner of his shirt. The phantom pain of the beatings still echoed in his bones.
They stripped me. Humiliated me. Treated me like dirt. And they were going to take my life.
He stared at his reflection.
"That's enough…" he whispered to the boy in the mirror.
"I am not a slave… or a puppet. I thought I was worthless. That's why I never resisted. I endured… because I believed I deserved it."
Flashes of that night came to his mind — the moment he grabbed the knife, the screams, the blood.
"I killed… because I had no choice. Because they left me no choice."
He took out a small shard of glass from the sink's corner and he pressed the shard against his palm, letting it draw just enough blood to remind him he was still alive.
Raising his hand, he looked at the crimson liquid and made his vow.
"I will live. And I will kill if I must. Mercy… that was the weakness that nearly got me killed. No more. I will bury my tears. My emotions. Everything that makes me hesitate. In this cruel world, only those willing to become monsters can survive."
His voice, once broken, now carried steel.
"My journey begins now."
He stepped out of the bathroom.
Alaric looked at him, smiling faintly.
"…I like this will."
Suddenly, the sharp whistle of a train echoed through the station. Its headlights pierced the night as it pulled up to the platform with a roar.
Alaric stood. "It's time."
Elijah looked at the train.
Beyond it lay the unknown. The world.
But he no longer feared it.
He stepped forward.
"Let's start the journey."