Raden stood at the edge of the village, the charred remains of the houses behind him. The air smelled of burnt wood and flesh, and the wind carried with it the echoes of lives that had been lost. The rogue mage's body had been left behind, discarded like a piece of refuse, his blood staining the earth beneath him.
It was supposed to feel like victory. The mission had been completed. The empire had its prize. Yet, there was nothing in Raden's chest but an emptiness that had been growing ever since he stepped into the role of a Mage Breaker.
As the last of the sun's light dipped below the horizon, Raden's thoughts were consumed by the memory of Jay's death. The face of his old friend, the boy who had stood by him through every hardship, flashed before his eyes. He could still hear Jay's laughter, still feel the warmth of their shared dreams. And then the knife—cold, swift, and final. He had killed him. For what? A cause that felt increasingly hollow with each passing day.
Kacmebrow's words echoed in his mind: "Success is the only thing that matters."
Had he ever been more than just an instrument of that success?
A rustle in the bushes broke his thoughts, pulling him out of the fog in his mind. He turned, instinctively reaching for his sword. His body tensed, but it was only a figure emerging from the shadows—one that Raden instantly recognized.
"Shara?" Raden asked, his voice rough from disuse.
The blonde-haired girl stepped forward, her green eyes alight with a strange mixture of relief and concern. She was dressed in the same black attire that marked her as part of the imperial training corps, but there was something about her that seemed… different. Her gaze was hard, almost cold.
"What are you doing here?" Raden asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"I could ask you the same thing," she replied, her voice steady but with a hint of something unspoken. "I heard about the rogue mage. I wanted to make sure you were… okay."
Raden hesitated. "Okay." The word seemed so far from what he was feeling. He had just killed a man. Another mage, another life extinguished in the name of the empire. Could he really ever be okay with this?
"I'm fine," Raden said, though the words felt hollow on his tongue. "It's done. Mission accomplished."
Shara didn't buy it. She stepped closer, her eyes searching his face as if looking for something he didn't know how to give. "You look like you've been to hell and back. What happened? You've changed, Raden. You were never like this."
The words hit Raden like a punch to the gut. She was right. He wasn't the same. Not anymore. But how could he explain it? How could he explain the weight of the blood on his hands, the guilt that wrapped around his heart like chains?
He looked away, staring out at the horizon, avoiding her gaze. "It doesn't matter. I'm just doing what I have to do."
Shara's face softened slightly, but there was no pity in her eyes—just concern. "I don't know what's going on in your head right now, but I can tell this isn't you, Raden. You're better than this."
Raden's jaw clenched. He could feel the anger bubbling up inside him, but it wasn't directed at Shara. It was at himself. It was at the life he had chosen, the path he was on. "You don't understand," he snapped. "You don't know what it's like to be a Mage Breaker. To follow orders, to kill people without asking why. You don't know what it's like to be a tool for the empire."
Shara flinched, but she didn't back away. "You're right. I don't know what it's like to kill in cold blood. But I do know what it's like to feel trapped. To feel like there's no way out. I know what it's like to follow orders even when you know they're wrong."
Her words hit closer than Raden had anticipated. He felt the walls inside him crack, the part of him that still remembered the boy who had dreamed of a better life, a different life, falling to pieces. He was that boy no longer. He was a killer. A Mage Breaker.
But for a fleeting moment, he almost allowed himself to believe her—believe that there was something left of the old Raden inside him.
Almost.
"I have to go," Shara said after a long pause, her voice distant now. "The empire needs me. And you… you need to figure out who you are now. Because I'm afraid you're losing yourself, Raden. You've already given up too much to be a soldier. But you don't have to give up everything."
Raden didn't answer her. He couldn't. What was there left to say?
Shara gave him one last, lingering look before turning away, disappearing into the shadows of the forest. The wind picked up, the air thick with the scent of smoke and death. He should have gone back to the castle, should have reported to Kamebrow. But something in him hesitated. Something told him that if he stepped back into the role of the obedient soldier, he might never come back.
The next few days passed in a haze. Raden's training continued, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn't shake the image of Shara's face, the way her eyes had looked at him with that mixture of hope and fear. He couldn't shake the weight of what he had done. The line between right and wrong had blurred so much that he wasn't sure which side he was on anymore.
The next mission came quickly. Kamebrow had no patience for hesitation, and neither did the empire. This time, they were targeting a small group of rebels in a village to the south. The empire had marked them as traitors, and Raden was to eliminate the threat.
But as he rode out to the village, something inside him shifted. The weight of his actions—Jay's death, the lives he had taken—was suffocating. He had thought it would get easier. He had thought that the bloodshed would become nothing more than a second nature, that it would be just another task to check off. But it wasn't. It never would be.
The village was just as he expected—silent, tense. The rebels weren't even there yet. But it didn't matter. The empire didn't care. They didn't care who was in the way, who was caught in the crossfire. All that mattered was success.
He found himself hesitating at the edge of the village, the familiar weight of his sword at his side. His mind raced. Was this really who he was now? Was this the path he had chosen?
The sound of boots on the gravel road behind him broke his thoughts. Kamebrow appeared from the shadows, his green eyes as cold as ever.
"The rebels are nearby," Kamebrow said, his voice clipped. "We move in now, and we take them down."
Raden didn't answer. He couldn't bring himself to. He just stood there, looking at the horizon, trying to find some sliver of hope, some answer in the void.
"Raden," Kamebrow's voice cut through the silence, "you'll follow orders, won't you?"
Raden looked at him, and for a moment, he almost saw the boy he used to be—the one who had followed orders without question, the one who had dreamed of a better world. But that boy was gone.
"I will," Raden said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
But in his heart, he knew the truth. He wasn't sure anymore if he could keep doing this. He wasn't sure if he could keep killing for an empire that saw him as nothing but a weapon.