The flickering firelight from the hearth spilled through the cracks of the old window, casting shadows across the tired, weathered face of Elder Arthur — chief of the village. His home was small, aged, and plain… yet strangely warm, filled with the quiet comfort of something once whole.
Shun and his companions had been invited for dinner. The meal was simple, humble — flavored not by spice, but by kindness. And yet, beneath that warmth, something lingered in the air… a weight that pressed down on Shun's heart like a silent burden.
He glanced around the room. Hanging on the walls were faded, time-worn drawings — clumsy but full of love: a man, a woman, and three children, all smiling in the soft light of a forgotten time.
-"This… was his family," Shun thought, gripping the spoon a little tighter.
As the meal neared its end, and the wind howled gently outside, Elder Arthur began to speak.
- "That day… my eldest son went into the forest with the village youths to cut firewood.
They said they'd be back in a few days.
But a week passed.
No one returned.
We searched — no signs, no cries, not even a drop of blood.
It was as if… they had never existed."
His voice was hoarse, every word a knife slowly dragged through the silence. Shun looked up, and in the old man's eyes, he saw something that had turned to stone long ago — despair fossilized by time.
- "My two remaining sons… refused to believe it.
Despite our pleas — despite their mother's tears — they went after their brother.
They said, 'He's alive. We'll bring him home.'
But they… never returned either."
A heavy stillness fell over the room.
Elder Arthur sat motionless, like a man frozen in a memory that never stopped replaying. Each second seemed to drag him further into the shadows of his past.
- "My wife… she lost her mind.
She would sit by the window, staring at the forest for hours.
One morning, she smiled. She said she saw our sons waving to her.
And she ran — barefoot, like in a dream — into the woods.
Later, they found her bones… half-eaten by a tiger.
But I know.
She chose that ending."
Shun could not speak. Myria gently tightened her grip on his arm — as if afraid his heart would shatter from the pain he felt for the man before them.
- "The villagers began to whisper…
They said my family was cursed.
That I was cursed.
They no longer saw me as their chief.
They feared me. Avoided me.
But I stayed.
Because here… are the memories of the people I loved."
He smiled.
A crooked, broken smile — twisted by grief and time — so bitter and full of agony that it chilled the room more than the wind outside ever could.
No one said a word for the rest of the night.
That night, Shun lay restless between Mye and Myria. The faint moonlight outside the window did little to ease the weight pressing down on his chest. One arm draped over his forehead, he found his thoughts spiraling around the life of old Arthur—the man with eyes that held both warmth and unbearable tragedy.
A strange sorrow stirred in Shun's heart, tangled with doubt: Why hadn't Arthur sent soldiers into the forest to search? And if he had… why did no one come to help? What was hidden in that forest that could make even a mighty Fortress tremble in silence?
Countless unanswered questions swirled through his mind like cold winds tearing through the night. Slowly, his thoughts sank into unconsciousness, and Shun drifted into a strange, heavy dream.
In the dream, he found himself standing inside an old house, its walls faded and draped in dust and silence. Paintings lined every inch of the room—but curiously, none of them held any image. Just empty, pale-white canvases that sent a chill through his chest.
Shun walked toward the window. Outside were trees—massive, ancient, stretching so tall and thick they swallowed the sky whole. It felt as though even light itself was lost among their branches. He reached for the doorknob, its metal cold and biting against his skin.
Then suddenly… a voice echoed, coming from everywhere and nowhere, cutting through the air and vibrating deep inside his bones:
—"Shun… Run… run far away… don't look back… live… survive… please, just run…"
It wasn't a simple message—it was desperation itself, condensed into sound. His head throbbed, his heart pounded like a war drum. His hand still gripped the doorknob. He tried to steady his breath.
And just as he opened the door—
A scream, raw and inhuman, tore through the dream:
—"AHHHHH!!!!!!"
Shun jolted awake.
His body drenched in sweat, his shirt clinging to his back. The room was silent, save for the ragged sound of his own breathing. Shadows lay still across the floor. He glanced at the clock—4:06 AM, sharp.
He didn't know what that dream had been—a warning, a memory long buried,
…or something far more terrifying.
He gasped for breath and decided to step outside to get some air. After taking just a few steps out of Mr. Arthur's house, he suddenly felt something drip onto his head. Looking down, he saw a pool of fresh blood at his feet. Horrified, he looked up at the ceiling…
Elder Arthur... he had hanged himself.
Shun's eyes widened in shock, speechless. His gaze turned cold, staring blankly at the ground. Without realizing it, his fists clenched so tightly that they began to bleed. But he didn't feel the pain.
At that very moment, Shun began to understand just how much he hated fear itself.
And he made a silent vow—
To kill whoever had turned Mr. Arthur's life into a tragedy.