The moon, a silent witness, cast an eerie glow upon the battlefield. Twisted metal, splintered wood, and the contorted forms of the fallen painted a gruesome landscape. The air hung thick with the acrid scent of smoke and the coppery tang of blood. This was war, a senseless, endless maelstrom that devoured everything in its path.
Among the carnage, a lone figure stirred. Mirai, barely fourteen, a wisp of a boy with tangled black hair and a face streaked with grime, was alive. A jagged cut on his side bled sluggishly, staining his torn clothes, but a fierce will to survive fueled his every move.
He crawled, a shadow among shadows, his breath shallow and ragged. Each distant shout, each clatter of armor, sent a jolt of terror through him, freezing him in place, forcing him to play dead amidst the truly departed. When the sounds faded, he resumed his agonizing crawl, inch by painstaking inch, towards the dark promise of the forest.
"Just a little more," he rasped, his voice a dry whisper against the overwhelming silence of death. "I can make it… just a little more."
Then, a sickening thud. His foot had brushed against a body—not a corpse, but a soldier, barely clinging to life. The man's eyes, clouded with pain and rage, snapped open.
"You… little rat," the soldier growled, his voice a ragged cough. "Thought you could escape? Filthy Mezarian!"
Mirai froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. The soldier, with a desperate, guttural cry, began to lift his sword.
Think. THINK! His eyes darted frantically, desperate for an escape, a weapon, anything. Then he saw it: a dagger, its hilt protruding from a dead man's belt just a few feet away.
The soldier's swing was slow, clumsy, but still lethal.
Mirai, fueled by adrenaline, rolled instinctively, a blur of motion. His hand closed around the dagger, and without a moment's hesitation, he plunged it into the soldier's leg.
"ARGHH!!" The man's scream tore through the night. Mirai didn't pause. His trembling hands fumbled for the soldier's sword, the heavy blade unwieldy in his grasp.
The soldier slumped, blood blooming rapidly on his leg. He raised a trembling hand, his eyes wide with a sudden, desperate plea. "Wait! Please… I have a family…"
Mirai stood over him, the stolen sword heavy in his grip, his chest heaving. His own eyes, usually soft, were now alight with a cold, piercing fury, a reflection of the unimaginable pain he carried.
"I had a family too," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "But your people burned them."
He brought the sword down. The man went limp. The sword clattered to the ground, its work done.
Mirai's brief, agonizing moment of grim satisfaction was shattered by a chorus of shouts.
"There he is! The Mezarian boy! Get him!!"
More soldiers, a relentless tide, surged towards him. He snatched up the fallen sword and the dagger, his limbs screaming in protest, and bolted. Arrows whistled past his ears, one burying itself in his shoulder with a searing pain that stole his breath. He stumbled, cried out, but didn't stop. The forest, a dark sanctuary, was so close.
"Don't let him escape!"
Mirai ran, a desperate, blurry dash. His vision swam, his legs trembled, but he saw them—the towering, ancient trees, just ahead.
Almost there.
A rough hand clamped onto his collar from behind. "Gotcha!"
He didn't think. Instinct took over. He bit down on the soldier's arm with all his might, then dropped and stabbed the man's foot with the dagger.
"AAHH!!" The soldier howled, releasing his grip.
Mirai scrambled free, surging forward, bursting into the dense undergrowth. The forest, a maze of roots and low-hanging branches, became his ally. The heavily armored soldiers, cumbersome and slow, stumbled and cursed behind him, their pursuit faltering.
After what felt like an eternity, the roar of a waterfall reached his ears. Behind the shimmering curtain of water, a dark opening —a cave. Out of breath, every muscle screaming, Mirai plunged into the icy water.
He swam beneath the cascade, the cold water a shock to his system. He heard the splash of soldiers reaching the water's edge, their shouts echoing. He dove deep, holding his breath until his lungs burned, his head spun.
"Nothing! Let's keep moving!"
He waited, the agony in his chest intensifying, then finally surfaced, gasping for air. He dragged himself into the hidden cave.
The air inside was cool and still. The faint glow of an ancient, cold campfire illuminated strange symbols carved into the cave walls. A circle of glowing, unreadable script was etched onto the ground, with a single, luminescent handprint at its center. Mirai, too exhausted to question the bizarre sight, collapsed onto the glowing circle.
A blinding white light erupted, engulfing him.
Then, darkness. He was gone.
Mirai opened his eyes. The cave was gone. He stood on a strange, shimmering floor that felt like liquid but supported his weight. All around him, enormous clocks floated, their hands spinning in chaotic defiance of time – some forward, some backward. This place felt like the very fabric of existence was unraveling.
A voice, deep and resonant, echoed through the void. It was a voice filled with ancient power, a sound that resonated in his bones.
"Mirai… boy of unbreakable will… I wonder if you will be able to sate my boredom."
He turned slowly. Before him stood a being of pure blackness, its form wrapped in an ethereal white glow. Tendrils of what looked like smoke writhed around it, its head featureless, utterly devoid of eyes or a face. It was simply… presence.
Mirai's heart seized in his chest. His throat tightened, no sound escaping. He had no name for this terrifying entity, no understanding of its purpose. All he knew was a primal fear that this was his end.
"Ho… Interesting. Weak as you may be, a certain deity has taken interest in you."
Mirai's mind reeled. A deity? That was absurd. Why would a god concern itself with a boy like him, a nameless survivor of a forgotten war?
"Very well… I don't want to start another war with the divine beings, so I shall heal you and bring you back to your world."
With that, the unsettling encounter ended as abruptly as it began. Mirai woke, finding himself back in the cave. The glowing symbols and the strange circle were gone. His bruises and the arrow wound in his shoulder had vanished, leaving his skin smooth and unblemished. It was a miracle, a bewildering, impossible miracle.
Outside, the moon, now high in the night sky, cast long shadows through the cave's crevices. Mirai hesitated, the memory of the battlefield still fresh, but the silence of the cave grew oppressive. Minutes stretched into an hour, then two.
"I think… it's safe," he whispered, his voice thin in the stillness.
He carefully navigated the slick rocks, jumped into the pond, and swam to the bank. The air outside felt different, strangely eerie. But his immediate concern was escaping the forest. As a Mezarian, being seen by anyone meant certain death. Their people were considered curses, harbingers of misfortune. Ancient beliefs claimed Mezarians had massacred eighty percent of the Midic Kingdom's population during the Great War, leading to their eternal ostracization.
Mirai moved stealthily through the trees, every sense on high alert. The forest was unnaturally quiet. No chirping crickets, no rustling leaves from unseen creatures. It was a profound, unsettling silence.
After what felt like an eternity, he stumbled upon a small settlement nestled within the trees. A dying campfire, a worn-out carriage, and tattered leather seats around the embers suggested recent occupation. But there were no people. Not a single soul.
Skeptical but curious, Mirai began to search. He checked the carriage first, then cautiously circled the perimeter. To his left, he spotted a silhouette, the distinct shape of a man. Wary, he crept forward on tip-toes, keeping to the shadows, trying to get a closer look.
He edged closer, squinting through the gloom, but the darkness obscured the man's features. A few more cautious steps, and then— A wave of pure horror washed over Mirai, raising goosebumps on his arms. The man's eyes dangled grotesquely from empty sockets, his fingers were twisted and broken, and his legs contorted at impossible angles.
Mirai clapped a hand over his mouth, a choked gasp escaping. He stumbled backward, collapsing against a tree trunk, his breath coming in ragged, terrified gasps.
"What… is this…? I need to get him some help, quick!" Panic overriding his fear, he forced himself to move. He steeled his resolve and carefully lifted the heavy, bald man.
The man's weight was crushing, Mirai's legs trembling with the effort, but he gritted his teeth. "Hey, can you hear me?! I'll save you, okay?? Just hang in there, geezer!" His voice cracked with a mix of fear and desperate hope.
Then, the man's fingers twitched. Mirai, overwhelmed by his desperate efforts, didn't notice. The man's mouth stretched, making a grotesque cracking sound, revealing black-outlined teeth. He began to eat his dangling eyeballs.
Finally, Mirai looked back. The realization hit him like a physical blow. But it was too late. The man's head snapped forward, biting down on Mirai's skull.
And then… Mirai died.
Mirai floated in a vast, silent void. No sound, no light, just an endless expanse of blackness.
What… is this…? I'm really going to die? After everything I went through to survive… haha… this is bullshit… I would rather kill myself than die saving another.
A moment of agonizing silence.
Am I just going to be here forever? Is this death?
Then, a voice. Not the previous deep, powerful voice, but something far more unsettling. It was a terrifying, unexplainable sound, a chorus of multiple voices speaking as one, like a monstrous choir.
"You… will not die."
Mirai's mind screamed, W-what?
A blinding light erupted. He felt the sun on his skin, the gentle breeze, the rustle of leaves. He felt everything.
What…? I survived?
Relief flooded him, and he tried to stand, but his legs buckled. He wasn't this heavy or clumsy before. He looked down at his hands. They weren't his. These were the calloused, muscular hands of an adult man.
Then, he saw it—the sword he had stolen from the soldier. It lay beside him, gleaming. He reached for it, his new, unfamiliar hand closing around the hilt.
It wasn't him anymore. He was in the body of the man he had tried to save. And his own body… was gone.