Night falls beneath a heavy gloom, and the cold seeps into the bones. Even the air feels restless, as if it senses something coming. But inside a house, amid laughter and warm aromas, a tribute is being held: the time has come to reveal to the young warrior the mystery of this world.
"Hoku, do you see the stars?" Yui asks, hugging him. "Each one of them is a god. Magic is born from those marked by the stars. No one in this village has it because the gods are fickle... and only accept the most glamorous offerings. But don't worry, my son. Even without magic, a sword can be stronger than any spell."
Hoku frowns, intrigued.
"But, Mom... what am I supposed to do against someone throwing fireballs?"
Yui laughs sweetly.
"You underestimate the power of a sword, my little one. Go on now, time for bed. Tomorrow is your big day… you'll finally start school."
She lifts him in her arms and kisses him on the cheek, face to face. Hoku smiles. Gaus walks in at that moment, carrying a lamb for dinner. The family gathers. They laugh. They toast.
That night, Hoku falls asleep with a light heart. He blows out the candle, smiles into the darkness… and sleeps.
...
...
"HOKU, run! Don't look back! Take this…"
Yui hands him something wrapped in blood-stained cloth.
"It's a relic from my family…"
She drops to her knees, embracing Hoku, who trembles and bleeds from one eye. A gash runs across his face. He cries—from pain, from fear, from helplessness.
"Mom… I don't want to… I don't want to go… please…"
His voice breaks, blood and tears mixing on his cheek.
"My love… be strong," Yui whispers, caressing his face through her own tears. "Even if we never see each other again, carry the spirit of this village in your heart. Live, Hoku. Live… and be happy… NOW GO!"
She pushes him. He doesn't move. He's frozen.
Then the door explodes.
Gaus stumbles in, broken—missing an arm, one eye crushed, his body covered in wounds. Every step is heavy, every breath a dying sigh. He looks at Hoku and shouts with the last of his strength:
"HOKU… GO NOW!"
That scream shatters the paralysis. Hoku runs. He runs like never before, and just before turning the corner, he looks back. He sees his father watching him, smiling gently.
His lips move silently:
**"I love you, son. We love you."**
And then, a sword pierces through his face.
Hoku trips and crashes to the ground, his knees striking the blood-soaked wood. His body trembles. His eyes—still filled with tears and blood—rise just in time to see the sword slide out of his father's face… and his body fall, lifeless.
Behind him, a man cloaked in shadow takes a step toward his mother.
"NO!" Hoku screams—but it's too late.
The blade cuts through the air. Yui collapses to her knees, her throat slit.
And yet… her face is smiling.
She dies smiling.
Hoku lets out a scream that tears through the night. The bandit stares at him with cold eyes.
He runs. Blindly. His soul shattered, his vision blurred by tears.
To his right, he glimpses the butcher—his father's friend—impaled on spears in the town square, like meat from his own trade.
To the left, the teacher… *his* teacher.
The one who taught him to read, who spoke of the stars.
He's on his knees, shielding a group of children. A fireball engulfs them all. Screams erupt. The flames consume him before he can even cry out.
The village… his home… becomes a hell.
At the edge of town, Hoku sees the exit… and there, atop a pike, his world comes to a halt.
It's Liu's head.
Her eyes, already lifeless. Her mouth slightly open.
And hanging from her ear, tied with a filthy string—
the fang he gave her.
Hoku falls to his knees. He screams. He cries. He pounds the earth with his fists, as if he could wake from this nightmare.
And through his sobs, he begs for a sword—
one that will end his existence.
"Please…" he murmurs, voiceless.
A sword is raised…
But not against him.
Before the executioner could reach him, another blade pierced through his chest. A clean, fatal strike. The killer's body collapsed.
In front of Hoku stood a man, covered in blood. His face was familiar—one of the adventurers, a friend of his father's, who had joined them in the dungeon. He was wounded, gasping, on the verge of collapse… but still smiling.
Without a word, he tossed Hoku his sword. Then, with a silent gesture, he pointed toward the path out.
Hoku caught the weapon. He trembled. Looked at the sword… then at Liu's head… and then, he ran.
He ran down the gravel path, his tears blurring the world around him. He entered the forest, hid among the underbrush, and eventually collapsed to the ground. His legs no longer obeyed. Nor did his soul. The pain pulled him into unconsciousness.
...
Dawn came.
But this time, Hoku did not smile.
His eyes were hollow. His face stained with dried blood and tears.
And before him stood the most infernal sight: a pile of over a hundred corpses, burning in a mass of flame.
Blood stained the ground… the walls… even the rooftops.
Among the bodies, he recognized faces: the butcher who used to give him scraps of meat as a child. The teacher who helped him with his first books. The baker who used to scold him for sneaking bread. All of them, dead.
All of them, burned.
And he—Hoku—had run.
"WHY?!" he screamed from the depths of his soul, falling to the ground.
He screamed until his voice gave out.
And then, once more… silence.
And the darkness of unconsciousness.
By midday, the thunder of hooves echoed across the fields: the army had arrived. When they saw the hundreds of corpses scattered across the village, the soldiers lowered their heads in powerless sorrow. Some sighed. Others remained stoic. The commander, however, fixed her eyes on a child—the only survivor.
"Take him to an orphanage in the nearest city," she ordered. "You," she said to a group, "find out what happened here. And the rest of you, with me… let's bury these people."
The commander dismounted. Several men followed, leaving their horses grazing among the dead. Two soldiers lifted the boy onto a horse and took him away in silence.
Hours later, Hoku woke up in a bed that wasn't his. For a moment, he thought it had all been a nightmare.
But the gloomy room, with its gray walls and straw mattress, reminded him he was far from home. The door creaked open, and two knights entered. One of them looked at him with a faint, sorrowful smile.
They asked him to recount what had happened, but the boy was in shock. The colder of the two soldiers grabbed his shoulder, forced him to look up, and spoke in a firm voice:
"Speak."
The boy told them everything he could remember. The men nodded in silence and left.
But Hoku ran after them, shouting questions one after another: Why? How? Who? How long will I stay here? When will I see my parents again?
One of the soldiers, his eyes dull and lifeless, stopped. He knelt down, looked him in the eye, and spoke in a tired voice:
"You'll never see them again."
Then he handed him two things: a dull, chipped sword… and a necklace—a family relic. Without another word, they walked away.
Hoku returned to his room. He looked out the small window, but saw no sky, no grass, not even the neighborly butcher.
Only houses. Gray, identical, silent houses.
He let himself fall onto the bed, staring at the rotting ceiling, and screamed. Screamed with all his soul, tearing the air apart.
A tutor stormed in, furious, and without saying a word, slapped him across the face.
Hoku broke down in sobs, but as soon as he tried to scream again, he received a second slap that left him whimpering.
The tutor nodded dryly and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
That night, Hoku didn't sleep. Not fully.
His body gave in, but his mind remained trapped in a thick shadow, formless and endless.
He floated in the darkness. There was no ground, no sky. Just a weightless abyss.
Then the screaming began.
At first, they were distant—echoes carried by the wind. Then closer, sharper, more human. Voices broken by pain, women weeping, children screaming, furious commands tangled with desperate pleas. A symphony of anguish that would not end, as if every soul from that village had come to demand something of him.
Hoku saw nothing, but he felt. He felt the heat of flames that weren't there. The smell of blood he couldn't see. The trembling of his small hands.
"Mom!" he tried to scream, but no sound came out.
The cries surrounded him. They pierced his ears like invisible blades, sank into his chest, into his throat.
Something was watching him, though no eyes could be seen.
Something was breathing, right beside him.
He awoke soaked in sweat. The rotting ceiling was still there, unmoving.
But the last scream—a faint, murmured whisper—still echoed in his ear.
And through the sobs of the dream, a voice stood out. Deep, mocking, ancient.
"So… which one of these pitiful children should I choose? They're all quite pathetic."
A black light, thick as living smoke, drifted through the orphanage. It gave off no warmth, no glow—only a trail of emptiness where it passed.
"Ohh… interesting," it murmured. "This child has seen so much death… but how?"
The shadow leaned over one of the beds. There slept a child unlike the rest—his hair was black, his skin pale, and even with his eyes closed, they glowed faintly gold, as if dreaming of fire.
"He might be the one. I doubt any other carries this much blood in their memory… He has seen more than he should."
The black light began to merge with the boy's body. But then, something stopped it: a gaze.
Hoku was watching it from another room.
"…Can you see me, boy? Let's see why…"
A dense silence fell between them.
"Hmm… yes. There is darkness in you. Death in your steps. But it's not *my* darkness. Your path does not align with mine."
And so, the entity turned away. It did not fall upon him. It did not take him. The dark finger of fate bent, and pulled back.
The boy with golden eyes shot up in bed, drenched in cold sweat. Something inside him had awakened—a wild, ancient force.
Magic.
Days passed. Rumors spread. The army returned, bearing gifts—for that boy.
Not for the others.
Not for Hoku.
They ignored him.
The boy with the golden eyes was taken to the palace. They said the baron would adopt him as his son and marry him to his only daughter. They spoke of luck, of genius, of divine blessing.
And in another corner of the orphanage, Hoku also awoke. No gifts. No magic. Only silence.
He watched in silence.
He watched as the golden-eyed boy was praised, honored, adorned with titles he couldn't understand. Watched him leave amid flags and promises, while everyone applauded.
He didn't applaud.
He didn't cry.
He didn't smile.
He wasn't even sure what he felt. Just an odd dryness in his chest, as if something inside him had begun to wither.
Days passed, and with the fame of the new mage, the orphanage's reputation also grew. More funding came in. More attention. New rooms were built. Better halls. They even started calling it a "guest hostel" instead of an orphanage.
But Hoku remained just another face in the crowd.
Nothing in him shone.
No one touched him in awe.
No one paused to listen to his silence.
And just as it had come, the glory faded.
The orphanage was forgotten as quickly as it had been praised.
No one spoke of miracles anymore.
Only old walls remained. Empty laughter. Rumors of renovations.
A new idea emerged, proposed by the now son-in-law of the baron:
What better way to use such a "historic" place than to turn it into a tourist attraction?
The orphanage would be demolished.
In its place, hotels for adventurers, parks, gardens of native flowers… and of course, brothels.
The past buried under architecture and colorful brochures.
A place of death transformed into a place of rest.
And no one mentioned the children who still slept within those walls.
No one thought of Hoku, watching as the world reinvented itself without him, erasing everything that had shaped him.
The news of the orphanage's transformation—and of other places—into tourist destinations was not well received by all. Many began to question the baron's son-in-law: how could someone with so little time in power make such sweeping decisions?
It seemed irrational. Rushed. Arrogant.
Protests soon followed. Voices rose in plazas, markets, even within the army.
But the baron, with a pinch of old authority and a mountain of fear, knew how to silence them.
Some were killed.
Others condemned to slavery.
The rest… simply vanished.
With the orphanage on the verge of being shut down, entire families arrived in waves. Caravans of parents eager to adopt a child. Some driven by compassion, others by necessity, and many simply by appearances.
But no one claimed Hoku.
He was too ordinary. Too quiet. Neither his black eyes nor his ash-gray hair, not even his once-strong but now underfed frame, made him stand out among the others. Some workers glanced at him sideways, murmuring about his build or his dense bones, as if he belonged to some other lineage… but still, no one chose him.
And so, while the other children were taken to their new homes, he remained.
The orphanage was demolished. The mattresses burned, the walls torn down, the names erased.
And what happened to the children who weren't adopted?
Exactly what everyone knew and no one dared to name: they were thrown into the streets.
Hoku was one of them.