This is the tale of a white-haired man shrouded in mystery, his past obscured by the fog of forgotten memories. Despite his imposing stature, he didn’t carry himself with the confidence one might have expected from such a figure. There was something about this man that felt incomplete, like pieces of a puzzle were missing. One could tell that he had once possessed a strong, piercing gaze, but now his eyes carried confusion, as if he were searching for answers about himself. Behind those yellow eyes of hid lay a world of lost memories—fragments of a life he couldn’t seem to piece together.
When the man moved, he did so slowly—step by step, with a sense of purpose. Yet there was hesitance in every movement, as if he wasn’t sure where he wanted to go. His voice carried uncertainty, and words rarely escaped his lips, as he tended to avoid conversation. But alas, he would be forced to speak—forced to seek answers about the state of his existence. Such was his destiny.
He had woken up in a cabin and was putting on clothes given to him the day before by a kind old couple who had found him out in the forest. After dressing, he took a deep breath and prepared himself mentally and physically, while standing before a simple wooden door. To him, it looked much larger than it truly was. His hand hovered momentarily over the handle before he stepped forward. That first step carried a touch of determination, laced with uncertainty. But he had already made up his mind, and with a firm grasp, his fingers curled around the wooden handle.
He applied pressure. The latch gave way with a soft click, releasing the door from its frame. There was a subtle shift in his weight as he pushed the door open. The hinges creaked faintly in protest, and daylight slowly spilled into the room, casting a warm glow within. The warmth beckoned him forward—and without hesitation, he stepped into the light. Uncertain but determined.
"■ ■ ■! ■ ■ ■! ■ ■ ■!"
A boyish and familiar voice echoed in his ears. Someone was calling to him—someone dear to his heart. The boy deeply cherished the person behind that voice. It gave him a sense of safety, a feeling of home. As the voice persisted, the youngster placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently, trying to wake him. It seemed to work.
Still, the boy didn’t want to open his eyes. The sunlight warming his body made it far too comfortable to move. A gentle breeze blew across them, calming him. And the shaking… that constant, rhythmic shaking…
He sighed. His peaceful rest had been disturbed, and he knew the persistent youth wouldn’t leave without him. Slowly, he began to open his eyes. Above him stretched a wide blue sky, a radiant sun, and the familiar face of the one who shared his features. Yawning and blinking a few times, he offered a tired smile.
"There he is. Finally got you to open your eyes, ■ ■ ■! One more second and I would've dragged you back with me. You know today’s special for me, so get your lazy ass up."
The youth stomped firmly on the vibrant grass, their glowing yellow eyes full of energy. They were always like this—bright, full of life, someone who could get along with anyone. A true people person, the complete opposite of the boy, who was often seen in a much dimmer light. Yet the youth never cared about that. They stuck around anyway.
To most, it was obvious the youth was someone important. It was in the way they spoke and carried themselves, so effortlessly commanding attention despite their youthful appearance. But even the brightest carried burdens. The boy had seen it—understood it. He knew the heavy responsibility the youth would one day have to shoulder.
He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he scratched the back of his head and gazed up at the open sky. The weather was perfect for an outing. It was a shame the day would be spent on something else.
"Haa... hooo~"
He let out a long breath, surrendering to what was ahead. The fresh air filled his lungs, stirring him awake. Slowly, he stood and turned to face the youth, who looked so much like him—just a year or two older.
"You know it’s not really my thing. I can’t stand being there. I’m not good with people like you are," he said, still groggy from being woken up so suddenly. His voice was rough, his reluctance clear. But he couldn’t say no. Not to this person.
"But if you want me to be there… then I’ll be there."
There was a shift in his tone. His gaze sharpened, more serious than usual. The youth gave a small nod in response. With a quiet grunt, the boy stood fully and followed after them. Their footsteps felt heavier than before.
”YOU! FUC///! YOU BASTARD..... BAST///. KI/L... I’M GO//A KI// YOU... //STARD...F///IN/ BA/TA/D!! YOU'/L REG/ET T/IS!”
Years had passed. The youth had grown into a full-fledged adult, and the boy wasn’t far behind, following steadily in their footsteps. Everything had changed since that fateful day.
The clan had grown colder, more rigid, and the youth had mirrored that change, their warmth slowly fading. The bright spark the boy once looked up to had dimmed into something distant—just a memory now. But the boy knew that light still existed somewhere within them.
Responsibility, burden, and the endless pressure that followed had weighed heavily on the youth's shoulders. It was far too much for someone so young to carry, but it had to be done. Like those who came before, they were bound to it. It was their duty. Their fate.
And that fate had changed them.
The boy wished he could have been stronger, strong enough to share that burden. But he wasn’t ready. Not yet. He needed more time.
Even so, he never gave up.
He nurtured his skills, strengthened his body, sharpened his mind. Each year, he grew tougher, each day of training carving new scars into his frame. Every night, he pushed himself harder, driven by a single, impossible goal—one no one had ever achieved: to hunt the Guardian of the Deep Forest.
A creature feared by all. Revered by some.
Now, after years of preparation, he was ready. He gathered everything he had—runes, enchantments, weapons forged and earned through trials. This hunt might take years. It could take his life.
But he knew: if he returned after slaying the Guardian, then maybe… just maybe… he would finally be strong enough to stand beside the one he admired. To be their support.
But only if he succeeded.
When night fell, it was time. The moon hung high as he packed the last of his supplies. Before leaving, he placed a note in the room that held his childhood memories. His chest felt heavy, emotions swelling, but he couldn’t afford to linger.
He took a deep breath.
His eyes burned with determination. Without looking back, he stepped out into the night, leaving the only home he had ever known behind.
"Is this headed to the city?"
The voice was rough, hoarse. It belonged to a tall, imposing man cloaked in a tattered robe. His face was shadowed, his body wrapped in old bandages and lined with scars. Everything about him gave off a dangerous aura. Maybe it was the cold sharpness in his gaze, or the sheer size of him. Whatever it was, it made people uneasy. Conversations rarely went far with a presence like his.
"Depends who's asking..."
The merchant replied cautiously, eyeing the stranger from head to toe. His eyes lingered on the man’s worn clothing. Looks like some drifter looking for a free ride, he thought bitterly.
"You’ll need to pay. I don’t offer charity."
The merchant’s gaze slowly climbed to meet the stranger’s eyes, and the moment they locked, his breath caught. A chill ran down his spine as his body instinctively stepped back. Goosebumps flared across his skin.
He had met all kinds of people over the years. He was in his thirties, well traveled and seasoned from years of trade. But this was something else. That stare didn’t just intimidate. It drained him, weakened him, as if it were reaching into his very core. The silence stretched unnaturally, thick with unease.
Then, finally, the man spoke again.
"I see."
He adjusted his beaten-up pack, which looked like it had barely survived whatever journey it came from, then reached inside. The merchant didn’t move. Fear gripped him. Was this it? Was he about to be robbed? Killed?
His thoughts spiraled. He had a wife, a child. He couldn’t die here, not like this.
But instead of a blade, the stranger pulled out a small pouch and let a few gold coins fall into his open palm. He held them out.
"Enough?"
The merchant blinked, stunned, eyes darting between the coins and the man’s outstretched hand. Slowly, he reached out. The stranger’s grip was strong as he helped the merchant back to his feet. It was an effortless gesture.
It was far more than a ride was worth. Enough to feed his family for months.
"T-That’s more than enough. I-I... the carriage leaves in thirty minutes. You can, um, wait inside if you’d like, sir."
His voice trembled. His hands, too.
The stranger gave a small nod and moved toward the carriage. He stepped inside, silent, like a ghost.
The merchant just stood there, still trembling. He glanced down at the heavy coins in his palm, the weight of them somehow comforting and disturbing. He tried not to think about the man now resting inside the carriage and focused instead on loading the rest of the cargo.
It was going to be a long ride.
Reminiscing about old memories, his home, his family, and that person, the man drifted off as the carriage rocked gently. Hours passed before it finally reached its destination. The merchant, visibly nervous, approached to wake the sleeping stranger. But he hesitated, unsure what would happen if he touched or called out to him.
Mustering his courage, he extended a hand to gently tap the stranger’s shoulder. But before he could, the stranger’s eyes snapped open, locking onto him with that same haunting gaze. The merchant stumbled back instinctively.
Realizing they had arrived, the stranger gave a small nod.
"Thank you."
He stepped out of the carriage and inhaled deeply. The air was familiar. He was home. Home sweet home.
The former boy had become a man, tall and formidable. His once innocent eyes now burned with ambition and resolve. Where he had once been frail, his body had become solid and powerful, like a beast honed by the wilderness.
Finally, he was strong enough.
Strong enough to be the pillar that would support the youth he had always admired. As he made his way through the city gates, he looked up at the bright, cloudless sky. Excitement bloomed in his chest. He was ready to return to his clan and his family, having fulfilled his mission. He only hoped they hadn't forgotten him.
Following the well-worn trail through the forest he had once called home, he allowed himself a smile, something he hadn’t done in a long time. Each step forward brought with it another memory, another piece of the past. It wasn’t until he spotted the familiar marked tree that he realized just how close he was.
But fate had other plans.
A sickening stench crept into his nostrils. Something burned. Something rotted. Dread crawled into his chest. Smoke curled into the sky from the direction of his home. His pulse quickened. Without hesitation, he broke into a run.
His sharpened senses caught every detail as he sped through the trees. Strange figures moved in the shadows. Homes had been flattened. Blood stained the soil. Corpses littered the ground, faces he recognized, people he once laughed with, trained beside. But he couldn’t stop. Not now.
He ran deeper into the carnage.
Rage stirred within him. He had trained for this moment. He was supposed to protect them. And yet, he was too late. His mind raced. Where was his family? Where was the youth?
Flames danced around him as he pushed forward. And then, through the chaos, he saw them.
A familiar silhouette stood in the distance, facing someone. Was it them? Was it the youth?
He sprinted toward them, weaving between fallen beams and scorched earth. Eyes followed his every move. He could feel them, watching, tracking. But none of it mattered. Not compared to who he was running toward.
Closer now, he saw the youth in conversation with a dark-haired man. Something about that figure was wrong. Unnatural. The mere sight of him evoked a visceral disgust, like he was not meant to exist in this world. His form seemed to ripple, distorted and foul.
The two figures were speaking, and it was clear from their posture and tone that the conversation was heated. The youth hadn’t changed. The same commanding presence, the same fire in their voice, it eased his frantic mind, if only for a second.
"Why would you do this? Who sent you? Was it that damned group from earlier?!"
The youth’s voice rang with power and fury. They had grown, become the leader they were always meant to be.
"The dead do not need to know our plans. Goodbye, young genius."
The dark-haired man stepped forward, summoning a swirling black orb in his hand. It pulsed and distorted the air around it, making his presence even more unbearable. The youth stood frozen, locked in place by some unseen force.
The man dashed forward, desperate. Desperate to stop it.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
He arrived just in time to witness it, the youth’s body crumpling to the ground. Lifeless. Broken. Bloodied.
Too late.
His knees gave out. His breaths came in short, gasping bursts. His mind shattered under the weight of the scene before him.
No. No. This couldn’t be real. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.
A guttural scream ripped from his throat, shaking the ground beneath him. Even the trees seemed to recoil. The dark-haired man turned, startled by the sheer force of the outburst. The man’s rage boiled over. It swallowed everything else.
Was this fury meant for himself for failing or for the one who murdered the youth?
It didn’t matter.
The dark-haired man suddenly staggered. A weight, unseen but crushing, seemed to bear down on him. Before he could react, the man was upon him. One moment, he was far. The next, inches away. A hand, clenched with fury, surged toward the dark-haired man’s face.
But it stopped.
Blades and swords rained from above, impaling the man’s body and halting his attack. Masked figures emerged, each one driving their weapons deeper, holding him down. Pain erupted through his body, but it wasn’t the pain that mattered. His eyes stayed locked on the fallen youth.
"YOU! FUCK! YOU BASTARD... BASTARD! I'LL... I'LL KILL YOU! I’M GONNA KILL YOU, YOU FUCKING BASTARD! YOU’LL REGRET THIS!"
Power surged through him, violent and raw. He planted his hands into the dirt, trying to rise. His hair turned stark white. His muscles expanded, swollen with rage. The masked attackers struggled to hold him. He was pushing through.
And then, the dark-haired man raised his hand once more.
The black orb reappeared. It pulsed with a sinister gravity, draining everything around it. The man’s strength began to fade. His fury, his energy, even his will, drained, dissolved, taken.
His body shrank. His vision dimmed. He had nothing left.
He had given it his all. And still, it wasn’t enough. He wasn't enough.
"Jeez, Sire. You almost got yourself killed by some random guy" said one of the masked figures, his voice smooth and unimpressed. He withdrew the blade lodged in the man’s chest. "If we had arrived just a second later, you’d be dead. This is why you need guards, even if you're powerful. Vulnerability creeps in when you least expect it."
He turned toward his master.
"Anyway, we've done what we came for. What’s next, Sire?"
"I had it under control," the dark-haired man replied coldly. He looked down at the bloodied man impaled before him, a twisted grin forming. Without another word, he turned toward the swirling portal behind him.
"Next is the Empire. Come."
With that, he stepped through the portal. The masked figures followed. The portal sealed shut, and silence fell over the battlefield, leaving only the dead, the destroyed, and one fading man.
“H…hha…”
Someone was breathing. It was faint and labored, but unmistakable. The youth was still alive, crawling closer and closer toward the dying, unconscious now white-haired man.
“You’ve… huff... grown…”
Her voice was weak, trembling, yet a smile tugged at the edges of her lips. She didn’t have long. She knew that. That was why she needed to act now, to give him everything that was supposed to be his originally. Reaching forward with trembling hands, she grasped his skin. It was cold. The warmth was rapidly leaving him.
“G—… give… him… everything... help… him… a—and t—take… him… away… from... this…”
Her words were desperate, barely audible. She wasn’t talking to him, but to something unseen, something that seemed to hear her plea. As if in response, a bright light began to shine around his body. Slowly, the blades that had pinned him down were lifted by an invisible force, and his wounds began to close, his flesh knitting back together. His body began to heal, his temperature rising while hers plummeted.
While her time was slipping away.
His body started to float in the air, bathed in radiant light. It grew brighter, more intense, until his form began to fade, disappearing into the light itself. She was left alone, the glow dissipating, her body weak and cold. But a small and satisfied smile touched her lips. She had at least saved him.
Her consciousness began to fade. During the last remaining time of hers, she heard a sound, a footstep. Maybe it was her mind playing tricks in her final moments, but standing beside her was someone. A white haired man with a visible scar on his face. He was reaching for her as she slipped into darkness.
As he opened his eyes, the man found himself lying in an unfamiliar forest. His head throbbed with sharp, relentless pain. Gritting his teeth, he pressed his hand to his temple, trying to power through the discomfort and wait for it to fade. But as he tried to gather his thoughts, searching for any clue of what had happened, the pain only intensified. His mind was like a blank canvas. No name, no memories, not a single fragment of who he was. There was only rage and regret. But to whom that was directed, he did not know.
His body was aching, yet it felt powerful. He felt strong. Looking around to piece things together, he noticed an old couple closing in on him. They had worried expressions as they looked at the strange man lying on the grass, naked. Unable to leave him alone, they walked closer, intending to find out what was going on with him.
The meeting with this old couple would serve as a catalyst for what the man would do in the future.
But that was in the far future.
Puedes guardar algunas notas sobre este personaje. Serás el único que podrá verlas:
