It had been several hours since the young man, had begun his solitary journey back home. The moonless night enveloped him as he veered off his usual path, drawn to the graveyard's eerie silence. Standing before a weathered statue, he read the inscription:
"Here lies a beautiful wife and gentle mother, Laila Greyheart."
"It's been a while, Mom," The young man murmured, his voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. "Happy birthday."
He placed a bowl of soup on the grave, his eyes boring into the cold stone as he grappled with the fragments of memories that danced on the edges of his mind.
Moments stretched into an eternity before he turned away, his business there seemingly concluded. As he stepped into the darkness, a chilling voice pierced the stillness, echoing from a shadowy corner.
"Are you finished, Drake?"
The young man turned his gaze towards the source of the sound, his eyes like ice. The darkness seemed to pulse around him, but he offered no response, his silence more damning than any words. Without a second glance, he continued his walk, ignoring the voice entirely.
"Ah, come on," the voice growled, frustration seeping through the darkness. It came from a man in a long, tattered brown coat. His physique was imposing—muscular and tall, a silhouette of raw power. He rushed to catch up with the young man, boots crunching on the gravel.
"Don't be so cold. I've been calling you hundreds of times, but no answer. There's something important at the office," the big man tried to persuade, his tone edged with desperation.
"It's my day off," the young man replied, his voice like a frozen blade.
The big man suddenly stopped and screamed, his voice echoing through the alley, "Damn kid... Okay then, but for your information, the Public Order Department has caught one of the leaders of the rebellion organization, The Silent Dawn."
The young man halted, the words slicing through the night. He stood still, shadows creeping around him. After a moment, he resumed his walk, waving his hand dismissively without looking back.
"It's my day off," he said, his tone dripping with cold finality.
The big man stood there, a silent witness to the young man's disappearance into the dark of night. Leaving only an unsettling silence in his wake.
It happened 10 years ago, the Silent Dawn was born from the ashes of oppression, a rebellion forged in the fires of desperation and hope. Founded by those who had suffered under the iron fist of the ruling regime, it quickly became a beacon for the downtrodden and the oppressed. Its members were a diverse mix of former soldiers, scholars, and common folk, all united by a single purpose: to overthrow the tyrannical government that had stripped them of their freedom.
Among the founding members was Laila Greyheart, a gentle soul with a fierce spirit. Known for her unyielding determination and compassion, Laila was not only a strategist but also the heart of The Silent Dawn. Her leadership and vision guided the rebellion through its formative years, instilling hope and resilience in her comrades.
When Drake was just a teenager, tragedy struck. During a covert operation, Laila was captured by the regime's forces. Despite The Silent Dawn's desperate attempts to rescue her, she was executed, becoming a martyr for the cause. Her death shattered Drake, leaving him with a deep-seated anger and a thirst for vengeance, not for the regime, but for the very rebellion that had put his mother in harm's way.