Punch. Punch. Punch. Punch… Punch…
"Solice, it's over…" Alondra's voice cuts through the haze in my mind. Her tone is trembling, desperate. I stop mid-swing, my bloodied fist trembling in the air. My breath is ragged, my vision blurry, and my hands—coated in crimson—ache with exhaustion.
I turn toward her. Her violet eyes glisten with tears, her lips pressed into a tight line. "Thank you… but…" Her voice falters, and I understand.
She sees a monster now.
I force myself to stand, my legs shaking beneath me, and step away from the motionless body of the hooded figure beneath me. My stomach twists at the sight of my handiwork.
Around us, cheers erupt. The townspeople are alive with gratitude, but not everyone looks at me with admiration. Some stare with wide eyes, as if unsure whether I'm their savior or a new kind of threat. Blood streaks my face, my clothes, my hands. I don't blame them for hesitating.
People scatter, snatching their stolen lifespan crystals from the ground before disappearing into the night. The festival is in ruins—broken stalls, torn decorations, and the faint scent of burnt wood linger in the air.
And then, the royal guard arrives.
"Clear the way!" a voice commands, cutting through the murmurs.
I turn to see a man on one of those wolf-like beasts approaching, his appearance unmistakably regal. Gold and white adorn his clothing, and his chest is proudly bared to reveal his timer: 207 years. The sheer number feels like a punch to the gut. This man radiates power and status.
His hair, golden like his eyes, falls neatly to his shoulders, and his gaze locks onto me, sharp and unyielding.
"Thank you for saving my citizens," he says, his voice carrying an authority that silences the crowd.
Around me, people drop to their knees, bowing their heads in reverence. Even Alondra follows suit, kneeling beside me with practiced grace.
I hesitate. Then, awkwardly, I kneel as well.
"Are you part of the Guard?" the man asks, his piercing eyes never leaving me.
"Uh—" I begin, but Alondra quickly interrupts.
"Prince Ramidion," she says, her voice steady despite her trembling frame. "If I may. This is Solice. He seems to have suffered a head injury when I found him in the forest. He remembers only his name and nothing of his past. He knows neither where he is from nor why he was there."
The prince doesn't acknowledge her explanation, his golden eyes fixed on me, studying my disheveled state. "Is this true?"
"Er, yes," I manage, my voice hoarse.
"You will be well compensated for your actions today," he says with finality, his tone unreadable. His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before he turns his wolf-like companion and rides off toward the castle.
Trailing behind him is someone I recognize—a hooded figure, cloaked in black. My stomach tightens as I recall the man I saw speaking to Alondra at the orphanage. He's walking with the prince. What kind of connections does he have?
My body suddenly feels like lead. The adrenaline coursing through me fades, replaced by an unbearable heaviness. My knees buckle, and the world tilts.
"Solice!" Alondra cries, rushing to catch me.
My vision dims, but in the corner of my eye, I see my timer flicker: 82 years left.
Then, everything goes black.