The world had lost its voice, as if time itself had frozen within this realm of deathly silence. Darkness surged like an unrelenting tide, devouring everything in its path. The sky was torn apart by jagged black fissures, resembling unhealable wounds. Starlight struggled through the dense clouds, faint and cold, casting a mournful glow, as if lamenting the collapse of this once-vibrant world. On the battlefield, the scent of rusted iron lingered in the air, a grim hymn to life and death. What once echoed with the breath of the living now lay under the oppressive shroud of death and destruction, covering the scorched earth.
A figure clad in black stood at the heart of the ruins, his presence as lifeless as a stone statue. The wind swept his black cloak, revealing a slender frame, a stark contrast to the desolation around him. His gaze, sharp as the edge of winter's blade, was fixed on the flickering flames in the distance. The vivid red of the fire seemed to foreshadow his inescapable fate. Around him, the world lay still, bereft of breath or sound. Even the wind had succumbed to silence. The rivers of blood had long dried, leaving behind blackened trails that wound through the earth like a somber requiem for the past.
He was the orchestrator of this apocalyptic symphony, the master of chaos. Without need for words or actions, everything unfolded as he had foreseen. Destruction was his creed. He stood silently, waiting for the final curtain to fall, as though the end of this calamity was already written.
Then, a clear voice shattered the oppressive quiet.
"Why has it come to this?"
Soft yet unwavering, the voice carried a rare purity. A boy in white stepped out from the shadows of the ruins, his presence like a flower blooming in the dawn. His eyes, clear as untouched starlight, reflected the smoldering battlefield. His face was etched with disbelief and sorrow, as if witnessing the death of a once-thriving world.
The boy in black did not turn to face him. His lips curled slightly, a faint, disdainful smirk forming on his face. Once, he too had been pure. Once, he had believed in changing the world, convinced he could steer the wheel of fate with his bare hands. He remembered that version of himself—the one who burned with hope and swore to bring light to the world.
"You wouldn't understand," he said, his voice as sharp as a blade slicing through the fragile remnants of hope. "This world is already rotten, beyond saving. What you call belief is nothing more than a lie we tell ourselves."
The boy in white frowned, pain and confusion clouding his eyes. "But… isn't there still hope?" His voice was soft but resolute, a quiet persistence. "Even if everyone else has given up, there must still be something worth protecting. You used to believe in that, didn't you?"
The boy in black was silent for a moment, his gaze hardening. The coldness in his eyes deepened, cutting through the air like frost. At last, he turned to face the boy in white, his stare piercing, sharp enough to wound.
"Hope?" He chuckled bitterly, lifting his head to the fractured sky above. His gaze pierced through the layers of darkness as if seeking an even deeper despair. "Hope is nothing more than a child's fantasy. It will vanish, just as everything else does. And you…" His voice grew quieter, colder, the embodiment of shadow itself. "You'll end up just like me, consumed by despair."
The boy in white stood rooted, unable to respond, overwhelmed by the pain buried deep in the other's heart. He couldn't grasp the full extent of the darkness the other had endured, nor could he fathom if he might one day walk the same path. The memories of the boy in black—those fragments of beauty once cherished—were now torn apart by a cruel reality, reduced to shards too scattered to mend.
"Do you want me to abandon everything?" The boy in white's voice trembled, tinged with doubt and defiance. His gaze was unwavering, as though trying to ignite a spark in the other's heart. "No matter how painful it is, I will keep searching for hope. Even if it's just a sliver, I will never give up!"
The boy in black said nothing more. He turned and walked away, his silhouette fading into the ruins and the encroaching darkness. The boy in white stood still, watching the other's retreating figure. Bitterness and anger filled his chest, words he could not utter choking him. The faint sound of wind, carrying a mournful whisper, broke the silence, as though the earth itself wept for the vanishing shadow.
In the stillness of the night, the boy in white realized the truth—his enemy was far more terrifying than he had imagined. It wasn't just the boy in black. It was the darkness threatening to engulf the entire world. Closing his eyes, he listened to the wind's subtle howl, an unease rooting itself deep within him. He knew the tide of fate had swept him into its current, leaving no chance to escape.
Even if the road ahead was filled with thorns, he would press on, unyielding. For the fading light, for the last shred of hope, he vowed to never turn back.