The battle raged on for what felt like an eternity. Hiro remained frozen in place, not daring to move or make a sound. His breathing was shallow, each breath muffled by the tense silence of his hiding place.
He only moved when the sound of clashing swords faded entirely. A deathly quiet had fallen over the camp, broken only by a menacing, guttural laugh that sent a chill down his spine.
Cautiously, Hiro peeked outside. The scene that met him made his stomach churn. Corpses littered the ground—his clanmates, his friends, and family. Blood stained the earth in rivers of crimson, and in the center of it all lay his father's lifeless body, riddled with countless wounds.
Hiro swayed, dizziness overtaking him as the reality struck: his father was dead. His mother, Rin, and her father—they were likely gone too.
Then his eyes fixed on a figure towering over his father's body. A man clad in onyx-black armor stood there, his presence radiating malevolence. His face was partially obscured by a bulky metal mask that covered his eyes and upper part of his head, and a wicked aura surrounding him
The man threw his head back and laughed—a sound so vile it seemed to shake the ground itself.
Hiro's heart raced.
'Run.'
It was the only thought that pierced through Hiro's terror.
Hiro didn't think; he just ran. Sprinting out of the tent, he pushed his legs to move faster than they ever had his grip on the wooden mask tightening. The cold northern air sliced through his lungs, each breath burning like fire. His muscles screamed in protest, but he didn't stop.
Hiro couldn't stop—not now. If he did, his father's sacrifice would be in vain. The thought pushed him forward, though his legs felt like they were on fire.
Branches tore at his skin as he dashed through the wilderness, leaving shallow cuts that stung in the icy northern air. He kept running, even when the camp disappeared from view. But the sinister presence of the man in black seemed to follow, lingering like a shadow at his back.
Hiro knew he had to escape, yet his body was reaching its limit. Pain radiated through his limbs, and when his foot caught on a root, he stumbled and fell hard to the ground.
This time, he couldn't get back up. Gasping for air, he rolled onto his back, resigned to face whatever was coming. His vision blurred, but soon the towering figure emerged—a mass of black metal and an overwhelming aura of dread.
The man in black advanced, his heavy steps crunching the frost-bitten earth beneath him.
Hiro couldn't even summon the strength to feel fear; he simply lay there, helpless.
"You did well, kid,But not well enough to outrun me."
A laugh escaped his lips, wild and unhinged, reverberating through the empty forest.
Summoning the last shred of his strength, Hiro whispered
"Before you kill me… can I at least know your name?"
The man stopped in his tracks, tilting his head as if surprised by the question.
"My name? You want to know my name?"
"Yes,"
Hiro said weakly, his voice barely audible.
A grin spread beneath the man's mask, and he chuckled.
"You're an interesting one. Fine, I'll indulge you. My name is Drael—Drael Ambrose, Commander of the Second Dread Knight Regiment."
The name hung heavy in the air, and Hiro closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable. It wasn't easy to accept death, but exhaustion had drained even his will to cry.
He lay still, listening to the madman's words as Drael raised his sword. The blade glinted faintly in the dim light, poised to strike the final blow.
Hiro braced himself for the fatal blow, but then a radiant figure appeared before him, cutting through the oppressive darkness.
Clad in gleaming white armor that seemed to glow with an otherworldly light, the figure moved with divine grace, stepping between Hiro and his would-be executioner.
Hiro's vision wavered, but the sight of the angelic presence filled him with a fleeting sense of hope.
The tension in the air was palpable as Hiro's body grew impossibly light . His limbs felt weightless, as if he were floating, yet he couldn't muster the strength to stay awake yet his grip did not loosen on the mask. Consciousness began to slip away, but before it did, Hiro saw the two figures exchange heated words.
He couldn't hear what they said—only see their forms move in sharp, deliberate gestures. Then, in an instant, the argument turned into action. The angel and the man in black clashed, their blades moving so swiftly they blurred.
Light and darkness danced in a deadly rhythm. Each strike lit up the forest, casting fleeting shadows across Hiro's face. Even in his dazed state, he couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the battle—a breathtaking contrast of brilliance and malice.
Hiro tried to focus, to hold on just a little longer, but his mind and body betrayed him. The world grew hazy, the clash of swords fading into muffled echoes.
At last, his concentration faltered entirely, and he succumbed to the pull of unconsciousness.
- - -
Hiro slept deeply, as if the weight of the previous events had been pulled from him. When he finally opened his eyes, he found himself in a warm, unfamiliar cabin.
He tried to sit up, but his body protested, every muscle aching from the ordeal he had endured. He wasn't sure how much time had passed—was it yesterday that everything happened? Or longer? It didn't matter. What did matter was that, somehow, he seemed to be safe.
As Hiro lay there, the cabin door creaked open.
The figure from before—the angel—stepped inside. Her presence immediately filled the room, a quiet but undeniable power emanating from her.
Her gaze swept the cabin before settling on him. Her green eyes shone with an ethereal radiance, sharp yet gentle. She was tall, with a thick blue coat draped over her shoulders, and beneath it, a half-plate of pristine white armor. Though the armor concealed much of her, Hiro could tell she was strong, her toned frame evident in how she moved.
Her pale skin seemed to glow softly, and her flowing black hair shimmered faintly in the cabin's light, cascading down her back like a river of midnight.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence heavy but not uncomfortable. Then, her voice broke the stillness—a voice soft and melodic, yet laced with strength.
"You look better than yesterday"
Her lips curling into a faint smile
"I'm glad."