Gun woke to the faint hum of distant voices, their whispers threading through the thick air like an ominous melody. His eyes fluttered open, greeted by the gray haze of early dawn spilling through the fractured ceiling above. The ruins of his refuge—once a noble's grand estate—were now nothing more than a shell of their former glory, mirroring the emptiness within him.
He sat up slowly, the tattered black cloak slipping from his shoulders, and ran a hand through his hair—black streaked with stark white, a remnant of the curse that clung to his soul. His crimson eyes, dulled by exhaustion, scanned the decaying hall. The whispers grew louder, yet no one was there.
"Not again," Gun muttered under his breath, clutching the side of his head as a sharp pain lanced through it. The voices weren't real—or at least, that's what he kept telling himself.
"Embrace us, Gun. Your destiny is written in blood."
He gritted his teeth, pushing the phantom voices aside, and stood. The whispers faded as he turned his focus to the small, crumbling altar at the far end of the hall. It was there he had spent countless nights, trying to piece together the fragments of his shattered memories. His past was a jigsaw puzzle missing too many pieces—a childhood he couldn't remember, a family he didn't know if he'd lost or abandoned, and a power he never asked for.
Gun traced a finger over the strange sigil carved into the altar's surface—a jagged circle with a line splitting it in two. It pulsed faintly under his touch, a reminder of the deal he had made. A deal that had saved his life but condemned him to the very darkness he now fought to resist.
The sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts. Gun's instincts flared, and he spun around, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of the blade strapped to his side.
"Who's there?" he demanded, his voice sharp and commanding.
A figure emerged from the shadows of the ruined doorway. She was slender, cloaked in a dusty gray robe, her face obscured by a hood. Her presence was calm yet unnerving, like the eye of a storm.
"I've been looking for you, Gun," she said, her voice smooth yet cold.
Gun's grip on his blade tightened. "Who sent you?"
The woman pulled back her hood, revealing striking features framed by silver hair and eyes like shards of ice. "No one sent me. I came of my own will." She stepped closer, her gaze unflinching. "I know who you are. And I know what you've done."
Gun's jaw clenched. "Then you should know not to come any closer."
But the woman didn't stop. Her gaze softened, a flicker of pity crossing her expression. "You're not the villain they paint you to be," she said, stopping just a few steps away. "You're something far more dangerous—a man caught between redemption and destruction."
Her words struck a nerve, and Gun's crimson eyes narrowed. "You speak as if you understand."
"I do." She held out her hand, palm up, revealing a small crystal glowing faintly with a silver light. "This can help you. If you want to break free of the shadows that bind you, come with me."
Gun stared at the crystal, his heart pounding. A part of him wanted to reach for it, to believe in the possibility of redemption. But another part—the darker, colder part—warned him of the cost.
"What's the catch?" he asked, his voice low.
The woman's expression didn't waver. "The same as any choice worth making. You'll have to risk everything."
Gun let out a bitter laugh. "I've already lost everything. What more is there to risk?"
She tilted her head, a faint smile touching her lips. "Yourself."
The ruins fell silent again, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Gun looked down at the sigil on the altar, then back at the woman. For years, he had walked a path paved with blood and regret, unsure if he was running from his past or toward a future he couldn't escape.
Now, for the first time in a long while, there was a choice before him.
Gun reached for the crystal, his fingers brushing against its cool surface. A surge of light flared between them, and the whispers in his mind returned—but this time, they were different. Softer. Calmer.
"Lead the way," he said finally, his voice steady.
The woman nodded, slipping the crystal back into her robe. Without another word, she turned and walked toward the doorway. Gun hesitated for only a moment before following her into the unknown.
The shadows that had long consumed him shifted as he stepped into the light of dawn, and for the first time, Gun wondered if there was more to his destiny than destruction.
But in the back of his mind, a darker voice whispered a warning:
"Even the brightest light casts the darkest shadow."
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