Zen stepped back into the forest—the same forest he had walked out of just hours ago, triumphant and full of dreams. Now, he was empty. No joy, no pride. Just the weight of rejection pressing down on his chest.
What was his crime? Trying to save the people he loved? Risking his life for their survival? And for that, he had been cast out of his own home—the very home he had fought to protect.
His fists clenched as he moved forward, his mind a whirlwind of resentment and sorrow.
Why me?
He had grown up surrounded by people who always spoke of hardship, of struggle, of dreams that could never be realized. But why did they never fight back? Why did they accept this life of fear, of quiet suffering?
"They are older than me, stronger than me. Why is it that I, a boy with no power, was the only one willing to fight for our salvation? Why do they choose to live in chains rather than break them?"
Zen tilted his head back, searching for some sign of comfort in the sky, but there was none.
No moon, no stars. Just an empty void, mirroring his own that was inside him.
His thoughts drifted to his childhood—the days when he still believed this world was kind. He remembered playing on the dirt roads of his town, chasing his sister through the fields until they were both covered in dust.
He remembered his mother's warm hands ruffling his hair after a long day, the scent of freshly baked bread clinging to her clothes.
His father's deep laughter as he shared stories of the old days with the other men.
Then there were the hard times—the sickness that spread through the town, stealing lives too soon. The nights were filled with grief, yet the people had stayed together. They had fought through it as one, offering whatever they could to help each other survive.
Then why… why didn't they stand by me now?
The answer gnawed at him, bitter and cruel.
"I was ready to give my life for them. But the moment their own lives were at stake, they turned away. Fear makes people selfish, I suppose."
Zen exhaled sharply and forced his feet to keep moving. There was no going back now. Whether he liked it or not, his past was behind him. And the only thing left was the unknown road ahead.
Zen trudged deeper into the forest, his breath uneven, his chest heavy with the weight of betrayal. His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms, but the pain was nothing compared to the storm inside him.
Was I ever truly one of them?
The thought echoed in his mind, it was a cruel one. He had spent his whole life among those people—laughing with them, working beside them, sharing in their joys and sorrows. And yet, when the moment came when he needed them the most, they had cast him out like a stranger.
His father's slap had stung, but not as much as the coldness in his eyes. The silence of the crowd had been even worse. They had watched, frozen in fear, unwilling to speak for him, unwilling to even meet his gaze.
Not a single soul had tried to stop him from leaving. Not one had called out his name. It was as if he had already been erased from their world.
Was I only loved when I was useful?
The thought sent a hollow ache through his chest. They had always stood together. But not tonight. Tonight, when he had risked everything for them, they had turned their backs. They had let him walk away, without hesitation, without remorse.
His father had always told him that family was everything and that they protected their own. But where was that love now? Had it ever truly existed? Or had it been a lie, a fragile illusion that shattered the moment it was tested? A dry, bitter laugh escaped his lips, lost in the empty darkness around him. Maybe he had never belonged anywhere to begin with.
What if he had died in that forest? Would they have even mourned him, or would they have whispered among themselves that he had brought it upon himself?
A faint sound cut through the silence.
"Meow."
Zen halted, his weary mind snapping to attention. He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the darkness.
Another soft, almost hesitant, "Meow," drifted from a bush to his right. The leaves rustled, something small shifting within. His body tensed out of instinct before his eyes adjusted to the dim outline of a tiny figure nestled in the shadows.
A kitten.
Barely visible in the moonless night, the little thing was nothing more than a whisper of movement, its fur as dark as the void itself. Only its eyes stood out—white as pearls, gleaming unnaturally in the pitch black.
As soon as Zen locked eyes with it, the kitten turned, scampering away on its tiny paws.
Without thinking, he followed.
The kitten moved with purpose, weaving through the undergrowth as if leading him somewhere. Zen trailed behind, drawn by a strange sense of curiosity—or maybe it was just the exhaustion dulling his better judgment.
Eventually, they arrived at a clearing. A towering tree stood at its center, its roots sprawling out like grasping fingers. The grass beneath it was oddly lush, untouched by the forest's usual decay.
Did its mother make this their home? he wondered.
Zen stepped forward, taking in the eerie stillness of the place. The kitten darted past the tree, disappearing into the darkness beyond. He hesitated before following.
Then he saw it.
The air grew heavier, the world around him shifting. The comforting softness of the clearing was gone, replaced by something else—something wrong. His breath hitched as he took in the scene before him.
The kitten had led him straight into a nightmare.
The stench of blood hit Zen before his eyes fully registered the scene.
A massacre.
The mother lay sprawled out in a pool of blood, her once-lush fur now matted and soaked. Her body—twice Zen's size—was nothing more than a hollowed-out shell. Her delicate wings, replaced where the ears should have been, were still intact, fluttering slightly in the breeze. But the rest? Gone. Stripped clean. Her insides had been scooped out, leaving only her limbs and face—a grotesque husk of what had once been a living creature.
Nearby, three smaller bodies lay lifeless. Two were about the size of his own and the third was even smaller. Almost identical to the one now shivering beside him.
Zen swallowed hard.
The kitten bolted forward, letting out a desperate, broken "Meow" as it nudged its mother's face. It licked her fur, pressing its tiny body against hers as if warmth alone could bring her back to life. But the corpse remained motionless. Cold.
Zen let out a slow breath and crouched beside it. He wasn't great with words—not when it came to humans, and certainly not when it came to grief. But he understood.
"Oh, you poor thing," he murmured, resting a hand gently on the kitten's trembling back.
The kitten meowed again, a pitiful sound of confusion and denial.
Zen exhaled, watching as the little creature clung to what was left of its family, refusing to accept the truth. He knew that feeling. Knew it too well.
"They're dead," he said softly. The words tasted bitter on his tongue.
Minutes passed in silence. He let the kitten grieve, let it stay there for as long as it needed. But eventually, he reached out and scooped it up, cradling the fragile thing in his arms.
"I guess we only have each other now," he muttered, forcing a faint, weary smile.
The kitten pressed into his chest, its tiny body warm against his own.
Zen sighed as he rested in front of the tree on the luscious grass, putting the kitten on his chest.
What a cruel night, he thought dozing of to sleep.