The moon hung high in the sky, casting a cold, pale light over the village. The trees around them whispered in the wind, and the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and death. Raden stood at the edge of the village, his hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword, his mind far from the task at hand. His thoughts were a tangle of guilt, uncertainty, and the growing realization that the life he had been thrust into was one he no longer wanted.
The rebels were nearby. He could sense them, feel their presence in the way the air shifted, the subtle tension that hung like a storm cloud waiting to burst. Kacmebrow had given his orders: Eliminate the threat. The words rang in Raden's ears, but this time, they felt different. He wasn't sure if he was still following orders or if he was simply following a path that had been set for him—one that led him farther away from the person he once was.
As he stood there, lost in his thoughts, a voice broke through the silence.
"Raden."
Raden's eyes snapped to the side. Shara stood in the shadows, her blonde hair blowing gently in the wind, her green eyes scanning the village with an intensity that matched his own. She looked different than before—colder, more distant. Yet, there was still something about her, something that tugged at Raden's chest. Something that felt like a lifeline in the midst of all this darkness.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice rough with the weight of everything he had been carrying.
"I should be asking you that," Shara replied, stepping forward, her gaze hardening. "I heard about your last mission. The rogue mage. You really killed him, didn't you?"
Raden didn't answer immediately. The memory of the mage's blood, the way his body had fallen to the ground, flashed before his eyes. He had done it. He had killed him. But the weight of it, the emptiness that had followed, hadn't faded. If anything, it had only grown.
"I did what I had to do," he said finally, his voice hollow.
Shara shook her head, a flicker of sadness crossing her face. "That's what you tell yourself, isn't it? That you had to do it. But I see you, Raden. I see the way you've changed. You're not just a weapon. You're still a person. And I—"
"Stop," Raden cut her off, his voice sharp. "You don't understand. You don't know what it's like to be one of them. To be trained to kill, to be nothing but a tool for the empire. I don't have a choice. None of us do."
Shara took a step closer, her eyes narrowing. "I've seen the way you look at me, the way you talk about it. I know you think you're doing the right thing. But you're not. You're letting them break you, Raden. And if you keep walking down this path, you're going to lose yourself completely."
Raden's chest tightened. Her words hit harder than he wanted to admit. But he couldn't afford to show weakness. Not now. Not when he was so close to becoming something he couldn't turn back from.
"I've already lost myself," he muttered, barely audible.
Shara's eyes softened for a brief moment, and she reached out, as if to touch his arm, but stopped short, unsure whether it would make a difference. "No, you haven't. Not yet. But you will if you keep following them. You'll become nothing but a shadow of who you were, a ghost of the person I once knew."
Raden pulled away, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He didn't know what to say. She was right, in a way. But he couldn't allow himself to listen. He couldn't allow himself to care. The empire needed him. Kamebrow needed him. He had a role to play, a mission to complete, and no matter how much it hurt, he had to keep moving forward.
"I'm not the same person I was," he said, his voice hard. "And neither are you. You're just like me now. A soldier, a pawn. We all are."
Shara flinched at his words, but her resolve didn't falter. She had seen too much of the world to pretend it was simple. And maybe, just maybe, she saw a spark of the person Raden once was, hidden deep beneath the surface of his cold exterior.
"We don't have to be," she said quietly. "We don't have to be what they want us to be."
But Raden didn't answer. Instead, he turned his back on her and began to walk toward the center of the village, his footsteps heavy with the weight of everything he was carrying. He couldn't afford to let her pull him back. Not now. Not when he was so close.
As Raden walked deeper into the village, the tension in the air grew thicker. He could feel it—the presence of the rebels. They were close, hiding in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. His grip on his sword tightened. It was time.
But before he could move further, the sound of approaching footsteps broke his concentration. He turned to find Kamebrow standing behind him, his green eyes cold and calculating as always.
"You're late," Kamebrow said, his tone clipped. "The rebels are close. We need to move."
Raden nodded, but there was a hesitation in his movements. He wasn't sure if it was fear or doubt or something deeper, something that whispered to him that this mission, like the others, was just another step toward losing himself.
Kamebrow didn't wait for an answer. He simply turned and began walking, and Raden followed, though his mind was still miles away.
The village was eerily quiet as they moved through it. Raden's senses were heightened, his every muscle coiled in anticipation. But the more he moved, the more he felt something stir inside him. A feeling. A pull. It was the same feeling that had haunted him since the day he became a Mage Breaker—the feeling that something wasn't right. That he was being played, used by forces beyond his control.
They reached the center of the village, and that's when it happened. The rebels emerged from the shadows, their faces hidden beneath hoods and masks, their weapons drawn. There was no warning, no time to think. Kamebrow moved first, cutting through the rebels with cold precision, his movements efficient and brutal.
Raden stood at the edge of the chaos, watching. His sword felt heavy in his hand. He had been trained for this. He had been taught to kill without hesitation. But the hesitation was there. It gnawed at him, sinking deeper into his soul.
One of the rebels broke through the chaos, charging straight at Raden. Without thinking, he raised his sword, blocking the strike. But as he looked into the rebel's eyes, he saw something he hadn't expected: fear. Not the kind of fear he was used to—the fear of enemies about to die—but the fear of a person just trying to survive.
Raden hesitated, just for a moment. It was enough.
The rebel took advantage of his hesitation, knocking his sword out of his hand and pushing him to the ground. Raden struggled to get up, but the rebel was already gone, swallowed by the shadows.
Kamebrow's voice rang out, cold and sharp. "Get up, Breaker! Finish the job!"
But Raden didn't move. He lay there for a moment, breathless, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He had killed before, but this… this felt different. The guilt, the doubt, the realization that he was no longer sure who he was—he couldn't ignore it any longer.
Kamebrow turned, his eyes narrowing. "You're weak," he said, his voice full of disdain. "You've lost your edge."
Raden looked up at him, his heart pounding. The choice before him was clearer than ever. He could get up, follow orders, and kill without hesitation. Or he could turn away. He could walk away from this life, from everything that had been forced upon him.
And for the first time, Raden felt a flicker of hope—a spark that had been buried deep inside him.