《Shadows of Dalmora》


 Before the storm

    Since I was a child, school had always fascinated me. Unlike most of my classmates, who dreaded studying, I thrived on it. My mother¡¯s proud smile, her eyes lighting up over something as small as a piece of candy given to me for good behavior, is a memory I hold onto. It¡¯s funny how we tend to overlook the simplest joys in life.


    ¡°Aidan! Aidan! Are you still not ready? What have you been doing all this time?¡±


    ¡°Huh? Oh, right. Give me a second, I¡¯m almost ready.¡±


    I tend to get lost in my thoughts¡ªit¡¯s a bad habit I¡¯ve been trying to shake for years. We should already be out the door, and here I am daydreaming.


    ¡°The soles of those shoes¡­¡± my father muttered as I hurried past him, ¡°they¡¯re terrible.¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡± I glanced down at the frayed footwear. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Dad. They¡¯re not uncomfortable.¡±


    ¡°How can they not be? You¡¯re practically walking barefoot.¡±


    ¡°You just don¡¯t get it. It¡¯s part of the design¡ªmultipurpose shoes,¡± I joked with a weak smile, hoping to ease his concern.


    Normally, he would¡¯ve laughed, but instead, his brows furrowed deeper. ¡°I¡¯d try gluing them back together, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have the means,¡± I cut in softly. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Dad. If it starts bothering me, I¡¯ll tell you, I promise.¡±


    ¡°Alright¡­¡± He sighed heavily, his worry etched into every line on his face.


    A sharp knock on the front door cut through the moment. It was strange¡ªvisitors this early were rare. I started toward the door, but before I could reach it, my father¡¯s hand gripped my wrist firmly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get it,¡± he said, his tone low and unreadable.


    Our eyes met, and I understood without words. I nodded, stepping back as he moved past me. Instead of lingering, I retreated to the kitchen, giving him the privacy he clearly needed.


    ¡°Morning, Mom. How did you sleep?¡±


    ¡°I slept well, honey. Here, don¡¯t leave the house with an empty stomach.¡±


    ¡°Thanks¡­¡±


    She placed a small piece of bread and a glass of water on the table. That was breakfast¡ªmeager, but given our circumstances, it was more than I expected. For months now, life in Dalmora had deteriorated. Most resources were funneled toward the army. The war hadn¡¯t just stagnated the economy; it had hollowed it out entirely.


    ¡°Is something wrong, honey?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing.¡± I took a small sip from the glass, leaving it half full. ¡°Is Elyra still asleep?¡±


    ¡°You know how she is. She stays up late reading every night.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think she loved reading that much,¡± I said, chuckling softly.


    ¡°She¡¯s just like you were. I remember when you were her age, you¡¯d sneak into our room late at night with a book in hand.¡±


    ¡°True. We¡¯ve always been a family of readers.¡±


    ¡°And proudly so!¡±


    No matter how bleak things were, talking to my mom always lifted my spirits. Her optimism was infectious, her warmth a constant. She had once been the heart of the town tavern, her love of cooking bringing people together. When the war began, the tavern shut its doors, and her job disappeared. I can still picture her smile in that place, surrounded by laughter and the scent of fresh bread. I wish she could go back one day.


    ¡°By the way, I¡¯m not hungry.¡± I set the glass and bread back on the table.


    ¡°Excuse me? What are you saying? Aidan, you can¡¯t go out to work with your father on an empty stomach. You¡¯ll collapse.¡±


    ¡°You know I don¡¯t feel like eating first thing in the morning. I¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°We need to save what little we have. I¡¯d rather Elyra gets to eat.¡±


    The kitchen fell into a heavy silence. Mom thought she was hiding it well, but I wasn¡¯t blind. The dispensary was nearly empty, and there was barely enough food to last the week. Both she and Dad had lost significant weight in recent months, skipping meals to ensure Elyra and I could still eat.


    ¡°How long have you known?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s obvious. Look at yourself in the mirror. And Dad¡­ he fainted twice last week while we were in the fields.¡± I paused, lowering my voice. ¡°You might be able to fool Elyra, but not me.¡±


    ¡°We didn¡¯t want to worry you, honey¡­¡±


    ¡°I know. I¡¯m not upset, but I wish you¡¯d tell me these things. I¡¯m an adult too, you know.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right¡­ I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯s just, with so much going on, we didn¡¯t want every morning to start with bad news¡­¡±


    I reached out, gently taking one of her frail hands in mine. ¡°We¡¯re a family, Mom. We¡¯ll get through this together.¡±


    Her smile wavered as a tear slipped down her cheek. ¡°You¡¯ve grown so much, my son.¡±


    ¡°Hey! It¡¯s a little offensive that you¡¯re only just realizing.¡±


    ¡°In my eyes, you¡¯ll always be my baby, you know.¡±


    ¡°Mom, I¡¯m 20.¡±


    ¡°You always say that.¡±


    I could have stayed in the kitchen, talking with her all morning. But my father¡¯s raised voice echoed from the entrance, sharp and uncharacteristically angry. The words were muffled, but his tone left no doubt¡ªsomething was wrong.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡°I think I¡¯d better see what¡¯s going on.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± Mom said, her smile dimming. ¡°But remember, don¡¯t let your temper get the better of you in front of those people.¡±


    ¡°I know. I just want to understand what¡¯s happening.¡±


    I released her hand and made my way to the front of the house. With each step, my father¡¯s words grew clearer, the tension in his voice clawing at me. He was not an easy man to upset, which only made my unease deepen.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to kill us all!¡± My father¡¯s voice cracked with rage, his words cutting through the morning air. This was not a good sign.


    ¡°Just remember, this isn¡¯t optional. The new quota applies to all farmers in the area. You¡¯re not special, so stop whining,¡± retorted the soldier coldly.


    ¡°You¡¯re demanding nearly everything we produce in a year! What the hell are we supposed to live on through winter?¡±


    As I suspected, my father was once again arguing with someone from the State Guard. It happened every time they came, and every time it only brought more trouble.


    From a distance, I watched the scene unfold. Standing stiffly in his polished uniform, the soldier loomed over my father. Once the Police Force, the State Guard had been absorbed into the army, their uniforms and ranks inflated with misplaced authority. These soldiers weren¡¯t protectors anymore¡ªthey were enforcers.


    ¡°I¡¯ve already told you what to do,¡± the soldier barked, his patience fraying. ¡°Meet the damn quota and shut up.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be here to help us! Useless bastard! You¡¯re a disgrace¡ª¡±


    Before my father could finish, the soldier struck him across the face with the hilt of his sword. The blow landed with a sickening thud, and my father crumpled to the ground like a rag doll.


    ¡°Dad!¡± I rushed to his side, dropping to my knees. Blood poured from his broken nose, staining the dirt beneath him.


    ¡°Maybe this will teach him to keep his mouth shut,¡± the soldier sneered, standing over us.


    ¡°Dad, can you hear me?¡± My hands hovered uselessly, trembling as I tried to assess the damage.


    Hearing the commotion, my mother came running from the kitchen. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw my father lying in the dirt, blood streaming from his face.


    ¡°What is this!? Are you out of your mind!?¡± she screamed, her voice raw with desperation.


    The soldier¡¯s expression darkened. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword as he raised it again, this time aiming for my mother.


    ¡°No, no, stop!¡± I jumped between them, my hands raised in surrender. My heart raced as fear and adrenaline coursed through me. ¡°Wait! Please, wait! We¡¯ll meet the quota! W-whenever you want, it¡¯ll be ready!¡±


    The soldier stared at me coldly for a moment before sheathing his sword. Without another word, he turned and left. My legs shook uncontrollably as the tension drained from my body. I had never been in a situation like this before. I didn¡¯t even know how I¡¯d managed to stop him¡ªI just had to.


    Then I heard her voice.


    ¡°W-why did that man do that to Papa?¡±


    My heart stopped. Elyra. She¡¯d seen everything.


    "Elyra... Don¡¯t worry," I said, forcing myself to stand. My movements felt heavy, like wading through mud. No child should have to see something like this. I knelt down to meet her gaze, blocking her view of our parents.


    ¡°A-Aidan?¡±


    ¡°Calm down, little one.¡± I pulled her into a hug, resting her head against my chest. She didn¡¯t need to see anything more.


    Behind me, my mother¡¯s trembling voice broke the silence. "I¡¯ll take your father to his room..."


    I glanced over my shoulder to see my father struggling to his feet, supported by my mother. His face was pale, his movements unsteady, but he was alive. Barely.


    ¡°Yes, Mom,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll come with you in a moment.¡±


    As they left, I stayed with Elyra, holding her a little longer.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I said softly, "aren¡¯t you hungry?¡±


    ¡°H-hungry...?¡± she murmured, her voice small.


    ¡°Come on.¡± I stood and guided her to the kitchen. Pulling out the piece of bread my mother had set aside for me earlier, I handed it to her. ¡°Do you like it?¡±


    She stared at it for a moment before shaking her head. ¡°N-no... We always eat the same thing. I don¡¯t want bread.¡±


    ¡°I know it¡¯s hard, but if you eat all the bread, you¡¯ll get a prize.¡±


    Her small face lit up with curiosity. ¡°A prize?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. ¡°If you finish all the bread, I¡¯ll take you to Mama¡¯s tavern again.¡±


    Her eyes widened, and for a fleeting moment, her innocent excitement shone through. ¡°Really? You promise?¡±


    ¡°I promise,¡± I lied, forcing a smile.


    The tavern was gone, burned to ash like everything else. There was no prize, no happy day waiting at the end of all this. But she didn¡¯t need to know that. Not now.


    ¡°Okay! I¡¯ll eat all of it, and you¡¯ll take me to the tavern!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the deal.¡± I smiled again, even as the weight in my chest grew heavier.


    As she nibbled on the bread, I rose to leave. ¡°There¡¯s water here if you get thirsty. I¡¯m going to check on Mama and Papa.¡±


    ¡°What? But I want to go too!¡± she said, her lips forming a pout.


    I crouched beside her again, brushing a strand of hair from her face. ¡°Not this time, Elyra. I need you to stay here and finish your breakfast, okay? Be good for me.¡±


    Her pout deepened, but she nodded. ¡°Okay...¡±


    I stood and turned, glancing back just once before heading toward my parents¡¯ room. Her small figure, still munching on the bread, was a fragile light in the growing shadows of our world. I just hoped my lie would buy her a little more time to hold on to that light.


    ¡°We have one month to give him a big amount of the wheat we have grown¡­¡± My father said in a low, defeated tone.


    ¡°The harvests have been good this year. How much did they ask?¡±


    ¡°Ninety percent.¡±


    My heart sank as I heard my father''s words. Ninety percent of our harvest meant practically nothing would be left for us to survive the winter. Even with good harvests, there was no way we could meet such an outrageous demand and still sustain ourselves.


    "That''s insane..." I muttered under my breath, clenching my fists.


    "It¡¯s impossible," my mother whispered, her voice trembling. "We barely have enough to get by as it is."


    "We''ll figure something out," my father said, though his tone betrayed the words. He wasn''t convincing anyone¡ªnot even himself. His face was pale, his broken nose still bleeding slightly despite my mother''s attempt to clean it up.


    "No, we won''t." The words escaped me before I could stop them. My parents looked at me, startled by the harshness in my voice. I continued, "Not if we keep letting them treat us like this. Ninety percent? They¡¯re not just taking our crops¡ªthey¡¯re taking our lives!"


    ¡°Aidan,¡± my mother began softly, ¡°please, don''t talk like that. We can''t fight them.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± I snapped. ¡°Because they have swords? Because they wear uniforms? They¡¯re supposed to protect us, not beat us into submission.¡±


    ¡°Aidan.¡± My father¡¯s voice cut through my frustration like a blade. ¡°Enough. You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re saying.¡±


    ¡°I know exactly what I¡¯m saying,¡± I retorted. ¡°We¡¯re going to starve if we don¡¯t do something. Dad, you passed out in the fields last week. Mom, you¡¯ve stopped eating so Elyra can have your share. How long can we keep this up?¡±


    My father looked at me, his weary eyes filled with a mixture of anger and helplessness. "And what do you propose we do, son? March into their barracks and demand fair treatment? They¡¯d laugh in your face before cutting you down."


    ¡°I... I don¡¯t know,¡± I admitted, my voice faltering. ¡°But I can¡¯t just stand by and watch this happen. There has to be another way.¡±


    ¡°Aidan, we¡¯ve survived this long by keeping our heads down,¡± my mother said. ¡°We don¡¯t have the strength to defy them. Please, don¡¯t put yourself in danger.¡±


    The room fell silent, the weight of despair settling over us like a suffocating blanket. I wanted to argue, to scream that there had to be a solution, but the truth was, I didn¡¯t have one. All I had was anger and a growing sense of helplessness.


    "I''ll figure something out," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I promise, I won¡¯t let this destroy us."


    Neither of my parents responded, their silence speaking louder than words ever could. I turned and left the room, my mind racing. For Elyra¡¯s sake¡ªfor all of our sakes¡ªI had to find a way to protect what little we had left.


    As I stepped into the dim light of the hallway, I heard my father¡¯s voice behind me, low and broken.


    ¡°We¡¯ve lost so much already, this is it.¡±


    I stopped, my chest tightening. I couldn¡¯t let their fear hold me back. If I didn¡¯t act, we¡¯d lose everything. But deep down, I knew he was right. Whatever path I chose, it would come with a price¡ªand I wasn¡¯t sure I was ready to pay it.

 Beneath the Scorching Sun

    The day before had been terrible. The commotion caused by that soldier had shaken our family to its core. I could still hear my father¡¯s defeated voice, see my mother¡¯s tears, and worst of all, remember Elyra witnessing everything. I had spent the night lying awake, desperately trying to come up with a plan to escape our situation. But my ideas were nothing more than fantasy¡ªthe wild flailing of a mind too afraid to face reality.


    Reality always strikes harder than any dream and today was no exception. My restless night left me drained, and once again, I skipped breakfast. Working in the field was taking a toll on my body. The scorching sun burned my skin, and the heavy humidity left me drenched in sweat. It was disgusting. I swung the scythe back and forth, cutting the wheat in hurried strokes. Right now, the quota was all that mattered.


    ¡°At this pace, we could have all the wheat cut in a few days,¡± I said, trying to sound optimistic.


    ¡°We just need to keep going, and we¡¯ll be fine,¡± replied my father.


    ¡°Just remember, if you need to rest, even for a little while, you can. I¡¯ll handle your part while.¡±


    ¡°Rest? We still have too much work ahead. It¡¯s far too early to start thinking about that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just saying¡­ you¡¯re not as young as you used to be. I don¡¯t want to have to send you to a retirement home just yet,¡± I joked, forcing a smile.


    ¡°Ha! Boy, I was harvesting wheat long before you were even born.¡±


    The fact that we could still joke under the blazing sun, despite our hunger, our desperation, and the looming deadline, said a lot about my family. We were tough¡ªlike armor, forged through hardship. The strongest shield I knew. Or so I wanted to believe.


    But it was hard not to notice how my father¡¯s frail arms struggled to lift his scythe. We work at completely different paces now. His body was failing him, but his spirit remained unbroken.


    ¡°Let me get that one,¡± I said, stepping closer as he fumbled to cut a thicker stalk. He didn¡¯t resist, just nodded silently and moved to another patch.


    I tried not to let it bother me, but it did. A part of me wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all¡ªhow a man like him, who had given everything to his family, was now being ground down to nothing. Instead, I swallowed the anger and kept cutting.


    ¡°I brought water,¡± came my mother¡¯s voice behind us. I turned to see her walking toward us, carrying a clay pitcher and a few wooden cups. She was dressed for work, though it was clear the outfit didn¡¯t suit her. Her sleeves were rolled up, exposing pale arms that had never been meant for fieldwork.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to come out here,¡± my father said, though his voice lacked conviction. He was glad to see her.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous. I¡¯m not going to sit in the house while you two wear yourselves out. Besides, the field belongs to all of us.¡±


    I took a cup of water and drank slowly, savoring it. My mother knelt beside the basket where we had piled the wheat, carefully tying the bundles together. She wasn¡¯t used to this kind of work, but her hands moved with determination.


    ¡°Mother, where¡¯s Elyra?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s inside, trying to solve one of those old puzzles we kept stored away.¡±


    ¡°Lucky her,¡± I muttered. My words came out before I could stop them. I didn¡¯t want Elyra out here, baking under the sun like the rest of us¡ªbut I couldn¡¯t help envying her freedom.


    ¡°You¡¯ll get your turn to rest once you¡¯re my age,¡± my father said, not looking up from his work. ¡°For now, this is what growing up feels like.¡±


    I gave a tired chuckle. ¡°I didn¡¯t think growing up meant feeling like a corpse.¡±


    ¡°Better a tired corpse than a hungry one,¡± he replied, the usual sharpness in his voice dulled by exhaustion.


    My mother joined in. ¡°It¡¯s not as bad as you think. There¡¯s a strange comfort in knowing you¡¯re providing for the ones you love. Even if it leaves you sore and sunburned.¡±


    I paused, wiping sweat from my brow. ¡°And what if we can¡¯t provide? What if no matter how much we work, it¡¯s not enough?¡±


    ¡°You find a way,¡± my father said firmly, finally looking at me. ¡°You¡¯ll scrape and claw until you make it. That¡¯s what parents do.¡±


    His words lingered, and my gaze fell to the wheat in front of me. ¡°Sounds exhausting.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± my mother said softly. ¡°But it¡¯s also worth it.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Before I could reply, a sharp metallic sound rang out. My stomach dropped. I turned just in time to see my father collapse to his knees, his scythe hitting the ground beside him.


    ¡°Dad!¡± I shouted, running to his side.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he rasped, but his shaking hands betrayed him. ¡°Just need... just need a second.¡±


    ¡°No, you need to get inside,¡± I said, already glancing at my mother. ¡°Now.¡±


    She didn¡¯t argue. Instead, she crouched beside him, one arm under his shoulder as she tried to help him up. He wavered, barely able to stand.


    ¡°Can you walk?¡± I asked, though I already knew the answer.


    ¡°I can manage,¡± he mumbled.


    ¡°Take him,¡± I told my mother, trying to sound steady even as my heart pounded. ¡°Get him out of the sun. I¡¯ll finish this.¡±


    She nodded, though the worry in her eyes mirrored my own. Together, they stumbled toward the house, leaving me alone in the field.


    I gripped the scythe tighter. The sun felt hotter now. Heavier. But I couldn¡¯t stop.


    Not yet.


    The words of my parents lingered in my mind long after they left. The field felt heavier without them¡ªjust me, the wheat, and the oppressive heat. I tried to keep working, but with each swing of the scythe, doubts crept in.


    Maybe we wouldn¡¯t make it. Maybe no matter how hard we tried, this field would never be enough.


    I wiped my brow, my fingers trembling as they brushed against my damp skin. My father said I¡¯d get my chance to rest someday. That hard work would pay off. But looking at him, bent and broken after years of toil, how could I believe that?


    He had given everything¡ªhis body, his strength, his pride¡ªand still, he couldn¡¯t stop. Rest wasn¡¯t a reward. It was a luxury. One we might never earn.


    I stopped mid-swing, pressing the scythe into the dirt to steady myself. My chest felt tight, the weight of exhaustion and frustration pressing down harder than the heat. I wanted to scream. To throw the scythe and run.


    Instead, I kept cutting.


    Tears blurred my vision, but I let them fall. I didn¡¯t have time to wipe them away.


    How did it come to this? Dalmora wasn¡¯t perfect, but it had been ours. A small, quiet place where families could live without fear. Where happiness didn¡¯t come from wealth but from knowing you had enough.


    But now?


    Now, even that is gone.


    And as the sun dipped lower, stretching the shadows across the field, I felt something shift inside me.


    Anger.


    Not my parents. Not at Elyra. Not even at the soldier who had beaten my father.


    Anger at the world that allowed this to happen.


    I gripped the scythe tighter and kept cutting.


    The day felt endless. My arms ached, and the scythe dragged heavier with each swing. I had been cutting for hours, my thoughts circling back to my father¡¯s collapse and the weight of the quota. The field stretched around me, golden and almost infinite, all I could see was how little we had harvested and how much more was left.


    I tried to focus¡ªone stalk at a time, one swing after another¡ªbut no matter how hard I pushed, I couldn''t  stop questioning myself. Would it ever be enough? Could we even make it through the winter?


    Then I smelled it.


    Smoke.


    I straightened, wiping sweat from my forehead once again. The scent was faint but growing stronger, sharp and bitter.


    No.


    I spun around, my eyes darting across the field. The crops were fine¡ªno fire. The house was untouched. But the smell lingered.


    I dropped the scythe, the clang echoing louder than it should have, and took a few steps toward the edge of our property. That¡¯s when I heard it¡ªvoices carried on the wind. Angry. Urgent.


    My stomach twisted.


    The Dastens.


    I ran toward the line of trees that separated our farms, my boots kicking up dirt. The Dastens had always been good neighbors¡ªfarmers like us. Hardworking, kind people. Mr. Dasten often shared tools with my father, and his wife sent Elyra small treats whenever they had extra flour. They had two sons, both older than me, who had helped build the fences between our properties.


    And now their house was burning.


    I froze at the edge of the treeline.


    Thick, black smoke poured from the roof. Flames crawled up the walls like hungry animals, devouring everything. I wanted to look away, but I couldn¡¯t.


    The shouting grew louder. Then I saw them.


    Soldiers.


    For one terrifying moment, I thought the war had reached us. But no¡ªthe uniforms weren¡¯t foreign. They were ours.


    The State Guard.


    Why?


    I ducked instinctively, pressing myself low against the ground. My pulse pounded so hard it hurt. The Dastens weren¡¯t rebels. They weren¡¯t criminals. They were just farmers¡ªlike us.


    So why?


    The quota.


    Had they refused to pay? Fallen short?


    I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. Panic clawed at my chest, bile rising in my throat. If the Dastens had been targeted, what stopped the Guard from coming for us next?


    I wanted to move, to run to the house and stop them¡ªor to run home and warn my family¡ªbut my legs wouldn¡¯t budge.


    All I could do was watch.


    The flames roared louder as the roof collapsed, sending sparks into the air like dying stars. The soldiers moved methodically, as if they had done this before. One of them kicked over a water barrel, spilling its contents into the dirt.


    A scream cut through the crackling fire, and my breath caught in my throat.


    I couldn¡¯t see who it was¡ªone of the sons, maybe¡ªbut the sound was sharp and raw.


    Then it stopped.


    I felt something inside me crack.


    This wasn¡¯t just punishment. It was a warning.


    And we were next.

 Ashes of Uncertainty

    My body trembled, gripped by adrenaline and terror. I had just witnessed an act of cruelty unlike anything I had ever seen. My legs felt weak, but I forced myself to move¡ªcrawling backward at first before finally managing to stand.


    I didn¡¯t know what to do. My thoughts were tangled, but one thing came through clearly¡ªI had to tell my parents.


    I ran.


    I didn¡¯t stop to think. I didn¡¯t look back. My legs burned, my chest heaved, but I pushed forward until the house came into view.


    I threw the door open so hard it slammed against the wall with a loud crash. The noise startled Elyra, who rushed out of her room, her face pale.


    ¡°Aidan? What¡¯s wrong?¡± she asked, her voice trembling.


    I wanted to speak, but the sprint had left me breathless. I leaned heavily against the doorframe, one arm clutching my side.


    ¡°Get¡­ Mom,¡± I gasped, forcing the words out between shallow breaths. ¡°It¡¯s important.¡±


    Her eyes widened.


    ¡°What happened? You¡¯re scaring me.¡±


    I hesitated. She was too young. Too innocent. I couldn¡¯t tell her what I had seen¡ªnot yet.


    ¡°Something with the crops,¡± I lied, forcing a weak smile. ¡°Nothing serious. Just¡­ get Mom.¡±


    She looked at me doubtfully but nodded and ran toward our parents¡¯ room.


    I let myself slide down the door frame, pressing a hand to my face. My thoughts spun wildly. The Dastens¡¯ home¡ªburning, crumbling into ash. The soldiers. The smoke. I clenched my fists to steady myself.


    Seconds later, Mom appeared, her expression tight with worry.


    ¡°Aidan? What¡¯s going on?¡±


    Before I could respond, she spoke again.


    ¡°Your father has a fever.¡±


    The words hit like a punch.


    ¡°What? A fever? How?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she said, her voice trembling. ¡°He started burning up not long after he got back. I¡¯ve been using wet clothes to cool him down, but it¡¯s not enough. He¡¯s still weak.¡±


    I dragged a hand down my face, covering my eyes to stop the panic rising inside me. This couldn¡¯t be happening. Not now.


    With Dad bedridden, everything became more complicated. I couldn¡¯t finish the quota alone, and without medicine, there was no telling if he¡¯d even recover.


    ¡°Is he awake?¡± I asked quietly.


    ¡°Yes. He hasn¡¯t been able to rest.¡±


    I nodded grimly, straightening my posture even as my legs threatened to buckle.


    ¡°We need to talk¡ªall of us.¡±


    From the corner of my eye, I spotted Elyra peeking through the doorway, her face lined with worry.


    ¡°Not you,¡± I said firmly. ¡°Go to your room.¡±


    ¡°But I want to listen!¡± she whined, her lip trembling.


    ¡°I¡¯ll explain everything later, I promise,¡± I said, softening my tone. ¡°But for now, I don¡¯t want too many people crowding Dad¡¯s room. It might make him feel worse.¡±


    It was a terrible excuse, but I didn¡¯t have the strength to come up with anything better. Elyra hesitated, then finally nodded and shuffled back to her room.


    I exhaled slowly and turned back to Mom.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    We stepped into the dimly lit bedroom. The sight of my father lying there, drenched in sweat and barely able to move, hit me like a hammer. He looked fragile¡ªlike a man holding on to what little strength he had left.


    I approached the bed slowly, forcing my voice to stay steady.


    ¡°Dad¡­ how are you feeling?¡±


    ¡°Not great,¡± he admitted with a weak smile. ¡°But nothing I can¡¯t handle.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on, Aidan?¡± he asked, his voice strained. ¡°Elyra said something happened with the crops. If you need help harvesting, I can¡ª¡±


    ¡°The Dastens,¡±I interrupted, the words catching in my throat. ¡°They¡¯re dead.¡±


    The room went silent.


    Dad¡¯s expression froze, and Mom¡¯s hand flew to her mouth.


    ¡°What?¡± Dad croaked.


    ¡°Their house¡­ it¡¯s gone. The State Guard burned it. I saw it myself.¡±


    I had tried to stay strong, but the words broke something inside me. My voice cracked, and I had to look away.


    ¡°They refused to pay the quota. I think¡­that''s the only explanation.¡±


    Mom sat down hard on the edge of the bed, her face pale.


    ¡°Are they coming here?¡±she whispered.


    ¡°Not yet,¡± I said quickly, though the words felt hollow.  ¡°We still have time.¡±


    Dad tried to sit up, but the effort left him coughing violently. I rushed to steady him, guilt twisting inside me.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be moving!¡± Mom snapped.


    He waved her off weakly.


    ¡°If we¡¯re next, we need to have the quota ready.¡±


    His words sent a chill down my spine.


    We weren¡¯t ready. Not even close.


    ¡°But it doesn¡¯t make sense.¡± My voice wavered, caught between disbelief and anger. ¡°Why would the State Guard do something like this? It¡¯s excessive. If they¡¯re so desperate for the quota, killing the farmers won¡¯t help! It¡¯s¡ªit''s insane!¡±


    I paced the small room, my hands trembling. My father lay still, his breathing shallow, but his eyes followed me with sharp intent.


    ¡°There¡¯ve been... rumors,¡± he said, his voice rough and strained.


    I froze.


    ¡°Rumors? What kind of rumors?¡± I demanded, turning to face him.


    He shifted slightly, wincing as if even that small motion drained what little strength he had left.


    ¡°The government is no more,¡± he whispered. ¡°These decisions¡­ these extreme measures¡­ I heard some parts of the State Guard are acting on their own.¡±


    That¡¯s when I finally realized.


    ¡°On their own? Are you saying the crops we¡¯re working for¡ªthe quota we¡¯re struggling to meet¡ªmight not even be going to the real army?¡± My voice cracked as frustration boiled over.


    ¡°It¡¯s possible.¡±


    His eyes locked on mine, and suddenly I felt small, like a child again. His gaze¡ªfirm yet heavy with exhaustion¡ªcut deeper than any words could.


    ¡°Dalmora is lost.¡±


    The room seemed to shrink around me. My chest tightened.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Lost?


    The word echoed endlessly in my head.


    This small, broken country¡ªour home¡ªhad always been battered by the wars of others. We were pawns caught between titans, struggling just to survive. But even then, I had believed we could hold on. I had believed we could rebuild.


    Now it felt like all of that had been an illusion.


    I swallowed hard, forcing myself to speak.


    ¡°No,¡± I said softly, but there was no conviction behind it. ¡°We¡­ we can still¡ª¡±


    ¡°Aidan.¡±


    His voice cut through my denial, steady despite his weakness.


    ¡°You need to face this. They won¡¯t stop. Not until they¡¯ve taken everything.¡±


    I wanted to scream. To fight. To run until I found someone¡ªanyone¡ªwho could make this nightmare stop. But I couldn¡¯t.


    My father was dying.


    My family was falling apart.


    And I couldn¡¯t do a damn thing about it.


    I clenched my fists so tightly my nails bit into my palms, but the pain barely registered.


    ¡°What do we do?¡± I asked, though the words felt hollow.


    ¡°We survive,¡± he said. ¡°No matter what it takes.¡±


    Survive? What was the point of surviving if it meant living like this? I didn¡¯t want to scrape by, clawing at the edge of existence. I wanted to live¡ªa real life. A quiet, ordinary life where I wouldn¡¯t have to count every grain of wheat or fear every shadow on the horizon.


    But that wasn¡¯t the world we lived in anymore.


    My father was right. Pretending otherwise wouldn¡¯t change reality. Survival was all that mattered now. I exhaled slowly and nodded.


    ¡°Dad, how much time do we have before they come for the quota?¡±


    ¡°That man¡­ he said by the end of the month.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    I turned and left the room, leaving my mother to tend to him. Night had fallen, but there was no time to rest. My body ached, but my mind refused to stop.


    Passing Elyra¡¯s room, I hesitated. I¡¯d promised to explain everything, to tell her the truth. But how could I?


    I walked past her door and into the kitchen, grabbing a piece of bread. I took a small bite¡ªjust enough to push away the hunger. It would have to do.


    Outside, the night air was cool, and the silence felt heavier than usual. I retrieved the scythe I¡¯d abandoned earlier and went back to work.


    Cut. Gather. Repeat.


    The hours blurred together, and before I knew it, dawn crept over the horizon.


    The next morning, I returned to the house, taking another bite of the same piece of bread before heading back to the fields. For my family. For my future. For my dignity.


    Cut. Gather. Repeat.


    The blisters on my hands burst, raw and stinging, but I didn¡¯t stop. The scythe and I had to become one. Every swing had to count. I couldn¡¯t waste energy¡ªnot when so much was at stake.


    Days passed. The fields shrank. My body screamed for rest, but I pushed forward.


    Four days later, I stood in the kitchen, staring at the last bite of bread. My final portion.


    I chewed slowly, my stomach twisting¡ªnot from hunger, but from fear.. I¡¯d left the little food we had for Dad and Elyra, and this single piece of bread had been my only reserve. Now it is gone.


    As I swallowed, I saw my mother shuffle past the hallway. Her thin frame looked more fragile than ever, the sharp lines of her ribs visible beneath her dress. She had taken scraps from my father¡¯s meals, but it wasn¡¯t enough. At this rate, my family would starve before the end of the month. That thought clawed at my mind, tightening its grip with every passing second. Then it hit me¡ªthe Danstens. Their house was gone, burned to the ground, but maybe¡­ maybe something survived. Anything.


    I didn¡¯t have time to hesitate. I grabbed my scythe and an old leather bag before heading toward the ruins.


    The walk felt longer than it should have. When I arrived, the sight stopped me in my tracks.


    The Danstens¡¯ home¡ªor what was left of it¡ªstood like a skeleton against the gray sky. The charred remains of walls jutted out at odd angles, and ash covered everything like a burial shroud.


    I swallowed hard and stepped closer.


    The back door hung loosely from its hinges, swaying slightly in the wind. I pressed my shoulder against it, and with a groan, it gave way.


    Inside, the air was thick with the stench of smoke and something far worse. The walls were blackened, crumbling in places, leaving gaping holes where sunlight poured in.


    I moved carefully, my boots crunching over debris. My eyes scanned the wreckage, searching for anything¡ªtools, food, even scraps of cloth. But as I stepped forward, my foot hit something solid.


    I looked down..


    Bones.


    I staggered back, my heart almost stopped. There, strewn across the scorched kitchen floor, were the remains of the Danstens. Or what was left of them.


    I forced myself to look, even as tears blurred my vision. Charred flesh clung to blackened bones, twisted and broken. The fire had consumed them, erasing everything they were¡ªeverything they could have been.


    My stomach churned, but I couldn¡¯t tear my eyes away. I had played in this house. Laughed with these people. And now¡­


    Now they were nothing but ashes.


    I was about to collapse in tears when I heard it¡ªa sound, faint but unmistakable. Someone else was here.


    Panic gripped me instantly. I wasn¡¯t supposed to be here. I scrambled into one of the ruined rooms, pressing myself against a wall and peering through one of the cracks.


    A soldier.


    He entered through the front door as if he owned the place, and it didn¡¯t take long to realize he was doing exactly what I was¡ªsearching.


    Was his family starving too? Or was it something else entirely?


    I tracked his movements carefully, trying to stay out of sight, but then it happened. My foot slipped on a shard of glass, the sound echoing like a gunshot. Pain flared as the broken glass sliced through my shoe.


    ¡°Who¡¯s there?!¡± the soldier barked.


    His voice was sharp, angry. I froze for a moment before limping out of my hiding spot, hands raised.


    ¡°It¡¯s me! Don¡¯t shoot!¡±


    ¡°And who the hell are you?¡± he snapped, his weapon already pointed at me.


    ¡°M-my name¡¯s Aidan. Aidan Kael.¡±


    The whole time, the man kept his pistol trained on me. I didn¡¯t know much about weapons, but I recognized the design immediately¡ªa Gamma gun.


    Dalmora still used these outdated relics, a reminder of how far behind we were compared to other nations. These weapons fired projectiles by channeling Gamma energy, a substance found in trace amounts within human blood.


    Gamma energy wasn¡¯t magic or some mystical gift. It was a naturally occurring particle¡ªmicroscopic, invisible¡ªthat circulated through the bloodstream like any other compound. Its origins were still debated, but decades ago, scientists had figured out how to harness it.


    With the right technology, Gamma could be extracted, amplified, and weaponized. These pistols pulled small doses of Gamma directly from the user¡¯s blood, converting it into high-speed projectiles capable of piercing metal and stone.


    But there were limits.


    Each shot drained a small reserve of Gamma from the wielder, and while the body could regenerate it over time, the recharge wasn¡¯t instant. Depending on the design, it could take anywhere from seconds to minutes to regain enough energy to fire again. If used without caution it could kill the wielder.


    That vulnerability made Gamma weapons feel outdated and clunky¡ªtools of second-rate armies like Dalmora¡¯s. But that didn¡¯t make them any less dangerous.


    Gamma energy wasn¡¯t limited to weapons, either. It powered generators, fueled industrial machines, and could be manipulated to create magnetic fields or reinforce materials. Rumors even suggested some factions were developing more advanced technology to weaponize it in ways people couldn¡¯t yet imagine.


    I stared at the gun in his hand, my body tensing.


    One shot was all it would take to kill me. But if I could make him miss, I¡¯d have seconds¡ªjust seconds¡ªto act before it recharged.


    ¡°Aidan Kael¡­ You¡¯re not one of the Danstens.¡±


    ¡°No, sir. I was just¡ªjust looking for anything that could help my family. My dad¡¯s sick, and we have nothing left.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯re wasting your time,¡± he spat. ¡°There¡¯s nothing here. Now get out.¡±


    ¡°Then what are you doing here?¡± I asked before I could stop myself.


    The soldier took a step closer, his gun never wavering.


    ¡°You really want me to repeat myself, boy?¡±


    He loomed over me, his uniform dark green with black accents. The coat he wore looked more like a cloak, heavy and menacing, with Dalmora¡¯s symbol embroidered on the back. At his side hung a blade¡ªa sword meant for close combat.


    And then I saw it.


    The rings.


    Sareth Dansten¡¯s rings. The soldier¡¯s fingers glittered with them¡ªclean, polished, untouched by fire.


    The realization hit me like a hammer.


    This wasn¡¯t scavenging.


    He¡¯d taken those rings from Sareth¡ªwhile he was still alive.


    My blood boiled. Memories of the screams as the Danstens¡¯ house burned surged back, and I knew. I knew this man was part of it.


    ¡°Drop the scythe,¡± he ordered. ¡°Turn around and walk away. Now.¡±


    ¡°O-okay¡­¡±


    I obeyed, slowly lowering the scythe and turning as instructed.


    He snatched my bag without hesitation, rummaging through it.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got nothing,¡± he sneered. ¡°At least the last ones had something worth taking.¡±


    That was it.


    The dam inside me broke.


    I spun around and lunged at him.


    He didn¡¯t expect it. Not from someone like me¡ªhalf-starved and desperate. His weapon fired, but I had already knocked his arm aside. The Gamma shot burned across my shoulder, searing my skin.


    I ignored the pain.


    We hit the ground hard, but he was bigger, stronger. I fought to keep him down, my fists pounding against him. My first punch landed awkwardly, sending a jolt of pain through my knuckles. My second was even worse.


    He shoved me off, but as I fell, my hand found the scythe.


    I didn¡¯t think.


    I just acted.


    The blade arced through the air, and then¡ª


    Blood.


    So much blood.


    The curved edge of the scythe had buried itself in his throat. His eyes went wide, shock and terror frozen on his face as he tried to breathe. Tried to speak.


    He couldn¡¯t.


    He was choking on his own blood.


    I staggered back, dropping the weapon as if it had burned me.


    ¡°N-no¡­¡±¡ªThe word barely escaped my lips. ¡°No, no, no.¡±


    Tears blurred my vision as I sank to my knees. My hands were shaking¡ªwet and red.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡ªI¡¯m sorry¡ªI didn¡¯t mean to¡ª¡±


    But he wasn¡¯t listening.


    His body slumped to the floor, his eyes still fixed on me, wide and empty.


    I couldn¡¯t breathe.


    My chest heaved, but it felt like there wasn¡¯t enough air in the world to fill my lungs.


    What had I done?


    What had I done?


    The last thing he saw was me¡ªhis executioner.


    Aidan Kael, a murderer.

 My pride

    My hands trembled like never before. I had just committed an act I myself considered criminal. The soldier''s blood was red and warm, and I watched as it spilled from his neck and seeped toward me. My knees, pressed against the ground, were the first to be soaked in sin.


    My stomach churned. A powerful wave of nausea began to consume me, a sense of disgust and regret spreading through the deepest corners of my soul. This emotional sickness manifested as a physical emptiness in my stomach.


    I couldn''t hold it back. I staggered to my feet and stumbled out of the house. The moment I was outside, I vomited. Days of barely eating left little inside me, and now my stomach had emptied itself of whatever remained. A sharp, burning sensation scraped up my throat, and the vomit¡¯s pale color was unlike anything I had ever seen before.


    I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve and leaned against the wall, trying to steady my breath. My body was trembling, but my mind refused to calm down. The image of the soldier flashed through my thoughts, his lifeless eyes staring back at me.


    "I... I didn''t mean to..." I repeated to myself again and again. "I-it was impulsive... I wasn''t thinking... Oh, what have I done?"


    I clutched my head in my hands, trembling as if I were freezing. What would my parents say if they knew I had just killed someone? What would Elyra think, knowing her older brother was a murderer?


    No, wait. I am not a murderer. It was circumstantial. He tried to rob me; he was responsible for the deaths of others before. I''m just a victim.


    Yes, that''s it¡ªa victim. It was a desperate measure to survive. Like my father said, survival comes first, right? Of course, it wasn''t my fault. I was forced to act.


    What am I doing? Trying to justify killing a man... I did it, and what''s done is done. My eyes felt heavy, like I was about to faint. Just as I felt my body about to collapse, an image of my family crossed my mind. This is all for them. I can''t afford self-pity.


    I lowered my hands from my head and took a deep breath. "Alright..." I muttered, looking back toward the burned house. I had to take responsibility for my actions, but first, I needed to find something useful here. That was why I came.


    I stepped inside the house slowly. If it had felt sad and melancholic before, it now felt heavy and suffocating. Just being inside made breathing a challenge. The walls were blackened with soot, their cracked surfaces resembling veins torn open by fire. Pieces of charred wood hung precariously from what remained of the ceiling, and ash rained down with every movement, clinging to my skin like a second layer of guilt.


    The air was thick, suffused with the acrid scent of burnt flesh and smoke. It stung my nostrils and made my stomach churn again. Each step I took made the debris underfoot groan, as if the house itself protested my presence.


    I searched through the house, but to my misfortune, there was nothing¡ªeverything was burned. The only thing intact was the soldier''s corpse.


    I approached, but with every step, the nausea grew stronger. The body lay still, its uniform was dirty but intact, save for the deep gash in the neck. Blood had pooled beneath it, dark and congealed, contrasting with the ash-covered floor. I needed to calm down.


    Dropping to my knees, I avoided looking at his face and began searching through his belongings.


    The first thing I checked were his pockets. The State Guard uniform had four in total¡ªtwo on the chest and two on the pants. The lower pockets were completely empty, but to my surprise, something rattled inside one of the upper ones.


    It was a cluster of silver coins¡ªthree, to be exact. Not much, but enough to stir a mix of excitement and guilt within me. Fifty of these made up a single gold coin, yet in my current state, even these scraps of currency felt like buried treasure. My fingers trembled as I grabbed my small bag, its weight oddly heavier than before, now damp with the soldier''s blood. I shoved the coins inside, trying to push away the nausea rising in my throat.


    Then my gaze fell on the soldier''s hands¡ªand there it was. The reason this all happened. Sareth Dansten''s rings.


    Sareth had been the eldest son of the Dansten family. He was eleven years older than me and a man of principle. He''d helped us through hard times, offering small favors without asking for much in return. When the war broke out five years ago, he was the first to warn us, speaking with urgency and dread.


    Now his legacy sat cold and lifeless in the hands of a man I''d just killed. The rings were more than just ornaments¡ªthey were heirlooms passed down through generations. His grandfather had gifted it to him before he passed.


    That should have been all he had¡ªor at least, that''s what I wanted to believe. But beside the corpse, resting in the puddle of congealed blood, was his Gamma pistol. My breath caught as I carefully picked it up, its surface slick and stained red. It felt heavier than I expected, or maybe it was just my nerves amplifying the sensation.


    I turned it over in my hands, inspecting the intricate designs etched into its frame. These weapons weren¡¯t just tools; they were symbols of authority, wielded only by those deemed worthy by the State. A part of me burned with curiosity. I¡¯d be lying if I said I didn¡¯t want to try it¡ªjust once.


    But fear crept in. When someone joins any branch of the military, they undergo medical tests to ensure their Gamma levels are high enough to wield these weapons safely. Too little Gamma in the bloodstream, and the weapon could backfire, causing catastrophic damage in the wielder circulatory system.


    I was just a farmer. I had no way of knowing if I was capable of firing it¡ªor surviving the attempt. Swallowing hard, I slipped the pistol into my bag alongside the coins and rings. For now, my curiosity would have to wait.


    The scythe was mine. Its blade, however, was still buried deep in the corpse''s throat, wedged between flesh and bone. My trembling hands gripped the handle tightly, sweat slicking my palms as I tried to pull it free. The blade resisted at first, as if the corpse itself refused to let go.


    I swallowed hard and pulled again. This time, it gave way, sliding out inch by inch. Each movement tore through flesh, releasing sluggish streams of blood that joined the pool already beneath him. My stomach churned, and for a moment, I thought I might vomit again.


    When the blade finally came it was a huge relief. I wiped it clean on the soldier''s uniform, my hands trembling so badly I could barely hold the cloth steady.


    "I''m sorry," I muttered, my voice barely more than a breath. The words felt hollow.


    Finally, I could leave this damned place and never return. The site where I had committed my greatest sin¡ªthe murder of another man. The walk home felt endless, each step haunted by the memories of what I had done.


    I pushed the door open quietly, but luck wasn¡¯t on my side. My mother stood just beyond it. Her eyes locked onto me, widening in horror as she noticed the blood staining my clothes.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    "Aidan! What happened to you?!" she cried, her voice trembling.


    "It''s okay, Mom. I''m fine..."


    "But all that red... is that... blood?"


    I hesitated. The truth hung heavy on my tongue, but I couldn¡¯t let it escape. Instead, I lied.


    "It''s not mine. It''s from the Danstens. I went to their house to see if I could find anything, and... I found what was left of them."


    She stared at me in silence. Did she believe me? Or had she already seen through the lie? I couldn¡¯t bear to find out, so I reached into my bag and pulled out the three silver coins.


    "Look, I found these. It¡¯s not much, but it might help us."


    Her eyes dropped to the coins. The silence dragged on, heavier than before. Finally, she spoke.


    "Three silver coins... It won¡¯t be enough for your father¡¯s medicine, but maybe we can get some food with it," she said, her voice distant.


    "Yeah, that¡¯s what I thought. I¡¯ll head to town in the morning and see what I can get."


    I avoided mentioning the Gamma pistol and Sareth¡¯s rings. Those secrets would stay buried, for now.


    "How¡¯s Dad?"


    "No fever. He¡¯s been asleep for a while. Elyra is with him."


    For the first time in days, some good news. My father was stable. That gave me time to figure out my next move.


    "That¡¯s good... I¡¯ll get some rest then. Tomorrow¡ª"


    "You¡¯re not hiding anything from me, are you? You know you can tell me anything." Her words caught me off guard.


    I shook my head. "I know, Mom. I¡¯d never hide anything from you." Another lie. Lying to her is the right thing... right? I can''t burden her with this. Not after everything she''s already been through. Maybe someday... when this is all over, when the coins are enough, when Dad is better... Maybe then I can tell her the truth.


    I retreated to my room, closed the door, and finally allowed myself to collapse onto the bed. Sleep came quickly, but not peacefully.


    The next day I woke up feeling physically rested, but my mind was a tangled mess. The night had been restless¡ªfragmented dreams and sudden awakenings ocurred several times.


    Still, I had no time to dwell on it. I had to get to town. I changed into clean clothes, shoving the bloodied ones into a cabinet. Grabbing my bag¡ªwith the coins, the pistol, and the rings safely tucked inside¡ªI moved quietly. I didn¡¯t want to talk to anyone. Not yet. Not with this guilt weighing me down.


    The walk to town went as usual. I followed the dirt path through open fields, passing rows of small wooden houses surrounded by stretches of wheat. They looked just like mine¡ªsimple and weathered, yet stubbornly standing.


    It took about ten minutes before the town came into view. A large, worn sign greeted me: "Welcome to Alessandria." The entrance had a few members of the State Guard stationed nearby, standing idle but armed. My stomach tightened at the sight of their uniforms. The image of the soldier I had killed flashed through my mind.


    I lowered my head, hoping to avoid any unwanted attention. Thankfully, in a place like this, people came and went without much scrutiny. The guards barely acknowledged my presence as I slipped past them.


    Inside, Alessandria felt empty. Once home to nearly 20,000 people, the town now seemed to house only half that number. Boarded-up windows and locked doors lined the streets. Shops that once hummed with activity were silent. The streets were cracked, uneven, and littered with debris.


    Amerite crystal lamps lined the roads, their faint glow struggling against the encroaching gloom. Some were shattered, others flickered inconsistently, barely clinging to life¡ªmuch like the town itself.


    Despite the decay, there was movement. Carts rolled through the streets, pulled by horses fitted with mechanical implants. These enhancements were commonplace, their faint hum blending with the sound of hooves on stone.


    The mechanical implants had Amerite crystals embedded in their chests and ribs that pulsed faintly, channeling small surges of Gamma energy through their nervous systems. The system worked by transmitting low-energy Gamma pulses through the reins, which acted as conductors. These pulses traveled to the Amerite crystals, which amplified and converted the energy into electrical signals. These signals stimulated the horses'' nervous systems, overriding panic responses and enforcing calm and obedience.


    It was said that the process didn¡¯t harm the animals. The Gamma pulses were too weak to cause damage, and the Amerite crystals absorbed most of the energy before transmitting it. Instead of relying on brute force or whips, drivers could direct their horses with precision through subtle shifts in the reins.


    I walked for a while until I found a small shop that still seemed to have goods. The building was worn, its wooden frame reinforced with scraps of metal plating bolted along the walls. Inside, the scent of rust hung in the air, and faint scorch marks lined the edges of the shelves, as if a small fire had once broken out there.


    Behind the counter stood an old man. His clothes were stained with grease, and his fingers bore the marks of years spent handling tools¡ªblackened nails, calloused skin, and faint burns that hadn¡¯t healed properly. He looked up from tinkering with what appeared to be a broken Amerite-powered lantern, his eyes squinting as if the light above wasn¡¯t enough for him.


    "Excuse me..." I said quietly.


    "What? Speak up, I can''t hear you," the old man replied with an aggressive tone.


    "I''m looking to buy something to take home. Food, to be specific," I said, this time more firmly.


    "Food? What a surprise. That''s what everyone''s been looking for these past few months."


    His response deflated my hopes. Maybe he didn¡¯t have anything either.


    "...Look, how much do you have?" he asked, scratching his head. His tone had softened slightly¡ªmaybe he pitied me.


    "Three silver coins."


    "Three coins? With two you can get two medium-sized loaves of bread, about a pound each."


    "What? Only two loaves? But before they cost¡ª"


    "Look, kid, maybe you don¡¯t understand economics, but I¡¯m sure you understand scarcity. Do you want the bread or not?" He snapped, clearly losing patience.


    "Fine¡­ And with just one silver coin?"


    "I can give you what¡¯s left of the potatoes¡ªten of them. Each weighs about eight pounds. That¡¯s all I¡¯ve got."


    It was expensive¡ªoutrageously so. Just a few months ago, a single silver coin could buy enough food for two weeks. Now it barely bought scraps. But I wasn¡¯t in a position to argue.


    I reached into my bag, pulled out the three coins, and handed them over.


    I stepped out of the shop with a new bag in my hands, carrying the food I¡¯d bought. It had been expensive¡ªtoo expensive¡ªbut at least I wouldn¡¯t return home empty-handed.


    "Hey, you!" someone called out.


    I froze, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. Turning slowly, I spotted them¡ªa group of five men lingering near the edge of the street. Their clothes were ragged, their eyes sharp and predatory.


    "What¡¯ve you got there? Let us take a look!" The one in front smirked, his tone playful, but the menace beneath it was impossible to miss. They weren¡¯t here to look. They were here to take.


    They started moving toward me. I could feel the tension in their steps, like wolves closing in on prey. My hands tightened around the bag¡¯s strap before I carefully set it down. My other hand slipped into the other bag where I had the rings¡­ but I was not going for the rings. My fingers brushing against a cold metal¡ªthe Gamma pistol.


    Run. That¡¯s what I should do. But my legs wouldn¡¯t move.


    I wasn¡¯t thinking. My body acted on its own, driven by something deeper¡ªsomething primal.


    I gripped the pistol tighter, my breath steadying as my pulse quickened.


    Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement¡ªpeople peeking out from windows and doorways. Some quickly shut their curtains, pretending not to see. Others lingered, their eyes darting between me and the group, waiting to see how this would unfold.


    This food wasn¡¯t just survival. It was hope. Proof that I could keep going, that I could protect my family. And now these men wanted to take it from me?


    My heart pounded, but fear didn¡¯t cloud my mind. Not like before.


    Survive. My father¡¯s words echoed in my head. Survive at all costs.


    I had killed for this. I had taken a life and crossed a line I couldn¡¯t return from.


    And no one¡ªno one¡ªwas going to take what I fought for.


    I gripped the pistol tighter, my breath steadying as my pulse quickened.


    Because I have to survive.

 No Way Out

    Silence. That was all I could hear around me. The street where I stood felt abandoned, as if all the people and carts that had been passing by had vanished without a trace. The air hung heavy, thick with dust and the faint smell of rust. The occasional creak of a swinging sign or the distant bark of a stray dog only served to deepen the emptiness.


    No doubt this had happened before. Streets cleared, doors shut, windows darkened. It wasn¡¯t fear of me that drove them away, but fear of what followed, no one wanted to be part of it. Now it was just me and those five men standing in front of me. If my measurements were correct, they were about fifteen meters away.


    The leader shifted his weight, his boots grinding against the gravel. I noticed the way one of them rolled his shoulders, loosening up, like a predator preparing to strike. Another tapped a blade against his leg, the dull rhythm echoing faintly.


    I looked around, my right hand already inside my bag, gripping the Gamma pistol tightly. Before doing anything rash, my eyes scanned the surroundings. Crumbling walls, broken crates, and scattered debris¡ªnothing I could use as proper cover.


    I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, each beat louder than the last. Sweat pricked my skin, but something in my subconscious whispered that I needed to stay calm. Calm meant control. Control meant survival.


    Anyone would be at a disadvantage in a one-against-five fight. And physically, I was far from being in my best shape. My stomach was empty, my limbs felt heavier than they should, and my breath was already shorter than it had any right to be. Yet, there was no turning back.


    ¡°There is no need for this¡­¡± I said, trying to remain determined.


    ¡°You¡¯re right. Just give us what¡¯s in your bags, and no one gets hurt. Simple as that,¡± said the man standing at the front of the group. He was intimidating¡ªthe tallest of them all. The other four were closer to my size, and physically, they didn¡¯t look much better off than I did.


    They kept moving closer, clearly with no intention of backing off. But neither did I. I was determined to return home with all my belongings.


    ¡°You really wanna dance, boy?¡± the tall man said with a grin, taunting me. ¡°Fine, then it¡¯s time to dance¡­¡±


    Without another word, he motioned with his hand, signaling the others to move in.


    The moment his hand finished the motion, four men broke into a sprint toward me. I pulled the Gamma pistol from my bag, letting the rings and the bag drop to the ground. My right hand locked onto the weapon, aiming quickly at the approaching attackers.


    Just as I expected, none of them anticipated me having a weapon. Two of the four froze in their tracks, but the others kept coming. I had never fired a Gamma weapon before, but this wasn¡¯t the time to hesitate.


    I pulled the trigger.


    I felt it immediately¡ªlike something being ripped out of me. The muscles in my hand were being torn, and for a brief, horrifying second, it felt as if my legs might give out completely. The Gamma energy drained from my veins, racing down my arm and pooling into my palm like molten lead.


    The weapon came alive. A low hum vibrated through the handle, rising into a sharp, crackling whine that filled the air. It was unbearable, like electricity clawing to escape, desperate and violent. My hand shook, every nerve screaming in protest.


    Then, it fired.


    The force of the blast sent a searing heat across my face, and pain exploded in my fingers¡ªsharp, stabbing, like dozens of needles tearing through my flesh. The weapon recoiled hard, and my grip faltered. It slipped from my grasp, clattering to the ground.


    The shot struck the farthest of the two charging men. His scream ripped through the silence, raw and animalistic. The yellow blast hit his leg, burning through flesh and muscle in an instant. The smell of scorched meat filled the air as a jagged hole appeared in his thigh. The heat of the shot sealed the wound almost immediately, preventing it from gushing blood, but leaving charred, blackened edges that smoked faintly.


    He collapsed, clutching his ruined leg and howling. The others hesitated, their eyes flickering between me and their fallen comrade. But the pain in my hand was overwhelming. My vision blurred, and my breath came out in ragged gasps.


    I staggered back, my arm numb, but I couldn¡¯t stop now.


    ¡°Look at him! He can barely stand! This is our chance!¡± shouted the tallest man, the coward hiding safely behind his friends.


    His words echoed down the street, but even as he barked orders, his voice betrayed him. There was no confidence, only desperation. He needed this to end quickly¡ªmaybe he wasn¡¯t as sure of himself as he pretended to be.


    My right hand hung limp at my side, throbbing and useless after firing the Gamma pistol. The pain was unbearable, but it didn¡¯t matter. I still had my left, and I wasn¡¯t about to let them finish me off without a fight.


    I locked eyes with the nearest man¡ªthe one who had frozen moments earlier, still paralyzed after watching me blast his companion¡¯s leg apart. His eyes were wide, his hands trembling as if he couldn¡¯t decide whether to fight or run.


    I didn¡¯t give him the chance to choose.


    I lunged forward, closing the distance before he could react. My fist slammed into his nose with a sharp crunch. His head snapped back, and blood burst from his nostrils, splattering across his lips as he stumbled.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    I didn¡¯t give him time to recover. I drove my shoulder into his chest, forcing him backward until his legs gave out and he hit the ground hard. A muffled groan escaped him as he clutched his face, rolling onto his side, but he didn¡¯t get back up.


    two down.


    I staggered back, my chest heaving and sweat pouring down my face. My left hand flexed instinctively, uninjured but already trembling from exhaustion but I was not done yet.


    I was ready to finish him off with a kick to the torso, but another attacker lunged in before I could follow through. My balance shifted, and I barely managed to plant my foot in time to avoid toppling over. They were five in total, alright? And I¡¯d only taken down two. This was never going to be easy.


    The second man didn¡¯t give me time to recover. He closed the distance in a flash, his fist slamming into my stomach like a sledgehammer. The force doubled me over, a sharp gasp escaping my lips as the air fled my lungs. Pain shot through my core, but I refused to fall. My knees bent, trembling, but I straightened up. I had to.


    Then I saw it¡ªthe glint of steel in his free hand. A knife. He was already swinging, aiming for my ribs. My body reacted faster than my mind. I threw up my left hand, grabbing his wrist mid-swing.


    For a second, I thought I¡¯d stopped him¡ªuntil the blade bit into my palm.


    A sharp, searing pain shot through my hand as the edge sank deep, splitting flesh and muscle. Blood poured over my fingers, warm and slick, but I didn¡¯t let go. I couldn¡¯t. My grip tightened around his wrist, locking us together as he snarled and tried to push the knife deeper.


    I bit down hard, tasting blood¡ªmy own¡ªon my lip. My vision blurred with tears, but I held on. The pain was unbearable, burning and raw, and yet something inside me cracked.


    I laughed.


    It was low, guttural, and wrong¡ªsomething primal that even I didn¡¯t recognize. My shoulders shook, not from fear, but from something darker. Something I didn¡¯t know I had in me.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± I growled through clenched teeth, blood dripping from my mouth. ¡°Is that all you¡¯ve got?¡±


    The man¡¯s eyes widened. He froze for half a second, and I saw it¡ªdoubt. Fear.


    ¡°W-what the hell?¡± he stammered, his voice cracking.


    But I didn¡¯t stop. I pushed back against the knife, forcing him off balance as the blood from my hand coated both of us. I could see the panic starting to take hold in his eyes, and for the first time, I felt it¡ªcontrol.


    ¡°I SAID, WHAT¡¯S WRONG?!¡± My scream tore at my throat, raw with rage and desperation. I lunged forward, slamming my forehead into his.


    The impact was sickening¡ªa dull, wet crack that echoed down the empty street. Pain exploded behind my eyes, but I barely felt it compared to the satisfaction of watching him stumble back, clutching his face as blood poured from his forehead.


    He reeled back, clutching his face. He staggered, his knees buckling, and for a second, I thought he might recover.


    He didn¡¯t.


    His legs gave out, and he collapsed, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. His hands trembled as he tried to push himself up, but his arms failed him. Blood dripped through his fingers, staining the dirt beneath him.


    I stepped closer, towering over him as he writhed, his breathing ragged and shallow. His eyes darted up to meet mine¡ªwide and pleading¡ªbut there was no fight left in them.


    And yet, I didn¡¯t move. My breath came in sharp gasps, my chest rising and falling as adrenaline still surged through my veins. The pain in my body flared, but I barely noticed it. My gaze locked onto him, daring him to get back up, daring him to try again.


    He didn¡¯t.


    He stayed down and with this, only two remained and three were out of the fight.


    I stared at the last two. My right hand hung useless at my side, trembling from the pain, fingers twitching involuntarily as if still clinging to the weapon I had dropped. My arm felt like dead weight, a reminder of the toll this fight had already taken. My left still had the knife buried in its palm, the jagged edge biting deeper with every slight movement. Blood oozed out, coating my fingers and dripping steadily onto the ground.


    My forehead throbbed, a steady pulse of pain radiating from the wound. Warm, sticky blood ran freely down my face as well, blurring my vision and stinging my eyes. I blinked rapidly, but it was no use. The red haze only made the two remaining men barely visible.


    Yet, one of them stepped forward.


    The tall one.


    His boots ground against the dirt as he moved closer, each step slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. His confidence wavered¡ªhis eyes flickered with uncertainty¡ªbut he hid it behind a sneer.


    ¡°You think this is over?¡± he growled, his voice low and sharp. ¡°You¡¯re done. Look at you¡ªyou can barely stand.¡±


    He pointed at my shaking arm, his lip curling as if he already saw me lying at his feet.


    ¡°You¡¯re bleeding out, and I won¡¯t even need help to finish you off now.¡± He spread his arms, showing off his size, his stance wide and aggressive. ¡°Come on, tough guy. Let¡¯s see if you¡¯ve got anything left.¡±


    I didn¡¯t answer. I just stared at him, breathing hard, my vision blurring at the edges.


    He took another step.


    ¡°Nothing to say? No more screams? No more laughing?¡± His grin widened. ¡°I¡¯ll enjoy putting you down, boy.¡±


    He rushed at me but before he could close the distance¡ª


    ¡°Enough!¡± A voice rang out from the far end of the street, deep and commanding.


    I turned my head instinctively, as did everyone else. Through the blood dripping into my eyes, I could make out a figure flanked by several others. My vision blurred, and I couldn¡¯t tell how many there were, but their presence felt overwhelming. The man at the front stepped closer, dressed in a green and black uniform adorned with golden accents. A saber hung at his side, and the polished medals pinned to his chest gleamed in the dim light, reflecting authority and status.


    ¡°The streets of Alessandria are no place for this kind of chaos. If you¡¯re so eager to kill each other, do it outside the town,¡± he said, his eyes sweeping over the scene with disdain.


    ¡°I¡­ I just wanted to leave¡­¡± I managed to say, my voice barely more than a whisper.


    ¡°You¡¯re not going anywhere. All of you are under arrest,¡± he snapped, his gaze locking onto me.


    Then his eyes softened¡ªjust slightly, but enough for me to notice. ¡°You,¡± he said, pointing directly at me. ¡°You¡¯re coming with me.¡±


    No. After everything I¡¯d just been through, after everything I¡¯d done to survive¡ªwas I really about to end up in a cell? I tried to protest, to fight back against the injustice of it, but my body refused to cooperate.


    My knees buckled, and I collapsed under my own weight. My vision dimmed, but the sounds around me lingered¡ªboots scraping against gravel, orders being barked, the clink of shackles being locked into place. I felt rough hands grip my arms, lifting me just enough for my feet to drag along the ground.


    I tried to focus, to keep my eyes open, but the blood and sweat made it impossible. My head lolled to the side, and for a moment, I thought I saw the officer¡¯s eyes¡ªcalm, calculating, and far too interested in me.


    Then the darkness swallowed me whole.