"This is the last of it..."
He pressed the small, rusted locket into the cold earth with trembling fingers — the only remnant of a family long swallowed by fire, by screams, by time.
"The last memory… of people who smiled when they looked at me. And now, I bury it like I buried myself a long time ago."
The forest floor accepted his offering without comment. Patches of early morning mist still clung to the ground, wrapping around tree roots like ghostly fingers.
"I used to think death was the cruelest part of life… but it's not. It's Life cruel because it forces you to go on. Even after your soul is gone, even after your meaning rots away. It drags your hollow corpse forward. Every breath, a punishment."
Karma brushed dirt over the locket with mechanical movements. Inside was a small portrait, painted in delicate strokes — faces he would never see again except in his nightmares. His family, his clan, his entire world reduced to ash and bone. Not for the first time.
He stared at the patch of dirt, silent. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying birdsong that felt obscene against his grief.
"Everything returns to nothing eventually."
He stood, brushing the soil from his hands, his eyes empty — void of light, of dreams, of reason.
"I don't want to meet anyone anymore. Companions, bonds… all they bring is loss. I've lived many lives, more than I deserved. But if this one is telling me anything… it's telling me to stop, those dreams feel meaningless anyways."
"Pain exists because meaning exists. And if I strip the meaning away… there will be no pain left."
"A life of nothingness… That's the only freedom one can truly have."
Then he walked the forest, each step taking him farther from where he'd buried the locket. He didn't look back. There was nothing to look back to.
The forest around him breathed softly in the quiet wind. Karma walked in silence, without destination — just moving, just existing. His burned hand throbbed with each heartbeat, a constant reminder of his failed attempt to save them. He hadn't bothered to treat it properly. Perhaps infection would take him, and this nightmare would end.
And then he saw it.
The edge of the forest opened up, revealing a river. Wide, clear, endlessly flowing — as if it had no end, and no beginning. It reminded him of something, though he couldn't say what. Something ancient and familiar.
He walked slowly toward it, the wind brushing against his tattered clothes. The world behind him became quieter with each step.
But then—he felt something underfoot. A soft crunch.
He looked down. A single, wide-petaled flower lay crushed beneath his boot. Its stem snapped, its life snuffed by accident. White petals spilled across the ground like scattered stars.
He paused.
"I wonder what you would have looked like before... before I destroyed you"
He stared at it, an unfamiliar ache rising inside his chest — curiosity? Guilt? He didn't know. The feeling disturbed him. For days, he had felt nothing but the dull throb of emptiness, and now this unexpected spark of... something. It was unwelcome.
"Why should I care about one flower? Everything dies."
But still, he couldn't look away from the crushed blossom. It seemed wrong, somehow, that he should continue to live while this innocent thing died beneath his feet. Another life he couldn't save.
His head throbbed. He sat down on a rock beside the river, holding his head with one hand, trying to silence the noise in his thoughts. The river called to him, a soft invitation to let go, to surrender to its current.
"I could just slide in. Let the water take me. No more thoughts. No more memories. No more nightmares. Just... peace."
But he didn't jump.
Instead, his fingers dipped into the flowing water, and for some reason… he smiled. The cool sensation against his skin felt like a caress, gentle and soothing. For a moment, just a moment, he forgot the pain.
"Why… does this feel nice?"
He hadn't expected to feel anything pleasant ever again. The surprise of it startled him more than the sensation itself. His fingers traced patterns in the water, watching the ripples spread and vanish. Something glinted beneath the surface—a flash of silver and black that caught his eye.
"What is that?"
He leaned closer, curiosity momentarily overriding his despair. The silver chain with its black gem seemed to call to him, pulsing with something that reminded him of a heartbeat. As his fingers reached for it, he felt a strange resonance, as if the gem recognized him somehow.
"It feels... alive."
And that's when he felt her presence.
A shadow behind him. A voice — soft, firm, alive.
"Get back, little girl. You might fall in."
He was pulled backward, startled out of his trance. The hands that gripped him were strong but not cruel. His first instinct was to fight, to run, to escape this unwanted contact. But his body betrayed him, too weak to bother running. Not physically, but mentally.
"Just leave me alone. Let me disappear."
They talked for some time walking around but he didn't look at her, afraid that making eye contact would somehow make her real, would somehow force him to acknowledge that the world continued to exist beyond his grief. His responses were automatic, his mind elsewhere—half with the black gem clutched in his palm, half with the memories of fire.
"Why won't she just go away? I don't need her pity. I don't need anyone."
But then she knelt before him, blocking his path, forcing him to see her. And his heart raced when he truly noticed her face — her silver hair, her warm eyes — he felt something in his stomach twist.
It was not fear.
It was something he couldn't name.
"No. Don't feel. Don't care. She'll leave too. Everyone leaves."
But when she asked his name, he answered. When she offered water, he drank. When she hummed that haunting melody, he listened. Each small surrender a betrayal to his vow of nothingness.
The company had moved northward as planned, completing their investigation on the empire. Now they had stopped in the town of Greenfall, a trading post on the edge of the Kingdom of Asternia.
It was here that Shizuku made her decision.
Shizuku stood in front of the orphanage gates, the gentle afternoon breeze brushing against her hair. Children laughed faintly in the background, their voices echoing from the open windows inside. Karma stood by her side, small hands gripping her cloak tightly.
She had thought about this moment for days. A knights company was no place for a child—especially with the conflicts brewing along the border. Raids, skirmishes, the constant threat of full-scale war... these were no conditions for a boy to heal from his trauma. She'd asked around and found this orphanage had a good reputation. The caretakers were kind, the children well-fed. It was the responsible choice.
She knelt down and smiled warmly. "You'll make friends in this place, Karma. There are children like you here. You'll be safe."
But he didn't respond.
Instead, he slowly stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around her. His face pressed into her chest, trembling slightly as he buried himself into her warmth.
"You said a home is made of love…" he murmured.
Her eyes widened.
"You said… not just a house. You said love makes it home. So why are you leaving me here?"
She was silent. The words she had carefully prepared—about safety, stability, normalcy—died in her throat. In just three weeks, this quiet, wounded boy had somehow wormed his way into her heart. She thought of the way he'd started helping around camp, fetching water, watching the weapons practice with fascination, falling asleep by the campfire as she told stories of past battles.
Karma clung tighter, his voice softer now, cracked and unsure.
"I don't want another house. I want… I want you."
His words pierced her heart. For a moment, she didn't know what to say. She gently rested her hand on his back and looked up at the gate again—then at the caretaker waiting by the door, an elderly woman with kind eyes who now watched them with understanding.
Shizuku was a Captain—decisive, clear-headed, practical. She led fifty men and women into battle without hesitation. Yet here, faced with this child's acts, she found herself utterly disarmed.
She thought of her own childhood—not so different from his. Orphaned by war, shuttled between relatives who saw her as a burden, until finally finding purpose with a sword in her hand. Was that what she wanted for him? To grow up believing that loss was inevitable, that attachments were dangerous?
"You," Shizuku sighed, her voice carrying a mix of exasperation and affection.
"Alright." She whispered. "You win, little troublemaker."
He looked up at her, confused. The raw hope in his eyes nearly undid her.
She smiled. "Come home with me. We'll figure it out together."
His eyes widened. "Really?"
She nodded, stood up and looked toward the caretaker. "I'm sorry for wasting your time."
The woman smiled gently. "No apology needed. Some bonds aren't meant to be broken." She gave them a small bow. "May the gods watch over you both."
As they walked away from the orphanage, Karma's hand still clutching her cloak, Shizuku felt something shift inside her. She had spent years building walls around her heart, focusing only on her duty and survival. Now those walls were crumbling, and it terrified her.