Chapter 2: Nightmares

The boy was still in a daze as he was dragged through the burnt forest by his pursuers. Entire days passed as they started their long journey back. The boy was denied food and water the whole way, left to survive on droplets of rain and puddles and insects for nourishment.

After what seemed like an eternity, in the middle of the night, the group finally reached their destination. The boy's eyes widened in horror as he saw his village burning to the ground. In front of it, all the surviving residents knelt on their knees.

"For the crime of harboring a criminal, all residents shall face immediate execution!" yelled the leader of the pursuers.

Without hesitation, the villagers were mercilessly killed one by one before the boy's eyes. He could do nothing but watch as the elderly, adults, and children took their last breaths. And all the while, they bore giant grins on their faces.

The boy groveled on the ground, begging their killers for mercy, yet they ignored his pleas until the very last villager was slain.

"Throw their filthy corpses into the fire," ordered the leader.

The boy remained motionless, tears carved into his cheeks. Suddenly, the leader began brutally beating him with his fists. One punch after another, the boy remained silent until he started coughing blood. But the leader was still not satisfied.

Grabbing the boy by his hair, the leader slowly began to pull out his white eye. It was then that the boy screamed from the excruciating pain. As his blood dripped to the ground, the leader gave one final speech.

"Ivan, for the crime of going against the principles that reign over Mortallia, you are hereby sentenced to immediate execution. I hope it was worth it," spat the leader before heading toward his pristine carriage parked nearby.

By that point, the boy's voice had given out. One of the pursuers forced him to look up at the sword that would strike him down. He had given up resisting; there was nothing left for him to fight for. His family, friends, his master—they were all gone. Even in his last moments, the boy couldn't shake the thought that if he had never been born, none of his loved ones would have had to suffer.

But it wasn't fair. Why was he persecuted for something he had never chosen? He never wished to be born in the first place. He never wanted to be born with that damned white eye, and he certainly never wished to be born so weak, so pathetic, so worthless. In the end, everything came down to strength.

The boy finally realized that in this world, where people could move mountains with a thought, split the seas with a handwave, and bend others to their will, justice was a long-forgotten concept.

If only he had the strength, he could have protected his village and himself from these people. No—from these monsters disguised as humans. They were the true demons, the ones who had long since abandoned their morals in blind obedience to orders. The ones who had taken the time to drag him back just to force him to watch his loved ones suffer. The ones who laughed amidst their victims' screams and pleas for mercy.

"Die, you demon! For Morta—"

The soldier never finished his sentence. His head flew into the air, severed cleanly from his body. Ivan stood behind the corpse of the man who had almost been his executioner, gripping the sword of the soldier who had held him in place. That man soon perished as well, his throat cut.

The remaining soldiers watched in horror as the boy slowly advanced toward them. They raised their weapons, but it was futile. One by one, they fell.

Ivan thought about how he should have done this sooner. He should have struck back the moment they started hunting him. All those days of starving, all those nights sleeping in the dirt alongside insects, all his loved ones dying—none of it would have happened if he had simply killed from the start.

But now, there was no point in regret.

Ivan slowly approached the fear-stricken leader, who remained frozen on the ground, unable to move as Ivan closed in. When they were finally face to face, the leader tried to attack, but Ivan swiftly subdued him, pinning him to the ground. The leader struggled, terror filling his eyes as he saw Ivan's white eye glowing, now emitting a radiance brighter than the distant stars in the night sky.

"You were right about one thing," Ivan murmured. "I committed a crime, but it wasn't for defying whatever principles you spoke of. My crime was being weaker than you and the kingdom behind you. I don't know why my white eye was such a threat to you, nor why you took such pleasure in your heinous acts. But one thing I do know—your king and comrades will have the answers I seek. So you can die peacefully, knowing you will soon meet them again."

With that, Ivan struck down the leader.

Suddenly, the boy fell off his bed, hitting his face against the floor.

He groaned, rolling in pain before finally stopping to catch his breath. Sweat poured down his face as he stared at the old ceiling above him, his heart still pounding from the dream. Slowly, he sat up and glanced around the tiny, empty space he called his room. It had little to its name—just a worn-out bed and a small wardrobe filled with plain clothes. The only thing that stood out was the cloak hanging inside.

"Arthur, come down to eat!" a voice called faintly from downstairs.

Arthur remained still for a moment, looking up at the ceiling before reaching for the eyepatch over his right eye. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he felt the soft fabric still in place.

"That nightmare again," he muttered to himself.