giyhakhan

Not everyone is remembered nor forgotten in history.
Some are hailed as hero's, some as villain's while the rest are forgotten like passerby's in the passage of time.
In a land filled with magic, to some it's a promise land filled with dreams, while to others it's their worst nightmare.
A land ruled by none but ruled by one in the long forgotten history.
The story of the one who was forgotten in the passage of time yet still remembered as someone who was not good nor evil. Just a king, remembered as a great king as well as an evil king.
This is a story to remember the sacrifice of one person for his kingdom yet he's not remembered by anyone other then that he was once there ruler

FORGOTTON KING

Long ago, the Forest pulsed with life—great redwoods whispering secrets to the wind, golden blossoms falling like blessings on the ground. Now it stands hollow. A graveyard of memory.

As I walks among the husks of trees, their bark scorched from a fire none remember lighting.

YAWNING.

Are the living truly alive? Are the dead truly gone?

No answer. Only the wind, brushing across the skin like a ghost's hand.

The forest was my throne once. Crowned with light and gold and blood. Now, it binds me.

Is life as beautiful as they claim, is death as terrifying as they fear?

A hand placed on one of the trees—its bark cold, smooth with time. Once, children had carved names into it. Now even the carvings have faded.

Even shadows have forgotten their shape.

Would setting the world ablaze or vanishing bring me peace? Or, would silencing the chaos in those final moments, would regret creep in like a whisper in the dark?

The whisper comes, as it always does.

Does it even matter? Like they lived for me, I lived for them.

Now I no longer know what I am living for. Or am I even alive? Who can say for sure that those buried are dead and those living and walking alive? Some are alive yet walking corpses, and some are dead yet living for the world to remember.

The living walk, the dead rot, and as for myself. I am chained to the world in the name of duty and responsibility.

I have lived long enough to see hope turn to dust. In a cycle of pain, redemption, and repetition of wounds that never fully heal. Just rot till there is nothing left. Wounds so deep that they rot even the soul.

I have fought, endured, waited ----

For what?

There is no salvation. No justice. No meaning. Life is an echo, a cruel repetition of pain disguised as purpose.

I am not seeking revenge. I am not looking for answers.

I do not care for what comes after.

As I shall erase my duty, burden, debt, life, choice, till nothing is left of me, as I shall erase my very existence from this world so that my destruction becomes your liberation and I return the favor to you, for everything.

My end is your beginning. My demise, your freedom.

For some, life is misery.

For others, death is misery.

I would like to know what it will be for me.

After this, there will be nothing.

No Pain, No longing. No regret.

Crunch. Crunch. Leaves crumble beneath my feet—dry, ash-brittle, untouched by spring for centuries.

Her steps are slow. Deliberate. Each one a farewell to something no longer waiting for her return.

This world is vast yet suffocating. A prison without walls, a sentence without crime.

How much longer must I endure this?

The whispers return, curling around me like unseen hands, slithering through trees as their voice chants in the shadows.

As I feel the shift__ unravelling of threads. The cycle can be broken.

Time to let go.

Time to stop waiting.

Time to stop breathing.

For too long, I have been a shadow of myself.

A fragment clinging to a world that does not need me.

And the world will forget I ever existed.

Time to end what should never have begun.

THE FORGOTTEN (Edited ch#1)