Scars

The midnight air was cold, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and the distant hum of the city.

Akira walked without purpose, his hood pulled low over his face, his hands buried deep in his pockets. His breath was steady, but his chest felt heavy—like something invisible was pressing down on him.

He didn't know how long he had been walking.

Minutes? Hours?

Time had blurred into nothing.

By the time he finally stopped, he was near a park. The place was nearly deserted, the silence stretching endlessly beneath the dim glow of streetlights. A lone bench sat beneath a leafless tree, its dark branches reaching toward the sky like skeletal fingers.

Akira made his way toward it and sat down, his posture loose, his head tilted downward, his dark eyes fixated on the ground. His hood cast a deep shadow over his face, making him look almost like a ghost in the pale moonlight.

He sat there.

Not a whisper.

Not a thought.

Just silence.

The weight in his chest didn't lift. It never did.

A soft rustle of footsteps broke the quiet.

"Can I sit here too?"

The voice was old, gentle.

Akira didn't move. He didn't even look up.

The silence stretched between them.

Then, the old man chuckled softly.

"I'll take that as a yes."

With that, he lowered himself onto the bench beside Akira.

He didn't ask questions.

Didn't try to start a conversation.

He just sat.

Minutes passed. Then more.

Thirty minutes, at least.

The night was still, the occasional rustle of wind through the trees the only sound.

Then, finally, the old man exhaled deeply. He stretched his arms slightly, as if shaking off an invisible burden.

"Ah… I feel relieved now," - He said, almost to himself.

Akira remained silent.

The old man stood up, brushing off his coat. Then, just before leaving, he glanced back at Akira with a small smile.

"Thank you," - he said.

Akira's fingers twitched slightly, but his expression remained unreadable.

The old man had taken a few steps away when Akira finally spoke.

"Why did you say thank you?"

His voice was low, carrying the weight of something unspoken. As he slowly lifted his head to finally see the man who had been sitting beside him for the past half hour, the old man suddenly stopped and turned slightly.

"No," - The old man said firmly.

"Please, don't raise your head."

Akira paused, a flicker of curiosity breaking through the dull haze in his mind.

"What?"

"It would be better that way," - The old man continued, his tone softer now.

Akira frowned beneath his hood. Something about the way the man spoke—the hesitance, the quiet weight in his voice—made him wary.

"Why?"

The old man let out a small, tired chuckle.

"Because if you look at me, you'll be scared."

"And I'll feel bad again."

For the first time, Akira's expression shifted.

 Akira could briefly wonder

"Scared?What could be so terrifying that he doesn't even want to be seen?" - Before disregarding the warning.

"Trust me,"

Akira murmured, his lips twitching in the faintest hint of a smirk.

"Even if I'm young, I've had my share of scary things."

At this, the old man laughed—a deep, hearty sound, but with an edge of sadness.

"Hah! A youngling acting tough, huh?" - He mused.

"You remind me of someone…"

Akira stayed silent.

The night air felt colder now.

""I'm curious, what's a young man like you doing out in the middle of the night?" The old man asked Akira

"The world isn't safe anymore.

"Not like before."

Akira exhaled softly, his breath visible in the cold air.

"Shouldn't I be asking you the same thing?" - He countered.

"What's an old man doing out here at this hour… sitting next to strangers?"

The old man chuckled again, shaking his head.

"Hahhhah fair point." - He sighed

"I should be going now anyway."

"I've already taken enough of your time—"

Akira's lips quirked into the smallest smile.

"Where are you going without me seeing the face of the man I did a favor for?"

The old man's smile faltered, and for the first time, a hint of something close to fear crossed his expression.

"No," he said quietly.

"It's really okay."

"I don't want to ruin this conversation we just had."

There was something different in his voice now.

Something… fragile.

But Akira didn't listen.

Ignoring the old man's words, he slowly lifted his head, the hood slipping slightly, revealing his dark, sharp eyes beneath the dim streetlight.

And then—he saw him.

Akira's breath hitched.

His pupils widened slightly.

The old man's face…

It was burned.

Twisted.

Scorched flesh covered his features, deep black marks etched across his skin like the remnants of a fire that never truly died. One of his eyes was missing, a dark, empty hole staring back at the world. His lips—almost gone—left his mouth twisted in a permanent, painful grimace.

A terrifying sight.

The kind that would make most people look away.

The kind that would make others scream.

The old man's remaining eye—tired and dull—didn't meet Akira's gaze. He looked down, shoulders stiff.

He had seen it before.

The horror.

The disgust.

The fear.

He had seen it too many times to count.

"Run, young man,"

The old man thought bitterly.

"Run away like the others did."

But Akira didn't move.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't look away.

His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes lingering on the man's scars—not with disgust. Not with fear.

Just… silence.

And then, in a voice softer than before, he spoke.

"What happened to you?"

The old man's breath caught.

"Huh?"

Akira's gaze didn't waver. His voice didn't shake.

"Tell me" - He said.

"What happened to you?"

The old man's eye widened slightly.

His lips trembled.

No one had ever asked him that before.

Not once.

Not since it happened.

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight. His single eye burned—not from pain, but from something else entirely.

Tears.

Unbidden, unwanted, but there nonetheless.

For the first time, someone looked at him—not as a monster.

But as a person.

The old man exhaled shakily, his breath visible in the cold night air. His voice was low, almost fragile, as if he had never spoken these words aloud before.

"It all began on the day of a dungeon break."

Akira didn't move. He didn't blink. He simply listened.

"I lived with my son, his wife, and their children. We had a simple life. A quiet one. Nothing special, but… it was enough."

His one remaining eye stared ahead, not at Akira, not at anything in particular—just at the past, as if he were seeing it unfold all over again.

"Then everything changed. The sky darkened. Sirens blared. People screamed.Monsters had broken free, and before we even understood what was happening—"

A deep inhale. A slow exhale.

"...Boom."

Akira felt the weight of that single word.

"The house shook. Glass shattered. Walls crumbled. And then—"

The old man's hands trembled slightly.

"A monster crashed through our home."

A pause. A heartbeat.

"I didn't even get a chance to think. My son's wife ran. Alone. Left her children behind. My son—he ran too."

Something in his voice cracked, just for a second.

"But the two children… they didn't run. They couldn't. They just stood there—frozen, helpless. And the monster… its massive hand was coming down, ready to tear them apart."

Akira remained silent, his eyes unreadable, but his fingers curled slightly at his sides.

"I didn't hesitate."

The old man clenched his fist.

"A single old life for two young ones.. That was a good deal, wasn't it?"

His lips twitched into a bitter smile.

"I threw myself in front of them. Took the full force of the blow."

"The impact should've killed me. But it didn't. The monster lost interest and ran off, looking for bigger prey—the STARS who had arrived to fight it."

For a moment, his voice grew softer.

"But then… the house caught fire."