12th Dawn

It was instantaneous. I didn't understand how Aloka had moved behind me so quickly, and before I could even mouth the word "how," he spoke, his voice dripping with arrogance.

"There's no reason for me to reveal my tricks to a dead man, but I will, as my final ode to you." His voice was a confident echo in the void. "Umbra Step is a move that allows me to become a literal shadow for thirty-four minutes. I realized that even if I became a shadow, your sword would still slice through me. So, I liberated some shadow from myself and covered every corner with a black veil."

I understood now, but it was too late. Before I could speak, Aloka cut me off, his tone dismissive. "I know your next question. As a shadow, I have no matter. There was no way you could have felt me as I reached for your neck." He leaned in closer, and his voice turned cold and cruel. "Well, sayonara, Jeremiah."

With that, he sliced through my chest with a massive, flatter sword. The pain was overwhelming, and my body screamed as the blade tore through me. I could feel the darkness creeping into my mind, dragging me into unconsciousness, but then something strange happened.

My soul shook. It was as if my very essence was trying to leap out of my body. I opened my eyes, and what I saw next was beyond my comprehension. It made my heart ache, and I felt numb.

The old man was being pierced in the stomach by the sword that had once been in my gut. My body froze in disbelief, but before I could react, I heard a quiet scream. My mouth opened in rage, and with a force I didn't understand, I let out a primal scream that shook the air around me. Aloka, unaware that I had slipped from his grip, turned toward me just as I grabbed the second sword. In a flash of pure malice, I drove the blade straight through his chest. His eyes widened in shock.

"How… you… j.er.e…" Aloka stammered, his voice filled with disbelief and rage.

He fell to the ground, lifeless. The aura that had once pulsed so menacingly around him vanished. I felt nothing—no trace of his presence, no hint of the power that had made him seem invincible.

My vision blurred as I staggered over to the old man's side. I knelt down, lifting his head gently. Tears poured down my face as I whispered, "Why?"

His voice, faint and rasping, reached me. "I told you earlier… my life was already condemned when I attempted to save you."

I shook my head, my grief almost unbearable. "You didn't have to save me. You've only known me for three days. So why?"

He smiled weakly, his hand resting on mine as he took his final breath. "In those three days, you have been like a son to me."

The old man was gone. He was dead. The only person who had shown me kindness in this dark, twisted world was no longer there. I fell to the ground, clutching my chest as if to stop the pain, but it didn't help. Tears flowed endlessly, and the weight of it all crushed me. My heart felt hollow, swallowed up by grief and sorrow.

I looked up at the sky, almost instinctively, and saw the brightest star I had ever seen. It resembled the one the old man had shown me when we flew together. With trembling hands, I reached for it, but as I did, I watched it fade from the night sky.

I wanted to scream in anguish, but the words caught in my throat. The loss was too much. My soul felt torn, but I had to keep moving. For him.

I stood, my legs unsteady, and carried the old man's body. As I did, a small piece of paper fell from his robe. I picked it up and read the final message he had left for me:

"Hello, young lad. If you are reading this, then I guess I'm already dead. It's not your fault. Before you leave, please lick a portion of Aloka's blood, and please accept this as my final guidance. Goodbye."

I wanted to break down again, but I managed to hold it in. With numb hands, I cut a piece of Aloka's skin and forced myself to drink a portion of his blood. The taste was bitter, but something about it felt necessary. It felt like the old man's final command. As I finished, I wiped the blood from my mouth, the reality of what I had just done settling heavily in my mind. I had killed two people today. Two lives ended by my hands.

I fell to my knees, my head spinning. The weight of everything hit me all at once, and I fainted, the darkness consuming me.

I woke sometime later, disoriented but determined. I carried the old man's body and chanted the incantations to open the portal. As I stepped through, I was back in my city, night having fallen. I flew toward my apartment, the weight of my actions still heavy on my shoulders.

I laid the old man down gently and poured alcohol over his body. A matchstick ignited, and I tossed it onto his form, watching as flames consumed him. I gathered the ashes and stored them in a small box. The sword he had wielded for me rested beside the box, and I went to inscribe his name, but then I realized something—I never knew the old man's true name.

So, I simply wrote "Oldman" on the box and placed it on my table. I sat there for a moment, staring at the inscription, before collapsing onto my bed, exhausted. But as I lay there, a realization struck me: I had forgotten something important. Maya. I had rescued her, but I hadn't yet saved her.

I quickly chanted the incantation for the black portal and stepped through. My heart raced as I rushed to Aloka's apartment once again, my mind focused solely on Maya.

I found her unconscious but alive, still breathing faintly. With a sigh of relief, I placed her on my back and flew back to my apartment. As I carefully laid her on her bed, something gnawed at me—Aloka's body was gone. There was no trace of it, no sign that the battle had ever taken place.

Time was running out, though. Maya stirred, beginning to wake up. I placed her in her bed, opened the window to let in the night air, and stood over her for a moment, watching her sleep.

I couldn't shake the feeling that something was still amiss. As I turned to leave, the faintest glimpse of a shadow passed across the room. My heart stopped.

In the corner of the room, where the darkness seemed to curl and twist, a figure stood. The unmistakable silhouette of Aloka.

His voice, cold and taunting, echoed in my mind, even though he hadn't moved. "Did you think you'd gotten rid of me that easily, Jeremiah?"