Romaryo_windly

This is not a story about collecting girls like Pokémon or about a hero with no soul.


My protagonist was born broken، but not dead.
Sartor is a voiceless boy trapped in a crumbling body, in a mansion haunted by secrets and silence.


When a strange healer arrives, old scars tear open، and something beneath begins to move.
In a world ruled by hidden strings and forgotten sins, Sartor isn’t just waking up، he’s becoming something they tried to bury.


A dark psychological fantasy about trauma, control, and the quiet rebellion of a puppet who dares to cut his strings.

“If you're tired of shallow power fantasies...

walk deeper.”

Torn threads

Before the group, in the darkness of night where moonlight could not reach, a man hung suspended. Blood ran from his body. His chest was hollow—his heart had been ripped out.

Mordred turned right, then left, visibly unsettled.

"I don't know. I didn't change the path—we followed the only road there was."

The group emerged from the hollow mountain. Before them stretched a human trail through the forest.

Sartor turned to Mordred, eyeing his squirrel with a long, suspicious stare.

"I noticed your squirrel is really clever. It even clapped when I killed that tiger."

Mordred picked up the squirrel, gently pinching its cheeks.

"That's my companion, White. My horse is named Zur."

He stepped onto the trail and gestured ahead.

"This is the road to Meteor Duchy, where Crimson City lies."

The forest path stretched on, hour after hour.

Day ended. Night fell. The thick canopy let through only faint traces of light.

Throughout the journey, Mordred spun tales about the Dust Continent.

Yasmin refused to believe a word. She kept her distance, ignoring him.

"Sir Mordred, it's been hours… and we're still deep in the forest."

Mordred waved her off and tossed a small sphere into the trees.

"I've never walked this forest at night before. But there's only one road—we won't get lost."

The sphere exploded. A strange smoke rose.

Yasmin shrieked, "What did you just do?!"

Mordred calmly pulled another ball from his pocket.

"Just a simple gas bomb. Repels harmless bugs and predators. Nothing more."

Yasmin tilted her head, watching for any signs the smoke might reveal their location. But there was no color, no noise. She said nothing further.

Hours passed. The forest was pitch black. Mordred retrieved an oil lantern from the horse's saddlebag.

Moments later, Sartor sniffed the air. A sharp scent—like rusted iron.

"Yasmin, do you smell something strange?"

He turned to see her scowling at Mordred.

"No idea, sir. All I smell is wet grass… and rotting animals."

(I knew this boy couldn't be trusted. I should've killed him. Look where we are now…)

Sartor recalled from a book: the smell of iron might mean a rusted sword, thermal springs… or blood.

"Sir Mordred, earlier you told me this continent has only one kingdom—The Phoenix Kingdom—and twenty duchies, including the one we're heading to."

"Yes. The Phoenix Kingdom is matriarchal. Most kings are married into power by the queens of the duchies. There used to be twenty-seven duchies. But through marriage and conquest, the kingdom swallowed seven of them."

The forest remained still, save for the nocturnal cries of animals and the occasional sputter of the oil lamp.

"So… Sir Mordred. Are we finally reaching the Meteor Duchy now?"

And the moment the word left his lips, they saw it—

Not even the beasts dared approach.

Chapter 23 — The Burning Lantern's Oil