I've had a decently long life. My past experiences carried me through many hardships—they filled almost every corner of what it means to live as a human being. And yet.

Lorien's control over his emotions wavered. He'd had so much time to think about everything that had happened to him. The void, that endless, suffocating abyss, had consumed all the hate, all the malice he once clung to like armor. Bit by bit, it had stripped him bare, leaving no space for the storm of feelings he had willingly poured into it. Now, after what felt like centuries, he could no longer summon the energy to carry those burdens.

His brief flicker of anger, that spark of rage, snuffed itself out almost immediately. Those were sentiments he had shed long ago.

He had come to terms with the fact that his past life held no space for simple things like family or real friends. He had even swallowed the hard truth that there was never a place for love—not in any form.

That acceptance had not come easily. He had wanted to feel everything he had read about in tales of great heroes: the joy of bonds forged through shared trials, the thrill of living for something greater than oneself. He had wanted to believe that life could offer him something more than conquest or survival.

But he died.

Not all at once—at first, it was only on the inside. The unification wars raging across the continent had claimed his parents early on. By the time they were gone, he was already a teen, old enough to remember every detail of their faces, their voices. Too old to let time blur the memories or blame his grief on youth. For him, their loss was sharp and unyielding, real in a way that nothing else had been.

After their deaths, life didn't stop—it dragged on. The wars still raged, and the poor still suffered. Of course, the poor had always suffered. But this time, the scale of their misery was staggering. Poverty spread like wildfire; orphaned children filled the streets, their lives snuffed out before they even had the chance to begin.

Lorien had been one of them.

Those days passed in a haze. Maybe he didn't want to remember, or maybe he couldn't. All he had were flashes of violence—memories of being beaten, of being the one to beat others. It was a time when he had surrendered control of both his body and his mind, allowing pure instinct to guide him.

Survival of the fittest. That was the law of those years.

His life took an unexpected turn when he was hired as a servant in a minor noble house. At first, it was simply a means of survival—something to keep him off the streets and put food in his stomach. But over time, his sharp mind and relentless determination began to set him apart. He proved himself again and again, accomplishing tasks for the house and the kingdom that others deemed impossible.

Ironically, it was his service to the kingdom that solidified his hatred for it.

Each mission he undertook, each success he delivered, only brought him closer to the rot at the heart of it all. Corruption was woven into the kingdom's foundation, a system designed to serve the few at the expense of the many. It didn't matter how many lives were crushed or discarded along the way. Lorien saw it all, and it scarred him in ways he couldn't articulate.

By the time he rose to a high-ranking position within the kingdom's military, he was already broken. The weight of what he had seen and done had hollowed him out, leaving behind a man who no longer believed in the system he served. The kingdom's failures weren't abstract to him—they were personal. They were the faces of the children he couldn't save, the families torn apart by greed and ambition. The very faces of the family he had lost.

That was why he rebelled.

It wasn't just hatred that drove him—it was despair. Despair that nothing would ever change, that the cycle of suffering would continue forever unless someone broke it. He had been both victim and perpetrator, and he couldn't bear to be either anymore.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he stared up at the sky. The matches had continued in the training grounds for hours, and though he had been watching them, it was without any real focus. Talented and less-than-talented fighters had taken turns stepping into the circle, their faces determined, their movements clumsy or sharp in turn. Some had tried to approach him—perhaps out of curiosity, or due to his lingering title of nobility—but he had sent them away after the barest exchange of pleasantries.

Driving people he didn't want to entertain away. Now that was a skill Lorien almost took pride in. At times, it felt as if it were a talent as innate as casting a spell.

The sky above had grown even dimmer, a heavy layer of clouds casting the training ground in a dull, grey light. The air felt restless, heavy, as if the lands themselves had wrapped themselves in a veil of sadness. Most of the guards and recruits had left, but a few remained—among them, Reed and Zalias.

A girl around their age had joined them not too long ago, settling easily into their circle. She had bright, wheat colored hair and seemed to radiate a sense of welcome. The three were chatting excitedly about their day, their voices rising and falling in bursts of energy.

A conversation so easy to eavesdrop on should be illegal, Lorien thought, a flicker of irritation crossing his face at their loud, chaotic squabbling. He sighed inwardly. Dealing with kids is tiring, he concluded, knowing fully well that he was technically a child too.

However, if he were to consider his real age, he might have been twenty—or a few hundred, perhaps even a thousand years old by now. He had stopped counting his age after twenty, and time within the void itself had been immeasurable.

God only knew how long that damn freak of a voice had been there too.

The thought made him shudder, though a faint half-smile tugged at his lips. As much as he loathed to admit it, that voice was probably the first... thing to truly know him.

I might as well live a decent life to report to him after dying, he mused, recalling the voice's wish to speak with him again one day.

Well, either way, there was no place for him to squabble with these restless children.

Or at least that's what he had hoped, because someone started to slowly approach him, and that someone was the smug kid, Reed.

Shit, Lorien groaned inward. His whole trip had already been ruined by bad memories, and now he had to deal with a cocky brat.

Raising his head, he had hoped that the kid was just walking into his general direction, but to his disdain, Reed's eyes were locked on him, a smirk on his face as they stared at each other.

Everything about him shouted attention, even his dark red hair, which ironically fit his name, seemed out of place in the crowd of light blonde to black.

As he arrived he came into a halt, a few steps in front of Lorien, his arrogance plainly visible.

Lost to your friend and want to vent frustration huh, Lorien mused darkly, a eerily calm expression on his face, to your misfortune, my mood is pretty sour too right now.

"Oh my," Reed said, his tone light, though there was an edge of amusement in his voice. He placed a hand over his chest in a mock gesture of respect. "The heir of Velmont has decided to bless us with his company. What an honor for us humble villagers."

At his rather impolite remark, his friends seemingly flinched, Zalias even shaking his head in something akin to embarassment for his very own friend. The girl continued to sit with a strained expression, clearly not enjoying the moment.

"I will take care of this Lilya," he assured her. Standing up and striding calmy towards Lorien and Reed. The few guards still one the earthen field, stared at his movement, a sense of amusment was obvious in their bickering. Their inaction itself stands as evidence of the Velmonts' decline.

Lorien didn't wait till Zalias arrived. Instead he put on a strained, diplomatic smile to hopefully defuse the situation for the ignorant boys sake.

"The honor is mutual, recruit Reed," Lorien said finally, his tone measured and polite, though the slightest pause before the word recruit hinted at something more. "It's good to see such spirited members of the village guard. I'm sure your captain must be proud."

Reed's smirk faltered ever so slightly, but he recovered quickly, crossing his arms as though to shield himself from the subtle rebuke.

"Spirited indeed," he replied, his voice smooth but quieter now. "After all, it's our duty to protect everyone here, isn't it?"

Zalias had arrived, stepping in just as Reed's smirk lingered a moment too long. Placing a steady hand on his friend's shoulder, he spoke in a calm, measured tone.

"Reed, that's enough." His voice carried a firmness that left little room for argument.

Reed's expression faltered for a fraction of a second before he shrugged off Zalias's hand, though he didn't step away. "What? I'm just being polite," he said, feigning innocence but failing to hide the defiance in his tone.

Zalias ignored the excuse, his focus shifting to Lorien. "Apologies, young lord," he said, his voice steady but sincere. "Reed doesn't always think before he speaks."

Lorien's gaze lingered on Zalias for a moment, studying the boy's posture and demeanor. Unlike Reed, there was no arrogance in Zalias's stance—just a quiet sense of responsibility. With a faint, diplomatic smile, Lorien replied, "No need for apologies. I've endured far worse than sharp words."

Reed's eyes narrowed slightly at the remark, but Zalias didn't give him the chance to escalate further. "Reed," he said, his tone softening but remaining firm, "we still have training to finish. Let's not waste time here."

This time, Reed sighed audibly, the defiance in his posture finally beginning to waver. He shot Lorien a sidelong glance, his smirk returning in a muted form. "Of course," he said, his tone clipped as he turned back toward the sparring ring.

Zalias lingered for a moment longer, giving Lorien a slight nod. "Thank you for your patience," he said simply before following after his friend.

As the two boys rejoined the group, Lorien's faint smile faded, replaced by his usual composed expression. Reed's bravado didn't bother him—he'd faced far worse in his time—but the encounter left a faint trace of unease.

It wasn't Reed's arrogance or Zalias's composure that lingered in his mind. It was something else—something in the way the exchange had played out. He couldn't quite place it, but the thought stayed with him as he turned his gaze back toward the training ground.