A Past That Refuses to Die

"Vera, I’m leaving for the village. I need to see him."

Banami’s voice was quiet, but the weight in it was always the same.

I didn’t look up from the herbs I was sorting, but my fingers slowed.

"That means you won’t be back until morning, right?"

He chuckled, that same lazy, knowing grin appearing. “You know me too well, kid.” He ruffled my hair. “Hahaha… I don’t know if he’ll be there, but I need to see him.”

Every month, he left saying those exact words.

And every month, he came back alone.

Banami never spoke of him much, but I knew. Aaron.

The son Banami lost.

The son he still chased, even after all these years.

A Home That Was Never Mine

The first time I came to this house, 10 years ago, there was a woman standing in the doorway, holding the hand of a young boy.

Banami’s wife. And his son.

He didn’t explain who I was—so he lied.

"He’s my son. From Toderi."

A place far away. A place Banami often visited to sell incense. A place where no one would question a bastard child being born.

His wife didn’t fight. She didn’t ask who my mother was. She didn’t scream or demand an answer.

She simply said:

"I cannot live with your blind son."

And then she left.

Aaron who was only 10 at that time, left with her. He didn't ask anything just like his mother but his gleaming red eyes were enough to understand his furious heart.

Banami never stopped them. They never came back up the mountain. And I never went down.

But Banami still seeks.

Even now.

A Reckoning in Blood

Five years later, I arrived, a plague swept through Nek-Asrof. It took many lives. Banami’s wife was one of them.

Aaron survived.

But the boy who had once stood at that doorway, clutching his mother’s hand, had long since vanished.

The person left behind?

The one people whispered about?

The one who crawled his way to power?

Aaron.

But no one called him that anymore.

Now, they only knew as the leader of Nek-Asrof’s most feared bandit gang.

He never returned to this house. He never spoke to Banami. And when he visited, he ignored me entirely, as if I did not exist.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t watching.

He had always been watching.

And last year, on that scorching summer afternoon, he proved it.

The Market & the Monster

Banami had been injured that day. A deep cut to the arm from cutting wood.

So I went to the Nek-Asrof market alone.

It was my first time.

Banami always told me how it worked—sell incense, buy grain, don’t make trouble. Simple enough.

Mazzi helped me set up the stall without a word, then disappeared into the crowd.

For a while, it went well. People avoided my blindfolded gaze, but they bought what they needed.

And then—he came.

A man covered in scars, thick like rope, his massive body blocking out the sun. His eyes, small and black, glittered with amusement.

They called him Master.

One of the most feared bandits in Nek-Asrof.

And he was looking at me.

"Aren’t you Banami’s son?" he mused, cracking his knuckles. "I heard you were born to a slut he fucked. Is that true?"

Laughter erupted around him.

I didn’t answer.

His smirk widened. “I am speaking to you, blind bastard.”

Silence.

The air turned suffocating.

"I think he sealed his ears along with his eyes, Master. Ku ku ku..."

Another round of laughter.

My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to keep my voice steady.

"Yes, sir. I am Banami’s son. Vera."

He tilted his head, mockingly. "Vera, huh? Alright, pack me some flour and grain."

My hands shook as I tied the bag. Fifty Hillos. That was the price.

"It’s fifty, sir. You can pay in Hillos or Yerek."

Everything went still.

Then—

"You little rat. Do you expect Master to pay for this?"

A hand grabbed my collar. I was thrown to the ground.

"How dare he?"

"Should we kill him, Master?"

"Blind bastard."

They kicked my ribs, my chest. My breath left me in choking gasps.

The pain didn’t matter. Only the injustice.

Banami had worked for this. I wouldn’t let them take it for free.

"Please pay for your purchase," I croaked, gripping the leg of the nearest bandit. "My father worked hard for these."

A mistake.

A fist slammed into my stomach. I tasted blood.

"Huh! This son of a bitch! Letting you live was kindness, and you refuse it? Hahaha… Then die."

A boot crushed my back.

My lungs burned.

Darkness clawed at the edge of my vision.

I was going to die.

And then—

CRACK.

Something hard struck Master’s head.

The weight on my back vanished.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

"WHO THREW THAT?!" Master’s roar shook the air.

A familiar, lazy voice answered.

"Hey fatso, I’m here."

The crowd parted.

A boy stood there, a handful of stones in his grip.

Red hair.

Sharp, hungry red eyes.

Aaron.

Master’s rage twisted into something cruel.

"You. I’ll kill you."

He lunged.

I barely saw what happened next.

Master’s body hit the ground.

Hard.

His machete—gone.

It was in Aaron’s hands.

Blood dripped from the blade.

Aaron wasn’t smiling anymore.

His friends held him back, but the damage was done. Master and his men fled.

I lay there, breathless, watching him.

Waiting.

He turned to me.

"I will never accept you as my brother. Nor see you as family."

I flinched.

"But today, you weren’t a coward."

His eyes flicked toward my stall.

"Go home. I’ll bring the money."

He walked away.

I never said thank you.

And I never saw Aaron again.

At least, not as a brother.

Because the boy I had once known—the one who had walked down the mountain with our mother five years ago—was gone.

In his place, only a new name remained.

A Hunter in the Dark

The present.

A group of masked riders thundered through the sands of Nek-Asrof.

Mazzi rode at the front, his twin daggers gleaming in the moonlight.

A thin smile curled his lips.

"Mazzi, we’ll reach Aroo soon. They’ll camp in the open," Sicil, his right hand, reported.

Mazzi chuckled.

"Clever move. Open ground lets them keep watch for enemies."

His grip tightened on the reins.

"Shame it won’t help them against me."

A familiar name echoed in his mind.

Ceasar Arkellis.

The hero knight.

Mazzi’s grin widened.

"I always wanted to see what he’s made of."

He kicked his horse forward.

The hunt had begun.

(To Be Continued…)