After the end, only silence remains.
But sometimes, from that silence… someone answers.

The figure knelt with his back turned.

Straw-colored hair, long and untamed, fell over his broad shoulders.
He wore a loose white hemp shirt and light leather pants.
Across his back, a sword rested in a dark sheath, strapped across his chest.

He was bent over Lisey’s body.

When Finde saw him, he thought he was dreaming.

The man looked human—
the same shape, the same face as anyone born on Gliese—
but his skin…

His skin bore a hue not of this world:
a deep brown with faint violet undertones,
like dawn breaking through the darkness.

Finde ran toward him, ready to drive him away.

He saw the man raise a hand to Lisey’s face—
closing her still-open eyes.

Finde slowed, then stopped a few steps away.

“Who are you?”

The man rose slowly, meeting his gaze.
He placed both hands on Finde’s shoulders,
and in that touch was something warm—gentle.

“I’m sorry for what happened, boy.
I’m sorry for your family.
You’ve been very brave.
Not many among the “white planets” dwellers survive an encounter with the Guzhul.”

Finde frowned in confusion.

“I don’t understand.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” the man said calmly. “It’s over.
Wait, let me take care of that wound.”

He opened a small pouch at his belt and took out a tin jar.
Dipping two fingers into a greenish paste,
he spread it carefully across the cut running from Finde’s eye to his cheek.

The sting made Finde flinch,
but almost instantly, a strange, cool relief followed.

“What is that?”

“The pulp of a plant that grows… somewhere.
I was never good at botany,” he said with a faint smile.
“But it works. You’ll heal fast.”

He turned and walked toward the shattered doorway.

Only then did Finde truly see the house.
Broken tables. Smashed furniture.
Blood on the walls.
The shadows of bodies on the floor.

His mother. His siblings.
Everything that had once been love was now silence.

He stepped outside before he could collapse.

Warm wind brushed his face,
carrying the scent of iron and ash.

His father’s body still lay in the yard.
Finde fell to his knees, clutching him.

“I’m sorry, Dad…
I’m so sorry.
I couldn’t do anything you asked of me.”

Tears ran down his face,
mixing with dust and dried blood.

Then a distant sound broke the silence—
voices, cries, muffled sobs.

He rose and ran toward Meridia Street.

Greentowne was gone.

Only ruins, flames, and corpses remained.
Houses burned, carts overturned,
and among the human bodies—those of the Guzhul too.

Finde stopped.
Who had killed them?

He turned back.

In the yard, he opened his father’s tool shed
and took out a shovel.

Then he walked to the field behind the house,
beneath a large tree with drooping branches.

He began to dig.

The sun turned orange and pink
by the time he finished the fourth grave.

His hands were raw and bleeding.
His breath shallow.
The cut on his face pulsing.

He went back inside,
took clean sheets,
and wrapped each body carefully.

Four white shapes on the porch.

He loaded them one by one onto a wheelbarrow
and carried them beneath the weeping tree.

When he laid down the first body—his father’s—
the tears came again, silent this time.

Just like the branches of the tree,
brushing the ground like grieving fingers.

Then he fell to the ground, exhausted.

He could no longer feel his arms.
Or his heart.
Only a void devouring him from within.

A hand touched his shoulder.

Finde lifted his head sharply.
The stranger was beside him.

“Easy,” the man said softly.
“Let me help you.”

Finde nodded without speaking.

The man lifted Nuelle’s body onto one shoulder
and Miky’s onto the other.

He carried them beneath the tree
and laid them gently in the graves.

Then he returned for Lisey,
while Finde followed, limping.

He placed her beside the others,
then drove the shovel into the soil
and began to cover the graves slowly.

“Why are you doing this?” Finde asked.

The man stayed silent
until the last mound of earth was in place.

He lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply.

“Because when it was my turn,
I couldn’t do the same.
And that failure haunts me every night.
By helping you… maybe I can mend
what’s left of my soul.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Gladyo. And you?”

“Finde.”

They stood before the four graves
as the orange sky turned violet.

Then Gladyo moved.
Finde followed.

As they crossed the fields,
a mark on the wall caught Finde’s eye—
a stain of blood, drawn like an unknown letters.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s the Black Language of Morvian,” Gladyo replied.
“It doesn’t belong to this universe.
Only a few can read it.”

Finde clenched his fists.

“I don’t understand any of this…”

But there was no time for answers.

From Meridia Street came new voices.
Two figures approached, gesturing.

“Those are my comrades,” Gladyo said.

“Who are you people?”

“We’re not from here.
We come from a planet far away—
at the edge of the universe.
We knew the Guzhul would appear here, but…
we arrived too late.

I’m sorry, Finde.
If we’d come sooner, maybe none of this would have happened.”

Finde couldn’t speak.

Gladyo placed a hand on his shoulder again.

“Take care of yourself, boy.”

He turned to leave,
but Finde grabbed his arm.

“Please—take me with you!”

Gladyo looked at him,
his eyes soft with both sorrow and understanding.

“I know you’ve lost everything,
but the place we come from isn’t meant for you.”

“Worse than this? I doubt it.
There’s nothing left here.
I have to get stronger.
I won’t let this happen again.”

Gladyo lowered his gaze.

“It wasn’t your fault, Finde”.
“and you shouldn’t have felt obliged to help me.”

The man fell silent, struck by his words.

Then he smiled—faintly, bitterly.

“You remind me of myself when I was your age.
Just know this path brings only pain and regret.
No glory. No peace. Only war.”

“Then I’ll make sure no one dies again,” Finde said,
a new light burning in his eyes.
“I’ll kill them all.”

Gladyo chuckled, shaking his head.

From a distance, a powerful voice called out:

“Hey, squad leader! Move it, or Beatrix will have us scrubbing the Company’s toilets for a month!”

Gladyo turned and sighed.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to those two idiots.”

The three met halfway down the road.

The first was tall—lanky as a reed—
red hair, green eyes,
resting atop a massive axe buried in the ground.

The second was shorter, muscular,
dark-skinned, with hair white as snow
and ash-gray eyes.
A spiked mace hung lazily from his shoulder.

“Guys, this is Finde.
Finde, the tall one’s Marcise—
and the baby-muscolar is Guyo.”

“How many times do I have to tell you
not to call me baby-muscolar?” Guyo grumbled.

Gladyo laughed.

“We’re part of the First “Ferus” Squad, under Beatrix’s command.”

Finde stared at them in awe.

Even their clothes seemed alive—
Marcise’s shirt shimmered with every shift of light,
while Guyo radiated raw strength,
like a flame trapped in human form.

“You’re the ones who killed the Guzhul, right?” he asked.

Marcise let out a sharp whistle.

“Where’d you pick this one up, Gladyo?”

“He’s a recruit,” Gladyo answered with a smile.

“Yeah, sure,” Guyo laughed. “Oku would never train a runt like that…”

“Enough talking,” Marcise cut in,
checking a device on his wrist.
“Let’s go back.”

Gladyo nodded, raising his own bracelet.

“Sync up.”

He typed something,
followed by the other two.

A low hum filled the air—
growing deeper, louder.

The light around them began to bend,
warping as if space itself were folding.

Gladyo turned to Finde,
placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Five seconds.”

Finde trembled.

“Welcome to Castor.”

The light vanished.

And so,
from the ashes of Greentowne,
was born the first step
of a hero destined for greatness.