My father was rarely present, but whenever he left home, he would tell me, “Kyros, you are the man of the family... protect your mother".

   We were a poor family, but united. From the lack of wealth, we drew the happiness of our days, and in our village, we sang, danced, and lived peacefu,l yet, joyful lives

   My mother was a small farmer, and I helped her daily on the family land. My father was a warrior of the capital. He had no fame, but he always struggled to bring us small luxuries, and even though we lived near the city, he frequently departed on military incursions, returning weeks later.

   Whenever he returned, during the little time we had together, I would ask my father to train me with the sword I always admired. Like any child, I dreamed of becoming a warrior as strong as my father... so gentle... so loyal… so strong.

   I learned the basics from him, and every day in my free time, I practiced the new techniques he taught me. By the age of nine, conditioned by hard labor and sword training, I already possessed the strength of an adult.

   In our village, there was a kind of prophecy that stigmatized the moon and the heavens. Everyone looked upward in fear of an approaching end, and it said that the cursed child must be offered as a sacrifice to the ‘Supreme God,’ so that His fury would not fall upon the earth as the cruelest of sins.

   This child, if not sacrificed, would be the only one spared from the wrath of the heavens, carrying alone the anguish of humanity’s death.

   The wisest ones claimed chaos would come, though every generation had heard the same warning.

   My mother was always cheerful and radiant. She was my emotional strength, because I never once saw her cry. Sometimes, especially when my father returned, she would look at me differently than usual, almost as if... with pity.

   I didn’t understand it back then, but now I can. It must have been a burden for her... to give birth to the monster of the prophecy..

   Everything happened that night, when the stars vanished and the moon turned crimson.

   The ‘end,’ so greatly feared, had finally arrived... children screamed... adults cried in silence... and the wise prayed for divine forgiveness... All... in vain.

   All those who devoted their lives to that “God” had no idea of the tragedy they were about to receive.

   In the middle of chaos and screaming, everything suddenly became silent, and, from the moon, descended something... a stain, a shadow that covered the entire village... everyone was bombarded by a dark and powerful energy.

   Many collapsed lifeless at mere contact, perhaps from shock... but those who tried to resist suffered the worst fate imaginable.

   I was still at home with my mother... but I saw it... her skin burned and melted as blood bubbled from the inside out, pulsating and pouring through every opening. Her eyes blackened, and from her scorched skin emerged scales that covered her entirely.

   The process lasted less than a minute, but I could hear the cries of despair from everyone, especially those I loved most.

   My mother... Her final words became engraved in the deepest pit of my soul.

   Even on the most painful days, in the rain and torment... in hatred and suffering... her loving gaze and philosophy always return, like the spark of hope I never found.

   “Kyros... there is no anguish that can stop the happiness... of a heart capable of forgiveness... My son,remember... None of this is your fault... and everything will be alright in the end... If your heart still hurts... if pain still corrupts you... then you still have not seen the light... before you".

   Even as the curse corroded her skin, even as blood poured from every part of her body... she looked at me with love.

   Even if the world turned its back on us... even if God Himself wished for our deaths... my mother still tried to teach me about love... and forgiveness.

   I... decided to flee, to run, to leave the village and escape my fate. I failed to protect my mother, whose lifeless body remained behind.

   Within minutes, it was already too late. I was far from the village, out of breath and unable to continue running.

   That was when I looked up and saw the moon, which seemed to drip the blood of the dead. Then at last, I heard the unsheathing of a sword and the slaughter carried out by the one I least expected.

   The sound of flesh being cut drew closer and closer until eventually, he arrived.

   A swordsman dressed in black robes, stained so deeply that nothing but the crimson red of blood could be distinguished, appeared before me.

   His thin curved blade carried with it all the terror and despair of countless lives already claimed by its edge.

   Even through the empty and lifeless expression on his face, I recognized the tormentor of my trauma... the demon that still haunts me... my father.