One begins to regret things at the end of their lives, at their deathbed. Memories flashed by like a movie film playing back, echoing scenes and little details that had been forgotten in time.

He knew it was the end of his life, staring at the ripples of reflection in the clear lake.

It was a serene yet unsettling feeling, as his body slowly begun to shut down—starting at the tip of his numb toes, up his tingling spine and even to the point his eyes felt numb, unblinking.

It had been a short life, really. He hadn't even made it to 30.

There'd been nothing good about his life, except for his exile from the Kingdom. A wretched, pointless 29 years it'd been, decided the man as he slumped to the side, rolling over onto his back.

The sky seemed especially bright, although stormy clouds huddled together and only the slightest slivers of sun peeked desperately from behind.

Jealousy had been his downfall, but he considered it his blessing, too.

But if he could take back what he did, he would. Really.

'Do you regret it?'

The voice mumbled in his mind, vibrating against his bone as he frowned. If this was a side effect to death, he hoped it wouldn't last long.

Going insane moments before dying wasn't exactly something he looked forward to. Instead, he closed his eyes and decided to accept the temporary voice.

His voice wasn't working properly, but in his head, his words rang clearly. "I regret it."

The innocent lives stolen away by his hands. The blood that could never be washed away, and the tears he caused, pointlessly. Cruelly.

What had possessed him to become such a terrible entity?

Kaden Alluin Chauvet.

A name that would go down in history as the worst man alive.

A sinner punished and sentenced with not death, but exile. A lifetime of loneliness that had been the very thing he wanted to prevent.

In striving to remain in the company of people, he'd chased them all away, subjected to scornful gazes.

An orphan taken in by the Royal family, blessed with a last name that had the power to command. He had honour and riches, a treasury of items compared to his hopeless life in the slums.

At least, that was what was assumed.

He'd watched his mother's throat be slit within a falling apart house as he curled up in the corner, and watched his father leave with another woman in his arms, not leaving a penny or an item to remember him by.

The man had succumbed to alcohol and despair after Kaden's mother's death, then was seduced by a young lady who would play with him like a toy.

The issue was that no matter how pathetic one's life could've been at a time, it couldn't excuse the actions that they chose in the future.

Life as a noble had welcomed him with closed arms. It did not want the scum of the slums, discriminating against his very existence.

Kaden tolerated the sneers from the servants, and the bugs sneaked into his soup and meals. In fact, after starving for so long on those chilling streets, he simply picked them out and ate the rest.

He had happily embraced the new relationships that started off as pure, then continued to hold them as they branched out with thorns that pierced his skin.

He endured the teasing from his new elder brother, the schemes of his younger, and the careful stares that judged his every step and move, every twitch of his finger and parting of his mouth.

He became stronger, learned the sword better than any other, read through books into the night until he could hardly keep his eyes open, and blood pooled from his nose.

He struggled, and he survived.

The King finally rewarded his efforts when he was 18, allowing him to enter the Academy. A school for the rich, or the talented. A place mysterious and hidden, known by only the ones that were destined to attend.

What was Kaden's nickname in high nobility? The royal family's dog.

Obedient and foolish. Somebody who would do anything for the worship of their master, whether it was killing or scheming. Kaden had been rewarded in power, power to stand up against those who wronged him.

But really, was it not a leash that collared him, tying him to the King?

The thing that had put an end to his murdering tragedy was the Dragon's spawn, Noah Bellamy.

In the Kingdom, there was a divide amongst creatures. There were many variants of species, but a few remained supreme though humans, the most foolish of them all, held the most power by their sheer number.

Humans, Elves, Dragons, Dwarves and Fairies.

The King had feared the Dragons, the ones with the lowest population but the greatest strength. He feared that they'd steal away the power humans held.

Therefore, after the Academy, Kaden had been instructed to kidnap and imprison the heir of the Dragons, Noah Bellamy.

The man, twenty-one at the time, was tortured and abused for months.

Kaden hadn't taken part in the careful madness of the King, but he had been aware. He heard the screams that filled the lonely hallways of the dark manor at night, that pounded from the prison beneath the earth.

Noah Bellamy had escaped, and later returned for revenge.

The King's family perished.

However, the eldest son, Reed Chauvet, had escaped to some unknown place, plotting his revenge no doubt.

In fact, Kaden remembered one moment well—the murderous and heartless glare in those burning black eyes of Noah's that shone with a shimmer of bloody vengeance, the snowy hair with the same elegance as its owner, blowing with the wind as he stood over him.

Kaden had sneered. "Do you intend to kill me, you trash? Go on, lest your blade begin to tremble."

Noah had stared at him quietly, only furthering to enrage Kaden. Finally, the dragon spoke in a low whisper, his voice a deep, haunting timber.

"I will not kill you, Chauvet's dog. You will live a long life, a very, very long life. Think of your sins, or your crimes, for however long you remain. But in this lifetime, may you never speak to another soul ever again."

Exile.

An empty life that was worse than death.

That was the sentence Noah Bellamy had granted Kaden Alluin Chauvet.

The presently dying Kaden raised a trembling finger to his neck, engraved with the curse that Noah had bestowed upon him.

The first three years had been hell, as he screamed for attention, begged for somebody to notice. The curse prevented him from leaving the forest he resided in, prevented him from finding solace.

In the seventh year, had had made peace with his life.

He had gone seven years without talking to anybody. Seven years to think. There was little resentment left to Noah, and only burning hatred towards the King, and the entire Chauvet family.

The voice wondered again. 'Do you regret it?'

His mind was hazy now, mere whispers of what it had once been. Darkness crept at the corners of his vision, blotting out the world above and around. He swallowed for the last time and repeated.

"I regret it."

Then, his fingers, that had been reaching for the sky habitually, collapsed against the earth.