On the rocky cliff, Darken's new, strong feet settled firmly, as if they were made to stand there. From that vantage point, a unique scene unfolded before him—unlike anything he had ever seen before. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't recall from his old memories anything as beautiful or peaceful. His memories were restrained, imprisoned; every peak he had ever climbed was confined within the walls of a torture chamber... where not a single happy memory survived.
Darken whispered softly, as if speaking to himself,
"Forest..."
His words drifted into the air, carried by gentle breezes that brushed his eyes fixed on the horizon. His hardened facial features, shaped by harsh experiences, met the rays of the setting sun, as if they were whispering to him to leave and make way for the moon to shine in the night sky.
The view before him was panoramic: a forest stretching endlessly until it dissolved into the horizon. He didn't know how far it reached, nor did he try to guess. All he was certain of was that he stood in a place where no soul dwelled. No humans, no animals... only silence.
He lowered his gaze to see the cliff sloping gently, covered with soft grass and small rocks. For a moment, light reflected in his eyes, as if an idea had sparked within him.
He muttered to himself, "Staying here won't bring me anything... I have to move. Most likely, I need to get out of this forest. If my instincts are right, the inhabited areas must lie beyond this vast expanse."
Then, Darken slowly turned his head back until the peaceful, calm ocean came into view, still like a timeless mirror reflecting within him rather than reality. He continued his thoughts in a quiet inner voice: "I don't know how I got here... nor do I have a clear explanation for the change I've undergone. But I'm fully aware that this is a new chapter in my story... or maybe a new margin, where I begin to write a completely different tale."
He raised his hand — that hand which had grown strong, in stark contrast to what it once was. He lifted it smoothly toward the sea, as if waving to his old self, then dove deep into his memory... the torture chamber, the caravan men who showed no sign of acknowledging his existence, and "Jabelin," who had inflicted upon him the harshest cruelty for ten long years... years that felt like burning embers beneath his bare feet.
Then, in the depths of his thoughts, he began to recall what came before those ten years. Yes... even before that, he had been a slave. Trapped in something that could only be described as a cage, as if his entire life had been nothing but a chain of cages.
Clearly, his life had been hell from the very beginning. From the moment he was young until that moment when fate suddenly decided to weave the threads of his story anew. And now, he had a different body... stronger, tougher, and more handsome. Even his hair color had changed, and he had grown taller. Perhaps his face, too, was no longer what it once was.
These changes might seem minor to some, but for Darken, they meant everything. Every detail — small or large — had become extremely important. They were all parts of him... parts he had never considered before, but now was able to.
He opened his mouth to say something, but a memory caught him off guard.
"Mary Tshwera..."
He whispered her name softly, longing creeping into his voice.
Mary was different. A girl who showed him sides he was unaccustomed to seeing in people: kindness, tenderness, care, and sacrifice. These were foreign to him, things he never really understood. But now... he understood. He understood that behind those gentle actions lay a pure truth, one he had never touched before.
She cared for him... truly cared, with an honest, unmistakable sincerity. Unlike everyone else, she never saw him as a burden or a nobody... but as a person worthy of care. Her eyes softened every time she looked at him, and her voice carried a warmth he had never known before. At that moment... Darken realized just how important Mary was. More than he had ever imagined.
"Mary..." Darken said softly, as if calling a distant spirit. Then he raised his voice slightly, steadying what remained of his longing: "I don't know where I am... nor do I know how I ended up here. Am I close? Or far? I don't know... but I'm certain of one thing... I will meet you again. And when I do... I will face Jabelin myself."
His voice suddenly thickened, as if something deep inside had ignited. He continued, his tone charged with anger:
"I will have my revenge... without a doubt."
Then he clenched his hand, still raised toward the ocean, as if wanting to grasp his past between his fingers, but then relaxed his grip and slowly lowered it.
He turned his body toward the forest and began walking steadily into the unknown. He did not know what awaited him among the dense shadows of the trees, but he moved forward, his features carrying a clear mix of confidence, determination, courage, and resilience — qualities he had never known in himself before. He had once been broken, anxious, scared, and fragile to the point of shattering... but now, something in him was born anew, leaving behind what he no longer wished to be. As if moving forward without looking back, without regret, without hesitation.
After a short distance, Darken reached the edge of the forest, where the tightly packed trees began to surround him from all sides. Their solid trunks and sturdy forms gave the place a unique sense of awe — as if they were guardians standing at the gates of a land that held no mercy for the weak.
He continued onward, pushing through tangled branches and thick undergrowth. With each step, he felt himself sinking deeper into his own mind, reviewing his thoughts, trying to understand. Slowly but surely, he began to realize that something new was growing within him... a different level of awareness, of intelligence — as if he were on the verge of surpassing human limits.
That mysterious transformation was somehow tied to the entity he had encountered — the one he called "The Dragon King."
It was an old legend Darken knew well... about a land said to be a paradise for celestial beings — creatures ranked higher than all others. Some called them the "World's Guardians," while others referred to them as "Tyrants." But the truth? No one really knew. That land, and those beings, remained an unsolved mystery in the minds of those who believed in their existence. No one had ever dared to fully explore it.
For Darken, something deep within him had changed after meeting that majestic entity... the Dragon King. It was no longer just a myth or a tale told by wandering strangers — those who may have been dreamers, or perhaps escapees from harsh realities. No — now, Darken understood. These creatures were real. They truly existed.
But what stuck with him more than the presence of the being itself was something it had said to him. A phrase that echoed in his mind, repeating like a distant call in the depths of his soul.
"He told me to 'Rise...'" Darken muttered as he walked, his eyes alert, scanning his surroundings.
"But he said something else... a title... I can't quite remember it. He said it after 'Rise' the second time, like he was... calling me something."
A look of deep thought settled on his face, though it didn't last long. He shook his head slightly and said,
"Anyway... thinking about this now will just waste time. I need to find shelter for the night. Though I doubt a forest this harsh hides a place made for rest."
The forest was woven like a complex web of hidden paths. He moved forward, then veered right, continued again, then turned left... and so it went, a never-ending cycle that lasted for more than an hour.
Despite that, no sign of frustration or tension appeared on Darken's face. On the contrary, he seemed calm... silent with focus, as if the forest were testing his patience — and he was answering with quiet confidence.
As he walked through tall trees and twisted branches, he mumbled to himself in a voice barely audible, like recalling something yet to be completed in his memory... or waiting for the earth to answer him with its solemn silence.
"My pants feel a bit more comfortable now... my movement's smoother," he said with a faint, sarcastic tone, then added with a soft headshake,
"Maybe it was the saltwater... I don't know, and I don't plan to find out. What matters is, I can walk faster now."
The farther Darken went, the lower the sun dipped. With each step, its rays slipped further behind the interwoven trees, until night approached and darkness nearly took over. Darken noticed, but didn't stop. He kept walking, undeterred.
He hadn't expected to find anything of value in this dense forest, but things changed quickly. As he pushed his body through a thick shrub, he suddenly emerged into a vast circular clearing covered in green grass, completely free of trees — as if nature had carved out that space just to offer a calm refuge in the middle of the chaos.
There, near the center of the clearing, stood a modest wooden cabin — simple in design — and beside it, a man lay motionless on the grass.
"A house? Here? That's… weird," Darken murmured under his breath, stepping forward with cautious precision.
With every step, the man's features grew clearer, until Darken was close enough to see the truth.
"He's dead," he said quietly, then knelt beside the body and added, "His body's stiff and cold... Seems like he passed not too long ago."
He reached out, gently touching the man's face, as if checking for any remnants of life still clinging to it.
The man had a thick beard, disheveled brown hair, and wore extremely simple clothes — nothing that suggested status or distinction.
Darken tilted his head slightly, studying the corpse in silence before lifting his gaze to the left, where the cabin stood.
"I need to check inside," he said as he rose to his feet.
He approached the weathered door, pushing it open slowly. It creaked faintly, revealing a room drenched in darkness — no light, except for a few thin strands of dying sunlight slipping past the distant horizon.
Glancing to the side, Darken noticed a wooden torch mounted near the door. He reached for it, grasping it with both hands. He ran his fingers lightly over its charred top.
"It's been a long time since this was last used... The head's already cold," he muttered. "Still, compared to that corpse outside, this torch hasn't been touched since last night... most likely."
He paused, lost in thought, then closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, there was a faint glimmer — a flicker of memory, or understanding.
With steady steps, he walked further into the house, roaming its silent interior until he found a small stone hearth, where a few rough stones were scattered. He picked up two of them in one hand, then stepped back outside and tossed them beside the cabin.
Circling around the structure, he found nothing of note at first. But eventually, at the back, he spotted a small, nearly hidden door — fragile and worn. Carefully, he opened it, mindful of his new, considerable strength.
"Well... seems like he made quite a bit," Darken muttered as he peered into the room.
Inside, he found basic farming tools: an old shovel, an axe, and a primitive plow made from a flat stone tied to a thick wooden pole. Nearby were sacks filled with tattered cloth. But what caught his attention most were several torches neatly arranged next to the shovel.
He stepped forward, grabbing two... then a third.
Suddenly, something lunged at his face — fast and silent.
"Too slow," Darken said clearly, his hand snapping up to catch the creature mid-air.
It was a green, speckled snake — its eyes sharp, filled with a predator's hunger. But Darken held it firmly by the head, rendering it helpless. It squirmed violently, trying to break free, attempting to coil around his arm and sink its fangs into his flesh.
He stared at the snake, watching it writhe in his grip. He saw it struggle, powerless. And for a brief second... he saw himself in it — a prisoner in Jabelyn's grasp, bound and voiceless. In the snake's weakness, he saw a reflection of his past.
And yet... he also remembered it had tried to strike. It would've bitten him without hesitation.
A short internal battle — then a decision.
With four torches now in his right hand and the snake still trapped in his left, he stepped outside the tiny room, gently shutting the door behind him with his foot.
"You're lucky... you know that?" he said to the snake. "But if we ever meet again under the same circumstances, there won't be any mercy. Just... stay away."
With a sharp flick of his wrist, he flung the snake away.
It hit the ground, then slithered quickly into the underbrush, vanishing into the shadows.
Darken stood still for a moment, alone in the forest's silence.
Night had already fallen, and so Darken continued what he had set out to do. He returned to the front of the cabin, where the man's body still lay motionless near the stones he'd gathered earlier. He set the torches aside, then picked up the spent one and broke it into small wooden fragments, arranging them neatly into a pile.
Next, he took the two stones in hand and began striking one against the other, with deliberate force.
"This transformation... physical and mental... it's not a small matter," Darken muttered as sparks began to fly. "I used to have no clue about any of this. But now that I do... I have to make use of it."
After several moments, a spark finally caught — flame licked at the dry wood, and the fire began to grow.
"Good... this will give me some light. Let's start with the house."
He lit each of the torches one by one and stepped inside. The cabin, once swallowed by shadows, slowly came to life under the glow of the flames.
The interior was modest, much like the exterior — simple, clean, and surprisingly well-organized despite the limited contents. Nothing luxurious. Nothing left behind in chaos. Just the bare essentials... and the fading imprint of a quiet life recently extinguished.
Darken's eyes scanned the room — the table, the bed, the wardrobe, the old mirror, and the crates scattered in the corners. He recognized the hearth he had seen earlier, then paused as his gaze settled on a small table beside the bed.
There, a few books lay stacked, and next to them, a thick, long quill.
The image of the dead man outside flashed back into his mind. Darken's eyes narrowed slightly. He closed them for a moment, then opened them with a long sigh — as though shaking something heavy from within.
He turned toward the door and exited quietly, shutting it behind him.
Outside, the moonlight spilled over the forest canopy, casting pale silver across the darkness. Darken tilted his head back and looked up — the sky was littered with stars, the moon standing at its center in silent grandeur.
In his past life, he had seen this same sky — just as beautiful. But now, standing as a free man, it felt... different. There was a lightness in the air, a clarity in his breath... as if the very air itself had changed.
He closed his eyes briefly, then lowered his head to gaze at the ground. When he opened them again, he looked toward the body and spoke with quiet resolve:
"I'm sorry for what happened to you... I'll give you as proper a burial as I can manage."
He turned and made his way to the small room behind the cabin, returning moments later with the shovel. Without pause, he walked steadily away from the house until he reached a patch of soft earth — not too hard, not too rocky.
There, he began to dig.
He worked tirelessly for a full hour, until a grave nearly two and a half meters deep stood before him. Then, with a light motion, he jumped out, relying on the newfound strength in his limbs. He tossed the shovel aside and walked back toward the man's body.
"It's time to go," he said softly as he knelt and lifted the corpse in his arms.
He felt the weight — not in muscle or bone, but in soul. A weight that pressed inward, not down.
And quietly, to himself, he muttered: "A sleeping man and a dead one... look the same. The difference is that the soul leaves only one of them. That's... sad."
Step by step, he carried the man to the grave. There was no struggle. His body could bear the load with ease. But it wasn't the physical burden that lingered — it was the emotional one. The ache that death carved into the heart.
In his eyes, there was no fear, no tears. Just quiet reflection. A strange, heavy sadness... as though in this stranger's face, he'd seen an echo of his own.
When he reached the grave, he knelt and lowered the body into it with care — a gentle offering back to the earth. Then he climbed out and began the burial.
For ten long minutes, he shoveled dirt and silence into the pit, until the grave was full. He stood beside it when he was done, eyes steady, his face unreadable. No tears came... but the silence spoke volumes.
And then a quiet, painful thought passed through his mind:
"If I had died in that caravan... would anyone have buried me like this? Even this much?"
He stood there for a while, breathing softly — barely audibly — until at last, his body stirred again. He turned back toward the wooden cabin.
As he walked, he murmured under his breath, "Forgive me, sir... I'll be staying in your home tonight. I promise, no harm will come to it."
And with those final words, he opened the door and stepped inside — leaving the grave behind, embraced by the silence of the forest night.