Born To Outlast Blood

I found myself standing at the edge, barefoot, my wrists still bound, and my eyes stinging from the transformation they had undergone.

One of the guards leaned in and whispered:

"Even now, he doesn't seem sorry."

I turned to him.

And smiled.

"Because I'm not."

They shoved me forward. As I plummeted toward my demise, a thought flickered in my mind: The trees had stopped singing.

Once, the path to Dareth was adorned with silver willows, their leaves shimmering like glass in the breeze. It was a sanctuary. A place of diplomacy. A realm of sacred agreements.

Now, the wind carried ash.

The trees stood like charred skeletons. The birds had vanished. The road was eerily quiet, save for the slow, purposeful steps of a man who no longer walked like a man.

Raien Valtor.

The Emperor of Ten Kingdoms.

Bearer of the Flame Crown.

The one who transformed wars into treaties and tyrants into dust.

But not today.

Today, he was alone. No envoys accompanied him. No scribes. No royal guards.

Only a solitary shadow glided down the cracked marble path.

His.

His robes were black, edged with threads of red fire. His long hair flowed freely, reminiscent of the last wisp of smoke after a funeral pyre. His face was inscrutable—not cold, but serene.

He had come to deliver a message.

And if Dareth refused to listen…

He would show them how silence can scorch. The gates of Dareth loomed like a fortress hewn from ivory, each stone kissed by sunlight. Flowers flourished in the courtyards. Church bells rang from tall towers, as if mocking his approach.

Atop the walls stood three kings brothers by treaty, not by blood.

One was plump with riches, draped in layers of crimson.

One was lean and tall, with silver eyes and a smirk.

One was young, gripping the hilt of his ceremonial blade tightly.

"Look," the eldest called out, raising a goblet. "The great Raien Valtor graces us with his sorrow."

The second king chuckled. "I expected an army. Maybe ten thousand swords. Instead, we get a mourner in robes."

"Peace," the youngest urged softly. "We should listen to him."

But his voice was drowned out by laughter.

Raien halted at the gates. He lifted his gaze not towards the men, but to the flag. A vibrant blue silk. A shining golden circle. The emblem of Eyarin the kingdom that had entrusted him with its child, now under imperial care.

A girl, just nine years old.

A budding diplomat.

A true prodigy.

And his responsibility.

Elari.

She had traveled to Dareth to secure trade agreements for her people. Her letters were filled with excitement and innocence, brimming with sketches and curious questions.

That was until the last letter came, penned by a different hand.

"There was an accident."

"She spoke out of turn."

"Her body could not be recovered."

They cremated her.

And snickered behind closed doors.

Raien raised his voice not in a shout, but with a weight that felt thunderous.

"I've come for her remains."

The eldest king took a slow sip of his wine.

"There was nothing left," he replied. "She burned too fast."

Raien's gaze didn't waver. He didn't reach for his sword.

He simply stated:

"Return the ashes. Apologize. 

And you might still salvage what's about to crumble."

The second king leaned over the wall, chuckling. "So dramatic, Flame Emperor. Do you really think one man can take on a kingdom?"

The youngest king stepped forward. "Please, just say what you mean—"

But it was too late. Raien's hand lifted. And the sky responded. There was no thunder. No war drums. Just an eerie stillness, as if time itself held its breath. And then… the heavens tore apart.

A long, jagged rift opened above Dareth slicing the sky like a knife through silk. From it poured not sunlight, but flame neither red nor gold, but black, laced with silver veins, like memories seared raw.

The flame didn't roar.

It fell perfectly silent.

It didn't strike the gates.

It descended upon the heart of Dareth: the palace, the gardens, the temple of the Ever Sun.

The marble towers trembled. 

The golden domes melted like wax. 

The trees turned to glass and then to ash.

People didn't scream. They choked. And then… they disappeared. A city of fifty thousand reduced to shadow.

From the top of the wall, the kings stood frozen in place. The second king's cup slipped from his grasp, spilling wine that evaporated into steam before it even touched the stone below.

"What… what is happening?" he murmured.

The youngest king turned to Raien.

"Why…?" he questioned.

"Why would you do this?"

And Raien Valtor replied.

His voice wasn't loud. It wasn't harsh. It was simply a statement of fact.

"Mercy ends…

when innocence dies screaming."

He strode through the shattered gates.

Not a single guard was left standing. The stone beneath his feet had melted into a smooth surface. Statues leaned inward as if bowing to him. The air was thick with the scent of old paper, burnt incense, and memories.

He walked past ruined courtyards where noble sons once trained. He stepped over bones streaked with gold. He didn't flinch.

He hadn't come seeking revenge.

He had come to remember. At the base of the crumbling palace lay the youngest king, half-buried in marble. His body was broken, his eyes wide with terror. Raien knelt beside him. The king coughed up blood.

"I wasn't there," he whispered. "It… it wasn't my command…"

Raien placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"And yet you stood atop the wall," he said.

"And did not shed a tear."

He stood up again, leaving the man to the flames that had yet to reach him. Behind him, the sky continued to rain down black fire. But just before Raien stepped through the palace gates, he glanced back one last time at the spot where Elari had perished.

And under his breath, he murmured:

"Be still, little one.

Your cries have not been forgotten."

The winds of the fall woke me from my dream about my past life. Is this what they call life flashing before your eyes. This just made me even more angrier at this world that I have been reborn into. I should be living a peaceful life with new family, but they are dead I don't have any person to call my clan they were all killed.

I gritted my teeth my anger fulling to the bring. I looked at the sky where I was dropped.

"YOU WORTHLESS PEASANTS DARE TO DEFY AN EMPEROR I'LL MAKE EACH OF YOU PEOPLE PAY!"

"I'LL KILL YOU ALL-"

I find myself on top of some sort of pile. I looked down and it was a pile of dead bodies. The smell was horrible, I had to cover my nose because of the stench.

"Where the hell am I?

What was the place in front of me at the moment? I took a closer look at the place where I landed looks like mostly filled with dead bodies, but why does this mean where I was living was some sort of sky palace, but how that is not even possible.

While I was thinking I heard a sound I looked at the direction and saw something rising looked like a monster and it was using the dead bodies to make it self.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS ABYSS?"