The boy stood there, trembling slightly as he looked at . My words hung in the air, unanswered, as his hollow eyes stared back with that sa vacant emptiness. "Do you want to live?" I had asked, but he seed unable to grasp the aning of the question.
For a child like him, the concept of living had long since beco an abstract idea. His life had been one of survival, of existing in a world that offered nothing but cruelty and suffering. In his mind, there was no difference between life and death—both were inevitable conclusions to the sa grim reality. And so, he said nothing.
His gaze flickered, but not with recognition or understanding. It was the look of soone who had long ago forgotten how to hope, soone who had been trained to accept whatever fate awaited him, without question, without resistance. He had beco what I once was—just a body, moving through the motions of existence, waiting for the end.
I knelt down in front of him, my eyes scanning his frail form. His clothes hung loosely on his small fra, and his skin was pale, almost ghostly in the dim light of the chamber. The fear that should have been there wasn't. He had nothing left to fear.
"I know what you're thinking," I said, my voice quieter now. "You've given up. You don't even know what it ans to live, do you?"
The boy didn't flinch, didn't respond. He simply continued staring, his expression devoid of any emotion.
I could feel the weight of his despair pressing against , like a mirror of my own past. He had been pushed to the edge, just as I once had, and had finally fallen into the abyss where life and death beca aningless concepts. The difference between us, however, was that I had found sothing to pull back—vengeance, the raw desire to destroy those who had wronged . But this boy… he had nothing.
I stood, the faint pulse of demonic energy from Zharokath's core still simring within . I knew what that kind of emptiness could do to soone, how it could turn them into a shell, a slave to their fate. But this boy didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve to be a casualty of a world that had never shown him rcy.
"You've lost everything," I continued, my voice steady, "but that doesn't an you can't choose sothing for yourself now."
The words sounded foreign, even to . I wasn't in the business of offering hope. That wasn't who I had beco. But at this mont, standing over this broken child who reminded so much of my forr self, I couldn't help but feel the weight of it all—the burden of a world that crushes the weak, the forgotten, and the lost.
The boy's eyes flickered again, a faint shift of recognition in the depths of that hollow gaze. But still, he said nothing. Perhaps he had no voice left with which to answer. Or perhaps, he didn't know the answer himself.
And yet, I stood there, waiting.
Would he choose to live, even if he didn't know what living truly ant?
"Let tell you sothing," I said after a long pause, my voice rougher now, as if the words themselves were difficult to force out. "Living isn't easy. You won't find hope handed to you, not in this world. But it's a choice you have to make, and once you make it, you fight for it. No one's going to give it to you, but if you want it badly enough, you'll find a reason."
The boy's lip twitched, just slightly, as if trying to form a response. But the words were still stuck sowhere deep inside him, buried beneath years of tornt and hopelessness.
I turned away from him, glancing at the lifeless body of Zharokath, the remnants of his dark power still fading from the air. It had been the end for Zharokath, just as it could have been the end for . But I had made my choice. I had decided to live, even if it was a life consud by vengeance.
As I turned to leave, my steps were slow but deliberate. The air around was still heavy, thick with the lingering energy of Zharokath's death. His demonic essence was gone, and with it, the weight of this place seed to lift, but only slightly. The chamber, once alive with malevolent power, now felt cold and hollow—like a corpse slowly decaying.
There was nothing left for here.
I had done what I ca to do. Zharokath was dead, his Demonic Core shattered, and his plans destroyed. The Void Dragon's revival was thwarted for now, and I had gained the power I needed through [Vengeful Bane]. Yet, as I made my way toward the exit, I could feel the structure itself beginning to groan and shift. The walls creaked under the strain, as though the very foundation of this dark fortress was unraveling now that its master was gone.
It would all co crashing down soon.
Good. Let it burn.
I moved forward, ready to leave this place behind. But just as I reached the threshold of the chamber, sothing stopped . The faint sound of a crumbling stone echoed in the background, but that wasn't what made pause. It was the mory of the boy—those empty, hollow eyes that had stared at without understanding, without hope.
I could still see him, trembling and lost, a reflection of the person I had once been. His life had been stripped of aning, his spirit broken before he had even been given a chance to fight for it. And now, with Zharokath gone, what would happen to him?
I could just leave. There was nothing tying to that child, no reason to concern myself with his fate. He had survived this long in a world that didn't care for him, and he would either find a way to continue or he wouldn't. That was the way of things.
But those eyes…
They haunted . I couldn't shake the feeling that I had looked into a mirror, that I had seen a part of myself in that child's broken gaze. The sa emptiness, the sa resignation to a fate he believed was inevitable. I knew that feeling all too well.
I released a sigh, the sound heavy in the cold, damp air of the chamber. "Damn it."
What would happen to him if I left now? With the structure collapsing around us, he'd be buried here. He wouldn't fight. He couldn't resist. He would simply lie down and accept whatever ca. And I couldn't say I blad him—after all, what did he have left to fight for? There was no one waiting for him, no place of safety or comfort outside these walls.
I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on . It wasn't my responsibility. This world wasn't made for saviors, and I wasn't one. I had my own path, and my own goals to pursue.
But…
I glanced back over my shoulder, looking into the dark chamber where the boy still stood. His small fra was still trembling, still rooted in place, as though he hadn't moved since Zharokath fell. He was alone, just as I had been once.
"Why do I even care?" I muttered under my breath, frustrated with myself. But the answer was already there, buried beneath layers of my own past.
I took a deep breath and turned back, walking slowly toward the boy. The structure was falling apart, and ti was running out, but sothing inside had shifted. Maybe it was the boy's eyes, maybe it was the echo of my own past, or maybe it was the faintest sliver of sothing I didn't want to admit—sothing like compassion.
"You," I said, my voice firm as I approached him again. "Co with ."
The boy didn't move at first, his gaze still distant, as if he hadn't processed what I was saying. I knelt down in front of him, locking eyes with him once more.
"You don't have to die here," I said, my voice quieter now. "You don't have to give up."
He blinked, just once, and for the briefest mont, I saw sothing flicker in those hollow eyes—sothing fragile, barely there, but it was enough.
I reached out my hand. "Do you want to take it, or not?"
For a long, tense second, I wasn't sure if he would move. But then, slowly, hesitantly, his small hand reached up and grasped mine.
"..." As I felt that small hand, I couldn't help but shake my head.
'What am I doing?' I asked myself.
If I wanted to get out of here silently without alerting anyone else, it was better if I was alone. Since [Shadowborne] will be covering for ,
'Tsk.'
But looking at the kid, I couldn't help but shake my head. How could I just leave him here?
I turned my gaze back to the boy, his small hand still gripping mine, though his eyes remained distant, clouded with years of trauma and uncertainty. The weight of the situation settled heavier in my mind. I wasn't ant to be responsible for anyone. Not anymore. But here I was, standing with a broken child who hadn't asked for this, just as I hadn't.
"You," I said, my voice quieter now but firm. "What's your na?"
He didn't respond at first. His silence hung between us, his eyes flickering with so invisible struggle. I could see him withdrawing again, slipping back into the emptiness that had defined him for so long. His grip on my hand tightened slightly as if he wasn't sure whether to let go or hold on.
I sighed, repeating the question. "What's your na, kid?"
His lips parted slightly, but no sound ca out. I could see him fighting to find the words as if he hadn't spoken in a long ti. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he whispered, "Eryon."
The na ca out soft, barely more than a breath, but it was there. A small fragnt of who he was, a piece of his identity that hadn't been completely erased by the cruelty of this world.
"Eryon," I repeated, nodding as I processed it. "Alright, Eryon. Let's get out of here."
His grip loosened slightly, but he still held on as if afraid that letting go would an being left behind. I couldn't bla him. This place had consud everything around it, leaving nothing but fear and despair in its wake.
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