weather was downright lovely, with greyish clouds drifting lazily across the skies. The beautiful scent of wet rain lingered in the air, though the rain hadn't started yet. Occasionally, the sun peeked through the clouds, casting warm streaks of light over the land, only to hide again behind the moving shrouds of grey. It was a strange balance of calm and restless anticipation, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Aron crouched among the greenery, captivated by a delicate pink flower before him. He brushed his fingers gently over the soft petals, his eyes shining brightly with fascination. The garden, nestled near Balrad's house, felt like a secret sanctuary. Sunlight touched him softly, and butterflies flitted around, dancing over blooms of every color. He stared continuously at the flower, mesmerized, until a honeybee landed delicately upon it, sucking at the pollen.
Balrad noticed Aron from a distance, though he smiled warmly to himself. "Feels like the kid is healing," he thought. "It's good for him." Then, with a loud voice that cut through the quiet of the garden, he shouted, "ARON! I'M GOING TO THE MARKET TO SELL THE SWORDS! TAKE CARE OF THE HOUSE, OKAY?"
Aron looked up, and though the sunlight bathed him, a shadow of responsibility crossed his face. "I WILL," he replied in a raised yet gentle voice, full of sincerity.
Balrad packed his cart and headed to the market, leaving Aron alone among the flowers and insects. The wind blew softly, teasing his hair and brushing across his face. Since I have been here, he thought, everything feels so right. The plants, the flowers… they always make me feel good. But why am I feeling the same emotions over and over again? What am I becoming? He raised his right hand to his eye, pressing lightly, almost as if to stop the swirling thoughts inside him. What am I becoming?
A voice cut through his thoughts. He turned sharply, but no one was there. The quiet returned, broken only by the rustle of leaves and distant chirps of birds.
Suddenly, a little girl appeared before him. "Brother… papa…" she whispered. Aron's eyes widened in shock. He fell back instinctively, then scrambled to his feet. Panic surged through him. He bolted like a galloping horse, screaming at the top of his lungs, "Leave me! Leave me alone!" His heart pounded violently as he ran toward a nearby hill, weaving through the trees until exhaustion overtook him, and he collapsed onto the soft grass.
Aron's voice trembled as he cried, "I'm sorry… it wasn't my fault… why can't you just leave me alone? Why… why… I'm sorry…" The sunlight had faded, leaving him in the cool, shadowed embrace of the hill.
The grass beneath him felt softer and greener than ever, comforting in its quietness. An apple tree loomed above, its branches heavy with fruit, and the view before him was breathtaking—the kind every person longs to see in their life. But Aron's mind could not rest on the beauty.
"Aron?" a voice called.
"Idiot, look at you," Carlos laughed, placing a hand over his stomach. "You're completely a mess, man. You've become a real crybaby."
Aron's eyes locked onto him, disbelief written all over his face. "You're not real… are you?" he asked slowly, voice steady but filled with uncertainty. "The ones who die… they never really come back. You're just a…"
Carlos tilted his head, pretending to ponder. "Hmm… maybe," he said, sounding confused. Then his expression softened. "But let me tell you something. It was amazing when you played in that tournament. What a memory that was! I threw noodles on a man's face—he laughed so hard, you should have seen it. He looked so grumpy; it was priceless."
Aron stared at him, first in shock, then gradually returning to his normal expression, a mixture of sadness and contemplation crossing his features.
Carlos continued, his voice calm and guiding. "I think, Aron, you should head back to the village."
Aron shook his head, overwhelmed. "I can't go there," he said desperately, covering his face with his knees. "Not while the kid is there…"
Carlos nodded thoughtfully. "Ah, the kid… the man you killed. You didn't know about it, you acted on your emotions. You wanted revenge. But think about it—how could he have helped those murderers? Maybe he wasn't entirely good. If he were, why would he assist them?"
"Because… he wanted food for his daughter," Aron said softly, almost whispering.
Carlos exhaled. "But that's still a bad way to get food, isn't it, Aron? I know what you did… it was wrong. But the real question is—did it affect you? Did it make you a better person? No, brother. You were already perfect. There are moments in life you cannot change. But it is the heart that matters. And I know your heart, Aron. You wouldn't even harm an ant."
He paused, letting his words sink in, then made a sign with his hand. "Take it as a seed, buried in the soil by you. You watered it, poured your energy into it. Without your effort, it would not have grown. So why are you now so weak?"
Aron looked up, confusion clouding his face. "I… I don't know. What should I do, Carlos? Should I live my life here forever and wait for death to come and take me… or should I fight and keep moving forward?"
Carlos came closer, placing a reassuring hand on Aron's shoulder. He leaned in and whispered softly, "That is your destiny… and your choice, brother."
Aron's eyes fluttered open. He was back in his bed, in Balrad's house. His right hand instinctively rose to his face as he murmured, "Why… why am I here?"
Balrad entered, smiling warmly. "Ah, you're awake! You were so heavy asleep… like a bear going into hibernation. Rest well, kid."
Aron's mind raced. Was it a dream?
Meanwhile, far away in Wingman City, where a battle had already taken place, a man stirred awake. The youngest of the higher-ups, Mr. Eagle, opened his eyes slowly. He saw bodies strewn across the ground. Pain throbbed in his head, and confusion clouded his vision. "What the hell…" he muttered, his brain struggling to catch up with reality. He noticed a nearby pond and ran toward it, plunging his face into the water to freshen up. Gasping for breath, he lifted his head. His eyes widened, locked in shock at the devastation surrounding him.