Conflict
What an interesting sentiment. From the moment we are born, we carry a little voice in the back of our minds—one that urges us to "prove it."
To prove our ideals. Our manner of being.
Because, in order to prove our existence, we must first prove what we believe in.
As they say, ideals are useless if you do not have the will to fight for them.
Conflict isn't always a curse—quite the opposite, actually. Without opposing ideas, there would be no innovation; the world would remain stagnant and dull. But, like every coin, this concept has two faces. When pushed to the extreme, conflict ceases to shape ideals—it becomes a blade, one drawn for blood.
That failure to control both heart and mind leads to the kind of tragedy Cellist now faces.
Try as we might, conflict is unavoidable. It comes as naturally to us as breathing, eating, or sleeping.
Those who embrace this truth and thrive on it are the ones who rule the world; to them, nothing else matters so long as they can prove their being.
And those who lack the heart for it... pay the price.
Much like how Herald found himself now.
He trudged through the dense forest, his heart pounding against his ribs, hands trembling with something unspeakable. Fear gnawed at him with every step, making his pulse skip and stutter.
The once-beautiful Forest of Tobe had turned nightmarish. The grand tulip trees that once crowned the hill now lay twisted and torn apart, their pale leaves stained a ghastly red — a color the forest was never meant to wear.
He pushed forward, hacking at the branches that blocked his view. One heavy swing of his axe cleared an opening—and what lay before him made his stomach drop.
The ground was torn apart, deep grooves marking the dirt—something had been dragged through the mud grass and roots had been uprooted and the trail lead, straight toward a great oak tree.
Shshshshsh!
The sound rippled through the still air.
Herald's grip tightened around the axe. He took a cautious step forward.
"Sapphire… is that you?" he called out softly.
"Ahhhhhh…"
The groan came from behind the oak. Herald rushed toward it—then stopped. Just at the edge of the tree.
"Martha!" he cried.
"Sir Benignus… it's me… Martha…" Her voice was faint, breaking apart with pain.
"Martha! Is that truly you?" he murmured, stepping forward a little. "Martha! Are you alright? What happened? Where's Sapphire—"
He stopped mid-sentence as he moved around the tree—and froze.
There, slumped against the tree trunk, was the last of the birth maids.
"Gods…" he whispered. "Martha… who did this to you?"
"I… tried, sir…" she rasped. "I tried to protect them…"
A single tear slid down her cheek—only one eye remained for it to fall from. The rest of her body was mangled beyond recognition. Her limbs were gone, torn away as if by beasts. Her insides spilled to one side, and her face… her face was barely human anymore. Only the faint trace of her voice told him who she was.
"I… I tried… I… tried," she whispered, clutching his wrist with her remaining hand, tears spilling from her one remaining eye."I… tired… uhu… I… I don't want to die…"
Then her body began to seize violently."Martha—Martha! Stay with me!" Herald cried, his voice trembling.But no matter how many times he called, it was too late. Her body went still, her head falling limply to one side—unnaturally so.
A sharp, burning pain tore through Herald's chest. It wasn't from the wound Ceci had given him—it was something far worse.Martha… one of the kindest souls he'd ever known, had just died in his arms.
"Damn it… damn it all!" Herald roared.He clenched and unclenched his fists, shaking, his breath ragged. Too much—too much was crashing inside him at once.He couldn't speak anymore. He could only scream—like a wounded beast howling at the cruel sky.
"AHHHHHHH!"
His cry tore through the forest, echoing against the bloodstained trees.When the sound finally faded, Herald knelt down beside her, trembling. "Rest now…" he murmured.
He gently closed her eye and laid her neatly on the ground, folding her hands across her chest as though she were merely asleep.
"Wait for me, Martha… I'll come get you when this is all over," Herald murmured, rising to his feet.
He turned sharply and charged deeper into the forest, his boots crushing the crimson-stained leaves beneath him.
From the distance came the echo of steel clashing — the unmistakable sounds of battle. Hope flared within his chest. She's still alive.
He pushed himself harder, his strides devouring the ground until the scene came into view.
Sapphire stood at the heart of the chaos — weak, trembling, yet defiant. Three Imperial warriors surrounded her, their armor gleaming white and blue beneath the fractured sunlight. Unlike the soldiers Herald had seen in the town square, these men were elite — their plate mail marked with sigils of rank.
And before them loomed the true monster — a massive, three-headed shadowy beast. It towered over them, as large as a twelve-year-old child, its three mouths gaping with rows of jagged teeth dripping with thick, dark drool. Each head wore a spiked iron collar, and its eyes were pits of endless black.
Worst of all was its bite — every wound it left behind seared with unhealable burns.
Sapphire knelt on one knee, a trembling blue force field flickering around her as the creature pressed closer. Cracks spider webbed across the shield's surface. In her arms, she held little Chad, his cries piercing through the chaos — his first moments of life spent in blood and terror.
"Get away from my wife!" Herald roared, bursting through the trees.
He swung his axe with a speed and fury born of desperation. The silvery blade cleaved through the shadowy beast in a single, blinding arc.
The monster's body shuddered, split apart, and fell to the ground in twitching, dissolving chunks, its black mist evaporating into the air.