Death… what is it, truly?"
Scientifically, it is the cessation of biological function, the silent unraveling of chemical reactions that once sustained thought, movement, and warmth.
Metaphorically, it is the great equalizer, the inevitable dusk that swallows all things, from kings to beggars alike.
Literally, it is the stillness after breath, the closing of eyes that shall never open again.
Yet death does not always arrive with a scythe in hand.
Sometimes it comes softly, in a child's fading laughter, in a dream that's long forgotten, in a heart that stops believing.
Death can wear many faces: time, loss, regret, or even peace.
And what, then, is life?
Life is the fragile spark defying that silence.
It is a motion where there should be stillness, warmth in a world that grows cold.
If death is the end of the song, life is the melody between the notes, the heartbeat that dares to exist knowing it will someday cease.
Life is not the absence of death, but its constant companion, the dance partner it can never escape.
Together they form a cycle.
The eternal rhythm of beginnings and endings, creation and return.
One cannot exist without the other, for both define each other's meaning.
"One is all. And all is one."
Everything that lives must die, and everything that dies returns, to soil, to stars, to silence, to something.
So tell me…
What is the value of a human life?
Is it measured by physical strength? By intellect? By the legacy one leaves behind?
Or is it something more — something unseen, something eternal?
If there is a god, does He weigh life by virtue or by purpose?
Does He see the sinner and the saint as equals, or as reflections of the same fragile spark?
In the end, perhaps the question is not what life is worth —
but who decides what a life is worth.
—
Somewhere deep within the quiet halls of the underground facility, a boy sat alone on the cold stone floor. His body was still, his eyes distant—yet his heart stirred with a storm he couldn't name.
Amon had awoken minutes ago… but something felt wrong.
No—not wrong.
Heavy.
Like a weight pressing down on his chest, invisible yet suffocating.
"...I feel like crap," he muttered softly. Then paused. "No… crap ain't the right word. I feel like shit."
His voice carried no anger, just weary honesty.
He didn't understand why he felt that way. His mind kept circling back to the same image—
the woman in black from his dream.
The one who called herself… his aunt.
'Why do I feel like this…? Is it because of her?'
He didn't even notice the chill beneath him, or the faint echo of his breath in the stone chamber. All he could think about was the way he had snapped at her—the flash of anger, the words he wished he hadn't said.
'She reminded me of Mother…' he thought quietly, then shook his head. 'No… that's not it.'
Maybe it was the way she looked at him, like she saw through the cracks he tried so hard to hide. Maybe it was the warmth she didn't even realize she showed.
"Either way… I shouldn't've acted like that," he decided at last, guilt softening his expression. "Next time I see her, I'll apologize."
For some reason, Amon didn't think the woman in black was a bad person. Her voice still echoed in his mind.
"Easy there, tiger~! I come in peace."
"Ohhh, so protective. Is it because of what happened when my sister abandoned you?"
No… that woman wasn't bad at all. She was… something else.
What is a bad person?
To Amon, evil wasn't in blood or birth.
It wasn't a man with a gun or a scientist with a scalpel.
It was in how they used their hands.
A bad person, to him, was someone who preyed on the weak. Someone who looked at innocence and saw opportunity.
Those who crushed others under the excuse of necessity. Those who wore words like masks, calling cruelty "progress," and murder "orders."
People who treated others as tools, discarded once broken. Who hurt not because they had to… but because they could.
That—he thought—was true evil.
The kind that takes and takes, until there's nothing left but silence.
And Amon hated silence.
But a good person…
That was something rarer. Softer.
To Amon, a good person wasn't pure or perfect, they were the ones who kept trying when the world told them not to.
People like Amy, whose laughter could thaw the coldest day. Or Sera, who protected others even when she herself was afraid.
'They're kind, but not blind,'he thought, his gaze distant. 'They smile… but it ain't weakness's strength.'
A good person, to him, was a light that kept burning even when surrounded by darkness.
And when Amon thought of them, Amy, Sera.
that flicker of warmth in his chest stirred again.
"They remind me what it means to live…"
Then his eyes widened slightly.
"Wait—Amy… Sera…"
His heart skipped.
"What happened to them…?"
The silence that followed was heavy.
The cold air pressed closer. And somewhere deep within that silence—
something inside Amon began to stir.
Slowly, Amon rose from the cold stone floor. The chill clung to his palms as he steadied himself, his violet eyes scanning the room.
"Where am I…?" he murmured quietly.
His gaze drifted across the chamber — pale lights hummed overhead, casting sterile reflections across polished gray tiles. Rows of glass partitions stood like silent walls, dividing the space into neat, lifeless sections. Holographic diagrams of human DNA floated lazily above metallic tables, twisting in a slow, ghostly spiral.
"...The laboratory?"
Recognition flickered in his eyes. The air smelled faintly of metal. The hum of machinery filled the room, steady and low, like a heartbeat made of steel.
He began to walk forward, small footsteps echoing faintly across the floor.
"Okay… but why am I here?"
He frowned, trying to remember. His mind replayed what happened before he fell asleep.
"...The last thing I remember was eating the candy Amy gave me…"
Curiously, he reached up and pulled the lollipop from his mouth. He stared at it for a moment, before placing it back between his lips.
As he walked, his thoughts began to wander.
'Amy… Sera… Rex…'
The faces blurred together in his memory, but something about them felt warm.
Without realizing it, a small, faint smile began to form on his lips.
Not sad. Not exactly happy either. Just… real.
He blinked in quiet surprise. His hand lifted to his cheek.
'Am I… smiling?'
He couldn't remember the last time he did. Somewhere along the way, laughter, giggles, even small smiles had all disappeared from his life.
He didn't know why. Only that it left him feeling hollow, like something vital had been torn away.
'No… not missing,' he thought slowly. 'It feels like there's a hole… in my heart.'
There had been a time when he could smile. When warmth wasn't foreign. When love wasn't something he had to remember in fragments.
His mother's voice… her gentle laugh…
Those dreams were proof of that much.
"...Mom."
The word slipped from his lips in a whisper. Remembering Agnes' face, his eyes softened, not with tears, but with quiet ache. He missed her. Deeply. Even if he'd never say it aloud.
Thud!
Amon stumbled forward, catching himself before falling. He glanced down, frowning.
Thick, black wires snaked across the floor beneath his feet. Following them with his eyes, he saw where they led.
At the far end of the room stood a tall glass capsule, veiled in twisting cables and faint blue light.
Inside the capsule, suspended in shimmering liquid, floated a single human arm. Small. Fragile. Child-sized.
"..." His breath caught
Rex's words echoed in his mind like a cruel whisper.
'The first problem is time. Finding children like you isn't just difficult, it costs more money than you'd believe.'
And suddenly, everything clicked.
'They're selling human parts…'
The thought froze him.
Amon's hands trembled slightly at his sides. His body didn't move, but his heart did. It beat faster, louder, as fear and disgust twisted in his chest.
The air felt colder now.
And for the first time since waking up…
he realized just how alone he was.
Budump!
His chest tightened. The sound echoed in his ribs, heavy and uneven. Then, he ran.
Stone cracked under his bare feet as he took off down the corridor, breath ragged, eyes wild. The promise they made earlier burned in his mind like fire that refused to die.
'For whoever survives… I want you to live your life to the fullest. And live without regrets…'
Amy's voice. Bright, Unshaken. Even in fear, she smiled.
'Make your own path. Decide your future. Choose when to fight and when not to. Be who you want to be. Protect who you want to protect… and most of all, live how you want to live.'
Sera's words followed. Firm. Unyielding.
Even then, she had the heart of a protector.
"Please… I know it's unrealistic… but I want the two of you to survive!"
Amon clenched his fists as he ran, the memory pulling at every nerve.
"Guys! I've got something important to tell you!" he shouted, voice cracking. "I can stay human… I can be who I am, because you guys exist!"
Those words spilled from him before he could stop them. They weren't perfect. They weren't calm. But they were real.
Before he met them, Amon rarely spoke at all. Not because he was cold… but because silence was safer. Words had only ever brought him pain.
Months of abuse had carved that lesson into him, pain that twisted into quiet anger, into something that never stopped burning behind his eyes.
He was once a blank slate, empty, numb, a child too calm for his age. Not because he was strong. But because he'd stopped feeling.
His mother's disappearance had sealed the rest of him away. To survive, he learned to lock everything down, his grief, his rage, even his hope.
He told himself he was hollow. That he didn't feel anything. But it was never true.
He could suppress his emotions… but never erase them. The first time he saw magic, when Rex showed him that light, it cracked something open inside him.
At first, he only wanted power. He made that clear. But over time… faces appeared. Voices stayed. Amy's laughter. Sera's stubbornness. Rex's guilt.
Little by little, the walls began to shake.
Then Nyx's words came back to him.
'I wonder what choice you'll make… when you see what state your little friends are in.'
His breath hitched. His pace quickened.
"I'm coming…" he whispered, voice trembling. "I'll be there."
His expression twisted, half pain, half fury.
'I don't want to be abandoned again…' The thought burned in his chest.
'Not in this world… not in this shit hole of a world!'
His footsteps echoed louder, like the beat of a heart refusing to stop.
And for the first time in a long time… Amon wasn't running from something.
He was running toward it.
Amon's steps faltered. His lungs burned, each breath scraping against his throat as if the air itself was resisting him. His legs felt heavy, like chains were pulling him down.
He stumbled forward, panting hard, his knees finally giving in. The boy fell to the ground , palms slamming against the cold surface
'Because of my weak body, I can't do everything a normal kid can. I can walk and run, sure... but I get tired so easily.'
Those words echoed in his mind, cruel reminders of his own limits.
"Damn this weak body of mine…" he muttered under his breath. Even now, after everything, his body still couldn't keep up. The time of starvation under his "father" had left scars on his physical abilities.
He stayed there for a moment, trembling, trying to steady his breath. Then, something warm trickled between his fingers.
When he looked down, his hands were slick with dark red.
"…Blood?" he whispered. His voice trembled as he stared at his stained palms. "Where… where did this come from?"
Lifting his gaze, Amon froze.
The world around him seemed to stop moving. Even the air went silent.
The lollipop slipped from his lips, falling, spinning slowly through the air before it shattered against the floor.
And as it broke apart, so too did something inside him.
Memories, soft, warm fragments of another time, flashed before his eyes.
'Yay! Rex is back!'
'Look how skinny you are! We need to put some meat on you!'
'Of course not! I don't want my friend to die!'
'It's a lollipop, a type of candy!'
Each voice cut deeper than the last.
Tears welled up, blurring his vision. They spilled over, landing softly beside the broken candy.
And there, lying before him, was the small, lifeless body of a child. Her brown hair was matted with blood. Her eyes were closed, peaceful, as if she had simply fallen asleep.
Amon's voice broke. "A… Amy is…"
The words caught in his throat, too heavy to say, yet too real to deny.
His trembling lips finally parted.
"…dead."
At that moment, sounds of chains could be heard breaking.
---
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