A young boy camped alone in the woods. The forest was quiet, but the boy was quieter still—as if even silence listened to him. His hair was black as the night sky, and his eyes shimmered silver like the moon, though their light had long since dulled. They were eyes that had seen too much, eyes that no longer expected warmth.
With careful steps, he rose and moved toward a deer he had been tracking. His body ached, his hands trembled, and doubt weighed heavily on his heart. The hunt was difficult, but by a rare stroke of luck, he succeeded. As the fire crackled, he cooked a small piece of meat, staring into the flames as if they might answer the thoughts he dared not speak.
He was hesitating—procrastinating over something far greater than hunger. A heavenly vow lingered in his mind, a promise that demanded a price. But what could he offer? His life felt hollow. His values were worn thin. His spirit already felt dead. What did he have left that could truly be placed at stake?
As he ate, memories crept in uninvited. Home. His mother's gentle voice. His sister's laughter. His father's silent strength. His chest tightened with longing. He wanted to return. He wanted to cry out for his loneliness—but no tears came. They had dried long ago, leaving only a dull ache behind.
After dinner, he extinguished the fire and climbed into a tree, seeking safety from the beasts of the night. As he lay there, wrapped in darkness, a single desire echoed within him: strength. Not for glory, not for pride—but to endure. Still, he knew such power demanded balance. Nothing of worth came without sacrifice.
Sleep slowly claimed him.
Suddenly, an immense weight crushed down upon him. His eyes snapped open, but there was nothing—only a vast, endless void. Blackness stretched in every direction, swallowing sound, space, and thought. Then he saw it.
A sword.
It stood alone, distant yet unmistakable. Its form was impossible to describe, but its presence was overwhelming. It radiated power—pure, crushing strength that made his very soul tremble. Without thinking, he began to move. Then he ran.
No matter how fast he ran, the sword seemed to drift farther away, as though testing his resolve. His legs burned, his lungs screamed, but he refused to stop. At last, with one final surge, he reached it. His fingers stretched out—
A violent wind erupted, slamming into his face. He shut his eyes, shielding himself as the force roared around him. Slowly, the wind faded into nothingness.
When he opened his eyes again, the void was gone.
He stood in a peaceful land bathed in gentle light. The air was warm, calm, and alive. The weight in his chest vanished. His fears dissolved. His longing, his pain, his exhaustion—all of it melted away.
This feeling was greater than happiness.
Greater than love.
Greater than desire.
It was peace.
And for the first time in a very long while, the boy allowed himself to rest.
Yet the feeling did not last.
He woke from the peaceful dream, the forest returning in a rush of sound and light. Morning had come. Sunlight spilled through the leaves, dazzling his tired eyes. For a moment, he simply stood there, breathing, as if afraid the calm might vanish if he moved. But though the dream had faded, its warmth remained, steady and real within his chest.
Slowly, he rose to his feet.
He began to murmur words he did not fully understand, his voice barely louder than the wind. With his right index finger, he traced a line along his left forearm. As his skin tingled, a faint rune emerged, glowing softly—etched not in flesh, but in resolve.
"I present this as my vow," he whispered,"and I shall follow it with all my heart and soul.I will strive to be peace."
As the final words left his lips, a gentle smile formed—small, but genuine. For the first time in years, the weight of his pain loosened its grip. He did not forget what he had lost, but it no longer ruled him.
There was something the dream had taught him, something simple yet profound:
To let go of painis the first step toward peace.