Flames.

  They consumed everything.

  P6’s village was ablaze, the once-familiar streets reduced to a nightmarish inferno. The smell of burning wood mixed with the stench of blood. Screams echoed in the air—piercing, desperate cries that would haunt him forever.

  He stumbled through the chaos, his vision blurred by tears and smoke. His legs felt heavy, but he couldn’t stop. He had to find them.

  “Mother…?” His voice was barely a whisper, lost in the roaring flames.

  Through the haze, he saw them. His family—cornered.

  And him.

  A towering figure stood over them, partially shrouded in smoke. His face was obscured, but P6 saw enough.

  Long hair.

  Battle-scarred hands.

  And a massive metal rod.

  The rod swung mercilessly, striking down one life after another. P6’s heart pounded, his feet frozen as he watched helplessly. His father’s body fell, lifeless. His mother’s cry was cut short.

  “Run… P6… run…”

  His father’s final words echoed in his ears.

  But he couldn’t move.

  The world blurred as the rod came down toward him.

  Pain. Blinding pain.

  And then—darkness.

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  P6’s eyes flew open, his body drenched in cold sweat.

  His breath was ragged, his chest rising and falling as he tried to ground himself in the present. But the images refused to fade, the nightmare clinging to his mind like a shadow.

  The air was cool, carrying the scent of burning wood. His fingers grazed the damp earth beneath him as he lay beneath the gnarled branches of an ancient tree. The night was still, save for the gentle crackle of a small bonfire nearby.

  P6 blinked, his vision slowly adjusting to the warm glow of the fire.

  “You’re awake.”

  The voice was calm, steady.

  P6 turned his head slightly, his eyes landing on a tall man sitting by the fire.

  M2.

  He was strong, with a composed presence that radiated quiet authority. His face bore no scars, but his eyes told a different story—one of battles fought and burdens carried. Yet beneath that exterior, there was a warmth that contrasted with the cold night air.

  M2 didn’t speak immediately. He was focused on the task at hand—carefully stirring a pot over the fire, where a simple meal of roasted vegetables and berries was being prepared.

  P6 shivered, his body still feeling the chill of the night despite the fire’s warmth.

  M2 noticed.

  Without a word, he reached for a folded woolen shawl beside him and gently draped it over P6’s trembling shoulders.

  “Here,” M2 murmured softly. “You’ll need it.”

  The warmth of the shawl seeped into P6’s skin, but it was more than just physical comfort. It was… grounding. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, something felt real.

  P6 didn’t speak. His throat was dry, and his mind was too clouded by the remnants of his nightmare to form words. But his eyes—his eyes reflected a storm of emotions.

  M2 didn’t press. He returned to stirring the pot, letting the silence settle between them.

  “You should eat.”

  M2 spoke after a while, offering a wooden bowl filled with the simple meal. His tone was gentle, leaving no room for force—only quiet encouragement.

  P6’s fingers brushed against the bowl, hesitant. His stomach growled softly, betraying his hunger, but his mind remained conflicted.

  M2 didn’t rush him. He simply waited, patient and unwavering.

  Finally, P6’s trembling fingers wrapped around the bowl, accepting the offering. He ate in silence, each bite easing the hollow ache in his stomach.

  “Good,” M2 murmured softly, watching with quiet approval.

  When P6 had eaten enough, M2 stood, his movements fluid and deliberate. He extended his hand—steady, unyielding.

  “Let’s go,” M2 said, his voice calm but resolute.

  P6’s eyes met his, and for a moment, hesitation lingered. His mind screamed to stay—to stay where it was safe, where the fire’s warmth kept the nightmares at bay.

  But there was something in M2’s gaze.

  A promise.

  Not of peace. Not of comfort. But of something more.

  P6’s grip on the shawl tightened, his body still trembling, but a flicker of something stirred deep within him.

  With silent resolve, he placed his hand in M2’s.

  As M2 helped him to his feet, he spoke once more—his words carrying a weight that pierced through the silence.

  “I can’t promise you peace,” M2 said, his voice softer this time. “But I can offer you a purpose.”

  P6 didn’t speak. But his silence spoke louder than words.

  And as they walked away from the fire, leaving behind the remnants of a broken past, P6 took his first step toward a future that held more than just pain.