Smoke still lingered in the air like a restless ghost, weaving through the ruins of the broken town. The streets were stained in red, silent now, but carrying the echoes of chaos that had just passed. Morgan stood among the wreckage, rifle resting against his shoulder, his expression casual, almost amused. A wicked smile tugged at the edge of his lips as he looked over the damage, as if the carnage was nothing but a stage performance.
"So," he chuckled softly, glancing around, "I expected a little more fun from you all. But I guess… you were weaker than I thought."
Just then, a cold voice echoed from within the fog, sharp and feminine, laced with unshaken resolve.
"You laugh... even when you've watched so many die in front of you? That's not just cruel. That's insane."
From within the smoky veil, a figure stepped out—calm, confident, and deadly. A girl, no older than twenty, emerged like a phantom. Her short white hair swayed slightly beneath a floral-patterned cap which she now pulled off, letting her blue eyes gleam through the haze. Her cloak, pure white and slightly stained with soot, floated with every step. Beneath it, a pair of dark shorts and high black boots framed her slender figure, a mix of style and battlefield readiness.
Morgan raised a brow. "Ah… now this is interesting. You look… familiar."
"I should," she replied flatly, her gaze flickering toward him. "But this isn't the time for nostalgia."
"You may want to consider running," Morgan said, his grin widening. "It'll suit you better. I'm being generous here."
The girl didn't flinch. "You're not the one I'm worried about."
Suddenly, her hands moved to her sides and, with a swift motion, pulled out twin pistols from her pockets. She aimed them with calm precision.
"I'm not a child," she said coldly. "And I'm definitely not running."
Morgan narrowed his eyes but kept his tone light. "Whoa, whoa… relax, girl. My men are all over this town. Are you sure you want to pick this fight?"
She tilted her head slightly. "Have you even checked if your men are still alive? Or are you just pretending they are?"
He paused. Just for a second. Doubt crept into his expression.
"What... what are you saying?" he asked, now visibly shaken.
"You didn't notice, did you?" she replied, voice like a blade. "They're already gone. One by one."
Before he could react, she pulled the trigger.
Bang.
The bullet sliced through the air—but Morgan twisted his head just in time, narrowly dodging it. The round grazed the stone behind him. He smirked again, this time darker, more vicious.
"Nice try," he hissed. "But I'm not that easy to kill."
His eyes shimmered with strange energy as he stared at her, his grin twisted, bordering madness.
Then… her gaze shifted—toward something behind him.
Ashra.
He was standing. Barely. Blood covering his clothes, a child in his arms, his steps slow but determined. Every movement felt like a miracle. Morgan turned slowly and stared, his expression falling from confidence to complete disbelief.
"You—You're alive?" Morgan gasped, stepping back. "How?"
Ashra didn't speak. He just kept walking, as if Morgan didn't exist, as if nothing could stop him now. Every step stunned everyone. He walked past Morgan, toward the shattered shop ahead, not looking back.
"Hey! Don't ignore me! Tell me how you're still breathing!" Morgan shouted, rage and confusion clashing in his voice.
But then, the girl stepped in front of him again, blocking his path.
"You don't need to worry about him anymore," she said, eyes like ice. "He's not your concern."
Morgan gritted his teeth. "I don't know who that kid is, but he's something… Something else."
Ashra reached the doorway. Inside, his mother sat trembling. The sight of her blood-covered son made her breath catch. He knelt silently and gently returned the child to her arms.
"Th-thank you… f-for your kindness…" she whispered, breaking into tears.
Ashra turned again, his body still moving like a broken machine. He walked to the door, paused, and stepped outside. As he passed the girl, he spoke—low, worn out, but clear.
"I don't know who you are. But you shouldn't get involved."
She replied without looking at him, eyes still locked on Morgan. "It's too late for that."
Morgan tried to speak, but Ashra raised a hand weakly. "Listen… whatever you want from me, I don't have anything left to give you."
He looked up, one last time, toward the cloudy sky.
"Maybe this is enough for today."
Morgan stepped forward angrily. "No! You don't get to walk away now!"
The girl blocked him again, anger flashing across her face. "He's done. You're not getting through me."
Morgan gave a soft chuckle. "You really think you can stop me?"
"I don't think," she said firmly. "I know."
Morgan smirked again and snapped his fingers.
Fwoooosh.
Instantly, a thick fog burst out across the area, more intense than before. It enveloped the street like a storm, masking everything.
"What the—? Where is all this fog coming from?!" the girl shouted, looking around. "This has to be a trick…"
She stepped back, alert, ready to fire—but it was too late.
Through the mist, the sound of hooves echoed. Morgan had mounted his horse and was already galloping away.
"He's running!" she hissed, turning sharply.
She prepared to give chase—but behind her, Ashra suddenly coughed violently. Blood spilled from his mouth as he collapsed backward, his strength completely gone.
The girl froze.
"Ashra!"
She looked between the fading figure of Morgan and the boy lying motionless in the dirt.
"Damn it!" she growled, fists clenched. "This is all so messed up!"
She ran to Ashra's side, kneeling beside him. His breathing was shallow, his face pale.
"I swear… my life must've been cursed from the start," he muttered. "Why is everything always falling apart?"
Am I... Am I going to die? Here? Ashra unconscious
Suddenly, light.
A soft glow pierced the smoke behind her. A tiny glimmer of something warm and otherworldly.
"Hey… can you hear me?" she whispered. "Hey…"
Ashra's lips curled into the faintest smile.
"You're smiling? Now?"
She laughed bitterly. "You idiot…"