Tssssh~
Shhhhh~
The forest was alive with movement.
Swiiishh…
Damien darted through the thick trees, the sharp edges of long grasses scraping against his legs as he pushed forward.
The dense foliage ahead blurred his vision, forcing him to rely on instinct to navigate. He didn’t know what chased him—only that he couldn’t let it catch him.
A low growl echoed behind him, spurring him to move faster. His chest heaved as his breath came in ragged gasps, the pounding of his heart drowning out the noise of the forest.
The darkness of the trees seemed to stretch endlessly, an oppressive canopy closing him in.
Then, suddenly, the dense vegetation gave way to an open field. The grass beneath his feet shortened, softening his steps as he stumbled forward. He bent over, resting his hands on his knees as he fought to catch his breath.
The silence was deafening.
“Pheww…”
Just as Damien began to recover, a hand fell gently on his shoulder. His body stiffened, and his blood ran cold. His instincts screamed danger, and he spun around, his hands raised defensively.
What he saw wasn’t the monster he expected.
Standing behind him was Damon—his twin.
Damon looked exactly as Damien remembered him: small, with a wiry frame, short silver hair, and the same piercing blue eyes that reflected their shared lineage.
However, Damon’s expression wasn’t one of malice or fear. It was curiosity, laced with an odd calmness.
“Damon?” Damien whispered, his voice cracking. He moved toward his brother again and called out his name once more. “Damon? Why are you here? What are you even doing in the forest with me?”
His twin didn’t answer the questions. Instead, he tilted his head slightly and asked, “Why are you running?”
The question caught Damien off guard. He opened his mouth to reply but found no words.
“Why are you running?” Damon repeated, his tone steady yet insistent.
Before Damien could respond, another voice joined the chorus.
“Why are you running?”
The voice came from beside Damon, and as Damien’s gaze shifted, he saw another familiar figure step out of the shadows. Seth, their younger brother, appeared next, his small frame and innocent blue eyes locked on Damien’s figure that began to panic.
Damien took a step back, his heart racing anew.
“Why are you running?”
Their mother emerged, her warm, gentle face now unreadable.
“Why are you running?”
Lady Raela, their father’s only sister as well as their aunt stepped forward, followed by their uncles Duke and Nesmond. Each one repeated the same question, their voices overlapping until they formed a haunting chant.
Damien stumbled, the weight of their presence pressing down on him. He tried to summon his mana beasts, to call out to his system, but nothing responded.
“Why are you running?”
Uncle Osbourne’s voice was softer, tinged with sadness, as he stepped behind Damien. Strong hands gripped Damien’s shoulders, holding him in place.
“Uncle Osbourne? Even you too? Why the hell are you guys after me?” Damien’s question was left unanswered as the chanted question arrived again.
“Why are you running?” Their voices were beginning to blend into one annoyingly familiar one.
“Uncle! Let go of me! Don’t join the others in doing this! Please, let me go!”
Damien struggled against Osbourne’s hold, thrashing and yelling for release, but his uncle didn’t budge.
“Why are you running?”
The chant grew louder, the voices overlapping into an almost deafening roar.
Then, his father appeared.
Lord Terrace emerged from the shadows, his face cold and unyielding. In his hand, he held a dagger, its blade gleaming ominously. Immediately Damien spotted his father, he froze, it was like he was standing in the presence of something that wasn’t human. Something beyond human. A god or a demon, Damien couldn’t decide.
“No!” Damien shouted, his voice breaking.
The chanting stopped.
As silence fell, his father stepped forward, his eyes piercing into Damien’s soul.
“You are running,” Lord Terrace said, his voice low and menacing. “But you cannot escape. Why then are you running?”
“System!”
“System!”
There was no panel responding to Damien’s cries. None at all. Not even the bell like sound could be heard.
“That’s right,” Damien muttered as he remembered he had mana beasts he could summon but before he did, everything ended.
Thuck!
The dagger plunged into Damien’s chest.
Damien gasped as his eyes snapped open, his hand clutching his chest. The phantom pain of the blade lingered, and he struggled to catch his breath.
His room was dark, the faint glow of moonlight seeping through the window. The nightmare’s grip still clung to him, his body trembling from the vividness of it all.
Scanning the room, Damien found nothing amiss, yet his heart refused to calm. The question lingered in his mind, echoing like a taunt.
“Why are you running?”
Damien exhaled sharply, trying to shake the memory from his mind. He gave his commcef to the system. “Summon Luton.”
Ding!
The system immediately obeyed, the familiar set of panel appearing before Luton’s summon was completed.
The red slime appeared, its slightly smaller form wobbling before settling by his bed. Though immobile, its presence was comforting in a way only a companion’s could be.
“Good to see you, buddy,” Damien murmured, patting the slime’s surface.
Luton wobbled faintly in response, its usual brightness dimmed.
Exhaustion overtook Damien, and he eventually drifted back to sleep. But peace eluded him.
The same dream gripped him once more, dragging him through the haunting shadows of the forest. Again, he ran. Again, Damon appeared. Again, the question was asked, and again, the dagger found his chest.
“Fuck this!” Damien woke with a shout, the morning sun casting a faint glow over the room.
He sat up, his silver hair clinging to his damp forehead. His breath was uneven, and his hands trembled as they rested on his knees.
“I hate it,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.
Rising from the bed, Damien splashed water on his face from a nearby basin. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, his crystal-blue eyes clouded with turmoil.
“You’ll face me sooner or later,” he said quietly, his gaze hardening.
The words were not meant for the reflection staring back at him. They were meant for someone far away. Someone who had shaped him, exiled him, and left him to fend for himself. Or rather, die by himself.
His father.