ERA OF DESTINY

"Save…?"

Kiaria's voice echoed softly through the dungeon.

"Save you from what?"

Geng's fingers trembled against the edge of the water basin. His breathing was uneven, shallow, as if his chest could no longer decide whether it wanted to rise or collapse.

"From…" he whispered.

Then louder, hoarse and broken,

"From my turning."

Kiaria didn't move.

"What are you?" Kiaria asked.

Geng froze.

"Me…?" His lips parted. "What… what am I?"

The words fell apart before they could take shape. "I–I…"

He turned back toward the basin.

The reddened water lay still now, reflecting only a distorted shadow of his face. Geng stared into it, desperate for an answer, but the reflection offered nothing. No reassurance. No denial.

His breathing quickened.

Suddenly, he struck the basin.

Water splashed violently against the stone, ripples crashing into one another as his hands shook the metal edge again and again.

"Answer me!" he shouted.

The ripples didn't answer.

Something inside him snapped.

Geng turned and ran.

He burst into the nearest prison chamber.

The captives shrieked the moment they saw him. Bodies recoiled. Chains rattled. Some pressed their backs against the walls; others covered their heads and shut their eyes tightly, as if blindness could protect them.

But Geng didn't stop.

He moved forward, step by step, grabbing collars, sleeves, trembling shoulders.

"Tell me!" he demanded.

"Tell me what I am!"

No one answered.

"Say it!" he roared. "Say I'm Geng!"

Hands pushed him away. Voices broke into sobs.

"You're not him…"

"Please–don't kill us…"

The words pierced deeper than blades.

Geng staggered out.

He moved from chamber to chamber.

Nineteenth.

Eighteenth.

Seventeenth.

Each time, the same fear.

The same rejection.

The same silence where his name should have been.

His steps grew heavier with every door.

Until only one chamber remained.

The first chamber.

Geng rushed inside–and stopped.

The smell hit him first.

Spoiled food. Stale air. Death that hadn't yet begun to rot.

Bodies lay scattered across the stone floor, motionless, frozen in the moment their lives had ended. The captives here had died hours ago, their expressions locked in fear and disbelief.

Memories flooded him.

Faces.

Voices.

Hands that had once shared food with him.

This was the chamber he had belonged to.

And now, he was the only one left.

Geng lowered himself slowly to the floor, sitting among the dead. He bent forward, pressing his forehead between his knees, curling inward like one of them.

As if he were already gone.

Kiaria did not approach.

For this answer, no god could intervene.

–

Time passed.

Minutes dissolved into hours.

Geng's breathing grew weaker, his body trembling under the weight of emotions that had nowhere left to go. His mind spiraled until even pain began to fade.

Finally, his body gave up.

Geng collapsed into unconsciousness.

–

Light bloomed.

Kiaria stepped into the chamber.

His misty white cape glowed softly, bathing the room in monochrome radiance. The crown above his head shimmered faintly, its light cutting through the lingering darkness.

He hovered beside Geng.

He did not heal him.

He did not speak.

Kiaria reached out and tapped the Crescent Loop Moon Blade.

The blade resonated.

A deep, cleansing hum spread through the chamber, carrying the authority of purification. As the Patron of Purification of Shadows, the resonance flowed not outward–but inward.

Into Geng.

–

The dream formed.

Geng found himself sitting beneath a vast fig tree, its leaves whispering softly in unseen wind. His face was buried in his hands, tears soaking into the earth below.

Shadows gathered around him.

The spirits of the dead captives appeared, one by one, their forms faint but gentle. They hovered close and wrapped their arms around him in silence.

Geng shook.

"I'm a monster," he whispered.

"I'll hurt you. Please… go away."

No one answered.

Then–

"Geng."

The voice reached him again.

He clenched his teeth.

"Don't call me that," he said hoarsely. "That name belongs to someone else."

Silence.

Then–

"Then who are you?"

His breath faltered.

"I don't know," he whispered. "And that's why you shouldn't be here."

He kept his head down.

"If you look at me," he continued, voice trembling, "you'll see what I became. And I don't want that to be the last thing you remember."

She didn't answer immediately.

When she spoke, her voice was steady.

"I already know what you became."

His body stiffened.

"I saw your fear," she said.

"I saw your anger."

"I saw your hands shake when you crossed the line."

Geng's nails dug into his palms.

"So you know," he said bitterly. "Then why are you still here?"

"Because you're still breathing," she replied.

He laughed weakly.

"Breathing?" he said. "That's all I'm doing. Just… breathing. Like a corpse that forgot to lie down."

"Look at me, Geng."

"I can't."

"Look at me."

Her voice hardened just a little.

His chest collapsed.

"I ruined everything," he whispered. "I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to disappear. And when he collapsed… I didn't stop."

His voice cracked.

"It felt right for a moment."

He covered his face.

"That's when I knew," he sobbed. "That I wasn't your son anymore."

"Look at me, Geng," she said.

"I can't," he whispered.

"If you see me like this… you'll hate me."

She knelt.

"Then let me hate you," she said calmly.

"If that's what you believe."

He looked up.

Tears streamed down his face.

"Yes," she said quietly.

"You crossed a line."

Geng flinched as if struck.

"So you do hate me," he said hollowly.

She shook her head.

"But I won't lie to you either." She said.

She placed a hand over her chest.

"What you did was wrong," she continued.

"And the pain you carry now… you earned it."

Geng sobbed.

"I don't know how to live with it," he whispered.

"I don't know who I am anymore."

She finally reached out.

She placed her hand on his head.

"Then listen carefully," she said.

"You are not what you did."

His breath caught.

"You are what you do after," she continued.

"And that choice still belongs to you."

She leaned closer.

"Do you remember your promise?" she asked softly.

"When I carried your sister?"

His lips trembled.

"Mimi," he whispered.

"You said you would protect her," his mother said.

"Not because you were strong."

"Because you were kind."

Geng shook.

"I'm not kind anymore."

She smiled faintly–sad, but steady.

"Then become kind again."

Her form began to fade.

"Geng," she said one last time.

"Carry what you've done."

"But don't let it decide what you will become."

The souls spoke together now, their voices overlapping gently.

"Thank you, Geng."

Light scattered like dust.

The dream collapsed.

–

Geng's eyes opened.

The pain in his chest was gone.

In its place, clarity settled–quiet, heavy, real.

He lifted his head.

"Lord God," he said steadily, "I am Geng."

Kiaria watched him closely.

"The last hope of my people."

Kiaria smiled faintly.

"Hope?" he repeated.

"Interesting."

"Why hope?"

Geng didn't hesitate this time.

"Because I carry the undone promises of those bound to me–by blood, and by fate."

"Burdened?" Kiaria asked.

"…Yes."

Kiaria tilted his head.

"Or entrusted?"

Geng fell silent.

"I don't know," he admitted.

"Can I save the others now?" he asked.

Kiaria shook his head.

"No. You have found your identity–but you carved another into their hearts."

Before they could be freed, that must change.

"But can you save them?" Geng asked desperately.

Kiaria's gaze hardened.

"Why should I?"

"You're a god," Geng said. "You saved me."

"I saved you because the Will of Life bound you to them," Kiaria replied.

"The responsibility is yours."

Silence stretched.

"Enough talk," Kiaria said.

The world twisted.

And Geng vanished.

Kiaria too with him.

World shifted.

Geng felt the ground return beneath his feet, solid and cold, and the stale dungeon air was replaced by something else entirely. Earth. Damp stone. Fear thick enough to taste.

They stood at the entrance of a hidden tunnel.

Flame sticks flickered weakly along the rough walls, casting trembling shadows over a gathered crowd. The Miru Tribe huddled deep inside, pressed together in silence, eyes wide with terror. Mothers clutched children. Elders gripped worn staffs. No one dared to breathe too loudly.

They had been hiding for too long.

Then–

A small figure broke from the crowd.

"Mimi!"

She ran forward without hesitation, bare feet striking the stone floor as she rushed toward Kiaria. When she reached him, she dropped to her knees instantly, forehead touching the ground.

The rest of the tribe followed.

Kiaria hovered in midair, his presence calm and overwhelming.

Behind him stood Geng.

Silent.

Still.

Kiaria turned slightly.

"Geng."

The call was not loud, but it carried authority that pierced straight through the heart.

Geng stepped forward.

Kiaria descended, his feet touching the ground for the first time since arriving. He looked down at the kneeling girl.

"This is Mimi," he said evenly.

"Your new little sister."

Then he turned to Geng.

"And your responsibility."

Geng's breath caught.

"Mimi," Kiaria said gently, "Geng–give me your hands."

Mimi lifted her head, confusion flickering across her face. Slowly, she rose to her feet and extended her small hand.

Geng hesitated only for a moment.

Then he reached out.

Kiaria took Mimi's hand and placed it firmly into Geng's grasp.

Their fingers closed.

"From today onward," Kiaria said, his voice steady and absolute,"you are family."

The words settled heavily into the tunnel.

"Brother and sister."

Geng stiffened.

"Mimi carries a burden," Kiaria continued. "And from this moment forward, that burden is yours as well."

His gaze sharpened.

"The responsibility to rewrite what you have done–what you have become–will not be carried alone."

He looked directly at Geng.

"This is my verdict."

"And this is the path you will walk for the rest of your life."

Silence followed.

Then Kiaria lifted his hand.

From the black ring, bundles of food and sealed containers of water poured forth, landing gently across the tunnel floor. Grain. Meat. Warm bread. Fresh fruit. Enough to feed every trembling soul present.

"Tonight," Kiaria said,"is not a night for fear."

"This is a night of celebration."

He turned his gaze over the Miru Tribe.

"A new member has returned to your family. To your tribe."

"Lay down your worries."

"Eat."

"Rest."

"My eyes will guard you until dawn."

Before anyone could speak–

Before gratitude could spill into words–

Kiaria vanished.

The tunnel felt warmer.

Mimi and Geng were still holding hands.

For a heartbeat, neither moved.

Then the Miru Tribe erupted.

Cheers broke through the fear like a dam collapsing. Arms reached out, lifting both children into the air. Laughter mixed with tears. Bodies danced. Voices sang in broken joy.

For the first time in a long while–

The tribe slept without nightmares.

Above them, unseen, pale spiderlings clung to stone and shadow, their many eyes watching without rest.

The night passed.

Peacefully.