Slave of Fate

Rudra's presence grew more defined, more imprinted into the very fabric of this nightmare. He was both beautiful and horrifying. The kind of beauty that demanded fear.

And in that moment, with the world covered in blood and death, Rudra stood as the singular force—unwavering, unfeeling, and undeniably, undeniably powerful.

Some people survive the brutality of this world not because they are strong, but because they have learned to adapt to its cruelty. They are forged in the fires of pain, their innocence burned away, piece by piece, until nothing remains but the cold, hard shell of survival.

They become like the shadows that follow the light, always present but never seen—silent, unyielding, and empty of the softness that once defined them. The world demands that they break, but they do not. Instead, they bend, twist, and morph into something unrecognizable. The brutality shapes them, molds them into weapons, even as they lose their humanity in the process.

Surviving is no longer enough. They learn that to endure is to become the thing they once feared, the thing they once hated. They become echoes of the violence around them, reflections of the cruelty they were forced to witness.

And when they look back, they don't remember the pain. They only remember the lessons it taught them: Trust no one. Fear no one. And above all, never show weakness.

For in a world this unforgiving, to be soft is to die. And those who survive must carry that weight, that truth, in their hearts forever.Rudra's gaze was cold, yet there was an unsettling calmness in his voice as he spoke, breaking the silence that had thickened around him.

Rudra with his cold tone

"Can I get some warm water to wash this off?"

The room fell still as everyone's eyes locked onto him, as though his request was absurd given the bloodbath around them. The master, his expression unreadable, gave a curt command. "No. 2, bring some warm water."

The quiet hum of the room echoed as No. 1, still shaken by the gruesome spectacle, turned to the master with a question that had been gnawing at him. His voice was barely a whisper, yet it carried a weight of disbelief.

"How did he do that?"

The master's voice was chilling, cold as the wind in a forgotten wasteland. "It's like a condition," he said, his eyes narrowing as if to peer into the unfathomable depth of Rudra's soul.

No. 2, who had been standing quietly, interjected. "For what?"

The master hesitated, as though wrestling with a truth too heavy to speak aloud. "It was all part of the ceremony of sacrifice."

No one said a word. The implication hung thick in the air.

"I don't know how he did it," the master continued, the cold in his tone now more apparent than ever. "But I've seen this ceremony before. What he holds within him, only he understands. How he came to know that language… it's beyond me. I only know one thing."

He took a deep breath, his eyes locked on Rudra as if trying to read the boy's very essence. "The First Heaven must have given it to him. He's been chosen."

A sudden, almost imperceptible shift took place. Rudra washed the blood off his body, each drop falling like a death toll as the words that had once burned into his skin now glowed with a strange, eerie light. The place had become stifling, oppressive, the air thick with uncertainty.

The master, eyes narrowed, could not hide his fascination. "What is happening now?" he asked, voice tight with expectation.

Rudra's expression remained unchanged as he replied, his voice void of any emotion, yet heavy with finality. "It's the last spell. It will send me to where I'm destined to be."

The master couldn't help but smile, though there was something sinister in his grin. "So, all of this... was to fulfill the last spell? To claim your place in this world?" He chuckled, though the sound was hollow. "Amusing."

Rudra's cold eyes locked with the master's, and his next words struck like a blade. "Don't mistake my silence for submission. This isn't about finding a place. It's about something deeper."

The air around them seemed to pulse with an energy that neither man fully understood, as if the world itself held its breath in anticipation. Rudra continued, his voice now sharper, colder than ever. "The book says... my will will appear at the First Heaven's throne."

A blinding light enveloped him, and in an instant, Rudra was no longer standing in that darkened chamber. The weight of the world seemed to crush in on him, and before he could even process the sensation, the darkness swallowed him whole.

When his senses returned, he was standing in an icy, desolate room. The air was thick with the scent of cold stone and forgotten time. There was no light, no warmth—only shadows that clung to the corners, whispering things that did not dare to be heard.

Rudra moved forward, his footsteps silent in the void. But then, he stumbled, his foot catching on something, and his body collided with a cold, unyielding object. A chair.

A voice, smooth as silk but heavy with authority, cut through the silence. "Hey, who are you?"

Rudra turned sharply to face the source of the voice. From the darkness, a figure emerged—a young prince, sitting with an air of indifference in the corner of the room. His features were exquisite, too perfect to be real. His skin, smooth as the finest fabric, shimmered in the faintest light, while his eyes—blue as the endless sky—shone with a light of their own.

Rudra stood frozen for a moment, a strange sensation stirring deep within him. It was then that he realized—the boy before him, so impossibly regal and otherworldly—was the one to whom he truly belonged.

Rudra's thoughts whispered to him in the cold silence. *So this is where I belong.*

The prince stood, his posture commanding as the wind from the open window blew his dark hair back. The world outside the window seemed to fall away, leaving only him, and Rudra, standing in the center of destiny. The air in the room was heavy, thick with meaning that neither of them had yet to understand fully.

"Who are you?" the prince repeated, this time his voice softer, tinged with curiosity.

Rudra remained silent, the weight of the moment pressing against him. His destiny was written, yet still, something gnawed at the back of his mind. He had arrived here, but was this truly where he was meant to be?

The prince's eyes narrowed, studying Rudra as though searching for something beyond the boy's expressionless face.

Rudra didn't need to answer. The silence between them spoke volumes.