Burning corpses
When Kaien opened his eyes, the world he knew had already turned to ash.
The once-thriving village—echoing with laughter, life, and lullabies—now lay drowned in a deafening, deathly silence.
The kind of silence birthed only after a monstrous storm has passed, leaving behind nothing but ruin and regret.
Flames devoured the remnants of Kaien's home. The thatched roof crackled above, ablaze, casting sparks and embers like falling stars.
Ash drifted down like snow, blanketing the limp form of his mother, her lifeless body grotesquely torn—her abdomen split open, soaked in crimson.
The roof above was halfway consumed by fire. Kaien knew he had to move her before the flames did. Yet his frail arms, worn from days of suffering, trembled beneath the weight of her body.
After what felt like an eternity of blood, sweat, and sheer desperation, he managed to place her on the wooden cart.
As he stepped outside, the entire village was engulfed in fire—homes reduced to skeletal frames, air thick with smoke and soot.
No human cry remained. No whisper of breath.
Kaien stood alone, the last flicker of life in a graveyard of corpses. His chest felt as if a stone sat upon it, crushing him beneath the unbearable question:
Why was he the only one left alive?
That question echoed, tormenting him. Over and over. As if guilt itself vowed to swallow him whole.
*THUD*
Kaien collapsed onto the scorched earth, a searing jolt from his shattered leg knocking the air out of his lungs.
Gritting his teeth, he shoved a torn cloth between his jaws. With trembling fingers, he reached for his dislocated limb—and snapped it back in place.
*CRACK*
A scream tried to claw out from his throat, but he held it back. The pain, white-hot and all-consuming, threatened to rip his mind apart. Yet he endured. There was no other choice.
He tore strips of fabric from his clothes and fastened a stick tightly to his leg, forming a crude splint.
Each knot sapped what little strength he had left. Once done, he fell backward, panting.
Sweat mixed with ash on his skin. Above him, the night sky, once a canvas of stars, was now blotted with black smoke that bled into the heavens.
His thoughts churned, tangled in sorrow and confusion. He longed for answers, but everyone who could give them was gone—his mother, his father, even the villagers.
Was it true? Was he not their child at all? Was he merely found at sea? A cursed infant delivered by the tides?
He had to know.
Kaien raised his palm to the sky, staring at the strange markings that adorned his skin—sigils and scars that had been there since birth, hidden beneath cloth and shame. They pulsed faintly now, almost like they breathed with him.
He could no longer run from the truth. Not with the dead beneath his feet. Not with the flames behind him.
When strength finally returned to his limbs, Kaien stood and pulled the cart toward the sea.
The place where his mother had always said the stars spoke loudest, and where she claimed the dead could hear.
There, he gathered husks, dry wood, and branches. He stacked them in the cart around her body. Then, with a piece of flint, he sparked a flame.
The fire rose slowly, licking the wood, devouring it. The cart groaned and crackled, wood splitting with each pop.
Beside the raging inferno that still consumed the town, this pyre burned quieter—but no less sacred.
Kaien sat by the fire, watching as the flames danced around his mother, consuming her flesh and releasing her spirit.
He clenched his knees to his chest, tears slipping down his cheeks in silence. He had promised himself not to cry. But grief has its own language.
Time passed unnoticed. The stars shifted. Eventually, sleep claimed him, curled beside the warmth of what remained of his only family.
When Kaien awoke, dawn had not yet come—but the pyre had turned to dust.
Ashes scattered across the shore, swept by the cold breath of the sea wind. They floated like faded memories, some sinking into the waves, some taken by the sky.
The wooden cart that once held his mother was nothing more than embers and fragments.
With heavy limbs and a heart wearied beyond his years, Kaien stood. His eyes were dull but resolute. He moved toward the sea and began washing himself—his skin, his wounds, his soul.
He tore away the dirty cloth that had always bound his right eye and the warped marks on his hand. For the first time in years, he let the sea touch them. The saltwater stung like fire, but he didn't flinch. The cleansing wasn't just physical—it was symbolic. He was casting off the old Kaien. The cursed boy. The outcast.
In town, he searched what remained of homes. Most had collapsed, yet in one of the few standing rooms, he found clean garments.
He dressed in silence, then found a new bandage to wrap around his right eye and hand—not out of shame, but caution. The world wasn't ready to see the truth yet.
While searching, Kaien came across countless corpses, charred or untouched—some frozen in terror, others still clutching weapons. Children who once tormented him. Adults who hurled his father into the sea. No one was spared.
Their eyes were hollow now, and whatever hatred they once had was gone. But Kaien couldn't leave them to rot. If their bodies decayed in open air, their souls would never find peace.
So he dragged them one by one. He worked in silence, ignoring his wounds. He piled husks, torn cloth, and broken wood atop the corpses, forming funeral pyres. His arms ached. His breath came in gasps. Still, he didn't stop—not until the last villager was honored in death.
By dusk, smoke once again rose from the village, not from destruction this time—but from farewells.
Kaien returned to where his mother's ashes had once been. He scooped the remaining fragments into a jar, wrapped it in cloth, and tied it securely around his waist. This was all he had left of her. A piece of her soul to guide him.
Then, finally, he turned to leave.
With a makeshift staff in hand, tall as his own body, Kaien limped through the scorched remains of the village. His hand trembled as it brushed across the jar at his waist, the weight of it grounding him in purpose.
His mother's words echoed in his heart.
"You must go and travel the whole world."
But now, those words carried a second meaning.
He had to uncover the truth of his birth. Who was he really?
As he left the ruined village behind, only one path remained: toward the endless desert. A cursed land none dared to cross. The sea was behind him. The cliffs offered no path. And the village was dead. The desert—harsh and haunted—was the only road ahead.
Legends said the desert devoured souls. That it birthed illusions, led travelers in circles until their minds broke and their bodies gave out. Flesh-eating insects. Vengeful spirits. Starved beasts. All said to haunt its sands.
Maybe that's why no one ever came to their village. Maybe that's why no one ever left.
But Kaien had no reason to fear it now. Everything he had was already taken. There was nothing left to lose.
Only the truth to find.
Only enemies to face.
And one day, perhaps...
A destiny that would shake the heavens.
He didn't yet know it, but this was not just a journey to discover who he was.
It was the beginning of what would be known in the future as the rise of—
The Doom of All Realms.