The small village was on fire.
The sound of wood crackling and snapping filled the warm, sunny air. Pieces of glowing ash floated gently through the sky, like tiny dying stars drifting in the wind.
Thick smoke covered the sky, turning what was once a proud and lively village into a graveyard of flames and ashes.
The smell of blood and smoke hung heavy in the air. In the distance, faint screams could still be heard, but they were fading.
In the middle of the destruction, a young child lay quietly among the ruins of a house that had already burned down to the ground.
His small body rested on the scorched earth, his face dusted with gray ash from the remains of the fire.
Even surrounded by death and destruction, the child looked calm. He didn't cry. He didn't move. He hadn't for hours. He just stared at the flames, his eyes blank and still.
The fire had burned through the village all night, destroying everything in its path. And yet, somehow, fate had spared him. He was still alive, even though the very house he had been in was now nothing but rubble and cinders.
On the other side of the village, a figure moved around, silent as a shadow. The scenery In Front of him was shocking. There was a fire, yet no sign of any battle having happened.
There were no blood trails, or broken weapons, or barricades, not even battle cries left behind.
Usually, when a village burns, it's because of war. A raid or a massacre. However this was strange.
This looked like something else entirely.
The figure was dressed in a black cloak, and he looked mysterious as he moved through the burning village, his movements were precise and deadly, a testament to how skillful he was in his job.
One look at him, and one would realize that he was no ordinary soldier, or a looter seeking riches from the fallen. He was an assassin, one of the few who thrived in the chaos of war.
'What is this feeling.'.. he wondered, eyes narrowing as he stepped deeper into the ruins. 'What is it that draws me here?'
He had no business here. It wasn't duty. It wasn't a contract. It was something else entirely, and he couldn't even name it.
His eyes scanned the burning remains of the city, searching. He hadn't planned to linger longer here. But then, something caught his eye and piqued his curiosity.
He approached with no hesitation, and that's when he saw the boy, in the middle of a burned down house, surrounded by flames and destruction yet untouched. How was that possible?
You would think that after a house burns down with someone in it, there would be nothing left of them. No body, no trace, just ash and ruin. And yet, here this toddler was. It was unnatural and impossible.
The cloaked figure nonchalantly studied what he was seeing and took mental note: a child: Alone and miraculously not harmed amid the carnage, as if the flames and chaos had deliberately spared him.
It was not everyday you saw that. Actually, something like this was unheard of.
The assassin hesitated. Thinking whether to do something and help the boy or just go his own way. Going his own way was the easiest thing to do, and so he was thinking of doing just that, but for some reason he didn't want to just leave.
The same unexplained feeling that had brought him here in the first place, was now urging him to not leave.
He leaned over slightly and looked into the little boy's eyes, muttering, "You shouldn't be alive."
When the boy didn't say anything he looked annoyed and said, "Nothing?"
Of course, the boy didn't say anything, he was just a little kid, barely old enough to talk. And even if he could, what would he say?
He must have been in shock, judging by his empty stare. His face was streaked with dirt and ash.
The assassin was still trying to figure out what to do at this moment. He had seen orphans before, left behind by war and greed. He knew better than to interfere. The weak were meant to be swallowed by the strong.
That was the way of the world, or at least where he came from. However, this orphan was not left behind by either of those things.
The assassin crouched before him, studying the child's vacant expression. He expected fear, or a cry. A flinch, at least. But there was nothing, only emptiness.
The assassin let out a sharp breath through his nose. In his old age, he had seen countless battlefields, had stepped over the bodies of both the fallen and the forgotten, but something about this child intrigued him.
He clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Tch. What a bother. Alright, let's find you an orphanage." He spoke. His voice was deep, roughened by years of battle.
The boy said nothing this time too. He didn't even move as he was being picked up.
The assassin sighed. "Tch. Useless." He began to leave with the baby in his arms, however he stopped and turned around abruptly to see what had just moved.
But when he looked, there was nothing behind him. Although he could swear that, something just moved behind him, his instincts told him so. He looked around, his eyes narrowing when he spotted a sword, laying on the ground.
It lay half-buried in the ash, its blade dark and marked with strange, ancient symbols. One symbol stood out, a black sun with twelve rays, six dark and six light.
The most unnerving thing about the sword was that it pulsed faintly. Like it breathed. Like it was watching him.
As brave as he was, this time, a slow chill crawled down the assassin's spine. This was really not a normal thing.
The air around the weapon was strange. He had never seen something like this before. Well, that was the second weird thing he had witnessed. First a baby, who somehow miraculously, survived a burned down house, and now, this weird ancient sword.
He stepped closer, but not too close as he was being cautious.
He looked at the baby in his arms, and then back at the sword and said, "…What the hell are you?"