Chapter 1

The 27th Year of War.

I woke up amidst corpses—men, horses, and the shattered pieces of a sky that once had a name: “homeland.”

The wind was cold.

But I was colder.

A sword had pierced through my thigh at some point, and the blood had clotted into black patches, like the nausea lodged tight in my throat. I didn’t have the strength to groan, and there was no one left to hear me scream. The sky above held no moon—only fire, smoke, and the echo of crying, like souls being summoned from hell.

I wanted to die.

Because I knew I deserved to.

I was a rebel. One who burned villages, pointed guns at the weak, and betrayed those who once trusted me.

But just when I thought it was all over…

a pair of blood-spattered white leather boots stopped in front of me.

> “Still breathing?”

A voice.

Clear, low, cold enough to chill the marrow.

Measured. Certain.

I looked up.

It was Sina.

There was no mistaking it. The one they called Bearer of Light.

He looked like a divine statue—not dazzling, but cold, emotionless, and untouchably proud.

I didn’t understand. Why save me?

> “I’m the enemy,”

I croaked.

Sina paused. Just for a second.

Then said:

> “So being the enemy means… no one saves you?”

Those eyes looked straight at me. Not at the wound. At the filth in my soul.

And I went quiet.

Silent… to survive.

No one knew…

that in that moment, I began to hate Sina.

Then love Sina.

Then… want to destroy everything he believed in.

When a star falls—it doesn't choose where to land.

It just…

falls toward the last light it saw.

---

I woke again.

No more burnt flesh. No more corpses. No more cold that cuts through bone.

Only…

the bitter smell of medicine, and pale sunlight filtering through an old wooden window.

> “You’re awake.”

A girl’s voice. Dry and soft.

I turned my head.

She was beautiful—the kind of beauty like frosted glass in a dead winter.

Straight black hair to the waist, a neatly fastened military uniform, and eyes as clear as a dried-up river—clear, but completely absent of warmth.

Looking at her, the word “gentle” never came to mind. Only danger.

She was like a knife, freshly sharpened, pressed quietly to someone’s throat.

> “I’m Umi. Officer under Commander Sina. You’re a prisoner, temporarily kept in the camp under special orders.”

Prisoner.

Right. That’s what I am.

I smirked. A crooked, pathetic smile.

> “Should’ve just killed me that day.”

Umi didn’t reply. She glanced at me—not with pity, not with contempt.

> “If you want to die, choose your own time. But if you're alive… know your place and act like it.”

The door closed.

I lay there. Alone.

In Sina’s camp, I was no one.

No name. No title. No identity. Just “the one he brought back”— a strange stain clinging to the brilliance of his victories.

But I still saw him.

Sina. Among thousands of soldiers, he stood out the most. Not because of his face, or the way he held a blade—

but because of the silence in his eyes.

He didn’t look like a warrior.

He looked like… a fallen star that came down to cut war in half.

And I hated that.

I hated how he walked untouched by dust.

I hated how he looked at me like a withered tree needing water.

I began to track him.

Every move. Every gap in his strategy. Every place where he placed trust.

I wanted to break him.

I wanted him to understand: Light doesn't save anything.

I wanted him to be disappointed in me.

---

But every time I looked at him…

something in me trembled.

Like a child who was beaten, yet still craved a hug.

Once, I hurt my hand carrying ammunition.

Umi said, “Handle it yourself.”

But Sina…

He held my hand. Wiped the blood.

> “Be more careful next time.”

I wanted to pull away, to curse, to knock everything over.

But I just…

looked at him.

In silence.

Why are you treating me like this?

I’ve betrayed. I will betray. I don’t deserve this.

I started to wonder…

Do I hate Sina?

Or do I hate myself… because I’ve started to need his gaze this much?

---

Wednesday afternoon.

The sky was iron gray—thick and heavy, like a burial cloth laid over the world.

No sun. Only dust, and the howl of wind like the wailing of the dead still waiting to call a loved one’s name.

I stood in the camp, surrounded by the clanging of steel, and medical trucks hauling back the mangled bodies from the northern front.

The smell of blood. Burned flesh. Gunpowder that hadn’t faded.

A soldier carried the unrecognizable corpse of a comrade on his back, stumbling, whispering—maybe an apology, maybe a name.

No one stopped him.

No one comforted.

Everyone carried a corpse. If not on their backs, then in their minds.

> “Take the body to tent five. Don’t let the blood hit the ground.”

Umi’s voice. Steady. Unshaken.

She stood in the chaos like a part of it.

Blood sprayed her uniform.

Her eyes… remained still.

I gripped the truck rail, choking back something rising in my throat.

This is the “light” Sina wanted to preserve?

A world on fire—where the living smile hollow, the dead don’t get to close their eyes, and blood becomes the only thing that cleanses a broken soul?

> “Bell.”

I flinched.

Sina.

He stood there, like he had just stepped from battle.

One shoulder of his armor broken. Bloody—but not his.

His eyes weren’t cold. Just… empty. Too many deaths to feel one anymore.

> “Come with me.”

I said nothing. Just followed.

Past the infirmary tents.

Past the stench of wounds and corpses and burnt skin.

To the edge of camp—where the wind screamed through the ruins of a watchtower that burned down last night.

> “I once saved a child here.”

His voice was soft. His hand touched a scorched plank.

> “He held his mother’s body. Didn’t cry. Didn’t leave. Just… sat there. For three days.”

I clenched my fists.

> “And then?” I asked, not sure why.

Sina replied quietly:

> “Then he died.

Froze stiff.

Like stone.

That’s when I realized…

people don’t need to bleed to die.”

The wind blew through my hair. I didn’t know what to say.

Sina turned to me. His eyes—no blame. No suspicion.

Only this:

> “You know I’m not stupid, right, Bell?”

My heart skipped.

> “I know you sabotaged the map designs last week.”

“I know you’re sending info to the rebels.”

“I know you still want me dead.”

I bit my lip. Blood filled my mouth.

Then why…

why haven’t you killed me?

> “Then why not kill me?!” I shouted. Finally unleashing the hatred in my chest.

> “Because I believe.”

“Not in you.”

“But in the light within war—if there’s even a shred left to hold onto, I’ll hold it. Even if it’s fragile.”

I froze.

> “What if I betray you again?” I growled.

Sina didn’t smile. Didn’t rage. Just said:

> “Then I’ll let you choose—die by my hand… or live, to make it right.”

He walked away.

Leaving me in the wind and ash.

And I realized—

I hate Sina.

I hate how he never punishes.

Never hates back.

Never seeks revenge.

Because people like him…

are what make people like me

unable to sleep at night.

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