The evening was peaceful.
Vaelorian walked beside his closest friend along a quiet street, listening to him complain about their recent football match.
"You still owe me an explanation," his friend said.
"For what?"
"For deliberately passing the ball to me when you knew I was surrounded by three players."
Vaelorian laughed. "I thought you could handle it."
"You thought wrong."
"Then improve your skills."
"That is not how friendship works."
His friend shook his head, but he was smiling.
"One day, I'm going to stop playing with you."
"You've been saying that for years."
"And one day, I will mean it."
"You won't."
They continued walking, laughing over their usual arguments. Their voices drifted beneath the soft hum of the streetlights, mingling with the distant hiss of passing cars and the smell of dust, fried food, and warm pavement.
Vaelorian knew the rhythm of this walk. The uneven pavement. The cracked wall beside the road. The way his friend always kicked loose stones ahead of them and then pretended not to notice.
As they approached a small roadside shop, Vaelorian noticed someone standing beneath the dim light.
He stopped.
The young man wore dark clothes. His expression was calm, almost indifferent.
Vaelorian recognised him immediately.
It was the same person who had stopped the motorcycle without touching it.
His friend noticed him looking.
"What happened?"
Vaelorian didn't answer. He kept his eyes on the stranger.
The young man glanced towards him.
For a moment, their eyes met.
Then he turned away.
"Wait."
The stranger stopped.
Vaelorian approached him.
"You're the one from the football ground."
The young man looked at him without much interest.
"Perhaps."
"How did you stop that motorcycle?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Because I saw what happened. You raised your hand, and it stopped. You didn't even touch it."
The stranger sighed.
"You're still thinking about that?"
"Of course. It wasn't normal."
"Many things happen that you don't understand."
"That doesn't mean I should ignore them."
The young man's expression grew colder.
"Some questions are better left unanswered."
Vaelorian frowned.
"That's a convenient excuse."
His friend stepped closer.
"Vaelorian, maybe we should go."
But Vaelorian wasn't finished.
"Who are you? And what exactly was that?"
The stranger looked at him for several seconds.
Then he spoke quietly.
"You've been warned once."
Vaelorian's expression changed.
"That message was from you?"
No answer.
"Why are you following me?"
The young man's eyes narrowed.
"Following you? Don't flatter yourself."
"Then stop sending me warnings."
A faint pressure spread through the air.
The laughter drained from the street. Even the shopkeeper's radio seemed to fade beneath the sudden weight pressing against Vaelorian's ears. His skin prickled. The hairs along his arms rose.
His friend noticed it too. He looked around, confused by the uncomfortable sensation.
The stranger took a step forward.
"Listen carefully. Your curiosity is beginning to become a problem."
Vaelorian refused to move.
"And what are you going to do about it?"
For the first time, the young man appeared genuinely irritated.
"You really don't know when to stop."
He raised his hand.
Vaelorian barely had time to react.
An invisible force struck him across the chest.
His feet left the ground.
The world lurched. His back crashed against the side of the shop, sending several objects tumbling to the floor. Pain exploded through his ribs, sharp and white, and the air rushed out of his lungs in a strangled gasp. He tasted blood. Somewhere near his ear, glass shattered.
"Vaelorian!"
His friend ran towards him.
The young man moved his fingers slightly.
Vaelorian felt his body grow unbearably heavy. His limbs pressed into the pavement as though the earth had become a magnet. He tried to stand, but his muscles refused to respond.
Move.
His fingers twitched.
Move!
Nothing.
"What... are you?"
The chapter was posted by its author on their official page; this copy was made without consent, and the posting supports them.
The stranger ignored the question.
"You should have listened."
He raised his hand again.
His friend saw what was coming.
Without thinking, he rushed forward and threw himself between them.
"STOP!"
The next attack struck him.
For a fraction of a second, everything seemed to become silent.
Vaelorian saw the force hit his friend. Saw his shirt tear. Saw his body fold and twist before being thrown backwards.
Then the sound returned all at once—the crack of impact, the clatter of something rolling across the pavement, Vaelorian's own breath tearing painfully through his throat.
His friend's body hit the ground.
Vaelorian's eyes widened.
"No..."
The word barely existed.
He forced himself to move.
His hands dragged against the pavement as he struggled towards his friend. Gravel cut into his palms. His ribs screamed with every breath.
"Hey! Get up!"
There was no response.
"Come on. Stop messing around."
His friend's eyes were partially open, but they didn't seem to focus. A thin line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. His chest rose once, shallowly, then sank.
Vaelorian reached him and lifted his head.
The warmth of his friend's skin was already fading.
"No. No, you're okay."
He said it quickly, desperately, as if speed could make it true.
"You're okay. Get up."
Blood stained his clothes. It soaked through Vaelorian's fingers, hot and slick, gathering in the lines of his palms. The metallic smell filled his nose.
His hands began trembling.
He pressed them against the wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.
"Please, stay with me."
His friend did not answer.
"Somebody help! PLEASE!"
His voice broke against the empty street.
He pressed harder. His arms shook. Blood pushed between his fingers.
"You're not allowed to do this. Do you hear me? You still owe me a rematch."
Nothing.
The words he had heard only moments ago returned to him with cruel clarity.
One day, I'm going to stop playing with you.
Vaelorian swallowed a sob.
"Not like this."
He looked towards the stranger.
"What did you do?"
The young man stood motionless.
Vaelorian's expression twisted with anger.
"YOU KILLED HIM!"
He tried to stand.
His injured body gave way, and he collapsed beside his friend. His knee struck the pavement, but he barely felt it.
The young man looked at him for a moment.
Then he turned away.
"Such a waste."
He began walking.
Vaelorian watched him disappear into the darkness.
He wanted to follow.
He wanted to tear him apart.
He wanted to make him turn around and undo what he had done.
But he couldn't even stand.
His hands remained pressed against his friend's wound. His fingers were numb. His shoulders shook with each breath.
He had been right there.
He had seen the attack.
He had known it was coming.
And still, his friend had died for him.
A strange silence settled over the street.
Then the air changed.
A sudden pressure descended upon the surroundings, heavier than anything Vaelorian had experienced before. The shop's flickering light dimmed. Dust lifted from the pavement and hung motionless in the air.
The stranger stopped walking.
His expression changed.
Someone was approaching.
A figure emerged from the darkness.
He wore a long, dark robe, and his face remained hidden beneath its shadow. His footsteps were almost inaudible.
Yet the moment he appeared, the atmosphere became suffocating.
The young man turned.
"Who are you?"
The newcomer didn't answer immediately.
His gaze moved towards the injured Vaelorian, then towards the motionless body beside him.
"Explain."
The young man narrowed his eyes.
"This has nothing to do with you."
A faint vibration passed through the ground.
The newcomer took one step forward.
"That wasn't what I asked."
The young man immediately raised his hand.
A wave of energy erupted towards the newcomer.
It never reached him.
The attack stopped in midair, as though it had struck an invisible wall.
The newcomer's sleeve moved slightly
That was all.
The young man's face lost its colour.
"Impossible..."
The newcomer looked at him.
"Leave."
For a moment, the young man seemed ready to argue.
Then he lowered his hand.
His gaze briefly shifted towards Vaelorian.
"This isn't finished."
The newcomer said nothing.
The young man disappeared.
Vaelorian barely noticed the confrontation.
His entire attention remained fixed on his friend.
"Please... help him."
The newcomer approached.
Vaelorian looked up at him with desperate eyes.
"Please, do something. He was just trying to help me."
The stranger knelt beside the injured young man.
He examined him silently.
Vaelorian watched the stranger's hand hover over the wound. Hope rose inside him, sudden and painful.
Do something.
Please.
He imagined light spilling from those fingers. He imagined his friend's chest rising again. He imagined hearing him complain about the match, about the pass, about anything.
Several seconds passed.
Then the stranger withdrew his hand.
The hope vanished.
Vaelorian understood the answer before the stranger spoke.
"No..."
He shook his head.
"No, no, no. You have to do something."
The stranger remained silent.
"You can stop him. You stopped the attack. So fix this!"
His voice cracked.
"He's my friend!"
Vaelorian grabbed at the stranger's robe, but his fingers slipped. They were still wet with blood.
"Please. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't move. I tried—"
The words collapsed in his throat.
For the first time, his strength had completely abandoned him.
He couldn't fight.
He couldn't protect anyone.
He couldn't even bring himself to accept what had happened.
The newcomer finally spoke.
"Stand back."
Vaelorian looked at him.
"Why?"
"I need to take him."
"Take him where?"
There was no answer.
"Why? Where are you taking him?"
The stranger gently lifted the body.
Vaelorian immediately grabbed his sleeve.
"Wait!"
The stranger stopped. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
"Please. Just tell me where you're taking him."
Vaelorian looked down at his friend, unable to understand how quickly everything had changed. Only moments ago, they had been arguing about football. Now his friend lay silent in a stranger's arms, and Vaelorian could do nothing to bring him back.
"Please," he whispered. "Don't leave him alone."
The silence stretched.
Then the stranger looked down at Vaelorian.
"You shouldn't remain here."
Before Vaelorian could ask another question, the air around them shifted.
The stranger disappeared.
And with him, the body of Vaelorian's closest friend.
Vaelorian's hand remained raised for several seconds, fingers curled around empty air.
Then it fell.
The street was empty again.
A few objects lay scattered near the roadside shop. A damaged light flickered overhead, buzzing faintly. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. A car passed at the end of the road, its headlights sliding across the pavement without slowing.
Vaelorian remained on the ground.
He stared at the place where his friend had been.
His hands were covered in blood.
He slowly looked down at them.
The blood had begun to cool. It tightened across his skin as it dried, darkening beneath his fingernails. He rubbed his thumb against his palm, but the stain only spread.
A few moments earlier, those same hands had been holding his friend's shoulders.
Now there was nothing.
Nothing but the smell.
Nothing but the warmth that was no longer there.
Nothing but the memory of his body striking the ground.
He tried to stand, but his legs trembled. He leaned against the wall and struggled to breathe.
Every breath pulled at his bruised ribs. Every breath reminded him that he was alive.
His phone vibrated.
The sound was small, ordinary, almost absurdly normal.
Vaelorian flinched.
A message from his friend appeared on the screen.
It was an old message, sent earlier that afternoon.
"Don't forget tomorrow. We're playing again. And this time, no excuses."
Vaelorian stared at it.
The words blurred. He blinked, but they remained blurred.
A broken laugh escaped his throat.
"Tomorrow..."
His voice faded.
Tomorrow, he would have answered.
Tomorrow, he would have complained about the pass.
Tomorrow, they would have argued over who had ruined the match.
Tomorrow.
The phone slipped from his hand and struck the pavement.
He slid down against the wall and covered his face.
A sob forced its way out of him. Then another. He pressed his palms against his eyes, but the darkness behind them only filled with images: his friend's smile, his raised hand, the sudden flash of force, the body falling.
Vaelorian had been standing there.
He had watched.
He had done nothing.
For the first time in his life, he wished he could turn back time.
He would have stayed silent.
He would have walked away.
He would have let the stranger insult him, threaten him, frighten him—anything.
Anything but this.
But the past did not answer.
And the night continued.
Far from the deserted street, the mysterious stranger stood inside a dimly lit chamber.
The body rested on a stone platform.
An elderly man approached, his expression serious.
"Who is he?"
The stranger looked at the young man lying before him.
"A casualty."
The elderly man examined the body.
"Why bring him here?"
The stranger remained silent for a moment.
Then he replied:
"Because someone needs to know what happened."
The elderly man's eyes narrowed.
"And the other boy?"
The stranger turned towards the darkness beyond the chamber.
"He has already seen too much."
The room fell silent.
After a while, the elderly man asked another question.
"What will you do with the body?"
The stranger looked down at the motionless figure.
"First, we find out who he was."
Vaelorian finally returned home.
He didn't remember much of the journey.
He couldn't remember how many streets he had crossed or how long he had walked. His shoes were dusty. His shirt was stiff with drying blood. Once, he found himself standing at a crossing with no memory of how he had reached it.
His family noticed something was wrong immediately.
But when they asked what had happened, he couldn't answer.
The words were there, trapped behind his teeth.
He killed him.
I couldn't stop him.
He died because of me.
None of them came out.
He went straight to his room and closed the door.
For a long time, he sat motionless.
The room smelled of old books and laundry detergent. The familiar ceiling fan clicked as it turned. Everything was exactly where he had left it, and that normality felt unbearable.
His notebook lay on the desk.
He opened it, but the words blurred before his eyes.
Eventually, he found a blank page.
His hand trembled as he wrote a single sentence.
I couldn't protect him.
He stared at the words.
Then he added another.
I should have stopped.
The pen slipped from his fingers.
He stared at the two sentences until the ink seemed to bleed into the paper.
Then he closed the notebook.
Outside, the world continued as usual.
People laughed, walked, talked, and lived their ordinary lives.
A motorcycle passed somewhere beyond the window.
Vaelorian froze at the sound.
For one terrible moment, he was back beneath the shop's flickering light, watching his friend fall.
He pressed his hands against his ears.
But the memory remained.
Something inside Vaelorian had changed.
He had spent so much time trying to understand the unknown.
Now he had encountered something far more terrifying than any unanswered question.
His own helplessness.
And beneath it, deeper and heavier, the knowledge that his friend had died trying to save him.