The Kingdom of Aerith was once known as the brightest kingdom among the three great nations.
Its people lived peaceful lives behind enormous white walls that had protected them for generations.
Merchants filled the streets from morning until night, children laughed freely without fear, and every festival painted the capital in gold and light.
But peace was a fragile thing.
And all fragile things eventually broke.
Now the kingdom stood on the edge of ruin.
The streets that were once full of life had become silent.
Homes had burned to ashes.
The castle walls were stained black from war, and the smell of blood lingered in the cold night air like a curse that refused to disappear.
And according to everyone…
One man was responsible for all of it.
John Valerian.
The king’s only son.
The crown prince of Aerith.
Tonight, he would die.
Heavy rain poured from the dark sky as if even the heavens mourned the kingdom’s end.
Thousands of citizens had gathered before the execution platform in the center of the capital.
Their faces were filled with hatred.
Some cried.
Some cursed him.
Others simply watched in silence, waiting for the moment the blade would fall.
“Traitor!”
“You destroyed us!”
“Murderer!”
Their screams echoed endlessly through the storm.
John stood in the middle of the platform with chains wrapped tightly around his wrists and neck.
His royal clothes were torn and stained with blood.
Several bruises covered his face, but he no longer cared.
He was too tired to care.
His black hair stuck to his face from the rain as he slowly lifted his eyes toward the crowd.
Not long ago, these same people had once cheered his name.
Now they wanted to watch him die.
A weak laugh escaped his lips.
At the very front of the platform stood the king himself.
King Alexander Valerian.
The ruler of Aerith.
John’s father.
In his hands rested the royal execution sword, a blade passed down through generations of kings.
It was said that the sword was only used when a sinner beyond forgiveness had to be judged.
Tonight…
It would be used on the king’s own son.
The king looked older than John remembered.
His eyes were heavy, filled with exhaustion and grief.
Even his posture seemed weaker, as though the kingdom’s destruction had crushed the life out of him.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Only the sound of rain filled the silence between father and son.
Then the king finally stepped forward.
The crowd became quiet.
John slowly lowered his head.
“So this is how it ends,” he muttered bitterly.
The king tightened his grip around the sword.
“Why…” his father whispered.
John looked up slightly.
The king’s voice trembled.
“Why did it all end like this?”
For the first time that night, John’s expression changed.
Pain flashed across his eyes.
Not because of his death.
But because of regret.
If only…
If only he had never gone to meet her that day.
The princess.
The girl whose smile had changed everything.
The girl who had pulled him into a nightmare disguised as fate.
John slowly closed his eyes as memories flashed through his mind.
The first meeting.
The secret conversations.
The lies.
The war.
The betrayal.
The screams.
Mountains of corpses.
The burning capital.
And those horrifying shadows hidden behind the war from the very beginning.
No…
This was never just about kingdoms.
Something far worse had been moving in the darkness.
Something none of them understood until it was too late.
John suddenly began laughing quietly.
The sound sent chills through the crowd.
The king frowned painfully.
“What is so funny?”
John lifted his head and stared directly at his father.
Rain dripped down his pale face like tears.
“You still don’t understand,” he said softly.
The king’s expression hardened.
“Understand what?”
John’s smile slowly disappeared.
“That none of this started because of me.”
Thunder roared across the sky.
For a brief moment, the entire world seemed to shake.
Then John saw it again.
That thing.
Standing behind the crowd.
Tall.
Thin.
Its body unnaturally twisted.
Two glowing eyes stared directly at him from the darkness beneath a hooded cloak.
And it was smiling.
John’s breathing stopped.
No one else reacted.
No one else could see it.
The creature slowly lifted one long finger and pointed toward him.
A whisper echoed inside John’s head.
“You failed again.”
John’s eyes widened in horror.
Again?
Before he could think further, the king raised the sword.
The execution platform became silent.
Even the rain felt quieter.
The king’s eyes were red with grief.
“Any final words?”
John stared at the dark sky above him.
At that moment, he realized something terrifying.
Even after his death…
This nightmare would not end.
Slowly, he looked toward the king one last time.
“You must never trust the eastern kingdom,” John whispered weakly.
The king’s eyes widened slightly.
“And whatever happens…”
John’s voice cracked.
“Don’t let me meet the princess.”
Before the king could respond—
The sword fell.
Everything went black.
…
Cold darkness swallowed him whole.
John could not breathe.
Could not move.
Could not feel his body.
Only endless darkness surrounded him.
Then the whispers began.
Hundreds of voices.
Maybe thousands.
Some crying.
Some laughing.
Some screaming in agony.
“You failed.”
“The kingdom falls.”
“Again.”
“Again.”
“Again.”
John covered his ears, but the voices only became louder.
Suddenly—
A warm voice pierced through the darkness.
“Wake up, son.”
John’s eyes snapped open.
He inhaled sharply and sat up in bed, gasping for air as though he had just escaped drowning.
His entire body trembled violently.
The room was bright.
Sunlight entered softly through the windows.
Birds chirped outside.
John froze.
No…
His breathing became uneven.
This room…
He knew this room.
Slowly, he looked around.
The bookshelves.
The fireplace.
The royal curtains.
His bedroom inside the palace.
Impossible.
A knock came from the door.
John flinched in fear.
A young servant entered while carrying a breakfast tray.
“Good morning, Young Master John.”
She smiled gently before placing the tray on the table.
John stared at her in complete shock.
His face turned pale instantly.
“She’s alive…” he whispered.
The servant looked confused.
“My lord?”
But John could barely hear her.
He remembered her death clearly.
She had been killed during the palace massacre two years ago.
Yet here she stood perfectly alive.
The servant bowed politely before leaving the room.
The moment the door closed, John stumbled out of bed.
“No… no… no…”
His heartbeat pounded violently inside his chest.
He rushed toward the bathroom and grabbed the sink tightly before looking into the mirror.
The reflection staring back at him was younger.
Much younger.
No scars.
No exhausted eyes.
No signs of war.
Only the face of a twenty-two-year-old prince.
John touched his own face with trembling hands.
This was impossible.
He looked exactly like he did three years ago.
Then suddenly—
His eyes widened in horror.
Because he remembered something.
Today was the day he would first meet the princess.
And if history repeated itself…
Everything would begin again.