"It's a general knowledge that a hero is life itself, but - Life is a highway of pleasure and unpleasantries, every man is accountable for his own path in the madness of the forsaken world. For no man sees a general set future but the future birthed by their own perspectives, to round it all up - a hero is anyone who sacrifices his own future to accommodate peace and those whom they love - a hero is the standard of what it truly means to be human." Author_Niel...

CHAPTER ONEONWARD

Paul's breath came in ragged gasps, sweat streaking his dirt-stained face. The dual daggers in his trembling hands reflected the flickering glow of flames around him. The air was thick with chaos—screams of anguish, the clash of metal, and the unrelenting roar of fire consumed the battlefield.

With a guttural cry, Paul surged forward, his movements fueled by desperation and rage. Every step brought him closer to the one he loved—Eliana.

-----

The downpour over Taagi was relentless, drumming against rooftops and pooling in the muddy streets. Lightning forked across the sky, illuminating the decrepit town on the eastern outskirts of the Kingdom of Azma. Amid the storm’s fury, a cane lashed against Paul’s frail body, each strike drawing muffled cries from his lips.

"You pathetic wretch!" Jeff’s voice cut through the thunder, hoarse with anger. The young man’s bloodshot eyes burned with contempt as he raised the cane again. "One simple job, Paul. Just one! And you couldn't even manage that."

Paul cowered, attempting to shield himself, but the effort was futile. The cane struck his arm, forcing it away.

From the stairs, a heavy-set man with graying hair and a permanent scowl appeared, his cold eyes narrowing at the scene. "What's going on, Jeff?"

"Told him to fetch some pudding," Jeff sneered, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "Came back empty-handed. Claims some street rats jumped him."

Paul, still on the floor, opened his mouth to explain, but the icy glare his father leveled at him froze the words in his throat.

"What are you looking at, murderer?" Richard spat.

"You heard Pa," Jeff taunted, kicking Paul in the ribs. "On your feet, you worthless runt. And don’t come back without that pudding."

Paul staggered to his feet, his battered body trembling with pain. He shuffled toward the door, his head low, the rain swallowing the sound of his labored breathing.

What did I ever do to deserve this? Paul thought as he stumbled through the muddy streets. My very existence cost my mother her life. That’s all I’ll ever be to them—a constant reminder of what they lost.

A sudden crack of lightning illuminated the streets, and Paul missed a step, crashing into the slush. The taunting echoes of his father and brother’s voices filled his mind.

"Bastard... Runt... Murderer... A stain to the Rachik name."

When Paul opened his eyes, the harsh sunlight burned, forcing him to shield his face. He lay on a rough cot in an unfamiliar room, the scent of herbs and warm broth wafting through the air.

"Poor thing," a soft voice murmured.

Paul blinked, recognizing the kind face of Ma'am Alice as she approached the bed.

"Ma’am Alice," Paul croaked, his body protesting as he shifted. Pain flared through his ribs, forcing a groan from his lips.

"You need to rest, child," Alice said, brushing his tangled hair back. "Two days isn’t enough for those wounds to heal."

Paul bolted upright, his panic overriding the pain. "Two days?!"

Alice nodded. "I found you unconscious in the street. It’s a wonder you’re still alive."

"I need to go," Paul said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He winced, clutching his side. "Pa will kill me if I don’t return."

"Not without the pudding," Alice said gently, handing him a small sack.

Paul’s wide-eyed confusion made her smile. "You talk in your sleep, child. Don’t worry—I’ve got you covered."

Paul took the sack with trembling hands. "Thank you," he murmured, bowing slightly despite the sharp pain it caused.

The rain had stopped by the time Paul reached the bustling streets of Taagi, but the aftermath lingered. Thick mud caked the roads, and the air reeked of sewage and decay. Merchants shouted over the clamor, hawking wares from crooked stalls. Beggars lined the alleys, their gaunt faces a haunting reminder of the town’s desperation.

Paul clutched the sack tightly, his heart pounding as he neared the shadowy alleys known as rat territory.

Street rats—a gang of wayward teenagers notorious for their mischief and cruelty—ruled this part of Taagi. Paul had barely stepped into their domain when he spotted a familiar figure in the distance.

Ducking into a narrow passage, Paul hoped to go unnoticed, but fate had other plans. He rounded a corner and froze. A dead end loomed ahead, three grinning faces blocking his escape.

"Look who we have here," a girl’s voice drawled from behind him. Paul turned slowly to face Lisa, the ringleader of the street rats.

Lisa’s short, unkempt hair framed a sharp face, her dark eyes gleaming with malice. "Thought you could sneak past us, did you?"

Paul’s chest tightened as Lisa twirled a knife in her hand. "You took my lover’s eye," she snarled. "Time to pay up."

The others snickered, stepping closer, knives glinting in the dim light.

Paul's gaze dropped to the sack in his hands, the heat from the pudding searing against his skin. An idea sparked.

With a sudden cry, he swung the sack like a flail, the boiling pudding splattering across the attackers. Screams erupted as the scalding liquid hit their skin.

Paul darted between the writhing figures, his legs pumping as he tore through the maze of alleys. The sound of pursuit faded with each turn until only his ragged breathing remained.

When Paul finally reached home, he was winded. He pushed the door open, expecting his father’s wrath. Instead, Richard pulled him into a rough hug.

"You say a word," Richard whispered, his voice laced with venom, "and you’re dead."

Before Paul could process the strange greeting, a sharp voice rang out. "Get off him, Richard."

Paul’s eyes widened. "Aunt Murrell?"

Murrell’s presence was a balm to his soul. Her arms wrapped around him, and for the first time in years, Paul felt safe.

"You’ll come with me," she whispered. "Find a way to hide in my carriage."

Paul nodded, a fragile ember of hope igniting within him. That night, as the house slept, he climbed out of his window, the tree branches creaking under his weight. He slipped into Murrell’s wagon, his heart racing.

As the wagon lurched forward, Paul pressed himself into the shadows, clutching the sack tightly. For the first time, escape felt possible.