William walked in the woods, the blood still dripping from his clothes and his sword, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything anymore. The moon was watching him silently, as if he were a witness to every crime he committed.
His footsteps echoed among the trees, and every time he stepped on the land leaves, the sound was like a muffled scream. The wind carried with it the smell of blood that stuck to him, and he could not distinguish whether that smell came from his body, or it became part of it.
He paused for a moment, turning his head back, as if expecting something to follow him. But there was nothing but darkness. He took a deep breath, then continued on his way, but a weak voice broke through stillness.
Moaning...
He quickly turned around, his grip tightening on his sword, his red eyes glowing in the dark. The sound was coming from behind a huge tree, so it slowly approached, wary of a potential trap. When he looked behind her, he found an injured man, his body full of wounds, and his face as pale as the dead. He was one of the three I accidentally rescued.
The man raised his terrified eyes to William, his body trembling, but he couldn't back down. The pain was restraining him to the ground. He opened his mouth with difficulty, as if every word was a battle in itself.
"L... why?"
William did not respond. He didn't need to talk. He looked at him coldly, as if he was looking at something unlive.
"Why did you kill them?" The man continued, although his voice was weak.
William looked at the tattoo engraved on the shoulder of one of the bodies, then said in a low voice but carried the weight of the mountains:
"They were among them."
The memories returned to him like a sword blow to his chest. The mountain is covered by blood. His family's cries fade amidst the storm. Frozen bodies whose owners no longer feel cold.
He closed his eyes for a second, but he didn't even find comfort in the dark.
When he opened it again, the injured man was still staring at him, but he was no longer shaking. Maybe he realised that death was inevitable, or maybe he felt something different in William's eyes.
"Are you going to kill me too?" The man asked.
William did not respond. He could have finished it now, with one blow. But he didn't feel the need. This man did not carry a tattoo, he was not one of them.
William turned around and continued his way.
"Why do you live?" He heard the man say, which made him stop.
He remained silent for a moment, then resumed walking without answering.
The illusion of survival
William left the forest at dawn, heading for lands he didn't know. He had no place to belong, and there was nothing that connected him to the world except his sword and the blood that stained him.
He reached a river, stopped at his bank, and bent down to see the reflection of his face. A man with white hair like old people, red eyes as if they were burned in hell, and a face without features. He no longer remembers the last time he saw his face without blood.
He took a handful of water, washed his hands, but the red colour did not completely disappear. Even if he cleanses his skin, the blood stuck to his soul.
He sat on the bank of the river, and took a deep breath. Remember the words he heard last night: Why do you live?
A simple question, but the answer was not.
Ten years ago, he had a clear answer: revenge. He lived to kill them all, one by one. But now, having shed all this blood, he wasn't sure if that was the real reason for his survival.
He grabbed the sword, looked at its blade, it was reflective like water, but it was not clean.
He heard footsteps behind him. He didn't need to pay attention to realise that someone was approaching. He was used to feeling danger, and he became able to distinguish him as man distinguished the smell of fire.
He stood quietly, and turned slowly.
There was a group of men, perhaps five or six, carrying shabby weapons, and their eyes were full of greed.
"You, give me your weapon and everything you have." Someone said in a voice full of vanity.
William stared at them without expression. They weren't a real threat, but he wasn't in the mood to fight.
"Didn't you hear me?" The man said, raising his dagger.
William could have finished them in an instant, but he felt exhausted. The fighting was meaningless, and death was meaningless.
But when someone came forward, he saw a tattoo on his hand.
His body froze for a moment, then tightened his grip on the sword.
Once again, the blood returned to fill the air. Short screams followed by falling bodies.
When it was all over, William stood in the centre of the bodies, with blood covering him again.
He looked at the sky, then whispered to himself:
"Why does this never end?"
Then he continued his way, without looking behind him.
The end of the second semester