Year 3132, Fourth Era. Human record.
This marks the day the great conflict finally ended, and no one stands above the hero who brought that long world war to its conclusion.
Eighty-one years have passed since a war of such magnitude came to an end that no nation, race, or religion remained neutral. Everyone had an enemy. An objective. A necessity. A reason… or simply hatred.
No race was spared, from the powerful Alfars to the shadowed Ghouls. Even the natural world was not exempt. Dragons and hippogriffs had long been used as beasts of war, but that proved insufficient. New methods were sought. Creatures never before conscripted into battle were forced into it, including the fate suffered by the phoenixes.
Once, they had universally embodied the cycle of life. Sacred and feared in equal measure, whether for their near-divine existence or their immense magical power. That power was exploited in ways so cruel and abhorrent that the beings who once inspired hope and renewal grew distrustful and indifferent toward us… toward mortals, and above all, toward humans.
I could recount everything that happened during that dark era. It is the version the world knows. The one it tells and retells.
My grandfather, Abel Akyane, is the hero who ended the great conflict at only twenty-two years old. How did he do it? Ironically, I do not know the details. Though in the near future, that was going to change.
What I knew then was the same thing the world knew: at nineteen, my grandfather began a campaign to end the war. He set out across the world hunting what were called the “dangerous individuals of the war.” More precisely, they were men and women with overwhelming power, or abilities so singular that they functioned as elite armies of one.
There were one hundred and twenty-one of them, scattered across the globe. Patriotic soldiers. Mercenaries. War criminals. And what were simply labeled “anomalies.” They were the ones turning the wheel of the war. They created a state of deadlock that prevented any nation from surpassing the others and bringing the conflict to an end.
Well… that was until my grandfather decided to act.
I never understood why he never told his children or grandchildren a single story about his time in the war.
My father had given up long before I, his firstborn, was even born. Still, until a couple of years ago, I kept trying. When I was between seven and nine, I insisted the most. That was the age when I begged him, again and again, to tell me just one story from the war.
But every time I finished asking, he would look at me with a cold, serious expression—one I always interpreted as sadness. In the end, he would calm me with one of his postwar stories instead. Like the time he spent three years hunting a dark sorcerer, only to discover the man had already vanished. All he had truly been chasing was an elaborate children’s treasure hunt the sorcerer had left behind for anyone arrogant enough to call themselves his pursuer.
He did that every time. He would give me a different story, just enough to satisfy me, just enough so I would stop pressing him about the war.
I assumed he had seen terrible things. Witnessed cruelty and injustice. Lost people close to him. And while all of that was true… it was not the reason for his silence.
Eighty-one years after the war, my grandfather built a large family with his wife, my grandmother Munkhzul.
Together they had eight children: Juruvu, the eldest; Gier, Sukker, Lianota, Envie, Himo, Hocu, and my father, Huzuni, the youngest. He and my mother, Daimana, had four of us: me, Dante; my brother Noel; my sister Aisha; and my youngest brother, Cain.
I could mention my cousins and their families, but I do not know all of them. I do not remember all of them. And I do not like all of them.
If there is one thing worth noting about the Akyane family, it is our white hair and, just as importantly, our magic—the ability to manipulate time. It is a peculiar power, because it manifests differently in each of us. Not all of us can perform the same spells or techniques. It depends on how much mana we generate and store.
And yet, I have never seen my grandfather use it. Not even once. The same can be said of my father and my uncles. Sometimes I wonder whether they were adopted… or whether he ever truly loved us.
As a child, I watched other grandparents show affection to their grandchildren, spoil them, dote on them. With me, it always felt different. I always had the sense that my grandfather expected something from us—from his children, and from his grandchildren.
Not that he expected us to accomplish something, but that we should possess something.
I suppose I would find out soon enough.
Well… here I am. Just some worn-out man, alone, about to get drunk on a fine bottle of divinifrus liquor. Eleven at night.
No one else is in the bar. Even the bartender left me in charge of the place, taking advantage of the rare occasion when his wife happens to be in a good mood.
Truth be told, I never expected this for myself when I was younger. Every time I come here to drink, I see my reflection in the mirror across from me, the one the bartender keeps behind the counter where he usually hangs the glasses.
That’s me. A twenty-three-year-old disappointment to his father, his grandfather, and his siblings.
Now that I look at it more closely, my hair almost seems to be turning gray. Is my health getting worse? And my clothes… the only thing separating me from a vagrant is the fact that they do not have holes in them.
— Ahhhf… — I let out a long sigh. — You’re probably wondering why I’m here. Well, I’ll tell you.
Three days ago, my grandfather died. He lasted a full century in this world. The world mourned. The skies darkened. Every channel broadcast the grief.
But that was not the worst of it.
After the funeral, when his will was read, I realized just how many people were there. And I do not mean my family. Ninety percent of them attended. I mean truly important individuals. Not just those who came to pay their respects, but those who came to organize themselves.
At the center of that political and military circle stood Agnar Ulla. A tall man with a handsome face, complemented by a neatly trimmed beard. His presence was always impeccable, reinforced by his carefully styled black hair brushed slightly back. His fair skin only made the whole image sharper.
The most distinguished and accomplished captain of the Mongol Special Forces, my country’s elite unit, he carried an air of flawless professionalism. Always alert, as disciplined as a Pegasus. He wore his officer’s uniform adorned with decorations and medals that caught the light of our star and shone almost blindingly.
Before the notary arrived, Agnar could be seen whispering intensely with several apparently important alfars, dvergars, and yokais. He was so absorbed in those conversations that I found no moment to greet him. To me, he was like an eighth uncle.
Beyond his rank and public stature, he was my father’s closest friend and, as some would say, my grandfather’s unofficial ninth son. For most of my family, Agnar was family.
As the guests murmured among themselves in small groups, the sound of the door opening cut through the room like a command to fall silent.
The notary had arrived. Without drawing attention, he walked to his desk, set his briefcase down, and rested his hands upon it with care. There was firmness in the gesture, as if he were restraining something dangerous yet fragile inside, something that might attempt to escape.
— Ladies and gentlemen— The notary began speaking.
— My apologies for the delay. Mr. Abel’s will was kept under lock and key. However, what will be revealed today must not leave this room.
I could not see the others. I was seated among those at the front. But I can tell you this: it was the coldest chill I have ever felt in my life.
What was about to happen? What could possibly be so important, so significant, that it might harm the public at large? And how terrible was this secret, that it had to be guarded so carefully?
At one brief pause in the notary’s speech, Agnar stepped forward with measured caution, positioning himself before everyone present. It was obvious that for him, none of this would be a surprise.
The notary lifted his hands from the briefcase, placed his fingers on the clasps, and finally opened it.
From inside, he removed a book, a cylindrical case like those used to store architectural blueprints, and an envelope.
The first two were set aside under Agnar’s watch. The notary took a letter opener from the inner pocket of his suit and slit the envelope open. He put on his glasses, adjusted the pages, and began to read.
My dear family, good friends, blessed world, forgive me.
History records that I defeated the “dangerous individuals of the war” over the course of three years and ended the great conflict by eliminating those powerful living weapons forever. However, there is a lie within that statement. The lie is the word forever.
As many of my family and certain informed individuals know, my descendants and I possess the ability to manipulate time in specific ways. In my case, my power can best be described as sealing, imprisoning, or freezing. That is how I defeated those individuals. I did not destroy them. I sealed them in time so that they could no longer harm anyone.
And why did I do it that way? Because I had no other choice.
My children, I am treated as a hero, as a powerful and extraordinary man. That is not the truth. I am not faster, stronger, or more intelligent than the average person. If my plans succeeded, it was because they were not mine alone. If I was fortunate, it was because I was not alone.
The true heroes were those who guided me during those terrible years of war and gave their lives so that I might succeed. I am nothing more than a weapon others chose to wield. I have lived with that knowledge, and even taken pride in it. Yet everything has a limit, and so does my magic.
If a prison is left without a warden, eventually its prisoners will escape.
The day I die, my magic will lose its effect. The prisoners will not be freed all at once. They will awaken periodically, in the same order in which I captured them.
If you wonder why I never revealed this truth to any member of my family except my beloved wife, it is because I hoped that one of you would inherit my ability and maintain the prison. That it would pass from one generation to the next. Or at the very least, that the armies of the future would become capable of destroying them permanently.
None of you inherited it. That leaves only one path: to fight them.
I reveal this truth through my will because I owe it to you, especially to my beloved children. I never wanted you to feel the need to earn my pride. You have always had it. I did not want you to carry a responsibility that was mine alone.
Had any of you inherited my ability, I might have considered passing this burden on. Fortunately and unfortunately, that was not the case.
All you ever gave me was happiness. I regret not sharing more of it with you. My curse was that I continued to live in the past.
I love you.
Abel Akyane.
I will not go into detail about what happened after we learned the contents of the letter. In short, we were left in absolute silence, so complete that even the sound of breathing filled the room.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Then came the questions. From everyone.
Agnar answered as many as he could. The ones he could not, he eased with promises of containment strategies, tracking operations, and eventual elimination.
According to him:
— I understand this is a delicate situation. My reaction was no better than yours when I first learned the truth.
For the past ten years, my predecessor invested time studying the targets. With the information he entrusted to me, I have been able to design specific countermeasures for each prisoner.
I want you to know that I trust my men completely. They have been specially trained to confront these targets. We have also cooperated with the forces of other nations that find themselves in the same position.
Of course, someone was bound to ask the next question.
— Why was all of this kept secret?
It was the álfar ambassador who spoke.
Agnar hesitated slightly before answering.
— Personally, I would have preferred to reveal the truth to the world long ago. But the decision was not mine. At the time it was made, I did not yet exist.
The reasoning behind concealing this information was simple: to allow the world to move toward a better future. To erase the fear and fanaticism these individuals once inspired.
It was like breaking the chains of a slave who longed for freedom.
Not all of the prisoners were mere soldiers or mercenaries. Many were tyrants. Beings comparable to natural disasters. Living nightmares that terrorized hundreds of cities.
It was believed that if their victims or followers knew they would one day return, they would refuse to cooperate in building a better world.
— Very well. I understand.
The álfar fell silent.
But then the dvergar spoke.
— Why not grant him immortality so the seal would last forever?
Agnar’s reply was immediate.
— Allow me to remind you, Mr. Fernir, that for humans and much of the world, immortality was outlawed centuries ago. It has a tendency to drive mortals insane. More than that, it is, in every sense, one of the worst curses imaginable.
However, that idea had already been proposed by Abel himself long ago, and it had been rejected. What was implemented instead was the strict preservation of his health, ensuring that his life would be as long as possible. That, at least, was achieved.
And if you are wondering whether sealing him as well might have worked, I am afraid it would have broken the spell the moment it was cast.
— Very well. I understand.
Fernir said nothing more.
That was the last important part of the meeting, at least in my opinion. Once it ended, everyone quickly left to attend to their own matters. I did not have the chance to speak with anyone. I could have spoken to my father, but our relationship is not a good one, so I chose to ignore him and left.
When I reached the corner of the block, I stopped abruptly at the edge of the sidewalk as a truck sped past at full speed. I waited for the traffic light to turn red, crossed the street, and continued toward my house.
The following day, I found myself in the park I usually visit when I need a break from my pathetic life.
It was a cold day, though no snowfall was expected. I usually sit on the bench near the center of the park. From there, I watch people walking by, some happily, others in a hurry. Children run and laugh with their friends. Young couples pass through. Elderly couples as well.
Though it may seem like an ordinary day, this is the dream my grandfather fought for. Now I understand better why the truth about the seal was kept hidden.
As I looked to my left at the fountain in the center of the park, I felt a hand rest gently on my right shoulder.
When I turned, I saw my dear friend since adolescence.
Nair.
Nair is Agnar’s Darughachi, part of the Special Forces. We met in surguuli, secondary school. I was, and still am, just an ordinary guy if you remove the whole “grandson of a hero” and time-magic business.
She, on the other hand, was one of the best students in school. Intelligent, athletic, ambitious, and beautiful. Her hair is a shade of orange, worn loose and cut short at the nape of her neck. She has crimson eyes that stand out against her pale skin, freckles gathered at the center of her face, and she always carries a smile that blends optimism with humility.
How did we become friends?
Well, Nair happened to be a great admirer of my grandfather. One day she found out that one of his grandsons was in her class. She did not waste time. She used her charm and her beauty to get close to me.
And of course, I was young, stupid, and deep in puberty. A beautiful girl paid attention to me, so I fell for it completely.
Still, I was not so foolish that I failed to notice, after a couple of weeks, that what she truly wanted was to meet my grandfather through me. I knew it was too good to be true.
The hardest part was realizing that she was not really to blame. I was. I should have known this was how things usually went.
It was not the first time.
As a child, I thought I was popular. I thought I had many friends. But it was all because of my grandfather’s fame. And of course, things like that never last.
Yet after the farce faded, we actually got to know each other. It turned out that spending time together was genuinely enjoyable.
After graduation, she enlisted in the army. She worked relentlessly to earn recognition from her superiors and was eventually sent to officer training. From there, Agnar noticed her and brought her into his Special Forces unit.
— So you’ve heard already
Nair said.
— Yeah. Did you know?
— Only for about two months. We’ve been training for the situation for six.
— So you’re ready to receive the first one?
— I won’t be part of the team handling the first. My assignment is scheduled for about a month later. Agnar and his unit will be the ones welcoming him tonight.
— And who’s the first?
I asked.
— A man named Ash. A mercenary leader who burned everything in his path. He has immense destructive fire power. Against him, I’m practically useless. Agnar, on the other hand, is ideal. Tomorrow they’ll begin evacuating the area and preparing the ground. You’ll have to evacuate too.
I sighed.
— I guess. After my weekly visit to the bar.
— You need to quit drinking. You know it’s not good for you. I’m not saying you’re an alcoholic, but you’re not exactly heading in a better direction either. I could ask Agnar to give you a job. Considering who you are, I doubt he’d refuse. Besides, it would be more interesting having you around. I could even introduce you to a few friends who are looking for a boyfriend.
She said that as she sat down beside me. I looked at her calmly and stayed silent for a few seconds. She met my gaze with a faint, teasing smile.
— You know I couldn’t work for the army. It would only cause problems for Agnar. And let’s be honest, no woman in the world would consider me a good option.
— Agg… caac… aggggg
Nair suddenly began coughing, gesturing as if something were stuck in her throat.
— What’s wrong? Are you okay?
I asked, concerned.
— Your… your… your negativity is just too much. Blaaagh, it’s disgusting.
— You’re an idiot.
— And you’re a failure. Stop wallowing and start living in the present.
— I don’t know what you mean by that.
Nair fell silent. She looked at me with a dry, analytical expression, as if she were trying to solve one of those math problems from her school days. The kind where you know all the necessary formulas, but the information is so scattered that just looking at the equations makes you feel tired and irritated by how much work lies ahead.
— Well, it’s your life. You’re an adult. I’m sure you’ll figure it out someday. Changing the subject, I need those manga back that I lent you. My boyfriend started reading the series and he’s desperate to know what happens next. He’s even being overly careful not to get spoiled beyond where he is.
— Fine. I’ll give them back the day after tomorrow, once this whole operation thing is over. Should I stop by your place?
I asked.
We said our goodbyes, and I went straight home.
When I got there, it was time for my daily routine. I hung my jacket on the rack, let out a long sigh of exhaustion, went to the kitchen, prepared instant noodles, and sat down to eat while browsing the internet. After that, I went to the bathroom, took care of my needs, and went to sleep. End of the day.
I am not someone who wakes up easily, so I position my bed in a way that the sunlight hits my face as directly as possible.
And since that is not enough, especially in winter when the sun does not rise at the same hour every day, I leave my phone far from my reach and set the most horrible alarm sound I could find, forcing myself to get out of bed just to silence that auditory torture.
Once I’m awake, I head to the bathroom and endure a few seconds staring at the loser in the mirror, the one with the dullest eyes anyone in my family could possibly have.
After doing what little I can to fix my pathetic human existence, I prepare my cheap breakfast: a slice of toast with a hard-boiled egg and a cup of coffee. Then I leave for work.
I’m a waiter. I work at a modest café on the corner of a block near a busy plaza. And honestly, I like it. I’m not bad at it. My coworkers appreciate me, and I’ve never dropped a tray. Maybe that’s thanks to the agility I developed during my combat classes when I was younger.
The morning goes by as usual. It’s one day before the weekend, though of course the afternoon will be different because of the evacuation.
Still, that doesn’t change the nature of my routine.
At least, not until about an hour later.
Just as my break ends and I step out of the restroom, I notice some noise outside on the street. I return to the tables to continue working, and there, by the windows, at the third table from the entrance, sits Agnar. He’s looking out the window, calmly enjoying himself.
Like a man with all the time in the world.
He turns, looks at me, and raises his hand to signal for service.
— Good morning
— What are you doing here?
I ask, surprised but keeping my voice steady.
— Nothing in particular. I had some time and decided to stop by for a drink
he replies, while I glance through the window from where I stand.
Out on the street, right in the middle of the intersection, an aerial transport vehicle is parked, causing a traffic jam. In front of it stands who appears to be Captain Pul, though I only see him from behind. I recognize him by his size alone. He’s a solid man, and his temperament rivals steel in hardness.
At that moment, what appeared to be an angry driver in an office suit was shouting furiously at the Shikhikhud, gesturing wildly with his hands. He made the mistake of pressing a finger against Pul’s chest. And if there is one thing I learned about Pul, it is that you never disrespect him like that.
An instant later, after that almost fatal gesture, Pul’s massive arm shot forward. He grabbed the poor office worker by the throat and lifted him off the ground. The man’s feet dangled at least forty centimeters in the air. He flailed uselessly, his face turning red as he struggled to breathe.
That was when Agnar spoke again, pulling my attention away from a scene whose ending I never got to witness.
— Don’t worry about what’s happening outside. Pul has it under control. I’ll get straight to the point. Abuse of authority has its limits. Nair told me to speak with you about job opportunities, and I believe you would fit well in the field. The salary would be more than respectable. You’d have a sense of purpose. And there are plenty of women looking for a boyfriend.
— Za, what’s going on lately? Do I really look that desperate? That pathetic? Ah… I get it. This is Aisha’s doing, isn’t it? She’s the one who started all this talk about me getting a girlfriend and fixing my life. Well, I’m not interested. It’s not for me. End of story.
— Very well. No problem. Then I’ll see you Monday at six?
— Wait. I’m not joining the army.
— Why not? You’re worth more than this. You’re not a prodigy, but you handle yourself well in combat. You’re one of the few I’ve seen who can actually give Nair a hard time.
— It’s not what you think. It’s just luck.
— That works. Luck is one of my favorite weapons
he said with a hint of enthusiasm.
— It’s nothing special. In the end, it runs out.
— Just like bullets in a gun, a mage’s mana, or fuel in a vehicle. So what are you afraid of? What’s holding you back? You know me. You have friends on the team. You’re Abel’s grandson. And you settle for this.
— It’s still a decent job. And I want a peaceful, simple life. Isn’t that why my grandfather did what he did?
Agnar stood from his chair. He looked at me with clear frustration.
— You’re not wrong about that. But this idea of wanting a peaceful, simple life… that’s a lie. Well. You still have things to sort out. I suppose when you do, we can talk again under better circumstances. The good thing about your family is that time is on your side.
He tends to enjoy wordplay when referring to our ability.
He said goodbye, left the café, climbed into his vehicle, and drove off, clearing the impatient traffic his visit had caused.
Once he was gone, my boss approached me.
— Did you kill someone?
— No. Just a family matter.
— Good. Then let’s get back to work
my boss said.
With the afternoon coming to an end and the evacuation approaching, we began preparing to close. We cleaned, organized, and shut everything down earlier than usual.
I said goodbye to my coworkers and headed toward the bar for my weekly drink. As I walked, I noticed how unusually dark and quiet the night felt.
Now that I thought about it, the bar shouldn’t even be open.
But it’s not like I could die, so I decided to check anyway.
When I arrived, to my surprise and relief, it was open. I stepped inside, and there was old Alfred behind the counter.
— Dante. How are you? Shouldn’t you have evacuated?
— Are you seriously asking me that? You’re open like it’s any other night.
— My wife didn’t want to leave, so I didn’t have much of a choice.
— I suppose your hands are tied. No way around it. Give me the usual.
— Here you go. Enjoy.
— Ah… I’ve waited all week for this.
I took the first sip.
— Mmm… glorious.
Alfred snorted softly.
— You’ve got all the right habits to end up a proper alcoholic. Look at you. Miserable, alone, stuck in the past. Get yourself a girlfriend.
— Za. Has my sister been here or something?
— Not that I know of. But believe me, love changes your life.
— I left that wish behind. Besides, the only one I care about already has a boyfriend.
— There’s always an opportunity. You wait, you watch, and the moment there’s an opening, you strike. Trust me, love and war go hand in hand. You can’t stop trying. And if you ever do give up, well… there are plenty of fish in the sea.
— Yeah. But none like her.
— That’s what they all say.
We kept talking about trivial things for about an hour, until Alfred’s phone began to ring.
It must have been a message, because he simply looked down at the screen. His eyebrows lifted in surprise. Then I saw the hint of a pleased smile form on his face. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and looked at me.
— You know, my wife just texted me. Seems she requires my company. I’ll have to close. You’re the only one here anyway.
— Oh, does it have to be now? At least let me finish my bottle.
I was only halfway through.
Alfred looked at the bottle. Then at me. Then back at his phone, still in his hand. He repeated the cycle once more, taking slightly longer than the first time.
He finally put the phone away.
— We’ve known each other for years. And since no one else is coming in tonight, I’ll let you stay until you finish it. I’ll leave you the keys. You close up, alright?
Honestly, it might be the most brilliant decision ever made in this bar.
So I agreed.
A few minutes later, he was gone, and I continued with my drink.
And that’s how we arrive at the present.
Ten minutes later, the door opened.
I turned, assuming the old man had come back because he had forgotten something or changed his mind. I was surprised when I saw it wasn’t Alfred.
It was someone else.
A man.
The first thing I noticed was his coat. I couldn’t quite make out the color. It looked black. He seemed young, probably around my age, though more solidly built. He had black hair and was staring at me, though not quite making direct eye contact.
— Are you the only one here?
— Yeah. The owner told me to close once I finish my bottle. So I’m sorry, but it wouldn’t be right for me to serve you.
— Oh, don’t worry. I don’t drink. I’m just passing through. Everything outside is closed, and to be honest, I’m a little lost. It’s been a long time since I’ve been around here, so I thought I’d gather some information. A bar is usually a good place for that.
— Ah, you’re not from around here? Well, you should know the military carried out an evacuation today.
I turned back to continue drinking.
— Is that so?
he replied.
— I suppose I’ll stay a few minutes, then. Just to see whether it’s safe to go out.
He took two steps forward and stopped. Slowly, he turned his head from right to left, scanning the room, until his gaze settled directly on me.
— Tell me. Do you dye your hair?
— What? No. It’s… it’s natural. I was born with it. Everyone in my family has the same color. Though lately I think mine’s getting darker. I guess I haven’t been in great shape recently.
As I kept rambling about my hair, the man interrupted me.
— Have I seen you somewhere before?
— Well, my grandfather is famous. You might know him. Abel Akyane
I replied.
— Ah. Yes. I heard about him recently.
The next thing that happened came the instant he finished that sentence.
I felt something hard press against the back of my head.
Then I heard it.
The sharp, unmistakable sound of a trigger being pulled.
What do you think of Dante?
