Everything seemed calm in the small countryside—where the air was cool, the wind smelled faintly of grass and lakewater, and the only sounds were the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. The moon hung low in the sky, brushing the lake’s surface with streaks of silver and deep blue. Near the edge of the lake, a small wooden house stood quietly among the reeds, its chimney still faintly smoking from a recent fire. The scent of damp soil mixed with firewood lingered in the air.

You could hear the gentle ripple of water against the stones as you followed the dirt path leading down to the shore. Fireflies flickered beside it, glowing softly against the cool night air.

That’s when you saw him— Gempa.

He sat by the lake, knees pulled to his chest, his once regal attire now torn and dirt-stained. His shoulders trembled slightly, whether from cold or grief, you couldn’t tell. His reflection in the water looked pale, hollow, like a ghost of someone who had lost everything.

The Quabaq Kingdom had fallen. Burned by its own people, betrayed by those it once protected. The royal palace—now nothing more than ruins and ash. All his family... gone. Executed in the name of rebellion.

And he was the only one left.

The faint glimmer of the lake’s surface reflected the dim light of the moon, catching the silver strands in his disheveled hair. You took a hesitant step closer, the soft crunch of gravel under your shoes breaking the silence.

He didn’t look up. But his voice—low, edged with exhaustion—cut through the air.

“Leave me alone,” he muttered, his voice was hoarse but still sounded soft, as he had been crying for hours and simply run out of tears.

The breeze rippled through the reeds again, carrying his broken voice away, leaving behind only the sound of the lake lapping against the shore.