Zaydan's screams tore through the night, yet no one heard them.
No one shared his pain.
No one comforted him.
No one could bring his mother back.
He didn't stop until his eyes ran dry from crying, until his hands bled from digging the grave, until it felt as though the tears he poured into the soil had seeped into his bones.
At last, when he laid his mother to rest, a heavy weight settled in his chest.
And when he turned his back on the grave, Zaydan was no longer the same.
---
Three days later.
He saw the man waiting for him at the tavern door.
The same grin was on his face.
Zaydan was resolute. That night, his life had been ended by a sword that did not belong to him. If there was no justice in the world, then he would create his own.
The man handed him a piece of paper without speaking. There was no need for words.
Zaydan took it with steady hands.
He read it.
Memorized it.
And that night, he carried out his first assassination.
There was no turning back anymore.
---
A year passed.
Zaydan had become the man's finest assassin.
But the years had not changed him.
He still lived in the same house.
He still tried to forget himself with alcohol every night.
He still carried the weight of a grave in his conscience.
But he no longer feared death.
One night, as he entered the tavern as usual, the man was waiting for him.
Zaydan knew he would receive a new job. But this time, the smile on the man's face was different.
The man silently handed him another paper.
"Forget all the assassinations you've done so far," he said. "This is something entirely different. If you succeed, you'll earn 10,000 gold."
Zaydan unfolded the paper.
Target: Dante.
Location: The Island City.
He lifted his eyes from the page. The man nodded.
"The one who sent you wants him dead. Very badly."
Zaydan folded the paper and put it in his pocket.
He said he would finish the job within a week.
And that night, he set out on a new journey.
As Zaydan's footsteps echoed across the wet wooden deck, the ship finally reached the shores of the island city.
The salty wind from the sea, the harbor lit by torches, the chaotic order of the city—this was a place where a hunter could disappear, erase his tracks.
But Zaydan hadn't come to disappear.
He had come to hunt.
His first objective: find Dante's trail.
---
As he wandered through the city, he couldn't find anyone in the alleys whispering the name of a white-haired man.
The people were too quiet.
It was known that Dante was here.
But no one wanted to talk about him.
While drinking at an inn, he approached a dirty-bearded man sitting in the corner.
"Do you know Dante?"
The man looked up in surprise.
He was silent for a second.
"No," he said, then quickly turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Zaydan smiled.
The man was afraid.
And a frightened man always knew something.
---
Ten minutes later, Zaydan cornered him in a narrow alley.
The man tried to run, but when Zaydan's hand clamped down hard on the back of his neck, he realized there was nowhere left to escape.
Zaydan shoved him against the wall, shadowed his face, and pressed a dagger to his throat.
"Do you know Dante?"
The man trembled.
His eyes darted around.
"I—I don't," he stammered.
Zaydan shook his head and pressed the dagger closer.
"Then why did you run when I first asked?"
The man swallowed.
"I don't know," he said.
Wrong answer.
Zaydan let him feel the cold steel inch closer to his throat.
The man's breathing quickened.
"Alright! I know him!" he shouted.
Zaydan narrowed his eyes.
"Do you know where he is?"
The man tried to brush it off by saying he was already on the island.
Wrong move.
Zaydan shook his head.
"I already know that. Tell me where he lives."
The man's hands were trembling.
"In the forest," he muttered. "He has a shabby cabin."
Zaydan nodded.
"Good."
He pulled out a rope from his belt, tightly bound the man's wrists, and forced him to his knees.
"Don't move," he said coldly.
Then, without looking back, he set off toward the forest.