Kairo's legs finally gave out. He collapsed hard onto the jagged mountain path, coughing up a mouthful of bright red blood that splattered across the dirt.
"I'm sorry, Father…" he rasped, voice weak and trembling. "I can't… I can't go on…"
His vision blurred completely. The world tilted violently, then went black as he fell fully unconscious.
The King of Arrogance wallowed in the dirt, a mangled, boneless mass of broken pride. He choked on his own blood, the vibrant, stolen magic leaking from his shattered body like cheap wine.
King Ariston stood over him, his chest heaving with a controlled, masculine rage. He didn't look like a man who had just fought a war; he looked like judgment itself. He calmly wiped the rogue king's blood from his blade, his eyes cold as flint.
"HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO MY SON!"
King Ariston's eyes burned with primal rage, his massive frame trembling with barely contained wrath. The enemy King of Arrogance, who had been watching the boy's collapse with a smug grin, suddenly realized his mistake. His face paled. He scrambled to his feet and bolted, abandoning his shattered army in a desperate attempt to save his own life.
But King Ariston was faster.
With a swift, merciless swing of his greatsword, Ariston severed both of the fleeing king's legs in one brutal stroke. The arrogant ruler crashed to the ground, screaming in agony.
"I hate cowards," Ariston growled, his deep, masculine voice laced with contempt.
"You should have used that twisted mind of yours. If my young prince is already this strong… how strong do you think the King is?"
The fallen king writhed in the dirt, blood pooling beneath him.
"P-Please! Spare me! I'll give you gold! I found new magic — I became rich in a single month and grew powerful beyond measure! I'll reveal it to you! Just give me a low-ranking soldier as tribute — anything! Just spare my life!"
Ariston's expression darkened further. With another casual flick of his blade, he took the man's remaining leg.
"Now Now big boy this is for torturing my son."
Holding back just enough of his overwhelming strength, King Ariston unleashed a savage barrage of punches. Each blow landed with calculated precision, shattering bones one after another. The arrogant king's screams turned into wet, broken gurgles as defeat consumed him.
But while Ariston was distracted by his vengeance, a familiar presence slithered through the shadows.
The mysterious figure — the same hooded tormentor from Kairo's nightmares — materialized beside the unconscious boy. In one fluid motion, it scooped Kairo up.Leonhart, who had lunged forward to intercept, suddenly froze as dark energy coiled around him. He too fell into the trap.
Before anyone could react, the shadowy entity vanished, taking both Kairo and Leonhart with it.
Moments later, Duke Lionhart's subordinate came galloping toward King Ariston on a warhorse, face initially triumphant.
"My King! We've achieved total victory—"
His words died in his throat as he saw the scene. The shadow's departure, the missing prince, and the captured duke. Shock flashed across his face, but he quickly composed himself.
He dismounted and approached King Ariston with a firm, masculine tone.
"Do not worry, my King. Our Kairo single-handedly destroyed their forces today. He has his companion with him now. Everything is going to be alright."
King Ariston stood tall, blood still dripping from his fists. His voice rumbled like distant thunder, steady and resolute.
"Yeah… They will survive. As long as they believe in God."
Act I: The Logic of a Nightmare
The transition from a world of ash, steel, and King Ariston's heavy masculine voice to the soft, sagging mattress of his childhood bed was so jarring that Kairo's mind blanked entirely.
He didn't move. He just stared at the ceiling, watching dust motes dance in a shaft of morning light. His breath hitched. The air didn't taste like ozone or blood. It smelled of stale grease and damp concrete—the distinct, suffocating scent of his family's old, impoverished apartment.
Was it a dream? now i am not a prince but a financially poor average boy
The thought bloomed in his chest, a desperate, pathetic hope. Akio, Leonhart, Daichi, Renji... the endless fighting, the agonizing torture that had carved away at his soul—had it all just been the hyper-vivid delusions of a lonely, imaginative six-seven year-old?
He sat up, his hands trembling. Resting beside his pillow was a strange, metallic device. It didn't look like an artifact from the land of harmony; it looked out of place everywhere, its surface covered in seamless, unidentifiable buttons. Idiotically, he pressed a few. Nothing happened.
Exhaling a breath he felt he'd been holding for a lifetime, Kairo swung his legs out of bed.
"Kairo? What are you doing out of bed? Don't you need to go to school?"
The voice hit him like a physical blow. He turned slowly. His mother stood in the doorway. Her frame was heavy, her belly visibly swollen with the pregnancy that would eventually bring his younger brother into the world.
"Yes, Mother," Kairo managed to croak out, his voice sounding entirely too high, too thin.
"I will. I was just... sleepy."
"You went to sleep at seven last night and you're still tired?"
She sighed, though her eyes were soft.
"You sleep entirely too much. Go brush your teeth, Kairo."
"Yes, Mother."
He practically fled to the bathroom. He gripped the edges of the sink, staring into the cracked mirror at a face that hadn't yet been hardened by war. He was six. He was weak. But as he squeezed a dollop of cheap toothpaste onto his brush, a sudden, violent flash of white light illuminated the small bathroom.
The device in his pocket thrummed against his thigh.
A cold, analytical realization washed over him. The fantasy world hadn't been a dream. This wasn't a natural regression. The device was an anchor, and right now, the universe was offering him a choice. The light was a doorway back to the meat grinder. Back to the torture.
Why should I go back? Kairo thought, a bitter, vicious spike of resentment piercing through his shock. Why should I suffer for a world that isn't mine? Let them die. Let King Ariston enjoy that new land but he was kinda nice and a good father.But I'm staying here.
He reached into his pocket and slammed his thumb down on the largest button on the device.
Act II: The Frozen Paradise
The white light vanished instantly.
More importantly, the ambient noise of the city outside—the distant rumbling of a rickety scooter, the chirping of birds, the dripping of the bathroom faucet—stopped.
Kairo walked out of the bathroom. In the kitchen, his mother was frozen mid-step, a wooden spoon suspended perfectly in the air, a single drop of broth hanging motionless over the pot.
He pressed another button, testing the mechanics. Nothing changed. Time was entirely suspended.
A bubble of hysterical, unhinged laughter trapped itself in his throat before bursting out. He didn't just laugh; he threw his head back and howled like a wolf reclaiming its territory. The absolute freedom of it was intoxicating. The trauma of a broken soldier melted away, replaced by the chaotic impulse of a child who suddenly held the keys to the universe.
He bolted out the front door, running into the streets. Everything was a flawless, motionless photograph.
His first stop was the local bakery. Kairo didn't care about manners or morals; he had eaten rations and dirt for months. He shoved his hands into the display cases, grabbing sweet buns, cream puffs, and sugar-glazed pastries, cramming them into his mouth until his stomach groaned.
Mom always said to avoid sugar, he thought smugly, wiping cream from his chin. Said it would make me fat. Well, Mom is currently a statue.
The sweetness eventually grew cloying. His palate, ruined by stress, demanded something aggressive. He broke into the corner grocery store, heading straight for the snack aisle. When he saw the price tags on the large bags of spicy chips, he nearly wept.
No inflation, he realized, staring at the dirt-cheap prices. The quantities are huge. God, I love the past.
He tore open a bag, devouring the chips with animalistic fervor. But as the spice burned his tongue, his eyes wandered out the window. Across the street was his old friend's house.
He paused, calculating. If he was six years old right now... this was the exact year his family's trajectory had changed. This was the year the portal would open and drag his siblings into that cursed land.
If I resume time, it all happens again. My brother gets sent there. I won't allow it.
An idea formed. He needed to seal the entry point. He remembered his sister had made a thick mud plate out of heavy clay. If he could find it, reinforce it with thick layers of flawless, crackless mud, he could block the light transmission entirely. No light, no portal.
He sprinted back to his house, grabbing the crude clay plate his sister had left on the porch. He began gathering fresh mud, his mind racing with logistical solutions to a magical problem. But as he bent over, the slick, metallic time machine slipped from his loose pocket.
It hit the dirt. A sharp click echoed through the silence.
The world snapped back to life with the force of a sonic boom. The birds chirped. The air rushed into his lungs. And a brilliant, blinding light erupted from the center of the yard.
No! Kairo panicked. Believing the portal was opening anyway, he threw himself toward the light, preparing to sacrifice himself to shield his family.
He braced for the agonizing tearing of spatial magic.
Nothing happened. The light faded as quickly as it had arrived.
Act III: The Arithmetic of Erased Lives
"Kairo? What are you doing playing in the dirt? Come inside and have your breakfast."
Kairo blinked, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked up. His mother was standing at the door, wiping her hands on a towel.
He froze.
Her apron was tied tightly around her waist. Her stomach was completely flat.
Slowly, numbness spreading through his limbs, Kairo picked up the device and walked inside. His father was sitting at the table, reading a newspaper.
"Mother," Kairo said, his voice trembling as he approached her.
"Your... your belly. It was huge just a minute ago."
His father didn't lift his eyes from the paper.
"That's not a new thing, Kairo. Your mother loves her evening snacks."
His mother shot a sharp, frustrated glare at her husband, though the banter lacked any real venom.
"Ignore your father, Kairo."
"Mother, I thought..." Kairo's throat felt incredibly dry.
"I thought I was going to have a brother. A younger sister, too."
His mother softened, giving him a bemused look.
"Well, you're our only child right now, sweetie. Maybe we'll have a brother or sister for you in the future days, but for now, it's just you."
Kairo sank into his chair, his mind spinning into a vortex of frantic calculations.
What did the device do? Did it rewrite the timeline? Did my accidental activation delete their existences entirely, or did I jump into an alternate universe where they were never conceived?
The horror of what he might have done weighed heavily on him, but he forced his face into a mask of calm. A dark fantasy survivor knew how to hide his emotions. The device was clearly broken, highly volatile, and too dangerous to keep messing with blindly.
He laid the metallic object on the wooden table, staring at its strange geometry.
"So," his father asked, finally setting the paper down and glancing at the object.
"What did you build there, Kairo?"
"A time machine," Kairo replied honestly.
His father chuckled, picking it up and turning it over in his hands.
"It looks a bit broken, doesn't it? You know it's dangerous to play with broken things."
Kairo looked at his father, an idea sparking. His father was a craftsman, a tinkerer.
"Can you fix it, Father? Also... I want to skip school today. Both of you."
His mother paused, a frown marring her face. "Wait, you usually love going to school. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
His father waved a dismissive hand, already examining the seams of the device with a practiced eye. "Let the boy stay. He's a genius anyway, he can handle his grades. A day off won't kill his future."
Right, Kairo thought, recalling this timeline's parameters. In this version of reality, I'm an academic prodigy. I don't need to worry about the curriculum. The teachers and the principal might as well be dust for all the threat they pose to me.
"I'll take this out to the workshop and see if I can't tighten up these loose casings for you," his father said cheerfully, standing up and pocketing the device.
Kairo watched him walk out the back door, entirely unaware that he was carrying a reality-altering weapon of chronological mass destruction into a shed full of hammers and welding torches.
Kairo took a slow sip of his water. Things had just gotten infinitely more complicated.