Bonus: The Lost Memories

A thousand soldiers stood behind me in flawless formation, armor shining under the scarlet pennants of the Empire. The Lion Head—the unbeatable vanguard that had never been taken. Every battlefield we trod upon was reduced to ashes; every kingdom we encountered bowed in obedience.

Tonight.

"By the third day, we capture the Dark Forest!" The Hero roared, waving his chalice, the golden drink inside glinting in torchlight. "To victory!"

Silence.

The corridor was heavy with tension. The Dark Forest was no ordinary battlefield—this was a charnel ground of the ancient world, where the smoldering carcasses of the Demon King's armies rotted in the accursed earth. Even without magic, such beasts were monstrosities.

A firm hand rapped my shoulder. "Ren! Dazed in daydreaming again?" Commander Merlin's bark brought me back to reality.

"My wife. My wife… she’s giving birth any day now." The words had the metallic taste of bitter iron on my tongue. "Will I return?"

Merlin's fingers tightened. Silently, he went to the Hero's side. A whisper, a nod—then the Hero himself came towards me, his smile unwavering.

"Granted," he said. "Family first."

The feast was over all too soon.

I hardly registered the touch of my feet on the cobblestones I was in such a hurry to get inside. The door swung open even as I lifted my hand to knock.

Vanilla greeted me, her big belly held close against her arm, her smile soft as candlelight. "Welcome back," she breathed, kissing me.

I dropped to the floor, placing my ear against her belly. A tiny kick greeted me. "Angela Ougward," I breathed. "Strong name for a strong girl."

Vanilla smiled, but shuddered in my hair.

I breathed. "The Hero's command. We depart for the Dark Forest in two days."

Her silence was preferable to tears. "The Emperor did not order this?"

"No. It was the hero’s."

For a moment—and then she placed her hands on either side of my face. "Then we make the most of these two days."

Time slipped through like sand between my palms.

Vanilla took my hand, silent as we walked ."May Eldros bless you," she had breathed, the words crumbling at the edge.

I had kissed the crown of her head. "The Hero's with us. I'll be back before before Angela draws her first breath."

It was a lie and We both knew that.

Her lips trembled, but she set her chin. "Then go. Make them know to fear the Lion Head as much as I love him."

The Ceremony of Light

City hall trembled to the thrum of chanting troopers. I forced my way through the ranks, my armor weighing with unspoken fear.

"Took you long enough!" Merlin growled, hauling me into place.

The Pope climbed onto the altar, the cross-mark on his forehead burning with divine light.

"May the energy of Eldros flow through you," he prayed, spreading his hands.

The soldiers repeated the prayer—but my gaze was on the Hero.

He watched us, smiling.

The benediction of the Pope had sounded empty as we set out. Two hundred men—handpicked, merciless—marched south beneath the Hero's banner. For three days, we fought our way through cruel country, the air thickening with each league.

And then the Dark Forest lay before us.

Twisted trees climbed up like bars of a prison, their limbs choking the sky. No birdsong. No insects buzzing. Only stillness—and the crush, a burdensome weight that slid down my spine.

The Hero sneered. "Still holding on to your pride even in death?"

He addressed the ranks, his voice slicing through the fear. "Forward! The Lion never hesitates!"

We bellowed back, but the forest devoured our war cries.

The Temple's Curse

It was easy at first. Goblins died under our blades. Mutated creatures fell under our ranks. No deaths. No fear.

Then we entered the temple.

A black stone ruin, broken arches cleft as if someone had smashed teeth. When our boots touched the thorny plaza, smoke oozed from its mouth—black, ravenous, breathing.

The Hero's warning was too late.

A figure stepped forward, shrouded in shadow. Commander Merlin roared the command: "Attack!"

Spears were launched. The figure exploded, showering a mist over us like an ocean.

I took a breath—and my world exploded.

Mana ran in my veins, washing out the poison, but the other men around us screamed. Bones crunched, bodies twisted. Burning skin and insanity hung in the air.

The Hero stumbled, cheeks white as ice. "Traces of the Demon King…" he muttered. "Why here?"

I was familiar with the legends. These were not normal monsters—these were remnants of the fallen god, lost despair that consumed souls.

And our men, now, facing each other, their thoughts lost to images of woe and anguish.

Why was I spared?

Then—her voice.

"Ren."

Vanilla's breath encircled my heart. I fled.

A voice froze me: laughter, bitter and callous, ringing from atop the temple.

I gazed upwards.

There, sitting on top of the ruined altar, something stayed. Its mass pinned the air out of my lungs, its smile a row of teeth in the darkness.

The monster's roar of laughter thundered through the accursed woods, its voice like grinding stone. "Humans are weak," it jeered. "Even your Hero crumples under shame."

For one moment of darkness, it lashed out—only to fall back before the holy fire that burst from the Hero's body. The beast sneered, licking its shattered lips. "At last, a good battle."

Golden fire surrounded the fists of the Hero. "Ren, go!" he roared. "Wake the Empire!"

Commander Merlin's sword entered the Hero's back before I could react. "Long live the Demon King," he moaned, his eyes black as coal.

God's Authority burned on the Hero's seal—driving my legs to run even as my soul screamed to remain. Behind me, the forest trembled with their fight, trees shattering like reeds beneath the impact of their strikes.

I staggered into camp, armor wet with blood. "Fall back! Now!"

Silence.

The soldiers spun as a unit, eyes empty, the motion marionette like. Arrows whizzed by my head. Swords sliced through my armor.

They're already dead.

My mark pulsed—once for honor's sake, now traitor like me. Gravity warped, shoving them into the ground. Their shrieks echoed behind me as I rode on a dying horse, the whispers of the forest at my back.

Five days later, I rode in through the gates—only to stumble.

The "fallen" warriors stood in line, their throats intact, their eyes hollow. Commander Merlin grinned at the Pope, his head magically reattached.

"Traitor," he growled, and darkness closed in upon me.

I woke to the smell of lilies—Vanilla's favorite—and the Hero's mismatched gaze. One yellow-haired. One copper-red.

"Say your farewells," he whispered.

The funeral was subdued. The cradle, vacant.

My wife, who gave life and died. My daughter, taken from me. My name, tainted.

"Hero," I rasped, voice raw. "Or shall I say, fake?"

He did not dispute it.

"Please," I begged, my last shred of dignity crumbling, "just let her keep the name Angela—and place her with a family who’ll love her."

The Hero nodded his head. "Even we have sympathies."

As they led me to the Pit, I swore:

No more war children.

The Hollow Pit - 7 Years Later

Day 17. Year 7.

The new inmate was a kid—hollow eyes, beating heart. I recognized the expression. I used to wear it myself.

"Let’s escape the pit together, kid," I told him, holding out a hand he didn't accept.

The mark on my arm throbbed, speaking of strength and agony.

This time, I'll write your future.

So you never become me.