The Actor Without a Role

I struggled against the ropes biting into my wrists and ankles.

No luck. I couldn’t move.

My knife sat just out of reach—glinting in the sunlight, its blade mocking me like a cruel joke.

“I’ve returned, sir.”

The masked man who had tied me stepped out from the shadowed hallway, his voice cold and unyielding.

Gideon sheathed his sword with a lazy click, brushing dust off his sleeves.

“Well,” he said, turning to me with a smirk, “Your boyfriend decided to stay.”

I rolled my eyes.

“What good could that possibly do?”

“I wonder when he’ll come out to save you—”

CRASH.

Glass shattered somewhere.

The second floor.

“Wait, what are you doing?!”

That voice—sharp and familiar.

It belongs to that guy! I told him to run—

BANG.

Silence.

Gideon and the masked man froze, eyes locked on the main atrium balcony. We just heard someone's final words.

impossible... that was his voice, and that was definitely a gunshot.

Is he dead?

I didnt get a chance to fully process what was happening.

Out stepped a figure.

A man, it wasn't the guy special cloak guy.

Masked, yet unlike the others.

No holes for eyes.

Just an unbroken cloth veil, stitched neatly down the center.

Around his neck, a ragged scarf—charred by fire, riddled with holes clearly made by bullets.

He wore a vest like theirs, but something in his presence pressed the air tight.

Gideon’s hand moved to his katana, his voice sharp as a blade.

“Who are you? State your purpose.”

The man said nothing.

Just stood there, surveying.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he climbed onto the balcony railing—and dropped down.

From the second floor.

Insane.

He landed with a thunderous BOOM.

Smoke curled around him like a living thing.

The two masked men took a step back, faces tight.

“Who are you?” Gideon barked, fingers twitching toward his katana.

The smoke faded.

Revealing the crater etched into the floor.

The raw force of the landing lingered like a warning.

The scarf snapped in the wind, as if obeying his will.

Then—

He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.

My wanted poster.

His voice—deep, low, chilling—broke the silence.

“Who dares apprehend the ghost whose name stretches farther than the desert itself? Apprehend I.”

“Impossible,” I whispered, heart pounding.

“There’s no way.”

“I am Exidus.”

Gideon scoffed.

“Exidus? You? That’s simply impossible—”

Phewm.

A sharp metallic whiz cut through the air.

The knife.

My knife.

It sliced past Gideon’s head, embedding in the wall behind him with a TONG.

His face drained of color.

“Watch your tongue, boy.”

He pulled a revolver from his pocket, spinning it like a deadly toy.

Gideon stumbled backward, clutching his face as if trying to will it back into place.

He staggered a few steps before shifting his gaze to the other masked man.

Without hesitation, he dropped the gun and raised his hands.

“Then that only leaves—”

He stopped, squatted down beside me, spinning the revolver on his finger.

I dared not breathe.

“Such a lady shouldn’t be in a position like this.”

He gestured to me with a cruel smile.

“My lady…”

He stood, his eyes glinting dangerously.

“You dare steal my prey?”

He turned slowly, gaze snapping back to Gideon.

He hesitated.

“I’m sorry— I’m sorry she defied me, so I tied her down.”

“Oh?” He tilted his head, amusement flickering.

“What is your name?”

Gideon stood quickly, voice frantic.

“Gideon Williamson, sir.”

His last name struck me as utterly insane.

Exidus crouched down again, pressing the revolver’s barrel lightly against my forehead.

With a thumb, he cocked the lever back—

“BANG.”

The sound echoed, a finality that chilled the air.

Imagine being killed by the very man you’ve been hunting.

That thought hovered—and then shattered.

He didn’t pull the trigger.

His voice rippled through the silence.

“You didn’t flinch.”

He stood, pacing slowly.

“However…”

His gaze locked onto Gideon, razor-sharp.

“It’s best if you do it yourself.”

Exidus handed the revolver to Gideon.

For a heartbeat, Gideon stared at the cold metal in his hand.

“Go on.”

He gestured toward me, then glanced at the other masked man.

“You, too—come witness.”

Now, the three of them surrounded me, closing in.

Gideon’s eyes flicked between the revolver and Exidus.

He raised it slowly, bringing it to my temple.

“Show the world what you do to those who defy you. Those who question your excellence.”

“Now let’s start anew.”

I braced myself.

Gideon’s finger curled around the trigger—

Click.

“What?” He inspected the gun, confusion breaking his face.

“Why isn’t it shooting?”

Exidus moved with unnerving speed, grabbing both their heads, forcing them to collide in a brutal headbutt.

Both men crumpled to the floor.

He dusted off his hands, then turned toward my knife embedded in the wall.

Without hesitation, he tugged hard.

The blade wouldn’t budge.

Harder.

The scarf fluttered with his struggle.

“Um—”

He pulled again, his head bobbing with the effort.

“Um, are you struggling—”

“Silence.”

He turned back to me, bending down and unsheathing Gideon's katana from his unconscious form.

“Turn around.”

I obeyed, rolling over carefully.

Slip.

The ropes loosened and fell away.

Freedom.

I exhaled, relief flooding my chest.

“Need assistance?” His voice was low, almost casual, as he extended a hand.

I reached out, but instead of taking it—

I gripped his mask, fingers tightening like a vice.

He froze.

With one hard tug, the hood slipped off.

There, beneath the fabric—

His face.

I gasped, voice trembling, “IT’S YOU. YOURE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD!”

For years, the deserts whispered of a shadow
A ghost who played no part, yet shaped every scene.

For years, the land held its breath,
Watching the empty stage where his footsteps echoed, unseen.

For years, the hunters chased illusions—
Mirages cast by a master of deception, their self.

But today—

Today, the curtains would be torn asunder.

Today, the first act of many would begin.

Today, the stage itself would tremble with the truth.

For the first time in countless moons,
The world of Orati would witness the unveiling of a legend—

Not a king. Not a villain.

But a performer who never claimed a script.

An actor without a role.

He bowed, eyes gleaming like spotlights cutting through darkness.

A slow, knowing smirk twisted his lips.

“I have a name, you know?” he said, his voice echoing.

“It's Juno.”