Darkness.
A sudden snap—
blurry lights sliding overhead, the ceiling spinning in fractured frames.
"Hurry—get him in!"
Everything drops away.
Back again—
cold metal under his back, hands pressing down to stop the bleeding.
"Pressure's not holding! His BP's crashing!"
Gone.
A flash—
the surgical lamp blooming above him like a white sun.
"Start an infusion—wide open!"
Black.
Another snap—
a sharp sting in his arm as a line is pushed in.
"Get me 2 milligrams of Neurostabilin, now!"
Footsteps scatter. Metal instruments clatter.
Out again.
Beeping. Rapid, panicked.
"He's tachycardic—heart rate's 160!"
Darkness swallows it.
One more snap—
a mask sealing over his face, cool oxygen rushing past his cheeks.
"No, we're not losing him. Hang Vitaresin drip, full rate!"
Then the world slips away completely.
3 Days Later…
A soft hum filled the room—monitors, machines, the quiet rhythm of hospital life.
"Mhh…"
His eyelids fluttered open.
"W-where… am I?" he whispered, small and shaky.
The nurse froze, then moved quickly to the call device.
"He's awake! Doctor! Patient in Room 14 is conscious—get here now!"
Footsteps pounded down the hall.
The door swung open.
The doctor rushed in, scanning the monitors before looking at him.
"Can you hear me?" he asked gently. "Try to stay still."
Emrys blinked. The room tilted. His head felt heavy. Machines beeped faster.
"His blood pressure's dropping!" the nurse said sharply, moving to adjust the IV and monitor.
"Stay with us! Keep your eyes open!" the doctor urged, leaning closer.
The lights blurred, the machines' beeps stretched and warped…
Darkness swallowed him again.
Several Hours Later
A cool cloth brushed his forehead.
The beeping had slowed, steady now.
"Hey… can you open your eyes for me?" the nurse asked, calm and focused.
Emrys blinked—once, then fully.
This time, the world didn't tilt. The lights were steady.
The doctor checked the monitors and exhaled in relief.
"All right… stable," he said softly.
The nurse adjusted his blanket. "Do you know where you are?"
Emrys swallowed hard, voice small but clear.
"I… I'm in the hospital," he whispered.
The doctor nodded. "Good. That's right. You're safe here."
Then, after a pause, he asked carefully, "Do you remember your name?"
Emrys opened his mouth… and nothing came.
He shook his head slightly.
"I… I forgot,"
The nurse and doctor exchanged a glance.
Neither knew what to call him—but at least he was awake and alert
After a Few Checkups…
The monitors beeped steadily. The doctor leaned closer, reviewing the charts.
"Can you tell me… do you remember what happened?" he asked gently, his voice calm but insistent.
Emrys`s small hands gripped the edge of the bed. His eyes darted around the room, trying to focus.
He closed his eyes.
And then—snapshots.
Flames.
A loud crash.
Smoke burning his lungs.
Faces—his family. His mother. His father. His sister. Even his dog.
Pinned in his mind like photographs, blurred at the edges but painfully vivid.
He brought his hands to his head, pressing tightly against his temples, trying to contain the pain.
He bolted upright, voice rising into a scream.
"M-My family! Where are they? Are they okay?! What happened to them?!"
The nurse moved forward quickly, hands raised but gentle.
"Easy, easy… you're safe here, it's okay… breathe…"
But Emrys couldn't hear her over the pounding of memories.
The doctor crouched beside him. "Calm down, Em—look at me, just… breathe…"
He shook his head violently, still clutching his head, screaming again, eyes wild:
"My family! Tell me! Where are they?!"
The nurse tried to hold his trembling arms, but he jerked free. Panic radiated from him like fire.
Then… darkness.
The world tilted. The monitors' beeping slowed in his ears. His eyelids grew impossibly heavy.
"Mhh…"
And Emrys slipped back into unconsciousness.
While unconscious, Emrys began to dream—or perhaps remember.
The flames he saw weren't distant.
They were inside his home.
The loud noise that echoed in his skull wasn't thunder.
It was the explosion that tore everything apart.
Then came the voices.
The screams.
Flashback
"EMRYS, wake up! We need to go!" Clara shouted, her voice trembling.
"Thomas, grab Lily!" she yelled across the hallway.
Emrys, still half-asleep, stared at his mother in confusion.
"M… Mom? What's happening…?"
Clara crouched in front of him, her breath uneven, her hands shaking as she pulled him close.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," she whispered quickly, trying to steady her voice.
"Everything will be alright."
For a brief moment, their eyes met.
Even through the smoke, even through the panic, she smiled at him—soft, warm, encouraging.
Then his vision blurred.
His ears rang.
And everything went black.
The home that had once held their laughter was now a collapsed skeleton of ash and ruin.
Not long after, firefighters arrived at the scene.
They tore through the debris, searching desperately for survivors.
"Captain! Over here!" a firefighter suddenly shouted, his voice cracking.
They had found Emrys.
But instead of relief, the man's expression twisted into disbelief… and sorrow.
Because Emrys wasn't just lying there in the ashes.
He was covered in something—
Something that had shielded him from the flames like an unbreakable armor.
Wings.
Soft, charred at the edges, but unmistakably wings.
Wings like his mother's…
Emrys woke with a gasp, drenched in cold sweat.
For a moment he lay still, praying—no, begging—that the memories had been nothing more than a nightmare twisted by fear and smoke.
He looked up at the doctor standing beside his bed.
"M-My family…" Emrys whispered, his voice trembling. "They're… okay, right? The dream… it wasn't real… right?"
The doctor paused.
The nurse beside him lowered her eyes.
Both exchanged a silent conversation—one full of dread, guilt, and pity.
They knew the truth, and they knew he deserved to hear it.
The doctor exhaled shakily and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Emrys… after the war was declared between Japan and Korea, both sides began bombing remote areas to pressure each other. Your village… your home…"
He swallowed hard.
"…was hit by one of those bombs. It was an unlucky target."
Emrys froze.
"…Unlucky?" he whispered.
His hands trembled.
Then they curled into fists—tight, white-knuckled fists.
Tears streamed down his cheeks, silent and relentless.
"Unlucky…" he repeated, this time louder.
Something inside him cracked.
He slowly lifted his head, eyes wide open, pupils shaking, a smile stretching across his face—
a smile that should never appear on a child's face.
"So me and my whole family…"
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper.
"…were just unlucky?"
The doctor, terrified by the boy's expression, could only nod, throat tight, sweat gathering at his temple.
"I see," Emrys said softly.
"That's… how it is."
And just like that—
the rage, the grief, the terror in his expression vanished.
Everything faded all at once.
His face became empty.
Hollow.
A child's face should show life.
His showed nothing.
From that day until the end of his hospital stay, Emrys spoke little.
He didn't cry.
He didn't scream.
He didn't ask for his parents again.
He simply existed—
quiet, still, emotionless.
As though something vital had burned away with the home he once knew.
A few days passed quietly in the hospital.
Emrys wandered the halls like a shadow, silent, empty.
On his way to the bathroom, he slowed when voices slipped through a half-open office door.
"…the boy who survived the fire," someone murmured.
Another replied, voice heavy:
"They said his mother covered him completely. Arms wrapped around him like… wings. That's the only reason he lived."
A long pause.
Then the third voice spoke—quiet, bitter, angry:
"And all of it… because of this stupid war.
If those idiots didn't start bombing random towns to prove a point, that family would still be alive."
Emrys's breath froze.
The first speaker sighed.
"They weren't even targeting anything important. Just pressure tactics between Korea and Japan. That house… that family… they were just caught in the middle."
"Collateral," the older voice spat.
"Dying for a war they had nothing to do with."
Emrys felt the world tilt.
His mother's body—shielding him.
His father carrying Lily.
Their screams.
The explosion.
And now he knew why.
Not fate.
Not an accident.
Not "unlucky."
The war killed them.
His legs buckled.
He ran into the bathroom, gripping the sink before he vomited painfully.
His whole body shook—violently—shoulders trembling, breath ragged.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror, sweat dripping down his face.
His mother died because of them.
His father died because of them.
Lily died because of them.
Because of a war he had no part in.
"Just… caught in the middle…" he whispered, voice cracking.
For the first time, something other than grief rose in his chest.
Something dark.
Sharp.
Burning.
rage
He wiped his mouth and straightened his posture, his expression fading to nothing.
He stepped out of the bathroom silently… his eyes Refueled with determination with a new purpose.
He changed:
A cold understanding.
A direction for his pain.
A reason.
They died because of the war.
Because of the people who started it.
Because of the ones who kept it going.
And though he was only a child, a quiet promise formed in the back of his mind:
One day… someone will answer for this I make sure of it.
The next morning, a police officer arrived to take Emrys to an orphanage.
Papers needed to be signed, documents confirmed, reports filled in.
The officer was tired—barely awake—and assumed the quiet boy would simply wait by the door.
He didn't.
While the officer hunched over the counter, arguing with a nurse about procedures, Emrys looked at the exit… then at the officer… then back at the exit.
His heart beat once.
Then he walked.
Not ran.
Not sneaked.
Just walked—calm, silent, unnoticed—out of the hospital and into the morning light.
By the time the officer realized the child was gone, Emrys was already three streets away, swallowed by the city.
He had no home.
No family.
No future laid out for him.
But he had a purpose.
A promise.
He would grow strong.
He would find those responsible.
He would avenge them.
And nothing—not the law, not fear, not fate—would stop him.
As he turned the corner of a narrow alleyway, a soft chuckle echoed from the shadows.
"Heh… so that's the path you decided to take?"
Emrys jerked his head up.
A man leaned casually against the wall—
dressed completely in black, long dark hair falling over his shoulders, thin glasses glinting.
He looked like someone who didn't belong in daylight.
Someone who had seen things no normal person ever should.
He smiled at Emrys with unsettling amusement.
Little one to archive what you desire you need to kill your past self with out hesitation.
Are you willing to do that, are you willing to give your live for what you desire
Emrys Looked at the man in black, replying calmly with no fear or sorrow in his voice
´´what do I even have left from that so called live you keep on mentioning,, With a confused expression on his face
"Interesting," he murmured.
"A child with eyes like that… Hah. This is going to be fun."
Before Emrys could speak, the man's outline flickered—
like a mirage trembling in heat.
Then he was gone.
Vanished.
Leaving behind only a faint smile in the air where he had stood.
Emrys swallowed, the chills down his spine fading slowly.
He didn't know who that man was.
He didn't know why he seemed to know him.
But one thing was certain:
Someone was watching.
And his path…
was only beginning.
``what an idiot he wants me to forget the life I had before even though those happy memories are the think fueling my Revenge hah what do I do now lo0king at the sunset.