The moment Nigel stepped through the door, the world shifted.
The walls vanished.
The floor beneath his feet changed.
He was no longer inside a room—but standing in the middle of a vast, tranquil lagoon.
A gentle mist hovered over the still water, reflecting the deep violet hues of a twilight sky. Fireflies floated lazily in the air, their golden glow flickering like tiny stars.
At the very center of the lagoon, a small wooden platform rested on the water’s surface, built like an open pavilion with no walls.
Inside, two simple futons were laid out.
On one of them, an elderly woman sat waiting.
She wore a deep red kimono embroidered with delicate golden threads, and over her head, a thin black veil partially obscured her face.
She did not move. She simply watched him.
Waiting.
Nigel instinctively turned back, expecting to see the strange boy from before.
But—he was gone.
“Welcome, Nigel Lowell.”
The voice that greeted him was soft, warm—filled with patience and understanding.
It was the voice of someone who had seen much, lived much, and carried no judgment.
“It is just you and me in this space, child.”
She gestured to the futon in front of her.
“Come. Sit with me.”
Nigel hesitated.
His muscles remained tense, his instincts screaming to be ready for anything.
Yet, something about her voice—the gentle cadence, the lack of demand—made the weight in his chest less heavy.
Slowly, he stepped forward and lowered himself onto the futon across from her.
Sayoko’s smile softened behind her veil.
She did not rush him.
She did not tell him to relax.
She simply let the silence settle, as if waiting for the tension to unravel on its own.
And without realizing it—it did.
“…You are cautious. Wary. That is good,” she finally spoke, her voice like the whisper of autumn leaves.
“You have lived a hard life, Nigel. I do not blame you.”
Nigel exhaled slowly.
“Are you like the Librarian?” he asked, voice tinged with exhaustion. “Are you just going to tell me to embrace my emotions and trust others?”
He had no patience left for cryptic messages and vague philosophies. If she was just another riddle-speaker, he wanted this to be over quickly.
But Sayoko only chuckled—a warm, amused sound, like a grandmother laughing at her grandson’s stubbornness.
“No, child. That is not what you need.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“What you need… is time to reflect.”
Her words carried no force, no demand.
Just quiet certainty.
“You have endured more pain than anyone your age should have.”
Her gaze did not waver.
“The world of the Rings is cruel. But your suffering has been… much crueler.”
The fireflies flickered gently around them, casting small, golden lights in the darkness.
Sayoko waited.
She was in no hurry.
She would not push him.
Because, in the end—the one who had to decide to listen… was him.
Nigel let out a sharp exhale and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Then, with a tired smirk, he tilted his head at Sayoko.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
His voice dripped with sarcasm.
Sayoko remained still, watching him from behind her veil.
The fireflies continued to flicker, the soft rippling of water filling the silence.
Nigel’s smirk twitched into something sharper.
“Let’s go down memory lane, shall we?”
He leaned forward slightly, his tone turning mockingly light.
“Once upon a time, in the beautiful Eleventh Ring, there was a kid just trying to survive. But, oh no, things weren’t that simple. Because the moment he tried to help someone, a whole Sentinel High Official decided to turn it into his goddamn execution.”
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
His fingers twitched.
His jaw clenched.
“So what did this kid do?”
Nigel shot up to his feet, his sudden movement causing a ripple through the water surrounding them.
Sayoko didn’t react. She simply watched.
Nigel started pacing, hands gesturing wildly.
“Well, naturally, he fought back. Had to, right?” He threw up his hand. “What else do you do when someone’s trying to kill you? Just stand there and take it?”
He let out a bitter laugh.
“And guess what? He won. Killed the bastard.”
His footsteps echoed across the wooden floor of the pavilion.
“Great, right? Problem solved. But no, turns out—” he punched his chest with his hand, mockingly enthusiastic, “the Sentinels don’t really like it when you kill one of their own. So instead of just coming after me, they decided to burn an entire city to the ground.”
His voice cracked slightly, but he pushed through it, covering it with more sarcasm.
“Hundreds dead. Buildings turned to ash. All because of me.”
He turned to Sayoko then, arms outstretched.
“And what a beautiful moral lesson that was, huh? Just a great fucking reminder that no matter what I do—no matter what choices I make—” his fingers curled into fists, “people will always suffer for it.”
His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breathing heavy.
He wanted her to say something. Anything.
To tell him he was wrong.
That he wasn’t responsible for all of it.
But Sayoko remained silent. She simply watched him.
Not with judgment. Not with pity.
Just understanding.
And that—somehow—was worse.
Nigel let out a frustrated scoff, running a hand through his hair.
His body still trembled with adrenaline.
His mind was screaming.
But Sayoko…
Sayoko just sat there.
Calm. Patient. Waiting.
Waiting for him to let it all out.
And suddenly, Nigel wasn’t sure what to say anymore.
The silence stretched.
Nigel’s breathing was uneven, his shoulders still tense.
Then—he spoke again.
His voice was quieter now, as if the weight of his own words had started to press down on him.
“I… I just wanted to help.”
His fist unclenched slightly.
“Elyra, Tom, Lilly…”
Their names hung in the air, fragile like glass about to shatter.
“They all died because of me.”
His jaw tightened.
“I had no choice but to run.”
Sayoko finally broke her silence.
Her voice was soft, but steady—anchored, unshaken.
“Why do you blame yourself?”
Nigel’s head snapped up.
His fingers tensed again.
Then, his expression twisted.
“Why do I blame myself?” His voice shook with something between anger and disbelief.
Then—his frustration cracked open.
“Because thousands died!”
His voice rose, and suddenly, it felt like the entire world had shrunk to just the two of them.
“Everything I cared about in the Eleventh Ring is ash!”
He gestured wildly, hands trembling.
“I saw their bodies! Right in front of me! Beaten, mutilated—because of something I did!”
Sayoko did not flinch. She did not waver.
And then—she spoke again.
“That is simply the consequence of a decision you made.”
Her words were gentle, but they cut deep.
“You could have ignored the situation.”
Nigel’s breath hitched.
Sayoko’s gaze softened.
“But you didn’t.”
A pause.
Then—
“You chose to help Elyra.”
Her words settled like ripples in the water.
“That is not a bad thing.”
She leaned forward slightly.
“Perhaps you knew that harming a Sentinel Officer would bring consequences.”
Her voice did not accuse. It did not condemn.
“But did you ever truly expect it to be on such a scale?”
Nigel’s hands curled into fists again.
Sayoko tilted her head slightly.
“The Sentinels are violent. Tyrannical.”
She exhaled softly.
“Do you truly believe it is your fault that they are that way?”
Her words carried no force, yet they pierced through him like a blade.
“That they chose to commit another massacre—just another day for them?”
Silence.
Nigel did not answer.
Because deep down—he didn’t know if he could.
Sayoko’s voice was gentle, but her words landed like a blade.
“But this isn’t just about what happened in the Eleventh Ring, is it?”
Nigel’s breath caught in his throat.
Sayoko watched him carefully.
Her next words came softly, but with certainty.
“This began much earlier… with Martin. And Nitra.”
The moment she spoke their names, his heart stopped.
A sharp, painful twist in his chest.
His mind screamed—how could she possibly know?
But at the same time…
Of course, she did.
This woman clearly knew everything about him by now.
“You blame yourself for that, too, don’t you?”
Her voice was warm, patient.
“And that guilt is what unraveled everything that followed.”
Nigel’s jaw clenched.
Sayoko’s words kept digging deeper.
“But Nigel—” she leaned in slightly, “that was not your fault.”
Her voice was firm now, unshaken.
“Nitra’s betrayal and Martin’s death were never your fault.”
Nigel couldn’t answer.
Because the moment she spoke those words—
The memories came flooding back.
Like a floodgate breaking, he was dragged backward into the past.
Three cadets. Fresh recruits on one of their first assignments.
A simple reconnaissance mission. The air had been filled with nervous excitement.
Then—the ambush.
Enemies everywhere.
But maybe—maybe if the three of them worked together, they could escape.
But she walked away.
Slow. Deliberate.
Straight to the enemy’s side.
Nigel had called her name—desperate, disbelieving.
But Nitra—with her fiery red hair, those striking blue eyes—never turned back.
She had been with them all along.
And just like that—their fate was sealed.
The world went dark.
When Nigel came to, he was sitting on a cold, bloodstained floor.
His arms were numb, tied behind his back.
The air reeked of sweat, rusted metal, and something worse.
In front of him—Martin.
Barely breathing.
His body mangled beyond recognition.
Cuts, burns, skin peeled away in places it shouldn’t have been.
And yet—even then, he smiled.
Even then, he found it in himself to joke.
“What a mess we got ourselves into, huh, Nigel?”
His voice was hoarse, broken. But there was no fear in his eyes.
Nigel tried to speak—tried to move.
But then—they came back.
And the pain began again.
They ripped into Martin first.
The screams—Oh, the screams.
But Martin never begged.
Not once.
Even as they shattered his fingers, even as they carved into his skin,
Even when they reached into his open wounds—
He never gave them the satisfaction of his fear.
And then—
They turned to Nigel.
Hours. Maybe days.
The torture never stopped.
The pain never dulled.
It only changed.
From burns to cuts, from cuts to broken bones, from broken bones to things he didn’t even have the strength to process.
But the worst—the worst wasn’t the pain.
The worst was when they forced him to watch.
Forced him to see Martin’s slow, agonizing end.
Nigel remembered—
The way Martin still tried to smile, even when he barely had a face left.
The way his breathing turned shallow.
The moment he stopped moving.
Nigel had called his name.
Again. And again. And again.
Until he was hoarse.
Until he realized he was gone.
And then—
Something snapped.
The weight of it crushed him.
His mind fractured under the pressure.
And in that void—
Rampage emerged.
Nigel’s body shook violently.
His breath hitched, shallow and erratic.
His fingers twitched, curling and uncurling.
His mind—fragmenting, unraveling.
Past and present bled together, the weight of it crushing his chest.
A distant voice whispered inside him.
Rampage.
But before the chaos could consume him completely—
Sayoko moved.
She was in front of him in an instant, her hands firm and steady as they clasped his arm.
Warmth radiated from her palms.
Not like fire, not like energy.
Something deeper.
A strange pulse spread through his skin, threading into his nerves, seeping into his bones.
His vision blurred.
The crushing weight in his chest wavered.
For a brief moment, it felt like his body wasn’t his own.
Nigel tried to speak—but the world tilted.
Darkness rushed in.
The last thing he saw before he collapsed was Sayoko, watching him with an unreadable expression.
And then—
Nothing.
