It was a realm beyond human understanding: an endless time of darkness with no warmth of light. The lightness of life itself had never dared to touch this. Thunder reverberated through the ominous silence, echoing as if the sky were being shredded to pieces. It felt as if reality itself was waiting at the edge of destruction.


    Suddenly, a light appeared in the darkness and passed through the sky. That was neither a falling star nor a flash of lightning.


    Only a man.


    Beaten, bleeding, yet still standing.


    His arms folded into a warm embrace around a feeble child whose breaths were shallow, as though they were fragments of a delicate world beyond his—unknown to the world shattering around him.


    Crimson stains marked the delicate fabric, tracing fingers curled around the child''s frail self. With bloodied lips, he whispered, “I can’t understand why destiny won’t let us go.”


    Everything was covered with darkness, and then a few bright points of light appeared on the horizon. Figures clad in black clothes stood behind them, and their pursuers chased them.


    He looked at his left hand with a sigh of disappointment. “Even if I take you to the end of this world, they will follow you there. Your soul is like a beacon for them.”


    He shook his hand, not because of the pain, but because of a feeling more unbearable than any wound. It was his responsibility to carve a path to salvation, but now…


    Having steeled his heart, he made a difficult decision. Time was running out, and no one else was there. Waving his other hand in the air, a dagger appeared, its handle engraved with a mystical tiger—a reflection of the dire situation he now faced.


    With another wave, The dagger hovered, its tip mere inches from the child''s chest.. His hand lingered, as if sensing the faint heartbeat beneath.


    “There is no other way to save me from every trouble.”


    For a moment, despair overtook him. He had known this would be difficult, but now that the time had come, he himself was dying hundred deaths.


    "Forgive me."


    Through the lens of forgiveness, he struck at the child with the dagger—not to harm him, nor to end his life, which was destined for hardship, but to free him from a fate worse than death.


    Taking a long breath, he made a cutting motion with his hand, silently guiding the dagger toward the child. It was as though he were apologizing for his misdeed. But he did not touch the child. He did not wound his soft body. Instead, he severed the innocent soul into two.


    As the dagger finally traced the motion of the man’s hand, a bright light burst forth from the child’s body, striking him directly. Before that radiance faded completely, the man gathered all of his power and unleashed it upon their pursuers, suffocating the glow that had emerged from the child’s form.


    The light, surging from the child''s body, pierced the man’s chest, leaving behind a deep wound where even his bones were visible. His consciousness wavered for a moment, his vision darkening—but his work was not yet finished, and he could not rest in the garden of death.


    It was impossible for him to hide the child''s soul power completely. Instead, he could only save his life by breaking its strength into two parts.


    The child''s soul was torn into two. It felt as if the world itself refused to let go, as if fate were crying out in despair, scattering everything in its wake.


    Thunder roared, and even the dagger could not match its force. The man’s legs sank into the fractured earth, wind howled, and shockwaves rippled outward, marking the emergence of a power beyond comprehension.


    Reality rippled.


    The child''s body wavered, dissolving into the air—present one moment, vanishing the next, as if time itself sought to erase his existence. And then, after a few fleeting moments, he was gone, as if reality had chosen to rewrite itself once more.


    The man could not withstand the force. His body, already battered and broken, was drenched in blood. He bled from every corner, his strength nearly spent. Even controlling the dagger had become a struggle.


    Not for the joy of saving the child.


    Not for the sorrow of what had been done.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    His enemy was close now. Too close.


    And the job was only half-done.


    In the distance, heavy footsteps and raised voices echoed through the ruins. At least twenty of them. Their leader walked with purpose, his gaze sharp as steel, his will unyielding—a man who had once called him "brother."


    Sampoorna roared, hurling a sphere of pure light—desperate, defiant. It streaked through the darkness, a final stand against the inevitable.


    BOOM!


    A force just as fierce shattered it midair, golden fragments dissolving into nothing. The next attack came swiftly, a storm made of blades tearing through his defenses. He barely had time to register the impact before his body was flung like a ragdoll, crashing against jagged rock.


    Pain. Unimaginable pain.


    Then—silence.


    He lay broken, blood pooling beneath him, his breath shallow. Through the haze, he saw a figure approaching, silhouetted against the storm-ridden sky. The man who had betrayed him.


    Kundan.


    "Brother."


    The word carried something unreadable—mockery, regret, or something in between.


    "You should’ve known this would happen."


    Sampoorna coughed, blood dribbling from his lips. A bitter smile tugged at his mouth. "You used to call me your greatest rival. Now you call me a fool?"


    A shadow flickered in Kundan’s eyes, hesitation cracking through his cold exterior—just for a moment. "You forced my hand, Sampoorna. You always did."


    Sampoorna let out a raspy chuckle, though the effort sent another jolt of pain through his ribs. "No choice?" His voice was weak but sharp, laced with something deeper—betrayal, sorrow, and the weight of an unbreakable truth. "No. You made yours, Kundan. And you chose power over family."


    Kundan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.


    "You always wanted to surpass me." Sampoorna’s voice softened, yet the edge remained. "Tell me—was it worth it?"


    For the briefest second, something in Kundan’s eyes wavered. But then he exhaled sharply, steeling himself once more. "It doesn’t matter. The boy is nothing but a tool. His Majesty has already decided his fate."


    Sampoorna’s hands clenched. "A tool? He’s a child, Kundan. Our family protected him. Our ancestors—"


    "Our ancestors died for nothing!" Kundan snapped, his voice a blade through the storm. His fingers twitched at his side, dark energy curling around them like restless shadows. "They were fools. You are a fool. And I will not let their mistakes dictate my future."


    Sampoorna tried to move, but his body failed him. The damage was too great. He swallowed his pain and forced out his next words. "You will never have honor, Kundan. No matter how much power you gather."


    Kundan’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Honor is for the dead."


    A soldier approached, bowing slightly before speaking. "Elder Kundan, the child’s energy signature has vanished. It’s as if he never existed."


    Kundan’s fists clenched. "Gone?" His voice remained steady—too steady. But something flickered in his expression: disbelief, hesitation… fear?


    "No. That’s not possible." His fingers twitched, as if grasping for something already lost. "Sampoorna, you wouldn’t—"


    The certainty in Sampoorna’s weary gaze made Kundan’s stomach twist.


    The soldier hesitated. "We have searched thoroughly, Elder. There is no trace."


    For a moment, something unreadable passed through Kundan’s gaze—doubt, grief? But then, in the next breath, it was gone, buried beneath duty’s unyielding mask.


    Sampoorna inhaled shakily. "The elders say karma is shaped by every interaction—from birth to death. I would never let him fall into your hands, to live a life of grief and evil… or to die a traitor’s death. I severed his ties to this world myself."


    His voice trembled, and tears slipped down his face, as if something inside him had broken beyond repair.


    A shadow crossed Kundan’s face. "You… killed him?"


    The words hung heavy in the air.


    Then—


    A pulse of energy erupted from Sampoorna’s battered form.


    Kundan’s instincts screamed. "STOP HIM!" he roared.


    He lunged, his fingers brushing against Sampoorna’s robes—


    Light exploded outward.


    The force sent Kundan staggering back, vision burning with white-hot brilliance. When it faded, the space where Sampoorna had lain was empty. As if he had never been there at all.


    Kundan’s breath came in sharp bursts. His outstretched hand grasped at nothing, disbelief flickering across his face. He had him. Until he didn’t.


    Clenching his jaw, he turned sharply. "Search the area. I want him and the boy found—dead or alive!"


    As Kundan’s forces scattered, the storm above twisted, unnoticed by those below. High above, a lone figure hovered, watching with an unreadable gaze. He lifted a hand, and from the wreckage, something small and fragile drifted toward him—a faint, flickering light.


    A soul. Fractured.


    He turned the shimmering fragment between his fingers, his voice a whisper carried by the wind. "Incomplete. But why?"


    The glow pulsed weakly, resisting his grasp. He hummed in amusement. "A fragment without a home... How peculiar."


    His fingers tightened around it, an unnatural chill seeping into his grip. If this is only a fragment... then where does the rest of you hide? His gaze darkened, pensive. Then, as dawn’s first light crept over the horizon, he dissolved into the fading night, leaving behind only questions.


    Through the settling dust, space twisted once more. A figure—Sampoorna—stumbled back into reality, breathless, his wounds barely sealed. His hands clenched as his gaze darted across the battlefield.


    He had no time to waste.


    His heart pounded. Gone.


    A chill crawled down his spine. Don’t tell me… someone found the fragmented soul.


    A curse slipped from his lips. His mind raced. Splitting the soul was the only way to save the child. Hiding it completely was impossible. That’s why I separated the consciousness, masked the teleportation within my attack. The remaining fragment… I concealed it well. Kundan shouldn’t have been able to find it.


    His hands curled into trembling fists. Then who? Were there others lurking in the shadows?


    The night’s devastation lay silent before him, yet in its wake, an even greater storm brewed.


    He had to find both pieces.


    Only then could the child fulfill his destiny.


    With one last glance at the ruined battlefield, Sampoorna steeled himself. There was no time to mourn. No time to hesitate. Only one thing mattered now—


    He had to find both pieces.


    Before it was too late.