Time never comes back, but history repeats itself. We are in a big war. I don''t even know what''s happening anymore. Just a few days ago, the clans, who were friends, started fighting each other. But that fight was nothing compared to this one. Now, I can''t even tell who is my friend and who is my enemy. The Upper Four Demons have joined the war, and everything is a mess. Everywhere, demons and people are killing each other. Half the country is destroyed.


    The Upper Four Demons came to the war for a reason. After the last person from the Kshatra family died, everything became chaotic. Because of bad rumors about demons, the clans started fighting each other. In the middle of this, a group started by the students of the Kshatra founders tried to fight back. They fought the demons, but the battlefield was already like a graveyard.


    In front of me, everyone was dying. My eyes were blurry—lights flashed, and places were destroyed. I couldn''t see who was killing whom. Somehow, I was still alive, sometimes awake, sometimes not.


    When I opened my eyes again,


    I saw a man—his body was broken, he was kneeling on the ground, screaming in pain. His whole body started glowing, and his scream shook the battlefield. Was he trying to take revenge for his dead friends?


    Standing in front of him were the Upper Four Demons, their bodies hurt, they looked very tired. Then, in a moment, the fight started. One man against four demons—the fight was so strong that everything was destroyed. I could see only flashes of light, with each attack the ground was shaking.my eyes getting open wide but suddenly , a broken building fell on my head. And then—darkness.


    I woke up again. My body was hurting, but I was used to the pain.


    Oh, I forgot to tell you my name. My name is Eran. I don’t know which clan I belong to—I never seen my parents basically i am orphan, and there is no one left to tell me. But my body is... different. I heal very fast. No matter how bad the cut, I get better.


    Two years have passed since that war. I am nine years old now. The demons have stopped attacking, and only a few people are still alive. But the silence doesn’t bring peace—it brings more questions.


    Why did the demons attack? What were they fighting for? Was the war worth it if no one remembers the people who fought... if no one who saw it is alive?


    After some time, I started living with an old man who had many books. I asked him many questions, but he didn’t say much. He only told me, "This war... is nothing compared to the war before it." Then, he gave me books to read, as if the answers were in them.


    One day, I found an old, torn book—its cover was worn, and many pages in the middle were missing. It was written by one of the founders of an old group called Kshatra. As I read the pages that were left, I read about a time when ten Upper Demons were traveling the world, looking for a key. They destroyed many clans, and their attacks became stronger every day.


    To fight them, three men came together and started Kshatra. They trained strong warriors to fight the demons. In that war, even magical animals fought with the heroes. It was a fight of demons against the whole world.


    When it was over, six of the Upper Demons were killed. But the victory had a big cost—two of the Kshatra founders died too.


    And I started looking for the missing pages. I read many pages and found an answer to one of my big questions. A book written by nature. At first, I was shocked. Is it possible? But for a nine-year-old orphan, it was like finding my way. Reading that book, I wanted to become a great warrior. Here are some phrases from that book:


    (NATURE''S DAIRY


    "I do not remember when I was born, but I have witnessed the creation and destruction of galaxies beyond count. I have watched over this world since the first light kissed its surface. I have felt every storm rage, every leaf tremble, and every heartbeat falter. I have whispered through the winds, shaped the rivers, and carried the weight of every soul that has ever lived.


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    But she—she is beyond even me.


    I do not say she created me, only that she is older, purer. Even I, Nature, dare not touch her. It would be a violation, an unthinkable act of disrespect. Light itself refuses to touch her, as if the universe conspires to keep her untouched, untainted. When she walks upon the earth, a thin, transparent layer forms beneath her feet—an unspoken decree from existence itself, shielding her from the world. She moves where unseen souls gather, yet no path remembers her steps. The sky weeps when she mourns, and the wind holds its breath in her silence.


    I feel both blessed and burdened, for I, who have given names to rivers, stars, and beasts, cannot name her. I know her name, but I cannot write it. Some things are too sacred for words.


    Yet, in her boundless grace, she has accepted my only gift—weather crafted for her alone. A season that exists not for mortals, not for time, but for her and those she holds dear. It arrives with neither warning nor farewell, a silent blessing for the forgotten. Those who have fought for a world that never remembered them—those misunderstood, abandoned, or erased by history—she remembers them all. Their souls, unseen by the living, find solace in her presence. Even in death, they are not lost. They rest in the warmth of her embrace, as if they have returned to a mother’s lap.


    She does not speak in words, yet all who see her understand. She does not promise paradise, yet her mere presence is enough. In the fleeting moment before their souls fade, they are given one final gift—love, warmth, and a happiness they had never known in life.


    And in that moment, even death feels like home.


    She walks through battlefields long after the dust has settled, where blades once clashed and warriors once stood unshaken. To the world, they are mere echoes of history, but to her, they are children who never stopped fighting for something greater than themselves. She kneels where they fell, and in her silence, she speaks the words they longed to hear:


    "You were not forgotten."


    The scars they bore, the burdens they carried, the sacrifices they made—they were never in vain. The world may move forward without them, but she carries their memories in a place where time cannot reach.


    Even demons, those who have known only rage and despair, tremble in her presence. For even they, in their final moments, feel the touch of something they never believed existed—an unspoken forgiveness, a love beyond judgment. And in that fleeting moment, they are not demons, not monsters, not forsaken souls.


    They are simply beings, longing to rest.


    She is neither salvation nor vengeance. She does not alter fate, nor does she interfere in the battles of the living. She is merely there, watching, waiting, offering the only gift that can never be taken away—a place where the forgotten are finally seen.


    And so, as long as the stars burn, as long as the rivers flow, as long as the wind carries the whispers of those who came before—she will be there.


    Not to be touched. Not to be worshiped. But to remind the universe that even the smallest, most forgotten soul was once loved."


    Now, at 23 years old, my grandfather is gone. He passed away peacefully, leaving behind his books, his wisdom, and the unanswered questions that still haunt me. For years, I’ve been searching for the missing pages of that ancient book, hoping to uncover the full truth it once held. But time has a way of burying things—memories, histories, even entire wars.


    Despite my search, life had to move forward. I became a teacher, training two children—Akriya and Ryoshi. They remind me of the warriors I once read about, full of untapped potential and questions of their own. I see pieces of my younger self in them, the same curiosity, the same hunger to understand the world beyond their reach.)


    Now, at 23 years old, my grandfather is gone. He died peacefully, leaving his books, his wisdom, and the questions that still bother me. For years, I have been looking for the missing pages of that old book, hoping to find the whole truth. But time hides things—memories, stories, even wars.


    Even though I was searching, life had to go on. I became a teacher, training two children—Akriya and Ryoshi. They remind me of the warriors I read about, full of hope and questions. I see parts of myself in them, the same curiosity, the same desire to understand the world.


    It has been 14 years since the war, long enough for most people to forget the bad things that happened. But today, a demon has come back. It attacked the family of my friend, a warrior much stronger than me. I know he can handle it, but I can’t ignore it. I won’t.


    I am not going to fight without thinking, but I am going. Some things can’t be ignored. And as I go, I remember her words, "You were not forgotten."