Escape into the Unknown
The night was cold. Colder than it should be. The darkness stretched around him, with no beginning… no end.
Joe rode his horse as if he were escaping death itself, but he knew the truth well… death could not be ridden. Death rode you.
"Where are we going now?"
The gray parrot’s voice trembled, fluttering beside him as if its wings didn’t trust the air.
Joe didn’t answer. He gripped the reins with a hand that no longer felt like his own. His eyes were fixed on the black horizon, but the horizon was not fixed on him.
"Joe? Can you hear me?"
At last, he exhaled, as if his lungs had refused air the entire way. "Anywhere… away from them."
He didn’t need to name "them." They were his past, the hell he had grown in. They were everything he hated, everything he knew he would carry inside him forever.
But he didn’t realize he had crossed into a land even darker.
A land that didn’t grant you the honor of a fight.
A land that killed you before you even had time to be afraid.
Whoosh—
The wind whispered…
Then—
Thud!
A single arrow.
No scream.
No warning.
Not even pain… not at first.
Then—
Bam!
He fell. His body slammed against the ground, his hair sticking to his sweat-drenched forehead. The world spun around him as if it no longer wanted him.
The first thing he saw was blood. Not his own.
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It was the blood of his horse, spilling slowly, quietly, as if it didn’t want to draw his attention to its death.
The horse’s eyes were still open. But they no longer saw him.
Joe didn’t move. He didn’t blink.
Because he knew… if he did, if he even breathed, he would be the next target.
And from the darkness… a man emerged.
His stillness was eerie, his footsteps barely touched the ground. But what caught Joe’s attention most was his forehead…
A blue mark, burning like a scar of fire.
The man did not speak. He did not raise his voice. He simply extended his hand…
And grabbed the parrot.
A scream.
Wings flapping in vain.
Then—
Crack!
A single movement.
Swift.
Without hesitation.
Suddenly, the wings stopped flapping. The head rolled, the beak still open, as if it hadn’t realized it was dead.
Joe saw it.
He saw it with his own eyes.
He saw it more than he wanted to.
"No— don’t! Take anything! My life! My weapon! Anything, just don’t—"
Bam!
A fist punched into his stomach, cold as a dagger. The pain was not fair, not even comprehensible.
Before he could fall, another hand grabbed his throat—
Then—
Bam!
His head slammed into the ground.
There was no darkness… there was something worse.
There was silence.
Then, the last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was a voice— calm, cold, as distant from mercy as one could imagine:
"Take him."
---
The Unforgiving Dream
He was alone.
There was nothing but loneliness, and that was worse than anything else.
Then… a familiar voice.
"Joe… why did you leave me?"
He turned quickly, his eyes widening.
In the middle of the void, the gray parrot stood on a lone rock. Its wings were stained with blood, and its eyes…
The eyes of a friend who had died without being understood.
"You promised me… You were going to save me, weren’t you?"
Joe stepped back, as if the words carried a weight heavier than his chest could bear.
"I… I didn’t mean to leave you…"
But the other voice did not spare him.
"And is that an excuse?"
It wasn’t the parrot’s voice.
It was older, heavier, coming from something not entirely alive.
An old man emerged from the darkness. His robe was torn, his face without a smile, without wisdom—without anything but disappointment.
"Didn’t I tell you the world has no mercy for the weak?"
He pointed his hand… at the parrot.
Then—
It fell.
Joe lunged forward, reaching out, trying to grab it—
But he caught nothing.
The parrot did not fall to the ground.
It melted into the darkness.
As if it had never been his friend.
"Nooooo!!!"
He screamed, but no sound came out.
He turned to the old man, but the man was simply staring at him—without emotion, without interest—before saying quietly:
"This is what happens to the weak, Joe."
Then…
He disappeared.
Joe was left alone.
With nothing.
Then—
Splash!
Ice-cold water crashed onto him.
Suddenly, he was awake again.
He was in a stone room, dark and freezing. The moisture in the air felt like ice in his lungs.
He remembered.
The blood.
The severed head.
The moment he lost everything.
Then, for the first time since his capture… tears fell from his eyes.
Not from pain.
Not from fear.
But from helplessness.
Then, something inside him ignited.
"I have to get stronger… I have to survive."
---
The Judgment of the Leader
Joe was dragged through long corridors, lit by dim torches. He felt as if the passageways were swallowing him, as if they were designed to bury him alive.
At the end of the path, a massive door appeared.
It was pushed open, creaking heavily.
And what Joe saw inside…
Was worse than everything before.
Golden light filled the room, but it was not a warm light. It was harsh, as if it was judging him and disapproving of what it found.
And in the center of it…
A man stood.
Not just any man.
His mere presence was overwhelming, and on his forehead burned a golden mark, shining like the sun.
"What is your name?"
The voice was not loud, but it was enough to make Joe’s knees tremble.
He hesitated, then whispered, "Joe."
The man raised an eyebrow. "And to which tribe do you belong?"
Joe did not answer. He knew that any response would be the beginning of the end.
The leader smiled— as if he already knew the answer.
Then, he stepped closer, his golden mark glowing even brighter.
"You are an anomaly… Without a mark, without an identity, without a fate."
Then, in a voice as
quiet as death itself:
"But I am merciful. So, I give you two choices: become a slave… or die."
Joe did not speak.
There was no need for words anymore.
Because he knew, no matter which choice he made…
He was already finished.
