The Game of his Destiny

In the world of Talom, diverse races live side by side—humans, elves, dwarves, and many others. The Prime Spirits blessed them with eternal gifts: undying fire, healing waters, winds that whisper of the future. Thanks to these blessings, kingdoms flourished, brimming with wonders and the abundant riches of nature.

​But more than a hundred years ago, war erupted in the Zeron Kingdom. Five merciless years of slaughter ravaged four entire provinces, unleashed by a group that hungered for absolute dominion.

​Over a hundred million lives—roughly 60% of the kingdom's population at the time—were lost in that devastating conflict. The war only ended when the king of Zeron was finally slain and replaced—but the scars it left never truly healed. Rivers turned foul, fields withered into dust, and the wisest leaders, the very architects of progress, perished along with their knowledge.

​The nation never recovered, even after new rulers took the throne and the kingdom was renamed the Irysh Kingdom. To this day, the wounds of that war linger, a century later.

​One of the surviving settlements is Hayem City—once the jewel of the south, alive with commerce, bustling markets, and thriving trade routes. Now? Crumbling stone, shattered homes, and rivers black as ink, too toxic to drink. The air carries the heavy, stagnant stench of rotting wood, smoke from dying fires, and parched, lifeless earth. It is a place stripped of all vitality, where every breath feels like a struggle against decay.

​Life here is brutal, yet the people have no choice but to stay. Beyond the city walls roam bandits, flesh-eating monsters, and broken souls who have lost all hope.

​I am Aren, twenty years old, one of the town guards. Night after night, we fight off desperate thieves who raid what little remains of our crops. Every patrol is a dance with death; I never know if I'll make it home alive.

​Just one more night, just one more breath, I think, staring into the dark. Truthfully, there's nothing good about this place. But I was born here, in the shadow of this ruin, so I suppose I'll die here too. In the rare moments I have free, I head to the tavern to drown the crushing weight of it all in cheap, burning liquor.

​"This life is so damn exhausting," I muttered to myself, the words barely clearing my throat as I finished the last shot of sour, rust-tasting alcohol.

​While I was drinking, the tavern door suddenly swung open. A young woman stepped inside—someone who clearly didn't belong in a place like this.

​Her hair was pure white—not the dull gray of age, but the brilliant white of fresh mountain snow in winter. She wore a simple white dress and no shoes. As I watched her, I couldn't look away. There was an inexplicable light about her, something otherworldly… as if she didn't belong to this world at all.

​She approached the counter. "Do you have any milk?"

​The bartender froze, then let out a dry, rasping chuckle. "Miss, this is a beer house. We only serve alcohol. You won't find milk anywhere around here."

​Disappointment crossed her face, a flicker of genuine sadness, but she didn't give up. "Then… hot chocolate?"

​"Nope. Just booze. That's all we got."

​She insisted on hot chocolate anyway. Their argument escalated, her voice rising in confusion while the bartender's grew sharp with irritation, until he finally pushed her out the door.

​"Out! And don't come back!"

​Left with no choice, she stepped outside, frustration and dejection written all over her.

​"What a weird girl," I muttered, taking another swig, feeling the familiar burn take the edge off my nerves.

​A few hours later, I was thoroughly drunk. With nothing left to do, I decided to head home. I stumbled through the dark alleys, my feet heavy in the thick, suffocating mud.

​Halfway there, a man suddenly collided with me—his face hidden beneath a black cloth. The impact wasn't hard, but it was enough to make me stagger back a step.

​"Whoa, sorry! Didn't mean to!" he said quickly.

​I didn't care enough to react. My head was swimming, and I just wanted to get home and sleep, so I kept walking. But when my hand reached into my pocket, the emptiness there hit me like a physical blow—my wallet was gone.

​I whipped around just in time to see the man sprinting away, a shadow blurring into the night.

​"Hey! Wait! Did you take my wallet? Hey!"

​I chased him through the maze of squatter alleys, twisting and turning until he vanished into the shadows. Exhausted and dizzy from the alcohol, I dropped to my knees in the middle of the dark street, gasping for breath, the cold mud soaking through my trousers.

​"Damn it… it's gone," I whispered. Money is hard to come by here. Now I'd have to work overtime, go hungry again until I could scrape together enough for food.

​A few minutes passed. As I trudged home, I reached for my pocket again near the door of my tiny shack—and panic hit me like ice water.

​The house key had been inside the wallet.

​Without it, I couldn't get in. Rage and despair boiled over in my chest, hot and jagged. I screamed into the empty street.

​"This fucking world is unbearable! I'm so goddamn unlucky!"

​"Ugh, so annoying! This world is infuriating!" another voice shouted at almost the exact same moment.

​I froze. Turning around, I saw her—the same white-haired girl from the tavern—standing in the middle of the street, fuming with irritation.

​We both stopped, staring at each other, the silence between us heavy with our shared frustration.

​"Wait… you're the one looking for milk back at the tavern?" I asked.

​"Tch. Why is there no milk or chocolate in this entire town? It's so frustrating!" she complained, her voice trembling on the edge of tears.

​I sighed, rubbing my face. "Miss, it's the middle of the night and you went to a beer house. If you want milk, you'd have to go to one of the main markets—if any are still open."

​She looked me up and down, her gaze intense. "I don't know much about towns anymore. I slept for a very long time… almost a century. So much has changed in this country."

​I let out a weak laugh, a dry sound that felt foreign in the stagnant air. "Are you messing with me? Or are you actually serious?"

​She didn't answer directly. Instead, she stepped closer, the moonlight catching the white strands of her hair. "Do you have any food? I haven't eaten since yesterday. I'm traveling to gather information about the Seven Warriors of Ruin—the leaders of the Black Scorpion."

​I remembered the old stories the elders used to tell. They were the ones who started the war in Zeron. Their plan was to collect the Twelve Celestial Items and conquer the kingdom. Though they succeeded in killing the king, they all died soon after.

​"Why do you care about that? Hardly anyone's interested in those old war tales anymore."

​"You see… my siblings made many mistakes. They created the spirit items and scattered them across the world. Because of that, ordinary beings gained immense power… and destruction began."

​As we talked, a light mist began to fall. Cold droplets kissed my skin, carried by the wind.

​"Hey, it's starting to rain. You should head somewhere dry before you get soaked," I said.

​"I don't have anywhere to go. I don't have a home here. I've been traveling alone from the south for seven days."

​I smirked, thinking back to her bold argument with the bartender over milk when she clearly had no money. "You've got some nerve demanding milk when you can't even pay for it."

​The rain grew heavier, turning the dust into slick sludge. She was already getting drenched, so I had no choice. "Come on, take shelter at my place until the rain stops. Just until it lets up, okay?"

​Since I didn't have my key, I forced the door open, yanking hard until the rusty, protesting lock gave way.

​Once inside, I lit the old gas lamp on the table. Its weak, flickering flame barely illuminated the room: a broken table, a thin, moth-eaten mattress, and the faint, biting smell of mold.

​I took out two pieces of bread from the cabinet—hard and stale. "It's not much, but it'll keep the hunger away for tonight."

​She sniffed it carefully, as if checking for poison, then ate slowly while speaking. "Do you know anything about the Seven Warriors of Ruin? With the help of the spirits, I've already found six. There's only one left… and the last spirit said the seventh would appear here in Hayem."

​I chuckled softly, though the humor was hollow. She kept talking about spirits and ancient warriors like a child with an overactive imagination. Maybe the alcohol was making it harder to follow. "Spirits? You're actually serious?"

​She continued anyway, her voice a soft, persistent hum against the drumming rain. I no longer had the energy to argue, so I just listened. She wanted to fix the world. To prevent another war before it could start and save the future. She wanted to restore the prosperity this world once had.

​"This country is so ugly now. I can't enjoy it the way I used to," she said, her eyes tracing the cracks in my wall.

​I nodded, even through the haze of liquor. "Yeah. This world sucks. No good food, overpriced booze. Why do we have to suffer just because of the mistakes our ancestors made?"

​Her expression softened, a spark of hope lighting her eyes. She moved closer, sat on the edge of my mattress with an eager smile, and asked,

​"So… you agree too? You want to change the world?"

​Her words felt impossibly distant from reality, like a fairy tale whispered in a graveyard. I was too tired and drunk to care what came out of my mouth anymore.

​"Of course! Who the hell enjoys living like this? I curse this shitty reality every day," I shouted, my voice cracking.

​She beamed at my words, a brilliant, terrifyingly pure expression. "I've been doubting myself for so long. Wondering if what I'm doing is wrong. I'm so glad… someone finally understands what I want to happen."

​My eyelids grew heavier as she gently held my arm, her touch strangely warm.

​"Do you want to help me save this country? Together, we can bring back the peaceful, prosperous world it used to be."

​I laughed drowsily, thinking she was joking—like a kid with big, impossible dreams. "Sure, why not? If it means life gets even a little better here, let's do it. Let's fix this messed-up world."

​As I raised my fist into the air, my arm dropped, my eyes closed, and I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

​The next morning…

​I woke with a pounding, violent hangover, forcing myself up to get ready for another day of work like always. But after only a few steps, I slammed face-first into a door.

​"Ow!"

​Confused, I stared at it. Why was there a door in front of me now?

​My heart started racing, a sudden, frantic rhythm against my ribs. Something was wrong with the room.

​I looked around. The place was clean. Tidy. A fresh mattress. The air smelled of clean breeze and faint flowers—completely different from the moldy, suffocating shack I remembered.

​"Wait… why does my room look like this?" I whispered to myself, the silence of the room feeling louder than any noise.

​A chill ran through me, sharp and biting. Had I stumbled drunk into someone else's house last night and passed out here? The thought of the punishment for breaking and entering made my stomach drop.

​I rushed outside. When I opened the door, bright, crisp sunlight greeted me.

​Before me stretched a clean street. People were smiling, walking with purpose. Intact carriages rolled by on stone that wasn't caked in mud. Vendors were selling fresh fruit and bread, the scent of baking dough filling the air.

​"What the hell is going on? Where am I?"

​My mind spun. I ran until I reached the center of town, arriving at the chapel.

​There, people were celebrating a wedding, laughing and joyful.

​I saw the bell tower, the statue of the Phoenix—everything was familiar. This was definitely Hayem… but it looked nothing like the ruin I knew.

​Beautiful houses. No broken buildings. No mud in the streets. No stench of decay.

​"I'm still in Hayem… but why does it look like this?" I muttered in growing panic.

​I felt the warm, solid stone beneath my bare feet. This wasn't a dream. It was real.

​Overwhelmed by shock and confusion, I screamed in the middle of the crowd.

​"What the hell is happening?!"

​