A Tiny Spark

Night Country, somewhere in a fortress.

The swarm had blotted out the entire sky. They rose from the twisted vegetation of the Black Forest, and wherever the eye could see, even the Stone tried to gnaw at them.

The armor of the knights remaining in the fortress was tattered and torn. They had held off two waves of attacks from the swarm, but more than half their number had already been lost. Those who remained had hollow eyes and numb expressions. Clearly, in this desperate battle, not only their bodies but their sanity had been tormented. Even if they were lucky enough to survive, their understanding of the world would be turned upside down, and they would never be able to return to the past.

One knight gazed at the swarms blanketing the land beyond the fortress. His eyes shifted. He lowered his head and looked at the longsword in his hand, its blade riddled with notches from the countless insects he had slain. He felt a trace of weariness.

Why was he staying here?

What was the reason he had fought all this time?

This world would ultimately be devoured and destroyed by monsters. The suffering he endured here was meaningless.

He felt a soft whispering beside his ear, coaxing him.

The knight raised his sword and laid it across his neck.

The people around him noticed what he was doing. Someone stood up to stop him, but hesitation showed in his movements.

Despair spread. The knight drew the blade across his neck. The rough, nicked edge still tore open his flesh, and blood gushed out.

The knight said nothing. Blood foam had already clogged his throat. A final trace of regret flashed in his eyes. He clutched the wound in his throat with both hands, trying to stop