A man, worn with age, unkempt gray hair floating listlessly upon his balding scalp, stood lonely- yet not alone, facing the precipice of a grand cliff that led to icy depths.

  Ten men, young and straight-backed, stood encircling him, curved taiga’s held in their trembling hands, the edges pointed at his heart. Their faces were stony and frowned, and their eyes were bloodshot in quality.

  “You filthy deranged killer! Don’t you stand there with your back to us like a coward! Come and face your fate!” The youngest of the men yelled.

  “I would dare to think that the words you just let slip were untrue, young master, as I am no mere coward, and I would not face my fate lest it be that of an insect.” The old man replied in a dreary tone.

  The young man closest to him let out a scream and swung his taiga at the old man’s legs, slicing through his thigh. The old man did not even flinch.

  “You dare speak brashly?! Know your place- you monstrous demon, your life is worth less than half of that of an insect’s!” The young master replied heatedly.

  Blood poured out of the gaping wound in the old man’s thigh, staining his foot and the ground below it a bright red, yet he gave it no notice, and raised his left arm straight above his head, his hand fisted and his knuckles white.

  “The fate of a man is not decided by other men, and perhaps not even by god, and only he himself can guard the authority over his own life and death. An insect can only decide when to eat, sleep or serve, but never when to defy their own destiny. I am noinsect, and my destiny is my own to defy! You cannot cross the heavens, and you cannot cross me! Your words are false truths spouted from the lips of a seething hound! I choose my death as my own, and your sword’s cut of my own fulfilling hand! Your volition cannot be thrown upon my head as though it-“ the old man’s words were cut off, along with his head, before he fell down the cliff into the waters below. If one were to observe, with great intensity, his body as it fell, they would be surprised to notice that his hand never opened from its clenched fist, even as he hit the water and was consumed by the raging torrents.

  No one took the effort to try.

  The man known as the young master of the Kabaro clan, trudged over to the head of the old man that stood miraculously upright and facing the cliff where the rest of its body had disappeared. He grabbed it by the hair, raised it up, and turned towards his men, shaking the head as he spoke: “The filthy traitor is dead! His sins will be burned along with his head today at midnight, and his memory will be forever forgotten!” Most of the young master’s men cheered at his proclamation, and waved their taiga’s at the sky, with only one of them having not done so, as he was still attempting to rid his blade of the blood that stained it by rubbing it against the gravel by his feet.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  A young boy, six in age, watched the entirety of the events occur from afar, and felt lost and confused. His grandfather had asked him to follow him to the cliff, and then hide behind a bush.

  “Why grandpa? Are you gonna show me something interesting?” He had asked.

  “Yes my dear, and you may not understand it now, and later you may even resent me for it, but understand that observing this will be of great importance to you, and will aid you when you most need it.” He had replied.

  The boy indeed did not understand what had occurred. He saw his grandfather talk to some strange men, and then dive down the cliff. Had he been planning to swim with the strange men? But if so, why were they not swimming? And why were they laughing and cheering after grandfather dived? Was it a contest of some sort?

  The little boy was quite befuddled.

  He had grown up sheltered, in a well-to-do family, with loving parents and grandparents. He had never learned of death, and thus could not comprehend it.

  But he was not stupid. The boy knew that something of great importance had just occurred, he simply could not quite figure out just what.

  Also, why had his grandfather left his head behind? Would it not be easier to swim if you could see with your eyes, hear with your ears, smell with your nose, and feel with your touch? And without a head, you cannot think as well, since according to aunt Regina, the brain (which was what people used to think with) was located inside of the head.

  The young boy watched as the group of men marched cheerfully out of sight, the head of his grandfather still clutched in one of their hands, and he let out a deep sigh.

  “I better ask grandpa what to do next.” He said aloud, before hopping out of his hiding spot and peering down the cliff at the waters below, searching for his grandfather.

  “What’s this- a little brat?” A voice called out from behind him, and the boy flinched before whirling around to face the speaker.

  It was the young man who was cleaning his sword in the gravel, now having just returned from a quick piss in the woods, to find his crew missing a small boy standing before him.

  “The fuck you doing here little shit-face? Go, run off and suck on your momma’s teet or something.” He growled angrily, before lightly kicking the small boy in the chest.

  The boy stumbled backward, managed to stay upright for a few wavering steps, before he slipped and fell, right off the edge of the cliff.

  The wind roaring in his ears, the boy stared up in wonder at the speedily shrinking face of the young man as he stared down at him, a comical look of surprise etched on his face.

  “Wha-“

  The world turned black.