Die, you traitor. I will kill you myself."
"Monster, holy mother will never spare you."
"Burn in hell, you filthy prince!"
People shouted all around the platform, filled with anger. Some of them were just laughing and enjoying the scene.
Stones and pebbles rained down, some hitting skin, some missing, but every one thrown with hatred. The crowd surrounding the execution platform was wild with anger. They screamed, cursed, and spat at the boy chained to the wooden post, their faces twisted with fury and disgust.
The young man knelt quietly, his silver hair, which was the talk of noble ladies, now dirty and tangled, and his silver eyes dull and lifeless. Blood ran down from a cut on his forehead, mixing with the dust that clung to his pale skin. His white clothes were stained red and brown, torn and shredded from both torture and time. He was not the same person as before. The person kneeling was just a lifeless corpse.
He didn't scream.
He didn't cry.
He just sat there.
Silent.
Waiting.
More rocks came flying. One hit his cheek and made a fresh wound, but even then, he didn't flinch. He just took all of the shouting, the pain, and the humiliation without any reaction.
---
A sharp sound cut through the chaos—hoofbeats. Heavy. Fast. Controlled. Like a storm of rain.
Everyone turned.
From the distance came a group of soldiers on horseback, their black and silver armor shining under the sun. Leading them was a man with cold, icy blue eyes and hair as white as frost. He was tall, wearing a long cape fluttering behind him like a shadow.
Kael—the Empire's youngest general. The war hero. The prodigy. The hope of people against invasion.
People whispered as he approached.
"Lord Kael is here…"
"Maybe he'll give the final order himself…"
"Shh, you don't know they used to be friends."
Kael's horse stopped just before the execution platform. He dismounted slowly, then walked up the wooden stairs with calm, steady steps. His presence made the air heavy. The crowd grew quiet, afraid to even breathe too loudly in front of him.
He stood before the kneeling man.
"…Ray."
The silver-haired boy slowly raised his head.
Even with his face bloodied and broken, he was still beautiful.
Ray—the third prince of the mighty Elysian Empire.
Once loved.
Now hated.
Betrayed.
Abandoned.
Framed.
Kael looked down at him with unreadable eyes. Ray was stunned when all that happened; he thought Kael would believe him, but his every effort turned fruitless.
"Do you have any last wishes?" he asked, his voice cold but respectful.
Ray blinked slowly. His lips were dry and cracked. It took him a moment to respond.
"Last wish?" He were foreign. There was no hope for him, he knew, but he didn't want to die like this.
He looked up at the sky.
It was clear.
Blue.
Beautiful.
Almost as if mocking him.
"…What was my fault?"
His voice was soft. Almost a whisper.
No one answered.
He looked back down, closing his eyes.
Memories flashed through his mind like a storm.
---
He had been the brightest star of the royal palace. The youngest scholar to graduate from the Royal Institute. Fluent in five languages. A master of ancient runes. Gifted in medicine, politics, and war theory. His life was perfect. Youngest prince of the empire, Ray Illustrious.
He was the first official who made a move against noble tyranny. The one who locked up corrupted nobles and served justice to the innocent commoners. He was the symbol of justice.
The emperor used to smile at him with pride.
His brothers used to pat his head with affection.
His comrades—his own handpicked team—used to swear loyalty to him.
But now…
Now they all turned away.
When the fake evidence was brought forth, no one stood up for him. When lies were told in court, no one questioned them. When he was sentenced to death, his blood family didn't say a word. Father was on the committee of decision but did not even advocate for him.
He wasn't even allowed a fair trial.
He, who was the best advocate in the empire, the official who spent his whole life chasing justice for everyone, was now facing injustice himself, and there was no one for him. Nobody wanted to listen to him.
They took everything from him—his title, his land, and his future.
Why?
Why?
The people who saw him as a symbol of justice were now labeling him as a demon. The symbol of justice was now the traitor of empire.
He searched for an answer until the very end.
But none came.
He didn't cry. Not even once.
The guards moved in. The crowd roared again. The executioner raised his blade.
Ray's eyes opened one last time.
A final tear slid down his cheek.
And then—
Darkness.
.
.
.
Silence.
---
Suddenly everything stopped—the shouts, the stones, the horses, and even the executioner for a moment. His whole life flashed before his—his friendship with Kael. Ray thought he was in the afterlife for a moment. Everything seemed so serene and perfect.
Then a rift opens in the— The atmosphere cracked in a big rift, and a person emerged out of it wearing a tailored suit and tie. His hair is matte black and styled with a slicked-back style. He appeared like a gentleman.
Ray was flustered; he couldn't muster the courage to speak his mind, making all possible theories and conjunctures.
If anyone else saw this man, they would call him foreign or unknown, but Ray knew better; the man was the one who appeared in his dreams many times. Ray used many resources searching for him but never even found a trace.
The man appeared in front of Ray and spoke, his voice soft and serene, like music to the ears:
"Ray, I am finally meeting you. I am really excited."
Even though Ray was flustered, he managed to calm his nerves and responded,
"Who are you?"
The man spoke again. His voice was so smooth that it would make anyone drop their guard.
"The important matter is that I know you, and you should know that only I can help you in this situation."
Ray smiled and said,
"I don't know you. Why do you want to help me?"
The mysterious man replied,
"You summoned me here, Ray, with your ring, and I am not helping you. I am a businessman; I am just here to make a transaction with you."
Ray's expression changed to shock as he glanced down. Most of his hands were bloody due to torture, but the ring was still there. Even the jailer couldn't get that off; it was his mother's last memory, a relic she left behind before her disappearance.
Ray calmed himself again, and regaining his composure, he spoke,
"A transaction is done between two parties where both offer each other something of equal value, and as you can see in my current state, I can give you nothing."
The man moved his arm, and a black notebook appeared in his hands. He flipped it open and said,
"I have no interest in your titles or lands. These riches hold no value to me. Its value for me is the same as you value dust. But don't worry, you have someone."
"What do I even have?" Ray said with a solemn expression.
"You, Ray, you yourself are a wonder; you just don't know your real value, my diamond in the rough. Let's just say for me to save you, you will owe me 3 favors, and beware, Ray, I can ask you for anything."
Ray's expression turned grim. Even though he did not know the identity of the mysterious man, he had an inkling about what he could be. As the third prince of the empire and the senior official, he was privy to many secrets.
He replied,
"3 is too much, you know that better than me. After all, you also need to record as much as I want freedom."
The man's smile turned wider.
"You are interesting, Ray, just as I expected. Ok, for you I will reduce the cost to 1."
Ray smiled and replied,
"Done, I accept your deal, The Merchant of Void."
The man's expression changed and he became more happy observing Ray as he was observing a new toy. He said,
"I will send you to the past."
Ray was shocked. He didn't believe the words; he just thought of getting freedom, but going back to the past was just a fantasy. He tried to speak but before he could say anything, space tore open itself and he was shrouded in darkness.
.
.
.
Then—light.
A sudden rush of air filled his lungs. He gasped, choking, eyes wide with panic.
He was lying on something soft—familiar.
A bed?
He sat up quickly, heart pounding in his chest.
His fingers trembled as he touched her body.
No chains.
No wounds.
No dirt.
His skin was clean. His silver hair smooth. His clothes—royal sleepwear.
He looked around in shock.
This room… It was his old bedroom. The one in the Eastern Palace. The same one he had as a teenager.
No… this couldn't be. He had been executed. He had died.
He reached for the small mirror on the bedside table.
He looked into it—and almost dropped it in shock.
He looked younger.
His face was smoother. His shoulders slimmer. His silver eyes still held their light.
"What… the hell…" he whispered.