It was night. The moon hung full and bright, spilling silver across the quiet world. Tonight, it seemed unusually luminous, almost aware, as if it were watching.
Inside a spacious room, a newborn's cries pierced the stillness. Tiny, fragile, raw.
A hand descended and lifted the baby gently. The moment skin met skin, the crying stopped abruptly. Calm settled over the room as if the infant had finally found its rightful place.
Then a voice came. Soft. Melodic. Unparalleled.
It carried a warmth that seemed to seep into the air itself, soothing the infant — and something deep within the heart of the room. Sweet. Alluring.A lullaby that promised something beyond understanding
The baby's eyes opened.
A sudden jolt ran through Dark.
He shot upright in bed, heart hammering. Sweat coated his forehead.
"Fuck… was that… another dream?" he muttered, gripping the sheets.
The morning light hadn't reached his room yet, but the aftertaste of the vision lingered — vivid, almost real. Zen's gaze drifted to the window, still dark outside, but the feeling remained: this dream wasn't just a dream.
"Fuck… I've been having these weird dreams a lot lately. Am I… reaching my end? Is my next life already trying to show me itself?"
A low, dark chuckle escaped him. "Ha… what a stupid thought."
"Ho, wait—let me introduce myself. Where are my manners?"
A pause. He let the words linger, almost savoring them.
"My name is Dark. Just… how did my life become this dark?"
I am just a patient, lying on my deathbed, quietly waiting for Yama to come and take me. Heehee… I think I'm becoming more twisted these days. Shit. No… maybe I'm not twisted at all. I'm just afraid of dying. Who in their right mind would want to die?
If a human were given the chance to live, they'd always choose life over death. So how am I any different? I, too, want to live like a normal person… to live like everyone else. But my situation… doesn't always allow it.
"If you're wondering what the hell I'm suffering from... heart problems. Not the kind that fix themselves. Life's dealt me too many blows, and my heart just... refuses to heal anymore. Hehe... kidding. Or maybe not. The truth is, yeah-I'm sick. And who knows? Maybe I die tomorrow. Or maybe the day after. Death doesn't send an RSVP."
"So yeah… I grew up in an orphanage. My parents? Gone before I even knew the taste of life. No one I could really call family, no one I could trust fully.
I wasn't a prodigy or anything, but I wasn't dull either. Quiet, mostly. Introverted, yeah—but put me with friends, and I'd be the center of everything. The one leading, deciding, taking charge. Never the follower. Never the weak one. I hated being a lackey. That wasn't me.
I was… bright in my own way. Not the kind of brilliance you see in books or on stages. The kind that makes people notice you, whether you want them to or not. I knew how to stand out without trying too hard. That's just… me."
"And yeah… this was all before I found out about my heart problem. Until then, I was just a normal student—going to college, coming back, living life like anyone else.
I wasn't exactly brilliant at studying when I started, but over time… I got a bit smarter. Slowly, I figured things out.
Sports? That was my real playground. Give me any game—any game at all—and I'd pick it up and excel in no time. Outdoor games, indoor games… I had a knack for them. Something about moving, competing, winning—it clicked with me. That was my world back then."
"But—fucking hell—it all came crashing down when I found out about my heart problems. Shit… my life did a full 360. I had to constantly live with worry, thinking about my situation every damn day.
That's also when I got isolated. I didn't have anyone I could really call family. Sure, I had relatives somewhere, but… honestly? They were probably too busy to notice poor me."
"I had friends… or at least, I thought I did. Now? I don't think I can call any of them that. Maybe they were just around because it suited them. Because it aligned with what they wanted.
And when they didn't need me anymore… they just threw me away. Like I didn't matter at all.
Heh… what a joke.
This lonely life…
All I ever wanted was something simple. A peaceful life. A family I could call my own.
…Is that really too much to ask?"
He let out a shaky breath.
"I want to cry… should I?"
I think it was in half about a dramatic introduction, I say.
But why the hell is the nurse late today? Did I wake up too early?
Drak glanced outside. Still dawn. Pale light creeping over the horizon, nothing stirring.
Maybe… I should just sleep for a while.
Dark looked around his surroundings. A set of paints and a brush lay nearby. Should I… paint the sun? he thought. He had just bought these paints to pass the time—rarely ever used them.
If you're wondering how he even got them, well… he was a patient, but he had ordered them online. Not that he was an expert. Far from it. He wasn't buying them to create masterpieces—just to occupy himself, to give his restless mind something to do.
He picked up the brush and set out the paints. Black first, then layers of orange, yellow, and even shades of white. I think I'm doing this right… he thought, though he wasn't just slapping colors onto the canvas randomly—each stroke carried some thought, some intention.
Maybe I should just go back to sleep… I'm not cut out for this, he mused.
But somehow… once he started, time slipped away. The hours vanished, and he found himself completely absorbed, lost in the rhythm of brush on canvas.
It was finally done. Dark exhaled a long breath and leaned back, staring at his painting. Fuck… I should have just slept.
Anyway, he thought, it's probably time for the nurse to give me my medicine.
And as if on cue, the nurse appeared. Dark set the canvas aside.
"Early today," the nurse's voice called out, a hint of surprise in her tone.
I just gave a small nod. She went about her work quietly, methodical, like it was second nature. I kept staring at her, not at her face, but at the rhythm of her movements. I meant… her work.
And then my thoughts wandered. What could possibly be on her mind right now? Pity? Would a stranger even deserve pity? Maybe it was just routine for her—seeing patients like me, people on the edge of death, day in and day out.
Still… I couldn't help wondering. If by some miracle she could trade a little of her own lifespan for mine… would she do it?
No. If it were me, I wouldn't. Even if I wanted to… I'd only give a single day. I'm no saint. Half my life for someone else? Who in their right mind would do that?
Even if I gave half my life… in the end, he would still die.
Everyone does.
If not today, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow… then years later.
Death is inevitable. It's our destination.
So what's the point of giving someone even a single extra day?
It won't change the ending.
…Then why do I want that one extra day so badly?
Why… why do I not want to die?
Why do I want to live so badly?
I just… I just want to live.
God… do you hear me?
Humans are strange creatures.
Not just humans—every living being wants to cling to life.
They chase immortality, dream of extending their days.
And me? I have no excuse. "You're young," they'd say.
But what about when I grow old?
Will I still crave just one more day… then another… and another?
If I think about it… those who chase to extend their lives are often those who are never satisfied with what they have.
Those with too many unfinished things, too many regrets.
Those who didn't achieve what they wanted, who didn't understand what truly mattered… until they reached the end.
If I had done everything I ever wanted… would I be able to embrace death peacefully?
Would I accept it for what it is?
But then… there are those who choose death over life.
They, too, are the ones who have lost everything.
In the end, all that remains are unfinished things and regrets.
If I think carefully… they're all the same, in some way.
Regrets. That's what binds them. No matter how different their lives, how different their reasons… in the end, it always comes back to regrets.
"Then, if someone had no regrets in their life—if they had fulfilled everything—could they still choose death? Would there still be people who would willingly walk away from life?"
"If that's true… if someone had no regrets in life and willingly chose death, without clinging to even a single extra day, then perhaps that would be a life truly well-lived. In the end, the only path we all share is death."
"Just like everything leads to destruction, nothing is permanent. Every path ends in ruin… yet from that end, a new path always emerges."
"So be it… every life ends in death. Nothing lasts. Yet here I am—still clinging. Still wanting… to live."