"A maggot, huh…"
A tear fell.
Slowly.
Almost imperceptible.
Almost meaningless.
But to Noc.
It felt… wrong.
Strange.
Unsettling.
His brows knit slightly.
"…Damn it."
His voice was low.
Almost like a whisper not meant for anyone at all.
He didn't like it.
Didn't understand it.
"Why am I feeling this again."
"Emotions like this…"
"Are useless."
"They don't help."
"They don't save anyone."
"They should've… disappeared long ago."
"They should've died long ago."
…
But something in his chest tightened.
Deep.
And painful.
Like something he once knew.
"Something I buried a long time ago."
The mist around him seemed to shift.
Not physically.
But within his awareness.
The forest.
The silence.
The damp air.
Slowly… overlapped with something else.
Colder.
More… suffocating.
…
Darkness.
Not the darkness of night.
But a darkness that closed in from all directions.
Walls.
Narrow.
Too close.
The smell.
Iron.
Damp.
Dried blood.
And the sound.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
…
Teta observed Noc's expression.
It looked blank, tired, yet tears kept falling from his face.
Noc didn't move.
But his gaze slowly lost focus.
He stood still… then began walking back toward the hut.
He decided to turn around and return to his hut.
...
"A child from a place that was never meant to exist." he muttered as he walked back.
He was born… not in a place he should have been.
The southern outskirts of the Kingdom of Batrein.
A small village called Drelsh, bordering the Kingdom of Solvenhart.
A place where people didn't truly live.
They merely… endured.
Dilapidated houses stood close together, their wood rotting, their roofs leaking. Muddy dirt roads mixed with the imprints of horse hooves. The smell of sweat, smoke, and hunger became part of the air people breathed every day.
There were no dreams in that place.
Only exhaustion.
Only the habit of not hoping.
His mother, Aneth, was a thread spinner.
Her hands were always moving.
Always working.
Her skin was covered in small wounds, her fingers rough and cracked.
But when she held Noc.
Her hands were always warm.
His father, Torkan, had once been an infantry soldier.
But a meaningless war had taken his left leg.
Since then.
He was no longer a soldier.
No longer anyone.
Just a crippled man trying to survive in a world that had no place for the weak.
They were poor.
Extremely poor.
Yet…
Even though their lives were harsh, they always gave love to their only child… Noc.
Unlike the world outside.
They loved him.
In a simple way.
In a way that… perhaps wasn't enough.
Because love.
Was never enough to fight reality.
Noc was weak since birth.
Noc never had a chance.
He was born too early, premature.
Too small.
Too fragile.
His body often burned with fever.
His breath was short.
His hands trembled even when holding something light.
When other children ran… he stumbled.
When they laughed… he stayed silent.
And when they played.
He… became the target.
"You can't even stand properly."
"What are your bones made of? Straw?"
"Why are you even alive?"
Those words never stopped.
Not just from children.
Adults.
They didn't stop it.
Didn't care.
Because in that place, weakness was a curse from God.
Seeing someone weaker… was entertainment.
And Noc.
Was the easiest.
He was hit.
Pushed.
Thrown into the mud.
Again.
And again.
And again.
And every time.
He didn't fight back.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because… he couldn't.
Yet… he always prayed.
"God… if being weak… is a sin…"
"I promise, when I grow up I will become strong…"
"So please protect me…"
"Protect my family…"
"Give my mother and father health…"
That was the prayer he whispered, after crawling in the mud, battered by the other children.
But what no one knew.
Noc had a dream.
A dream that kept him going.
A dream that never faded from his heart.
"Papa… when I grow up, I'll become a soldier like you." he would always say at night while his father treated his wounds.
"I'll become strong, Papa." he said with a smile.
"Yes… my son." his father replied, holding back the sadness in his eyes.
"I believe you will."
"And make sure you become stronger than me… alright?" he added, gently patting Noc's head, feeling the many bruises and dents from the bullying.
"Papa, will I really be able to?" little Noc asked, with snot running from his nose and teary eyes he tried to hold back.
"..." His father paused, then smiled again. "You will become strong, my son."
"Maybe when you're a bit older, your father can teach you the sword, Noc." his mother added while sewing nearby.
"Of course I will," his father said confidently.
"Papa, Mama… I promise that I'll become strong one day." little Noc said, smiling as he wiped his nose.
"Yes, you will," both his parents answered, smiling at him.
But…
There was a day when all of that ended.
He was ten years old.
That day… at first, it was no different.
The sky was still gray.
The air was still cold.
And their stomachs… still empty.
Until…
They came.
The Voss Clan.
Not just debt collectors.
They were a reminder.
That in this world.
Power is law.
And the weak…
Have no right to refuse.
.
Their door was kicked open.
Hard.
The old wood nearly tore from its hinges.
Noc flinched.
His mother froze.
And his father.
Just stared.
Silent.
As if… he already knew this would happen.
"Your time is up, Torkan."
The voice was cold.
Without emotion.
Without empathy.
One of them stepped inside.
His boots struck the fragile wooden floor.
Creaking.
Mocking.
"I… need more time," his father said quietly.
Not begging.
Not shouting.
Just… trying.
"Time?" the man chuckled. "You think time is free?"
Without warning.
The first punch landed.
HARD.
Torkan's body was thrown aside.
Noc froze.
His eyes widened.
"P-Papa…!"
He wanted to move.
But his legs.
Wouldn't respond.
Second punch.
Third.
Fourth.
No pause.
No rhythm.
Only violence spilling without restraint.
His father's body hit the ground.
Beaten.
Kicked.
Dragged.
Like he wasn't human.
Like… an object.
"Stop!!"
Noc's voice cracked.
High.
Panicked.
But no one listened.
Or rather.
No one cared.
His mother tried to move forward.
But was held back.
Thrown down.
"Don't interfere."
That cold voice again.
And then.
It happened.
A sound.
A crack.
Bone.
Once.
And that was enough.
His father's bloodied body stopped moving.
Silence.
Suddenly.
No more blows.
No more sound.
Only.
Stillness.
Noc crawled.
His hands trembling.
"Papa…?"
No answer.
He shook his father's shoulder.
Gently.
"…Pa?"
Still nothing.
Blood slowly trickled from the corner of his mouth.
His eyes half open.
But.
Empty.
And in that moment.
Noc understood.
Without explanation.
Without words.
Something… was gone.
Forever.
His father died right in front of him.
.
But they weren't done.
One of them spat on the floor.
"A corpse can't pay debts."
Another laughed softly.
"Which means…"
And their eyes.
Shifted.
Toward his mother.
.
That day.
Did not end.
And the days after…
Became worse.
.
They came again.
And again.
And again.
With the same reason.
Debt.
Always debt.
But what they took…
Was no longer money, but his mother's body.
His mother.
Did not fight back.
Could not.
But every time.
She always said to Noc:
"Don't look."
Her voice trembled.
But forced to stay calm.
"Go inside."
"No matter what you hear… don't come out."
Noc gripped the door.
His hands trembling violently.
Tears fell.
But he didn't move.
Didn't dare.
Couldn't.
And behind that thin wall.
The sounds still came.
Muted.
Suppressed.
But still… reached him.
Day after day.
His mother endured.
For him.
Always for him.
Every night.
She still stroked his head.
Still smiled.
Even though her eyes were empty.
"Noc… you must be strong, okay?"
"Don't be like me."
"Don't be like your father…"
"Become something more."
Noc only nodded.
Silent.
But inside him.
Something began to crack.
.
Time passed.
But nothing changed.
His mother became different.
Sometimes she spoke to herself.
Sometimes she laughed… for no reason.
Sometimes she sat still for hours.
Staring blankly.
As if her soul…
Had already left.
But in front of Noc.
She still tried.
Still smiled.
Still became "mother."
.
Until one night.
No sound.
No knocking.
No footsteps.
Strange.
Too quiet.
Noc woke up.
Slowly.
"Ma…?"
No answer.
He walked out.
His steps small.
Hesitant.
And then.
He saw it.
His mother.
Hanging.
Still.
Peaceful.
As if all the pain.
Had finally stopped.
The rope swayed gently.
The wood creaked.
Slowly.
Repeatedly.
Noc stood there.
Not moving.
Not screaming.
Just staring.
His eyes empty.
But tears streamed down his face.
His hands slowly dropped to his sides.
And for a long time.
He just stood there.
Alone.
.
"God…"
His voice was flat.
But the tears wouldn't stop.
"Did you really curse me to be weak?"
Silence.
"…did you really curse our family?" Noc muttered, his voice trembling.
"What sin… did we commit?"
Then… his sobs and anger burst out.
"WE JUST WANTED TO LIVE!"
"ARE WE REALLY THAT WORTHLESS?!"
"WHY DID YOU NEVER ANSWER OUR PRAYERS?!"
"ARE WE REALLY THAT DISGUSTING?!"
"THEN WHY… WHY DID YOU LET US LIVE?!"
"WHY DID YOU MAKE US FEEL ALL OF THIS?!"
That night, exhaustion and the reality of how rotten life and the world were… embedded themselves into Noc.
With his small body, Noc tried to carry his mother on his back.
He fell.
Shaking.
But he didn't give up.
He had only one goal.
A small church.
And to bury his mother.
The distance wasn't far.
But with his weak body, it took him hours.
He cried the entire way, his small body struggling to carry her.
Until finally, he arrived at the church.
A thin mist still lingered around the small church.
The building was simple.
Old.
Yet stood firm, as if time itself hesitated to touch it too deeply.
Several nuns rushed forward.
Their expressions changed when they saw what Noc carried.
A small child.
With a trembling body.
Carrying his mother's corpse on his back.
"Oh God…"
One of them covered her mouth.
"Quick! Help him!"
Footsteps rushed forward.
But before they reached him.
The church door opened slowly.
An old man stepped out.
His robe simple.
Faded white.
His eyes deep.
Calm.
Yet heavy with something indescribable.
Priest Alric Vaelthorn.
He stopped.
Stared.
For a long time.
Not shocked.
Not panicked.
Just… understood.
Noc staggered.
His legs gave out.
But he stayed standing.
His eyes empty.
Tears still falling.
"…please…"
His voice hoarse.
Barely audible.
"…please bury my mother…"
Silence.
The priest walked closer.
Slow.
Measured.
He stopped right in front of Noc.
Lowered himself slightly.
Looked directly into his eyes.
For a moment.
No words.
Only silence.
But that silence…
Was not empty.
"What is your name, child?" he asked gently.
"…Noc."
Barely a whisper.
The priest nodded slightly.
Then without another word.
He raised his hand.
Gave a signal.
"Help him."
His voice soft.
Yet unquestionable.
The nuns immediately moved.
Carefully taking his mother's body from his back.
And when the weight lifted.
Noc's body swayed.
He almost fell.
But the priest held him.
One hand.
Light.
Yet firm.
"That's enough."
He said quietly.
"For today… that is enough."
Noc didn't respond.
He only stared at the ground.
Empty.
.
The burial was simple.
No grand ceremony.
No crowd.
Just earth.
Gray sky.
And a few silent figures.
His mother was buried beside his father.
As if.
They were finally together again.
Priest Alric stood before the two graves.
Hands folded.
Eyes closed.
"Every soul that returns…"
He spoke softly.
"…is never truly gone."
A gentle wind blew.
"Because what they leave behind…"
"…will remain in this world."
He opened his eyes.
Looked at Noc.
"…within you."
Silence.
Noc didn't answer.
Didn't nod.
Didn't react.
He just stood there.
Still.
.
That day.
Noc did not return home.
Because there was no longer a place he could call home.
He stayed.
At the church.
At the small orphanage connected to it.
.
Days passed.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Orderly.
Noc ate.
Slept.
Did light work.
Never argued.
Never fought.
Never asked.
Other children sometimes spoke to him.
But he rarely answered.
Not out of arrogance.
But because…
There was nothing he wanted to say.
.
One afternoon.
Priest Alric sat on a wooden bench inside the church.
Sunlight streamed through stained glass.
Casting soft colors on the floor.
Noc sat a few meters away.
Silent.
As always.
The priest spoke.
Did not call him.
Did not force him.
Just spoke.
"Sometimes… the world feels unfair."
Silence.
"Sometimes… prayers feel like they are never heard."
Noc didn't move.
But.
His fingers tightened slightly.
The priest continued.
"But that doesn't mean… no one is listening."
Silence.
"It doesn't mean… everything is meaningless."
He turned slightly.
Glancing at Noc.
"…you're angry, aren't you?"
The question was simple.
But precise.
Noc didn't answer.
But it was enough.
The priest sighed softly.
"That's alright."
His voice gentle.
"God is not afraid of human anger."
"And faith… does not mean you cannot question."
He looked forward.
Eyes deep.
"Faith… is continuing to walk… even when you don't understand."
Silence.
A few seconds.
Noc finally spoke.
Slowly.
"…if He exists…"
His voice flat.
"…why did He let all of that happen?"
The question carried no emotion.
And because of that.
It felt heavier.
The priest didn't answer immediately.
He stayed silent.
For a long time.
As if truly considering.
"…I don't know."
He finally said.
Honest.
Unadorned.
"And perhaps… I never will."
Noc looked at him.
Slightly.
For the first time.
The priest smiled faintly.
"But I believe…"
He continued.
"…that what happened… is not the end of everything."
Silence.
"And as long as you are alive…"
"…it means there is still something you can do."
Noc looked forward again.
Empty.
"…alive…"
He repeated softly.
But the word.
Held no meaning for him.
.
That night.
Noc lay on his small bed.
Eyes open.
Staring at the ceiling.
Soft prayers echoed from another room.
The children prayed.
The nuns prayed.
The priest likely prayed as well.
But Noc.
Did not.
He simply stared.
And deep within him.
One thing became clear.
"…I don't believe."
The words never left his mouth.
But they were engraved.
Deep.
Firm.
Unshakable.
And yet.
In the morning.
He still woke up.
Still worked.
Still listened.
Still sat quietly as the priest spoke of hope.
Of light.
Of God.
And every time.
He only nodded slightly.
As if he understood.
As if he accepted.
One afternoon.
The sky was dim.
Clouds gathered low, pressing down on the small fields beyond the church.
Noc had been sent to carry water.
A simple task.
A quiet one.
The kind no one noticed.
And that was exactly why he preferred it.
…
He saw a small group of children.
Standing near the edge of the dirt path.
Some laughed.
Some covered their noses.
Some threw small stones.
"Disgusting…"
"Don't get close!"
"It's full of them… ugh!"
Noc slowed his steps.
Not out of curiosity.
But habit.
Observation came naturally to him.
Silently.
He moved closer.
Careful.
Unnoticed.
And then.
He saw it.
A dead animal.
A deer, perhaps.
Or what remained of it.
Its body was half-rotten.
Skin torn.
Flesh darkened.
Sunken.
And crawling across it.
White.
Small.
Writhing.
Maggots.
Dozens.
No.
Hundreds.
They filled every hollow.
Every wound.
Every open space.
Moving.
Feeding.
Living.
The children stepped back in disgust.
One of them gagged.
"Why are they even alive…?"
"They're so gross…"
"Just burn it already…"
Another threw a rock.
It hit the carcass.
A few maggots fell.
Wriggling on the dirt.
Helpless.
Ugly.
Unwanted.
The children laughed.
Then slowly.
They left.
One by one.
As if nothing there had ever mattered.
…
Silence returned.
Only the faint sound of movement remained.
Soft.
Wet.
Endless.
Noc stood there.
Watching.
Not moving.
Not reacting.
Just observing.
His gaze lowered slightly.
To the maggots.
Twisting.
Endlessly.
Inside something dead.
Something rotten.
Something abandoned.
…
"They're still alive…"
He muttered quietly.
No disgust.
No pity.
Just… recognition.
"They live in it."
"In something no one wants."
"In something everyone throws away."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"…and they don't leave."
The wind passed softly.
The smell.
Rotten.
Heavy.
Unpleasant.
But Noc didn't step back.
Didn't cover his nose.
Didn't look away.
Instead.
He crouched down slightly.
Closer.
Watching more carefully.
"They survive like this…"
His voice was low.
Almost thoughtful.
"No strength."
"No protection."
"No value."
His fingers tightened slightly around the water bucket.
"…yet they're still alive."
A pause.
Long.
Quiet.
Then.
Very softly.
He spoke again.
"…just like me."
No emotion.
No self-pity.
No anger.
Just.
A conclusion.
"They're called disgusting."
"They're stepped on."
"They're thrown away."
His gaze remained fixed.
Unblinking.
"…but they don't die."
Another pause.
The maggots continued to move.
Unaware.
Uncaring.
Unstoppable.
"…they endure."
Silence.
Then slowly.
Noc stood back up.
His expression unchanged.
Empty.
Calm.
But somewhere.
Deeper than thought.
Something settled.
Something quiet.
Something firm.
"…if this is the kind of world I was born into…"
He turned away.
Without hesitation.
"…then this is how I will live."
No pride.
No shame.
No hesitation.
Just acceptance.
"…like a maggot."
And without another glance.
Noc walked away.
Leaving the carcass behind.
Leaving the laughter behind.
Leaving everything behind.
Except the truth he had just understood.
Even though deep inside.
He was already tired of it.
But he didn't show it.
Because he had already learned one thing.
Long ago.
That in this world.
The ones who survive are not the honest ones.
Not the righteous ones.
But.
Those who know when to stay silent.
And when to pretend.