It was the day. The last day.

  The sun hung at its zenith behind beautiful white clouds, slowly melting the last traces of snow on the ground. Birds sang nature's chorus, accompanied by a cold gust of wind that made newborn leaves dance to the song.

  Amidst a dense forest of tall trees and fierce beasts, White-Star Village stood imposingly. Its wooden walls offered safety to anyone inside, and it thrived under the protection of its lord.

  On the packed dirt streets, villagers walked about, gossiping over any news they found interesting, while children played freely with their friends.

  Not far from that scene, on a small mound, a quiet young man sat alone under a tree, reading a book. His thin, pale fingers caressed the pages, his half-lidded crimson eyes following the lines.

  Occasionally, the wind would play with his jet-black hair, pushing it against his face, but he reacted with indifference.

  Eventually, he reached the final part of the book, following the lines with his finger while murmuring the words aloud:

  “… In the end, due to her miraculous actions in helping the first humanity settle, the Goddess of the Sun was consecrated as one of the six upper gods, adopted into the creation of proper religions revolving around the sun, as well as integrated into already existing ones.”

  The young man closed the book carefully, staring up at the sky.

  “I see…” he sighed, “I think that’s the last one…”

  Standing up, he stretched his hands to the air, revealing his scrawny, pale frame. Letting out a soft yawn, he held the book with one hand and left the tree behind.

  With utmost care, he slid down the mound and walked through the village streets. He didn’t interact with anyone on the way, simply ignoring them all until he reached a small, poor bookstore. Its wooden walls were damaged by humidity, and it had no sign identifying its purpose—not that it needed one, since most villagers didn’t know how to read.

  Glancing at the sun, the young man muttered:

  “Should be about time.”

  He pushed the wooden door open and entered the bookstore. The interior was even worse than the outside, full of dust with a cracked floor. The windows were barricaded with wood, allowing only faint sunrays to enter.

  Behind a counter, an old man slept and snored, filling the whole space with the loud sound. Ignoring him, the youth carefully stored the book he had just read back on its original shelf.

  There weren’t many books here; it was a miracle this place hadn’t closed already. Besides the books being expensive, fellow "enjoyers" were rare.

  They were outdated. Rarely did he find something actually interesting, and on even rarer occasions, something important.

  With a strange, prideful expression, he left the bookstore just as quietly as he had entered. Back on the dirt streets, he looked toward the center of his village, where a magnificent building stood over ten meters tall. Built of stone and wood, it stood as the paragon of White-Star Village—the village center, where the leader lived.

  Taking his eyes off it, he kept walking until he reached a barrack. In front of it, food was being distributed by two villagers to those who couldn't afford meals. A short line of people waited to receive their share.

  The line isn’t so long today… Probably because it’s past lunch already…

  Joining the line, the young man patiently waited for his turn. It took a while, but soon he received his food: a piece of dry bread and an apple. It was far from lavish, but that was expected; the communal share only gave enough so people wouldn’t starve.

  Of course, some complained and tried to fight for more, but they were promptly caught by the village guards and locked up for a couple of days to learn a lesson. Even if somewhat shabby, the village was a place where order was well maintained.

  After receiving his food, he returned to his spot of solitude, climbing the small mound and resting under the tree without any haste or care in the world. Slowly, he broke the bread with his fingers and ate the pieces, taking bites of the apple so the succulent fruit could wash the dry bread down his throat.

  His crimson eyes gently looked toward the horizon, at the forest outside the gates of White-Star Village. The area was immense, with trees expanding as far as he could see and small mounds dotting the landscape. He thought about how he had never visited any of the other villages, having only seen their traders come by occasionally…

  I wonder what’s like out there… but it doesn’t matter, not anymore.

  Why would he care? After all, the young man had already decided: today would be his last day alive. He had prepared everything—the method and the place where he would kill himself.

  Hanging it was, enough luck and the neck would break and give an instant painless death. It was likely the most guaranteed and effective method, it wouldn’t allow him to regret midway. Other methods like drowning or slicing his wrists either took too long, required extensive preparation, or were simply too painful.

  What sane human would enjoy pain, after all?

  For the place, it was the leafless tree he currently rested under. It was where his mother, father, and older sister were buried. They were killed by the monster’s rise a long time ago, and by now, their faces had faded from his memory into blurry shapes; he had long accepted their deaths and no longer felt sad or angered by them. His reason for ending everything wasn’t because of that.

  Of course, had he grown up with a proper family, things might have been different. After his first family died, he was left with his uncle.

  From under the tree, he shifted his gaze to the village streets, observing the commoners while taking a bite of the apple.

  “I don’t understand it,” he murmured. “These people… for what reason do they live? Everything will end one day or another. What is the purpose of living if we are all going to die no matter what?”

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  “Well, it’s not like they can hear me,” he shrugged. “But if they could, they would understand. Living is so meaningless… there’s no reason to be happy, no reason to keep going. Even having children seems cruel… birthing a life only for it to end too.”

  An expressionless face, tinged with veiled sadness, overtook his features as he sighed one last time and went back to eating his meal and watching time pass.

  Once the sun was about to set, he squeezed his eyes shut in a strong blink before opening them again and stretching, allowing another yawn to escape his lips.

  “I guess it’s time to prepare.”

  For the second time, he went down the small mound, walking through the village streets. At this hour, they were emptier. Many villagers were followers of the Sun Goddess, believing that the sun and its light protected them from disease and bad luck, so walking too much at night was a bad omen to them.

  The crimson-eyed young man was not a particular follower of any religion or god, so it didn’t matter much to him. Although he believed in their existence, he felt no purpose in devoting a life to such a goal.

  Minutes later, he reached a shabby wooden house. It was once a family home, but now stood mostly empty. Behind the house was a small backyard where only weeds grew. Sometimes flowers would bloom there, but thanks to the recent winter, they had all died.

  Pushing the wooden door open, he entered the house. On the floor lay his uncle. He was unconscious, or at least seemed to be, but was muttering gibberish, his hand holding a half-open wine bottle that had already pooled onto the floor. His tan skin wasn’t much different from the light wooden floor, but his black hair contrasted deeply with it.

  Whatever the case, the young man ignored the sight and headed to another room—his own. A single window allowed the rising moonlight to illuminate the simple space, which held a bed with disorganized sheets, a small desk clear of any contents, and a small chest with another set of commoner clothes.

  Heading to the bed, he lifted a piece of cloth acting as a pillow and retrieved a hidden rope. It was short and made of some type of plant; not ideal, but all he could get with limited resources. Tucking it into his pants to conceal it from view, he left his room.

  Just as he reached the door to leave the house, his uncle, still lying on the ground, spoke in a hoarse, slow rhythm:

  “Hey… don’t take… too long outside… go get some… food for us…”

  But it’s already night…

  Nodding weakly without turning around, the young man finally left the house.

  Back on the dirt streets, he walked slowly; there was no need to rush his last day.

  Passing by a forge, he heard the sound of metal being hammered and refined into tools. Passing a house with a couple of pigs, he observed the sleeping animals. Passing a brewery, he smelled the strong scent of ale.

  During his short journey, he stopped in front of a huge bell. It was suspended by chains above a platform, near the colossal village center. Generally, it served to announce emergencies. In his whole life, the young man had heard it only twice: once during an uncontrolled fire, and another time, eight years ago, during the monster’s rise.

  Not caring much about it, the young man kept walking and eventually returned to his small and isolated place. This mound was interesting; people didn’t come here because it was too far from most houses and neared a place where waste was thrown before being burned.

  Thankfully, the smell didn’t reach it but the view was surely unsightly.

  Leaning against the tree and slowly sliding down to sit, the young man retrieved the plant rope and placed it on the grass beside him, which was damp from the melting snow.

  A gentle night breeze caressed his skin as he watched the moon rise. It would take a few hours until it reached its peak. When it finally hung at the highest point in the sky, he would kill himself.

  Feeling neither nervous nor scared, the young man held the rope in his hands, appreciating it’s craft. He wanted to make sure it wouldn’t snap or be sharp to cut his neck; if it serrated his skin, he would choke on his own blood and the immense pain would lead to a… better to not think about it.

  Slowly, across the starry heavens, the moon moved; the stars seemed to shine especially bright today.

  After a couple of hours, it was close to its peak.

  Alright, it’s near…

  The young man carefully climbed the tree, it was a bit difficult but he had the necessary nimbleness. Then heedfully held to a branch and escalated it, sitting atop of it.

  “So that’s it,” he said. “Finally, this… this lack of purpose will end.”

  “I am sorry, uncle. I won’t be able to bring you food anymore. I hope you stay well.”

  Reminiscing about his life, the young man didn’t feel it had been essentially bad.

  He had lost his family when he was young, around seven or eight years old but besides that, there was not much.

  He was never bullied or excluded by the other children, though he avoided them a lot by choice and, at a certain age, completely closed himself from them and anyone else. There were also no instances of him being beaten, stolen from, or any other thing of the like.

  Affinity for mana was also a thing he did not possess. Those who did could use it by age twelve or so. If they weren’t necessarily talented but belonged to a strong family… like the village leader’s, they would have manuals and secret methods to gather it.

  But, that was normal, most people couldn’t use it either.

  Overall his childhood was considerably common. Quite bland even, no special memory came up.

  Shaking his head and dismissing these thoughts, he took a final glance at the moon. Only a few instants and it would be over.

  The young man strung the rope over the tree branch, fashioned a hanging knot, and placed the loop around his neck. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, then carefully tightened the rope.

  With his eyes shut, he let his balance go and fell to the side.

  The rope snapped taut around his neck, but the impact failed to break it… Unlucky.

  Air was instantly cut off from his lungs causing a burning sensation with them. He instinctively clawed at his throat, desperate for breath, as unbidden thoughts invaded his mind. His sister, playing with him and calling his name faintly; he could almost hear her voice in his ears:

  “Faust… let’s climb the tree…”

  Then the memories shifted. His mother hugging him: “Love you, son.”

  His father trying to teach him woodworking: “Come on. You are my son, do it.”

  Then the memories shifted to the day of the accident. The wooden walls were breached by wolves of different kinds; they rampaged through the village. His mother carried him and his sister away, while his father held off the wolves… the last time he saw him.

  She hid him inside a pile of rubble, but before she could hide herself and his sister, they were attacked. They weren’t even able to say any final words; only their screams remained in his ears.

  Faust couldn’t even shed tears anymore; this painful memory had passed through his mind so many times he had become numb to it.

  His consciousness was fading…

  Rang! Rang! Rang!

  His eyes shot open, the muffled sound stirring him back to consciousness. In pure panic, he moved desperately.

  Tears streamed from his bloodshot eyes as he thrashed his body back and forth like a fish out of water, fighting by pure instinct.

  Suddenly!

  The poor-quality rope ruptured, sending Faust crashing to the ground. The knot loosened and he clutched at his throat, desperately gasping for air.

  Coughing and breathing was a difficult task, but slowly he regained the ability to inhale and exhale. His gaze was detached, staring at the gray moon without truly understanding what had happened, a haze clouding his being.

  Rang! Rang! Rang!

  The sound came from afar, still muffled, a background noise beneath the frantic pumping of his heart and his heavy, ragged breaths that now dominated the mound. His body trembled, drenched in cold sweat.

  Tears streamed from his eyes, for some reason he couldn’t clutch or understand. A faint but oblivious smile spread on his face as he could only focus on one thing…

  The stars… they are… quite beautiful…