Sunny stood at the edge of the forest, his breath heavy, chest rising and falling as he looked out over the village. It felt strange to be back, even though he had never truly left. The days of hiding, the lies, the pain—it all seemed to converge here, in this very place.
As he moved closer to the village's entrance, the whispers began. It was as though the ground itself had eyes, and the eyes had mouths. The locals, who had once seen him as a prodigy, now whispered among themselves.
"The prodigy returns," they murmured. "Isn't that the boy with the scar?"
The scar. It had been years since the incident, but the memory was still fresh in their minds. Sunny had killed a man once—one who had dared to call him a prodigy. A simple phrase, but one that cut too deep. The man had believed that Sunny's destiny was something greater than himself, something to be used for another's purpose. But Sunny had not agreed.
That day, Sunny's hands had been stained with blood. A life lost over a title he had never wanted. And the scar had marked him forever, both physically and emotionally.
The villagers had always been suspicious. They knew too much about his family—his mother, once a healer, his father, a man with a harsh reputation for protecting what he loved. But it wasn't just the actions of his parents that defined the villagers' perception of Sunny. It was the scar that spoke volumes.
Sunny's parents had tried to keep him sheltered, hidden away from the world. But it wasn't possible. The world had found him, and it had broken him in ways that still haunted him.
As he approached the familiar roads, the stares grew more intense. Eyes followed him, and whispers swirled in the air.
"I thought he was dead…" one woman whispered to her neighbor, voice trembling.
"He's the one with the scar, isn't he? The one who killed that man?" came another voice, low but tinged with fear.
Sunny didn't respond. He couldn't. His gaze remained forward, determined, even though the weight of those words hung in the air like a suffocating fog.
The scar, the legacy of his actions, had always been a mark he couldn't escape. But the escape wasn't from the villagers or their judgment. It was from the past, from the life he had been forced into, from the expectations that had once defined him.
A man named Veris stepped out from the crowd, his face familiar but weathered with age. He had been a friend of his father's, and now, his eyes were filled with both curiosity and concern.
"You shouldn't be here, boy," Veris said quietly, looking around as if making sure no one else heard. "Your parents… they're worried. But they're afraid too. The scar, the things you've done…"
Sunny's jaw clenched, but he said nothing. There was nothing to say. He wasn't the same boy who had once lived here. He had become something else—something the village would never understand. And yet, he couldn't leave this place behind. Not yet.
Veris sighed, his voice low. "I know you think you can outrun all of this, Sunny. But you can't. Not forever."
The weight of those words settled in his chest. He wasn't here to confront the past. He wasn't here for them. He was here for something else. But it seemed the village, the memories, and the scar were always one step ahead.