A young man with dark skin and long, almost feather-like deep purple hair, stood before the edge of a cliff. His tattered, dark red robe enveloped him loosely, it seemed a bit oversized. Aside from a strange necklace on his neck and a small bag on his back, he seemed to have no other belongings.

  The young man looked behind him one last time, his bright yellow eyes reflecting his complicated emotions.

  Perhaps it was regret, regret for the countless deaths that he had caused, the innocent and the not.

  Or maybe it was hope, hope that someone, anyone had survived, and that they would tell him to stay. That he still had some place to call home.

  It could also be fear, fear that someone had survived, and that they were coming to hunt him down to avenge their friends and family.

  Still, the young man saw exactly what he knew he would see. An empty place, a silent place, a dead place. The once lively floating island, home of the proud and independent Tirans, was now dead. No birds flew in the sky, singing their joyful tune, no animals scurried in the once tall grass. Lifeless trees stood absolutely still with no wind left to rustle their branches. The only sound Vern Vaali could hear at this moment was his own unsteady heartbeat and shaky breaths

  Subconsciously, Vern knew that there was nothing left for him here. Yet, he had still stayed at this desolate place for two seasons, waiting for something to happen. But today, that would change.

  Taking a deep breath, Vern turns around, facing the edge of the cliff once more. This cliff that had once been called ‘The End of the World’ by him and all the other citizens of this sky island, though he now knew better. After everyone had died, there was nothing obstructing his pursuit of knowledge. Vern had plenty of questions, and the forbidden texts had more than enough answers.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The books contained information about a world… Below. Recollections of Tirans who had leapt off this very cliff, one day returning with tales of a world that remained standing after the Tides.

  Vern calmed his breath, even if it took a while. If he were to be honest with himself, although he knew nothing remained of his past life, he was still scared. Before the event that led to the death of all life on this island, he was just a student, one with a family and friends that he could rely on. But now, he was alone.

  During his time by himself, Vern grew accustomed to the silence, though he disliked it. However, now that he was about to leave the place that he once called home, the silence grew deafening. The lack of life on this island started to feel eerie, the place he once felt welcome became all the more foreign.

  It was here he realized, this floating island was not his home, it never was. His home was the people, his family, friends, teachers and peers. And now, they are gone, and it’s all his fault.

  But Vern did not cry for the many deaths that he caused, for he already had.

  Neither did Vern not fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, for he already had.

  Not even did Vern scream out at the top of his lungs, asking the world above and beneath “Why?!”, for he already had.

  As he stared at the sky below, his expression was not filled with regret, nor fear, nor hope. All that could be seen in his gaze was grim determination. This was the resolve to fulfill a promise, one not to a friend or family member, but to everyone. To each life cut short by his actions, he swore… no, he VOWED. To embody the Tiran spirit, to not be bound by his regret, chained to the past, that was his promise.

  “So… watch me fly into the future, alright?” Vern whispered, to nobody, to everybody, before he leaped off the edge of his world, descending to the one below.