The Originals

The Weight of Victory

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" The man's voice echoed in the hollow silence of the ruined restaurant.

The table before him—a large, round slab of scorched wood—stood amidst the wreckage of shattered glass and broken furniture. Flames licked the far wall, casting flickering shadows across the room. The air reeked of ash and blood, mingling with the acrid scent of burnt wood. Five seats surrounded the table. Five survivors, their bodies battered, their eyes haunted, sat in a silence as broken as the world around them.

Yeon Lee, the man who had spoken, rested his elbows on the table, his white hair falling messily across his tanned, muscular shoulders. His eerie, pure-white eyes were fixed on the glowing embers of the fire, but his mind was elsewhere. His black shirt, torn and stained with blood, clung to his powerful frame, revealing deep scars and wounds that hadn't fully healed. Beside him, a leg of his white pants hung in tatters, leaving one thigh entirely exposed to the cold air.

"Since we sat together?" Yumida chuckled bitterly, his voice hoarse. "Yeah. Feels like a lifetime."

Yumida's dark red hair fell in wild waves around his scarred, bare chest. One of his mismatched eyes—a burning red—glanced at the others, while the other, cold and black, stayed focused on the room's destruction. His pants, once as fiery as his spirit, were now soaked in dried blood and some kind of green sludge. Each of them bore the marks of battles—both won and lost.

"How's your head?" Claire's voice cut through the tension, calm yet commanding. She glanced at Yumida, her golden hair glowing faintly in the dim light. She alone looked untouched by the ruin around her, her bodysuit pristine, as if the violence had never reached her. But her golden eyes, fierce and unwavering, betrayed the scars within.

"It's throbbing, but I'll live," Yumida grunted, rubbing his temple. "Hell, I always do."

"Can't kill him if we tried," Taka muttered from across the table, his tone dry. His blue hair fell messily over his eyes, a streak of dried blood still clinging to it. A jagged burn ran down his back, still faintly smoldering, a reminder of a battle barely survived.

Yumida chuckled again, a sound that quickly turned into a painful cough. "Damn right. I ain't ever dyin'."

Yeon's eyes, however, didn't leave the man sitting silently across from him. Hirito Wu—his dark hair covering his eyes, his face cast in shadow—hadn't spoken a word. His clothes were untouched by the destruction, his black shirt and pants unscathed. But there was something in the stillness of his posture, in the silence that hung over him, that made it clear Hirito was as scarred as any of them.

"Hirito?" Yeon's voice was softer now, almost hesitant.

Hirito didn't lift his head. He remained still, as if the weight of his thoughts had buried him beneath an invisible burden.

"Leave him be," Claire said gently, her gaze never leaving Hirito. "We've all been through enough. Let's just enjoy this moment of peace, even if it's brief."

The others shifted uncomfortably in their seats, as if trying to grasp the idea of peace—an idea as foreign as the shattered world outside the restaurant's walls.

"We did a good thing here," Yeon said, his voice growing firmer. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing as they bore into Hirito. "We saved this world. We can finally rest."

Silence followed his words, heavy and unyielding. The flames crackled, casting the room in an eerie glow. The others looked away, letting the weight of the moment settle in. Everyone but Yeon, who refused to look anywhere but at Hirito.

"We did a good thing," he repeated, as if saying it again would make it true.

Hirito finally stirred. His head lifted just enough to reveal the darkness of his eyes—pitch-black, void of light. His voice, when he spoke, was soft, but it carried the weight of a thousand regrets.

"That's what you believe."

Yeon straightened, his jaw tightening. "Because it's the truth."

Hirito's hands clenched into fists on the table, the knuckles turning white. "It's not the truth, Yeon. We killed so many innocent people."

"They were controlled," Yeon snapped, his calm demeanor slipping. "If we hadn't stopped them, thousands more would've died. You know that. The One killed them, not us."

"And that clears your conscience?" Hirito's voice rose, trembling with the rawness of long-buried anger. "Does that help you sleep at night? Knowing we slaughtered them?"

Hirito stood abruptly, his chair scraping the floor, and slammed his fist onto the table. The sound reverberated through the empty restaurant, shaking the walls. His eyes glistened with tears he refused to shed.

"Of course it doesn't," Yeon growled, rising to meet him. His white eyes flashed with intensity. "But I did what I had to do. We did what we had to do. To protect this world. To protect millions!"

"YOU KILLED MILLIONS!"

The words hung in the air like a blade, cutting through the tension. The room fell into a suffocating silence, the kind that only comes after a truth too painful to acknowledge.

Hirito's breath trembled, his fists still clenched, his gaze burning into Yeon's. But Yeon didn't flinch. He stared back, unblinking, unyielding.

"Let's go, Claire." Hirito's voice had lost its edge, replaced by a hollow resignation. He turned and began walking away, not waiting for her to respond.

Claire stood without hesitation and followed him through the wreckage, her golden eyes flickering with a sadness she didn't voice.

"Wait!" Taka shouted, rising from his seat.

"Let them go, Taka," Yumida said, his voice quieter now as he rubbed the side of his head. "They've earned it."

Taka slumped back into his chair, defeated. But Yeon didn't move. He stood, watching as Hirito and Claire disappeared into the shadows, his fists clenched by his sides.

And as they left, the silence returned—thicker, heavier than before.

                                                                   


                                                                                  The Originals.