SSS Unknown: Dark Knight's Legacy

Sitting by the flickering fire, there were two figures.

The air was thick with the smoke of burning wood, and the warmth from the flames cast dancing shadows on their faces. 

They came from different worlds, with different circumstances and experiences.

Their worldviews were also different, yet somehow, they were together at this moment, each burdened with their own darkness.

"This is a story about a miserable person," Alice began, her voice quiet but steady. There was something in the way she spoke, a kind of resignation that hung in the air.

Her gaze never left the fire, as though the flames themselves were the only thing she could bear to look at.

"Do you really want to hear it?" she asked, as though the words were difficult to let go.

"Yeah, go ahead," Unknown replied. He gave a small nod, his silver eyes reflecting the firelight, but his expression was unreadable, as always.

Alice took a deep breath before she began her tale, her voice taking on a soft, sad tone.

"Fifteen years ago, a girl was born into a noble family, and her name was Alice Anneliese."

She paused, a flash of nostalgia flickering in her eyes before they dimmed.

 "She had a happy life with her parents, until the age of three, when her entire family was purged."

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if the weight of the memory was too much. 

"The attack was sudden, brutal—her parents, her brothers, everyone was killed in the blink of an eye."

Her voice wavered, but she pushed forward, as if the words had to be said. 

"Luckily, she was saved by a brave servant, one who was willing to risk their life to protect her. But even then, the memories of her family, their faces, their voices, began to fade. The only thing that remained was the day they died."

Her voice became faint, and her eyes seemed to look beyond the fire, as though trying to reach for something long lost. 

"But even that memory was fading with time. She didn't even remember what the ones who killed them looked like."

As Alice recounted her painful past, she spoke in an oddly detached tone. 

It was clear she had long ago buried the grief.

She had accepted it, or perhaps forced herself to.

"That night, she fainted from the shock, and she was adopted into a strange place, a place where she thought she could escape the horror of her past."

Alice's voice softened as if recalling the fleeting comfort of those early days. 

"She thought life would be difficult for the little girl, but life in the orphanage of the Magical Kingdom was fairly happy."

She sighed, a smile barely gracing her lips, before she continued.

"She had a new father, a new mother, new siblings, and friends. They were all very kind to her, and she thought, for once, that she would have a happy life."

But as Alice spoke of these moments, her voice grew quieter, more fragile, as the story darkened.

"And during that time, she realized she had a talent beyond others. A talent that could protect herself, and those she cared about." Her eyes flickered to Unknown, who remained still, his gaze hazy. 

"So she wanted to become a hero. She thought, if she could be strong enough, she could stop others from suffering the way she had."

Alice's voice broke then, her breath hitching in her throat. She paused, her eyes welling with tears as the weight of the memories crushed down on her once more. 

"The storm... the one that changed everything." Her voice quivered, barely above a whisper. 

"A strange storm swept through the kingdom, and from that day on, many lands began to lose their magic. The place where she lived was within the affected area, and many of her friends died."

A single tear escaped her eye, tracing a path down her cheek. But she didn't weep it away.

Unknown remained silent, watching her closely but not saying a word. Alice noticed his gaze, attentively listen to her.

And then, after a long, heavy moment of silence, Alice continued, her voice trembling under the weight of her memories.

"She followed the king's orders, fighting relentlessly for a plan she didn't even understand," she said, her words laced with bitterness. 

"She was promised that it would bring happiness to the kingdom... that her sacrifices, her blood-soaked efforts, would lead to a brighter future."

Her voice faltered for a moment as the vivid memories clawed their way to the surface. Alice paused, realizing too late that tears had begun to fall, hot and unchecked, down her pale cheeks. 

Her body trembled—not just from fatigue, but from the crushing regret that refused to leave her.

"A lie." Her words were sharp, almost spat out.

"That vision never came to pass, no matter how much she fought. No matter how many enemies she struck down. No matter how many of her comrades fell in the name of that dream."

Her breaths grew ragged as she pressed on. "The only thing she gained was hands stained with the blood of her own kind." 

She looked down at her trembling fingers as though they were still slick with fresh blood, the memories too vivid to escape.

"That gift of hers... that 'talent' everyone admired," Alice whispered bitterly, her voice cracking.

"It didn't make her a hero. It didn't fulfill her dream. It only turned her into a mass murderer."

Her words hung heavy in the air, like ash falling from the sky after a fire.

The night seemed to grow colder around her as her voice, small and broken, uttered the final truth:

"And then... she paid the price."

Alice stopped speaking, her words dissolving into quiet sobs as she bowed her head, clutching her knees tightly to her chest.

Her tears flowed freely now, a torrent of anguish that refused to be restrained any longer. 

Unknown said nothing for a long moment.

 He shifted slightly, reaching out to gently stroke Alice's pale blonde hair, his movements slow and deliberate. It wasn't much, but it carried a silent acknowledgment—one of understanding, of shared pain.

The fire crackled softly, casting warm flickers of light across his face, softening his typically cold features.

Then, without a word, Unknown shrugged off his heavy black cloak and draped it over Alice's shoulders.

The weight of it was grounding, a quiet comfort against the chill that had crept into the night.

Alice tensed briefly under the unexpected gesture but didn't resist. The warmth of the cloak, mingling with the faint smell of smoke and iron, was oddly reassuring.

For a moment, she almost forgot the pain.

Still silent, Unknown stepped away, his presence retreating like a shadow slipping into the night. He moved to a dark corner just beyond the firelight, choosing a spot where he could rest but still keep Alice within his line of sight.

His watchful eyes lingered on her for a moment before he leaned back, crossing his arms, his expression veiled once again.

The fire continued its soft dance, its light flickering over the broken figures of two lost souls. In their grief, in their guilt, they found a fragile, fleeting solace in each other's company.

"Master, at times like this, you're unusually kind," came Eclipse's voice, smooth and unhurried, yet tinged with mockery.

Unknown didn't react outwardly. His gaze remained fixed on the flickering flames, their shifting light painting fleeting patterns across his impassive face.

"There are things we shouldn't meddle with. Or even speak of," he replied, his speech calm and measured.

But Eclipse wasn't one to retreat so easily. The voice pressed closer, its tone sly and persistent, as if teasing out the truth he was unwilling to face.

"So, what are you going to do now? If you turn your back on them, their entire nation will collapse."

Unknown's fingers twitched slightly, the only sign of a reaction, though his expression betrayed nothing.

"This is their war," he responded, his voice within his mind cold and resolute. "I have no obligation to help."

The fire popped, sending embers spiraling into the air like fleeting stars. Unknown's silver eyes reflected none of their warmth, only the endless void within. 

"Besides," he continued, his tone edged with pragmatism, "that's just an excuse. There must be another way to avert this disaster."

"But what if there isn't?" Eclipse countered sharply, the question cutting through his certainty like a thin, icy wind.

It carried the weight of a challenge—a dare to confront the bleak reality he so easily dismissed.

Unknown remained unmoved, his voice cold and clipped as he answered. "Then it will mark the end of the magical kingdom."

There was no hesitation, no trace of regret in his words.

To him, kingdoms rose and fell with time, no matter how grand their beginnings. 

The most radiant of empires, the most resilient of nations—all eventually crumbled, devoured by the inexorable march of history or crushed by the weight of their own hubris.

Unknown's lips barely moved as he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, "A king's duty is not to beg for help from others but to rule and lead his kingdom through the storm. To inspire faith, not desperation."

"I am not obligated to sacrifice myself for their so-called greater good," he said at last, his tone as cold and definitive as steel. 

The statement echoed in the stillness, creating an invisible wall between him and the girl resting nearby. It was a line he drew not for her, but for himself.

The fire crackled softly, a fragile sound amidst the brewing storm within him.

Whatever he did now, whatever fleeting kindness he showed, it was nothing more than a spark in an otherwise unlit path.

"But Master, you still saved that girl," Eclipse persisted, the curiosity in its tone edged with something sharper, something probing. "Even though the two of you may become enemies in the future?"

The flames flickered in Unknown's eyes, a reflection of their heat but not their warmth. His gaze remained distant, unfaltering, like a man who had trained himself to face every blow without flinching.

"You... won't regret it, will you?" Eclipse asked again.

The pause that followed was long, stretching into the night like an unanswered prayer. The fire hissed as a log collapsed into embers, its glow dimming, but Unknown did not move.

"…No," he finally said, his voice low and steady, each syllable deliberate. "I won't regret it."

The statement was simple, yet absolute. Eclipse's presence seemed to fade, the voice withdrawing into the shadows of his mind, perhaps satisfied—or perhaps knowing that further questions would yield no more clarity.

Unknown's gaze drifted toward the girl beneath his cloak. Her breathing was soft and even, though her pale face bore faint lines of pain, etched deeper by burdens she had no choice but to carry. 

Her fragility was stark against the relentless harshness of the world they lived in.

'Regret?' The thought surfaced briefly, almost mocking in its absurdity.

Regret was for those who clung to the illusion of choice, to the belief that the past could have been anything but what it was. 

For Unknown, the path ahead was all that mattered, its darkness unbroken by sentiment or doubt.

And yet, as he watched her sleep, a faint whisper stirred in the depths of his mind. It wasn't regret, not quite.

But it was something that felt uncomfortably close—a reminder of a time when he, too, might have been capable of more than survival.

He turned back to the fire, his expression cold and uncaring, and let the silence engulf them once more.