Don't raise your voice!”

 

"The usual, please. Just no frills, Barnie. You know I don't like being ripped off," the stocky man leaned down and pulled out a cardboard box from under the counter, filled to the brim with small, white Styrofoam balls, usually used to fill empty spaces in containers of something very valuable. Without a word, he slid it to a tall, brunette standing on the other side of the counter. The man stopped it and gracefully tossed a red check for five hundred dollars to the clerk. He looked at him meaningfully and picked up the box. "No change needed. I hope you won't disappoint me."

After saying this, he turned so abruptly that several balls fell out of the box. He didn't bother picking them up. As he left the store, he lowered his black leather coat, the rustle of which gave him an almost otherworldly charm. As he walked through the streets of the City, he was fully aware that all the eyes of passersby were on him. But he didn't care. He hated people and He considered them the greatest mistake of evolution, and the fact that he himself was one of them made no impression on him. He was curious about only one thing about their lives: how long they would endure the knowledge that every day their chance to acquire something better passed them by, and they didn't even reach out for it.

Arriving home, he gently placed the box on the perfectly clean floor, as if handling a small child, and began to undress. First, he removed a black coat, so well-tailored that even the wealthiest aristocrat would be proud of it. Then, a jacket, tailored in a similar style, went on the hanger. The man walked a few steps and stopped at a large mirror. He wore black trousers and a dark navy long-sleeved shirt. His black, perfectly straight hair fell over his shoulders. Looking at his face, the first thing you noticed were his high cheekbones, which gave him a seriousness and a certain distinguished politeness, and sent shivers down the spine of anyone who looked at him.

The man moved away from the mirror, picked up the cardboard box, and carried it to the kitchen table. He decisively opened it and poured the entire contents onto the cold countertop. After a few seconds, a beautiful sword, crafted in the samurai style with a silver cobra on the blade, appeared before his eyes. Impatiently, he drew it from its jewel-encrusted scabbard and delicately stroked its cold blade. He ran his fingers over it, as if searching for the slightest flaw in its construction. After a few minutes, he removed his fingers from the blade and sheathed the sword. He quickly searched through the remaining Styrofoam balls and soon found a short dagger that could undoubtedly be called a knife. Unlike a sword, it was not decorated, but had a single large amethyst in the center of the blade. Around the amethyst were engraved symbols, commonly called runes, forming an incomprehensible inscription. The black-haired man tucked the knife into the belt of his trousers and hung the sword on a special holder above the bed.

"Let him guard what must be guarded," he said in a deep, dark, and gloomy voice.

For a few seconds, a gentle breeze could be felt in the room, even though all the windows were closed and all the curtains were tightly drawn, preventing even the slightest ray of sunlight from entering.

"Let him despise what should be despised," he spoke again, but his voice had little in common with the one he had used a moment ago.

The room darkened rapidly. Suddenly, the candle on the nightstand ignited spontaneously. For a moment, it fought the dense gloom, but after a few seconds, it extinguished itself, as if blown out by a breeze imperceptible to any living being. The man closed his eyes and touched his sword again. The room brightened dramatically. Now the sword became the source of light.

A few minutes later, the room returned to its original state. The walls were painted dark green, and the ebony furniture, meticulously polished, gently reflected all the household appliances. The brunette clapped his hands, and the curtains, as if by magic, swung open with a soft squeak, revealing the beautiful landscape of the city. Far on the horizon, dark sea waves crashed against the delicate shore of a sandy beach, evoking a sense of profound and untouched natural beauty. He walked to the window and opened it. He opened the left sash as far as he could and gently leaned out, resting on his elbows. A warm, pleasant breeze ruffled his hair. He felt like he was in heaven... But was there such a heaven for people like him? He turned toward the room. With a gaze both sad and hateful, he surveyed its contents. Everything he had so desperately wanted to avoid – the cursed sword and the room in the decaying hotel. All his life, he had been running from his destiny, and it had pursued him tirelessly until it finally caught up with him and plunged its dagger into his back. A long sigh escaped his throat. It sounded like delicate music and the screams of a thousand victims in a bloody war. The man turned to the window. He gazed at the magnificent sight unfolding before his eyes.

The sun had set.

"If I can't even die, then..."

He climbed onto the windowsill and jumped. Flashes of his entire life flashed before his eyes. He was heading for a better world, the one he had longed for all his days...