#suble angst

None of them expected him to be here.

Even March 7th had heard the stories. Whispered in half-truths from planets scarred by war or paranoia, about a man who’d once left entire systems reeling. Some called him the Blightmaker, others simply the General. The tales never agreed on his face, but they agreed on his cruelty—strategic, surgical, relentless.

The stories didn’t end with death. No. He simply… vanished. Faded like a shadow at dusk.

“Wait… you’re telling me he might be here?” March said, eyes wide as she reviewed the local data logs.

“Looks like it,” Dan Heng replied, his tone cautious. “Coordinates match the sector where he reportedly disappeared. We should proceed carefully.”

They expected an old fortress, maybe a crumbling ruin surrounded by mercenaries.

What they found instead was a farm.

Rolling hills. Sunlight heavy in the air. Rows of golden wheat swaying in a warm breeze. And him—standing alone in a field, sleeves rolled up, hands stained with soil and sap.

You.

You didn't reach for a weapon when they approached. You didn’t run, didn’t even flinch. You just looked at them like they were an unexpected storm on a summer day.

“Visitors?” you asked. Your voice was calm. Scratchy like gravel, like it hadn’t been used in years for anything more than talking to the wind.

Himeko was the first to speak. “You’re… you're the one they call—"

“No,” you cut her off gently. “I was. Now I’m just a farmer.”

March stared. “But you… you crushed an entire regime here, didn’t you? Stories say you broke their military in two days.”

You scratched your chin, then bent down to check on a row of herbs growing by the fence. “They were bleeding the planet dry. I did what needed doing.”

“Then vanished,” Welt added. “People assumed you’d crown yourself king.”

You looked up, amusement glinting in your tired eyes. “Why would I want that? Ruling sounds worse than fighting. Constant talking. Meetings. Expectations. No time for sunrises.”

They exchanged glances. Suspicion. Curiosity. Confusion.

“I don’t get it,” March finally said. “You were… a monster. That’s what the stories say.”

“I was angry,” you replied softly. “Anger makes monsters out of men. But I burned through it. Nothing left now but the smoke, and the silence it left behind.”

Dan Heng narrowed his eyes. “And the lives you took?”

You didn’t flinch. “I remember them all. That’s why I don’t leave this place. This land’s mine to tend now. I took from the universe. Now I try to give back. Quietly. Without anyone else bleeding for it.”

No defensiveness. No smugness. Just… stillness. A man so tired of the weight he once carried, he buried it under seed and soil.

You invited them in for tea.

They sat on wooden chairs you’d carved yourself. You poured from a chipped pot and offered biscuits made with local grain. Outside, the wind rustled the trees like applause for a show long ended.

None of them truly knew what to make of you. This was no grand villain, no hidden mastermind biding his time.

Just a man who had chosen to stop fighting.

Maybe that was the strangest part of all.