A man entered, heavy with silence.His coat seemed to swallow the light around him.He asked for Nightshade Brew—dark, thick, with a hint of regret.He drank without speaking, then left a single black feather on the counter.The fire dimmed as if mourning his departure.

​​​​​​​V. Sacrifice

Sacrifice often walks unseen, cloaked in shadows of quiet endurance. It is the whispered language of love, the unspoken promise to give what is precious for something greater. Yet, not all sacrifices are celebrated. Some are misunderstood, dismissed, or scorned, leaving the one who offers them to wrestle with doubt and despair. I have lived these moments, and they have carved lessons into my soul as deep as the ocean’s trenches.

There was a time when I stretched myself thin to meet the expectations of others, believing that if I could give enough—time, effort, heart—I could earn their approval. I rearranged my life like a puzzle, fitting their needs where my own once resided. Each morning, I woke with a purpose not my own, fueled by the hope that my sacrifice would be recognized.

But recognition did not come. Instead, my efforts were met with indifference. "Why bother?" they asked, their words slicing through my resolve like a cold wind. "You’re wasting your time." To what have come, it’s a backlash of what it is.

I remember the sting of those words, their weight pressing on my chest like stones. I had poured myself into something only to have it discarded as meaningless. Their dismissal left me questioning my motives, my worth. Was I foolish to have cared so much? Was my sacrifice futile?

Looking back, I realize that their discouragement was not a reflection of my sacrifice but of their inability to see its value. Sacrifice is not always dazzling; it doesn’t always parade itself for applause. Sometimes, it is a quiet act, a seed planted in secret, its fruit unseen by the world.

The hardest sacrifices, though, are the ones we make in silence, without expectation of recognition. These are the sacrifices that demand everything—our time, our dreams, our peace—and leave us with empty hands and a heavy heart. Yet, they are often the most profound.

I think of a moment when I stood at a crossroads, faced with a choice that would cost me dearly. It was not a decision I could share with others; their eyes would not understand the weight of it. To them, it would seem unnecessary, irrational even. But to me, it was everything.

I chose the path of quiet sacrifice, knowing it would lead me into loneliness and uncertainty. I gave up something dear to me, something that had been a part of my identity, to protect what mattered more. The price was steep, and the road ahead felt like a desert, barren and unending.

No one knew of this sacrifice. I wore a mask of normalcy, hiding the fractures beneath. It wasn’t pride that kept me silent, but the understanding that some sacrifices lose their purity when exposed to the light of validation. They are meant to be carried alone, like a secret between you and the universe.

Days turned into weeks, and the weight of my decision grew heavier. Doubt whispered in my ear, asking if it had been worth it. I questioned whether my sacrifice would bear fruit or if it would wither into insignificance. Yet, even in my darkest moments, I clung to the belief that some sacrifices are valuable precisely because they demand so much of us.

Over time, I began to see the subtle ways my sacrifice had rippled outward. It was not grand or immediate, but its impact was real. I saw it in the quiet gratitude of someone who didn’t even realize what had been given up for their sake. I felt it in the peace of knowing that I had acted in alignment with my values, even when it hurt.

Sacrifice, I have learned, is not about loss. It is about transformation. It is the act of turning something precious into something meaningful, even if the world fails to see its worth. It is the decision to let go, not out of weakness, but out of strength, knowing that what you release may never return.

And while sacrifice often comes with pain, it also brings a quiet kind of beauty. It teaches you to let go of ego, to find joy in giving without expectation. It reminds you that the greatest acts of love are often the ones performed in silence, with no audience but your own heart.

Still, sacrifice is not without its cost. It demands resilience, courage, and a willingness to face the void of uncertainty. It requires you to walk a path that others may not understand, to endure the sting of their criticism or indifference. But in the end, it is a testament to the strength of your spirit, the depth of your love.

If I could speak to the version of myself who struggled with the weight of unrecognized sacrifice, I would say this: Your worth is not measured by their acknowledgment. Your sacrifice is not diminished by their inability to see it. The value of what you give lies not in their reaction but in the purity of your intent.

And to those who have felt the ache of a discreet sacrifice, who have carried its burden in silence, know this: You are not alone. Your quiet acts of love and courage matter, even if they go unseen. They are threads in the tapestry of humanity, weaving connections that may never be fully understood but are no less real.

Sacrifice is the invisible bridge we build to connect our hearts to others. It is the language of love spoken not in words but in actions, in the willingness to give without guarantee. It is the fire that burns away our selfishness, leaving behind the light of compassion.

In the end, sacrifice is not about what we lose but about what we create. It is about the lives we touch, the differences we make, the love we give. And though it may leave us with scars, those scars are a testament to our strength, a reminder that we dared to care, to give, to let go.

So, when the world fails to see the value of your sacrifice, when they dismiss or discourage your efforts, remember this: The true measure of sacrifice is not found in their approval but in the quiet strength it takes to give of yourself. And that strength—that willingness to love and to let go—is the greatest gift you can offer.

Army dreamers. That’s what we are. That’s who I am. A dreamer. Always been laughed at for escaping brutal reality and diving into my books, my poems, my mind. My mind is a great thing, a great thing of great responsibility. Of vulnerability. Creativity. Fantasy. I like to dream, daydream even. I can flee into the world I paint; it’s beautiful there. So beautiful. So peaceful. Green grass with beautiful flowers, touched by the gentle breeze of wind. Birds chirping in the sky, playing together in the seemingly endless blue sky. Clouds passing by like the bullets on the battlefield. Leaves falling from the trees like my comrades and friends in the trenches. What a waste. What a waste of army dreamers. The flowers in my dreams, they’re red. Like the blood that stains my hand, all our hands.

I try to escape it: the screams and cries, the horrible pictures of young men clutching their wounds in desperation to stay alive. Alive is what we were supposed to be. Become a rock star, a politician, a father. But those are dreams. Beautiful dreams, not reality. Just dreams. Dreams we all have, dreams we share and dreams we so desperately want to become reality. Some call it naive to want such things, but maybe...maybe it’s just our desperation. Desperation to escape our fates and live our dreams.

A gasp next to me, then silence. Another one gone, fear in his dull eyes, so young and so brown. So innocent. Fighting for something made up by other people, richer people, better people. People who mustn’t suffer the consequences of their own ideals. People who don't see the horror they bring upon the world with their own eyes. He’s in a better place now; he can live his dream. Not my dream, only his dream. An army dreamer, he was. Just like all of us. A dreamer.

'The Beginning's End', a.k.a 'White Witch Tragedy'

Insarius Village, Rosus - 135AN

This is a screenshot from the short visual novel that I'm working on. It's the first entry to 'The DreamDweller Project'. I made this background a long time ago, but it didn't fit my current art style, so I redrew it. I hope to release the first two acts of this project before the end of the year.

[ Origins I - Paragraph VI ]

Kakiphus said, "Let the book fall beneath her feet, let her grasp and break the minds of my people." With that, the book fell from the sky, and with a single touch from her hand, the village was eternally trapped in snow.

Hello, it has been a while since I have postedSo let me introduce myself again

Hi! I'm Edage, a passionate young creator with a big imagination and even bigger goals. I'm the mind behind Penana, Kofi (Edage), and Wattpad (Endage)—two creative projects full of heart, originality, and a message that matters.

🎨 What I Do:

I write, imagine, and bring to life powerful stories and poems that reflect who I am, what I believe, and the world I want to help shape. Whether it’s through heartfelt poetry, bold ideas, or colourful stories, I create to inspire others and grow into the creative force I dream of becoming.

✨ Why I Need Your Support:

Creating isn't always easy, but every step of the journey matters. Your donation helps me:

Improve my writing and projects

Access better tools and platforms

Grow my reach and audience

Keep my creative fire burning!

Even a small amount goes a long way. It's more than money—it's a vote of confidence, a cheer from the crowd, and a push forward.

🌟 How You Can Help:

Donate any amount– $1, $5, $10, or more, if you believe in my journey.

Share my work– Help more people discover Penana Kofiand Wattpad.

Send encouragement– Your words mean the world to me.

“Every big dream starts with someone believing in it. Thanks for being that someone.” 💛

https://ko-fi.com/edageCheck my description to see more of my platforms where I post

Check me out, share, like, comment, donate, anything ... I'm sure I would like it

You might like my works...... probably

I got invited to a get-together...

I declined of course, but I was surprised to even get the invite. She works with me, and nothing more. Or so I thought. But she is the only one at my work who is kind to me, even when I have the social skills of a... an antisocial person. It’s not that I don’t like to socialize, I just suck at it. Even when I know the “correct responses” to the questions that doesn’t really ask anything in particular, I get nervous and either get too honest or too real with the answers. Most of my co-workers call me (not to my face of course) cold and rude, and since I can see where they are coming from, I haven’t really tried my best to correct my behavior. With that being said, I really do admire her because she is so good at just talking and including people without stepping too much into someone’s space. I always wondered why she kept talking to me when I can’t even talk back naturally, but I think she would’ve talked to anyone. Is that how unjudgmental looks like? I don’t know. But I’ve gotten slightly more used to speaking to her, and to be honest, she is the only person I look forward working with. I don’t dislike everyone else at my work; I just don’t really get along with them? They are all good people; I just don’t know how to be like them? Anyways, she has a high tolerance for my awkwardness and doesn’t really seem to find me cold nor rude. But since she is such a lovely person, I did my best when declining the invitation.

I remember from my past, that sometimes you get the invite not because they wanted to invite you, but just because you happened to be in the close vicinity and not inviting this one out-of-the-place person could seem rude, you know? But this didn’t feel like it. So, after much consideration, I told her pretty much what I wrote above but a summarized version, and she thanked me somehow for my honesty...and said that she would invite just me to a coffee someday... I don’t know if this is just another someday that will never come but...

I kind of hope she will...

Bölüm müziğimiz: Billie Eilish- Wildflower

Bazı insanlar vardır; ne söylenseler duyulmaz, ne hissetler yok sayılır. Fikirleri kabul görmez, hemen kenara itilir. İşte biz, hep susturulanlardanız. Zincirlerimizi kırıp sesimizi duyurmaya çalışırız, ama öyle bastırılırız ki, o cılız sesimiz bile içimize kaçar.

Bazen bu sessizlikte sadece buluyorum. Önce içimi yakan, yüksek voltajlı bir öfke bedenimi sarıyor. Yaklaşık yirmi dakika boyunca hiçbir şeyi düşünemedim, sadece öfke içinde olur. Ama konuşamam. Çünkü susturuldum. Daha sonra yerlerdeki öfkeye değil, hayal gücünü bırakırm. Ve bu onu artık geçemez. Anlaşılmamak, önemsenmemek, bastırılmak… İçimde bir yara gibi taşırım.

Benim yaşadığım hep daha yoğun, daha derin yaşanır. Bu yüzden kırılan da hep ben unutmayın. Biliyorum, bu sevginin derecesi insanların bana sunduğu sıfır çaba, sıfır ilgi, sıfır yüzünden. Onlar eksik verdikçe, ben fazlası belki de.

Bazen içim o kadar daralıyor ki... kendimden dünyadan soyutlanmış, gözlerim boşluğa dalmış halde buluyorum. Hiçbir olayı unutuyorum çünkü zihnimde dönen ilişkiler, günlük hayatıma yer kalmıyor. Ben içeride savaşıp duruyorken, birileri gelecekte yaşamın tam ortasını darmadağın ediyor. Ve ben, onun defasında sanki gizlicen "Gel, canımı yak" der gibi kollarımı açıyorum. Oysa içerideki susturulmuş ses, “Artık istemiyorum” bile diyemiyor.

Geçen günün bir ilki dizisi. İlk defa, ilişkileri ben kestim. O mesaj yazmak sadece iki saniye sürdü belki ama bana iki gün kaybettirdi. Çünkü bazılarının kişisel gibi kırılgan, duygusal sanıyorum. Ama neden kendime bu kadar yükleniyorum? Neden bu kadar acı çekiyorum? Artık gerçekten yoruldum.

Artık elimde savaşacak bir sebep bile kalmadı…

Bu cümle kısa ama neredeyse tüm yaşam özetleniyor.

İnsanlar, hayatlarında şeyler şeyler için çaba gösteriyor. Biri güzel bir elbise için, diğer hayalini kurduğu bir araba için hazırlanıyor. Sayısız hedef, sayısız istek… Benim tek çabamı biliyor musun? Sevilmek… “Beni sevsin, orada ol” diye didindim. Ama ne oldu? Bir şimşek gibi kafamda çaktı gerçek: yine ortada kala kaldım. Sonra düşündüm…

Ne kadar acımasız bu insanlar. Ne kadar acımasız bu dünya.

Aynı şeylerin tamamı geldiğinde, artık başkalarını değil, suçlamaya katılmadım. "Ben onu bu kadar sevmesem, bu kadar üzülmezdim. Ben ona bu kadar değer vermesem, bana bu kadar rahat kötü söz söyleyemezdi. Ben onu gözümde bu kadar büyütmesem, sadece yokluğunda beni arayan, benimle çığlık atan biri olduğunu anladım..."

Bunlar, içeride biriken hayal kırıklıklarıdır.

Şimdi o insanlar yok. Çünkü onlara öyle büyük bir güç verdim ki, benden kolayca vazgeçebildiler. Hayatım boyunca arkamdan gelen, “Nasılsın?” diye içtenlikle soran, düşüncelerimi anlayan çalışan biri olmuyor. Ama ben herkese tam da böyle yaklaştım...

Ve artık bir karar aldım: Kimse için çabalamayacağım.Benimle kalmak isteyen, birlikte arkadaş olmak isteyen, gerçekten bir bağ kurmayı isteyen insanlar biraz çabalasın.

Çünkü bu hayat, bu kadar acıyı taşıyacak kadar uzun değil. Ve ben bu kadar acıyı kaldırabilecek kadar güçlü değilim.

BÖLÜM SONU...

There are places we remember not for what they were, but for how they made us feel. For me, Hong Kong International Airport—Chek Lap Kok—was one such place. Not merely a transit hub, but a monument to the city’s ambition. I was still a child when they began building it—too young to grasp the scale of what was happening, too young to understand what it meant to move an entire airport onto a man-made island. I didn’t know the history, not properly. I never experienced Kai Tak in the way the older generation did, with its hairpin descents and brushing rooftops. I heard stories, of course, but they always felt more like folklore than memory.

What I did know was the awe. Even as a boy, I could tell this airport was something else. When it opened in 1998, it felt like the future had arrived. Everything was light, air, and symmetry. I remember the travelators, the shimmering floors, the impossibly high ceilings—cathedral-like in their quiet reverence. The way the sunlight poured through those great panes of glass, and how every corridor seemed to stretch into possibility. It was as though the city had built not just an airport, but a promise.

I belonged to the generation raised in the era of Chek Lap Kok. We didn’t watch it land—we grew up inside it. My earliest memories of travel were shaped within its wide terminals and soft-spoken announcements. I remember clutching my little suitcase, watching the planes outside the windows, lined up like sleek white birds preparing for migration. Even then, I felt a kind of pride—not patriotic, perhaps, but personal. This was my city, and this was what it could build.

Unlike other airports, which so often feel like logistical battlegrounds—overcrowded, chaotic, impatient—Chek Lap Kok felt calm, choreographed. It moved with quiet precision. You noticed it in the way passengers flowed through immigration, how bags appeared like clockwork on carousels, how even the signage never seemed to raise its voice. I would later come to understand this was no accident—Norman Foster had designed it to be both elegant and efficient—but at the time, it simply felt right.

Over the years, of course, other airports have risen to prominence. Changi in Singapore now resembles a city within a city, complete with butterfly gardens, koi ponds, and the famed Jewel with its cascading indoor waterfall. Dubai’s airport dazzles with scale and spectacle—glossy, gilded, and relentlessly grand. Doha, Incheon, Hamad, Munich—all reminders that the aviation world has kept evolving, kept dreaming, often with budgets and ambitions to match. Against this backdrop, Hong Kong’s airport may no longer feel like the future. And yet, it remains firmly in the realm of the world-class. Its bones are strong, its vision still visible in its quiet orderliness. What it lacks in novelty, it retains in dignity.

What people sometimes forget is how impossible it all once seemed. Building an entire airport on reclaimed land, connecting it to the city by sea and high-speed rail, relocating a gateway for tens of millions—this was, by all measures, an engineering miracle. I remember watching a documentary once, marvelling at the complexity of the logistics, the scale of the ambition, the precision with which it was executed. It was more than infrastructure; it was a symbol of belief.

These days, I travel less. And when I do pass through Hong Kong airport, something has changed. The architecture is the same, the layout familiar, but the mood feels different. In recent years, it has become a place not just of arrival and departure, but of farewell. Too many have passed through its terminals not for holiday or business, but for migration—for leaving behind something that once felt unshakable. You see it in the eyes of those hugging their families goodbye, in the way some look back one last time at the gates. For many, the airport now holds the weight of memory. It has become a bookend, a final chapter.

And yet, I still remember how it once made me feel. That sense of movement. Of pride. Of possibility. I may not have known the full story, or the legacy of Kai Tak, but I remember the feeling of stepping into Chek Lap Kok as a child—wide-eyed, weightless—and believing, if only for a moment, that this city was unstoppable.

Perhaps the airport has grown quieter. Perhaps it has lost some of its lustre. But for those of us who grew up with it—who watched it rise from sea and steel—it will always be more than a building. It will remain, in some quiet corner of the mind, a place where pride once lived. A place we once called our beginning. Or our end.

[Verse]

Could I think I’d let the world hear my song?

And end up where I had always belonged

Music was the key to freeing my inside tornado

I didn't care that I’d look like a crazy psycho

[Verse 2]

Can’t remember how many failures I’ve had

How many times they have waved a hand

They always told me tons of stupid tales

Making me wait for years, months and days

[Pre-Chorus]

But we’re here to become history

To play a starring role in our movie

[Chorus]

We will rise, we will fall (rise and fall)

Biting a bullet and clenching the fists

Taking a breath and deciding to risk

Starting something is always scary

But when you win your first victory

When you’re just halfway through

You’ll be determined to continue

[Post-Chorus]

Rise and fall (hey, hey, hey)

Rise and fall (hey, hey, hey)

[Verse 3]

Still wondering how I managed to survive

When all my close people left me behind

Life drama almost killed my dream of fame

Pushing me into a sea of regrets and shame

[Pre-Chorus]

But we’re here to write a new script

To choose the best turns and twists

[Chorus]

We will rise, we will fall (rise and fall)

Biting a bullet and clenching the fists

Taking a breath and deciding to risk

Starting something is always scary

But when you win your first victory

When you’re just halfway through

You’ll be determined to continue

[Post-Chorus]

Rise and fall (hey, hey, hey)

Rise and fall (hey, hey, hey)

[Bridge]

Does someone dare to say I’m an outsider?

And my star wouldn’t shine much brighter

Gonna move on like I’ve never been hurt

Not letting anyone devalue all my efforts

[Pre-Chorus]

Hey, hey, hey, hey (here we are)

Hey, hey, hey, hey (here we are)

[Chorus]

We will rise, we will fall (rise and fall)

Biting a bullet and clenching the fists

Taking a breath and deciding to risk

Starting something is always scary

But when you win your first victory

When you’re just halfway through

You’ll be determined to continue

[Outro]

Rise and fall (rise and fall)

Rise and fall (rise and fall)

Hey, hey, hey, hey

Hey, hey, hey, hey

Rise and fall…

I have a theory, and I think that the universe of 'Escape Room by Christopher Hedge' is a prequel to the TADC universe. To all those who have not read the book yet, it's a thriller novel and these 5 kids have to escape this escape room. But it's actually not a game. I'll stop here before I spoil the whole book. I think that TADC is another escape room game where Pomni has to find out a way to escape. Even the characters match:

Pomni: Ami

Ragatha: Adoja

Jax: Oscar

Kinger: Ibrahim (hear me out they both notice stuff and he's probably gone crazy because of the time he's spent in the circus)

Min: Zooble (hear me out she thinks it's a digital simulation so she acts like herself who can be kinda mean at times)

And I think that all the other characters are newly made programs because they needed more characters.

The next think that could debunk this theory is the age gap, because the TADC characters are a lot older than their Escape Room counterparts and to that I say (spoiler alert) if you can make programs that age then I'm pretty sure that you can tweak them to be older in the next simulation.

OK so that's my theory, feel free to tell me what you think about it.