“When I grow up, I want to be knight. I want to protect everyone, raise my sword proudly and drive away bad guys”, the young Hunter smiled, playing at the side of Gregoria’s river as he watched his mother do the laundry.
“I’m sure you would; if you listen to me properly, you might even become the next Knight Commander.”
“Really?”
“Yes, you are a Cromwell; we are bound for something more.”
Hunter can still remember how his mother’s voice sooths all his worries as a child. She had always been his light, his guide through their simple but happy life, his shield for everything that was out to hurt him—the ridicules, the insults, the rocks that the other kids threw at him after the incident.
Only his mother had his faith, the only one that believed him despite all the odds. But there’s no such thing as eternal. Even the toughest rock could crack, even the tallest tree can wither, and likewise, even the strongest shield was bound to break.
“Don’t listen to what the people says, my sweet Hunter. I’m sorry if I could not give you a better life, If not only for this illness of mine.”
"Mother, don’t say that...”, he cried, hugging her tightly as she lay weakly onto her bed.
“Listen to me, Hunter, look out for yourself okay? You might have made mistakes but that doesn’t mean that you should hate yourself. Be a knight, gather up the courage to face them, and ask for forgiveness, and even if they couldn’t forgive you, know that I’ll always be on your side. You are a Cromwell; I’m sure you’ll get to be a splendid knight.”
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He can still feel their last embrace, his mother’s cold hands wrapped around him as he was forced to hush himself. He can still feel the blisters in his hands, digging the hole that served his mother’s grave, the smell of flowers that he placed and the roughness of the stones he began to stack.
It was raining that day, cold and unforgiving, much like the raindrops that woke him up from his slumber. He opened his crying eyes to the sight of the forest. A muzzle was tied to his mouth, as securely as the tight rope that bounds him to the tree he was in.
“Where am I?”, he thought as he panned his vision to the bushes and foliage of trees. “Rope?”, he thought as he looked down. “Right, I should tell commander Alvor or Nicolas about this.”
He tried shaking himself to loosen the rope but it was well tied, not budging no matter what wiggle or cursed dance he made. But all is not lost as an idea draws him to his sword a few inches away on his side, but again, his efforts were futile. His arms are much bounded than the rest of his body.
“For goodness sake, is this how I’ll die? Cold, hungry, and alone”, he exclaimed, but the muzzle made it into an inaudible rough moan of annoyance, “I thought I can at least be forgiven before I die, but I guess that’s just all but a daydream, What a soul I am.”
“Wait a minute, soul”, he cheered, panning to the rustling sound of the bush in front of that revealed a squirrel, curiously watching him as he closed his eyes, “That’s right, a shield big enough to make the rope snap”, he felt hopeful, “As big as possible...”
Gathering the light that circulates around him, he used the same technique from his hands, but this time it was concentrated on the center of his body, compressing it with all his strength. He imagine his hands stretching it as wide as possible, growing like a bubble, covering him entirely at the center until it popped together with the rope.
The squirrel was startled at the sudden burst of energy and scrammed. The next thing he knew, he was running back to town, holding his sword in his hands.