The oh so sweet scent of bacon allured me as the crackling of fried eggs sang to my waking.

I got up and headed to the kitchen. There I found my papa cooking my favorite meal: fried eggs with bacon!

"Hey son, how was sleep? Since we're all together I thought you'd be happy if I prepared you your favorite meal." His voice was joyful, a tint of excitement accompanying his tone. "However I'm afraid I've burned them a little, I hope you don't mind?" Over time burning meals had become the personal touch of papa, a little like a unique mark allowing me to recognize it was his work.

"No, it's perfect like that... thanks. I'm happy to be back, really."

I guess now everything would return to normal, minus mama who was missing. I don't know how papa copes with it, he really loved her, and so did she, yet she left... I shouldn't think of that. More importantly, I have to-wait, what does he mean 'all together'?

"Oh, I'm glad you don't mind, for sure must be the first time I am congratulated for messing up someone's meal." He slightly laughed as he said that. "Oh, since you're up, will you please go and wake up your mother? I think she's still asleep."

My eyes went round at his sentence, what did he mean? That mother was here, that she hadn't left, that it was all a dream-

"Hey, what's up with the face? You don't remember where it is that she sleeps, am I right?" he chuckled lightly. "You must still be half-asleep. She's upstairs, it's the door to your right."

I went up, almost stumbling from shock. Did it mean she really was here, that it all really was just a horrible dream? As I climbed the stairs a scent accompanied me-it was that of slightly burnt bacon. My first hesitant steps gained confidence as seconds passed, going faster and faster to lead me to the truth, to lead me to my then-no. To lead me to my mama's bedroom. My steps resounded across the house, reflecting my incomprehension.

Finally I was in front of the door, that door that wasn't special in any respect; it was as seedy as any other door of this damned District, so why did my heart hurt this much, why did my throat felt so tight I couldn't breath, why did my hands tremble so much to the prospect of opening that door?

The burnt smell intensified. It now overwhelmed the smell of the street.

Finally, I decided to open the door. An incredible sight met my eyes; she was there, still asleep, gently breathing, a sense of serenity surrounding her.

"It really was a dream?" I murmured to myself. I did not understand, why was she there. How? I could only see her face but I still recognized her, she had this aura of diamond even when she was surrounded by trash the same as she was the light of this District, my light. However this aura was slowly swallowed by a scent, a sensation growing stronger by the minute: burnt eggs and pork, ever more omnipresent, my thoughts were gradually lulled to sleep by this scent, but too slowly for me to realize.

I advanced slowly, afraid I was of the truth hidden behind this duvet. When I was about to wake her up a voice arised:

"All. All that is your work. I hope you are proud of your creation, little savior. You have chosen the path of the Hero, henceforth the world shall despise you. Poor being, wishing to save your loved ones, you condemned yourself to becoming their greatest terror. However do not forget you haven't signed the contract wishing for love. I'll cheer for you from my world, little being, so do not give up."

"What, who is talking?" I couldn't move my body but I knew to whom the voice belonged; it was my papa's, and yet it had a subtle change to it, as if transcendental.

"What, you do not remember me? That's bold from someone who's betting his life, I like it, but that does not mean I'll help you accomplish your destiny. You are not the first one to hold the mark, and if you fail, you will not be the last one to die at the end of your foes' blades."

His voice thunder to the ears, he let out an amused giggle, but someone seemed to be mimicking him word for word, that person was my mother, she was up, he eyes looking straight through my soul.

"Do not forget, our worlds will align, allowing your plane of existence to cross over reality, you shall be the one to close the gate for once and all."

It spoke strange words. I knew my parents were being controled, but I didn't know what I could do to help them. I listened to him, his tone was dreamy, as if wondering if things would go as he planned.

The scent of burnt eggs and pork came back. It now hurt and I could hear a crackling, the same crackling of last summer: fire.

"I cannot stay longer. I still haven't recovered from the contract we've passed, and I wouldn't appreciate their learning of my doings."

As he uttered the end of his sentence, the corpses of my parents that were beginning to slowly float, their eyes completely white, loudly fell as flames appeared and engulfed everything, blinding me.

----------------------------------------

"Son, hey son, wake up. I cooked lunch, the one you like."

I woke up to a rugged voice, the memories of my dream slowly fading away.

I got up and went down to the kitchen, my papa accompanied me silently, he seemed to want to talk but did not have the courage to, so instead he served me burnt eggs and bacon. After long minutes of silence, he coughed, spitting out the same strange liquid from earlier today, and spoke:

"Listen. I know what just happened isn't easy to take, but it isn't easy for me either and if we want to keep on living just like the old days, then we'll both have to move on. As for the money... I'll find a way, so don't you worry about that, I just want you to live like a normal kid, after all that happened, you deserve this much."

The only reason we still had a roof over our head, no matter how decrepit the roof, was because of the money mama brought in. And although papa also brought in money, it wasn't enough to pay for the house.

"I know what you're thinking about, but you really need to listen to me. So you'll go to your school, and you won't skip school, alright?"

He looked at me straight in the eyes, expectation and a wave of firmness formed in his eyes. Guess I'd have to go to school, even if just for a few days before his determination faded away.

"I'll take that silence as a yes. Very well. Then come here, I have something to give you." He urged me to approach, and as I did he pulled out an object from his pocket; it was an eye patch. "See that?"

I answered by the affirmative.

"Whenever you go outside, you must wear it on your left eye. Think of it like a game, you could be a pirate! Alright?"

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"I-yes, I'll wear it papa, don't worry." I knew why he wanted me to wear it. It must have been linked to that day they stopped treating me as their son. Did it mean everyone would react the same to seeing me, to seeing my eye?

"Why? Why do people react like that? What is it that's so horrible about my eye? Is it something I did?"

He looked conflicted, not knowing what to say.

"Well, that's... I don't think you would accept the reason, it's stupid, really, but it's the way this city works. Everyone fears Daemons."

I didn't ask what a Daemon was.

When going to school, I thought about what I would do. I didn't intend to tell them about my venture into the Outside. I wasn't in the right mind for that, and nobody would believe me anyway.

Days passed and nothing extraordinary happened; nobody seemed interested about the whys of my wearing it. As for papa... it was weird, weird but good; he seemed to be getting better, at least he was more energetic and seemed less alouf, more down-to-earth, the weird part were the spits, it might just be my imagination, but... he seemed to be spitting more, a lot more, and it was dark, like gasoline, sometimes I could even see a red-translucid part atop the dark one, reacting the same way oil would to water. It scared me.

This week would announce the end of the month, a prelude to taxes, and even though papa told me not to worry, I couldn't help but do, and it meant I would do what I knew best: harvest the juicy fruits this city had to offer.

I deviated from the path I usually took to go to school to head toward the richier Districts, more particularly, my favorite: District S. The most beautiful District of all Arkanoth; with its alluring lights making everything seem better, all these adults wearing ties and looking so fancy and healthy, and most importantly than everything else, because of the oh so giant ads up in the sky accompanied by a sea of bright neon lights, no one could see the rubbles from the narrow, dark alleys!

I put on my hood, head down, and started walking as I wore a childish smile. While walking I pushed some people, not seeing them walk in my direction due to my fascination to the tiles this District had, I apologized whenever I pushed someone-maybe a little too often because policemen started chasing me, yelling me to stop running away.

After a short but intense chase, they came close enough to grab me by the shoulder, calling me names and huffing from their lack of exercise.

"Finally got you, you damn rascal! How many times must you repeat this buffoonery before you understand, uh! The only reason you're not doing your jail time is because of those stupid laws, if we could just catch you when you're selling those stolen items, we wouldn't see your stupid face for years!" He stopped yelling, huffing to his heart's content all the while wiping away his sweat. "Now hand me over everything you've stolen."

I took my most innocent face, one which would make even angels cry, and pleaded. "What are you talking about, mister, I just got scared when you started yelling and chasing me. You know what they say about rich people and what they do to poor children like me. Can't you understand, mister policeman?"

His face turned all red while his red-nosed colleague started laughing at the scene. "YOU!! I SWEAR IF YOU DON'T HAND OUT ALL YOUR STOLEN GOODS RIGHT THIS INSTANT, YOU WILL DO YOUR TIME IN JAIL, NO CARE ABOUT WHAT THOSE STUPID RULES SAY!!! YOU HEAR ME?!!"

Tsk

"Here you go," My make-angel-cry voice nowhere to be seen, I handed him my spoils; a watch, some snacks, and some pocket money.

"I said: everything. You hear me?"

I grumbled and searched through my inner pockets, more pocket money suddenly appearing alongside other insignificant goods.

"Really. When will you learn your lesson? I'm worried about you, son, you should be at school studying, I know it's hard living in the poorer Districts, but it's not a reason to steal anytime you need some more pennies. Plus, it's not like you could possibly buy anything interesting with this worthless stuff."

And they left.

According to the law, any child, that is person under 18 years old, caught stealing people would have to be caught right the instant, and would be deprived of his goods. However he would not go to jail unless he was caught selling said stolen goods. It thus birthed a strange loophole in which policemen had to arrest thieves before they could possibly sell anything but if caught before selling anything, would be exampted from jail time. It was a loophole most were aware of, but few really knew how to profit of.

As I light-heartedly headed back home, I stopped in a narrow alley, and, with a little bit of excitement toward the prospect of witnessing my spoils of war, I took out the interesting goods I had hidden from the policemen: five wallets each full of hundred bucks; I.D cards of some important-looking passerbies (it always sold for a lot of money in the quarter of the Sinless); and finally, a syringe filled to the brim with an ominous-looking liquid, ever-so slightly moving as if waves.

Yup. Today, was a good day.

I came back home wearing a bright smile, a pack full of soon-to-be money on my back. However a not so joyful sight met my eyes, putting an end to my joyful mood.

"Why the bright smile, did something good happened?" His tone did not match well to his face, which looked as if he tried to swallow an eel, some veins were popping out of his forehead, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"So, won't you answer? What could you have done that was so interesting for you to look this happy, huh?"

"I...uhh. I didn't go to school. I was afraid you wouldn't be able to pay for the house so I decided to steal enough money for the month."

"I know. As a matter of fact, the school told me you weren't there," he sighed, exhaustion overtaking his rage as he slumped down on his chair. "Come on, you know I told I'd pay for the house. I know I wasn't the best role model of a father so far but do you truly think I wouldn't have told you if I couldn't pay?"

"...No. You would have told me, because you never hide important things from mama or me."

"That's right. Now give me the bag."

I relutanctly gave him my bag. He calmly opened the bag; it wasn't the first time I stole something, nor was it the first we would keep the spoils of my hard work. He first looked at the wallets, looking a little impressed when seeing all their money, then he seemed amused looking at one particular I.D.

"Son, you just caught a big fish. Do you know who this guy is on the photo?" He waved the I.D card showing the face of a middle-aged man who probably did not know the meaning of 'fun', he had a light black beard giving him a strong look and deep blues that gave him an aura of wisdom. Overall he seemed like an intimitating guy to be in front of who couldn't laugh at anything. "That guy is none other than the C.E.O of Montezio's. He's probably one of the most influential guys pulling strings in the shadows. Right now there are rumors about his first son not being the successor of the company. Some bullshit about him not being fit for the job, but let me tell you, the only reason he's not the successor is because his ideals differ too much with those of that old fart."

I looked at him strangely as he laughed. Did that mean that was a good catch from me, or a bad one that would bring us trouble?

He must have seen my confusion, because he suddenly stopped laughing, and told me in a praising tone that it was a good catch, a very good catch.

"Anyway, do you have anything else you would want to show me?"

I answered by the affirmative, telling him it was in the secret pocket inside the bag.

As soon as he saw the syringe, he stopped, his expression an emotionless stone mask, it almost felt like the room temperature had lowered by some degrees. Little beads of sweat appeared on his hands, rapidly freezing in time, unable to fall out of his hands all the while taking a blue hue, as if it had become ice.

"Son, where did you find that."

His words made me flinch; it wasn't a request he was making nor a question, it was an order. But what scared me the most was how rugged his voice sounded, it was the same voice he had whenever he was about to spit that strange ominous liquid.

"Where. Did. You. Find. That."

I gathered my courage, at least enough for answering.

"I found it on the pocket of an old man, he seemed to be hitting the seventies. I kept it because I didn't know what it was and thought it could have been of some value."

He didn't say anything. By the time his hand reached the syringe, waves of lust and guilt battled inside his eyes, taking the form of ships sending bullets and cannon balls to one another, battling for their victory. His inner battle ceased, however I couldn't see which side had won, and he took the syringe, making sure to put it in a place I couldn't find (although I did find this place later on, easily at that, it was clear he tried his best to hide it from me. I nonetheless decided on not touching it, there had to be a reason for him to go to such ends to hide it from me).

----------------------------------------

Little months had passed and it was the start of a new school year. After the talk we had I didn't skip school anymore, only focusing on studies, or at least trying to.

Papa called me one day. I walked down the stairs, each of them creaking one after another, slowly composing a melody of wood, one which held the soul of countless memories: the sorrow of our mourning, the incertitude of our tomorrows, the anger that blinded our visions, leading one against another, breaking the trust, the happiness, leaving only dust and fear, but from that fear grew joy, one of a broken vase having slowly been repaired over countless days, creating new memories from ancient sorrows, replacing the anger and distrust by laughter and unison. It was the soul of the stairs, that of countless memories.

I arrived in the kitchen, papa was sitting on a chair. He said to me happily:

"Son, I have something to tell you."