Chapter 80: Alex (Part 7)

My eyebrows raised at the indication that my mother was a demigod because… what the hell? She had never once utilized or expressed that she possessed iris before, so when my father so casually mentioned that fact... it completely threw me off. But I didn't question him… I just allowed him to continue.

By the time my father had arrived at the house, I was passed out in the yard, and the fire had already begun to spread to the rest of the property. Not seeing my mother but seeing Bee, he grabbed the two of us and disappeared from the premises of the house before anyone noticed. After contacting Zeris to meet him at the hideout, he flew the two of us over, and from there, our stories to one point.

My father reinforced the certainty that if my mother was still alive when she was taken, she is surely dead now. Lastly, regarding the current topic, which was visibly making my father awkward and restless, he indicated that he would go into further detail about this matter with me when the time is right, but it's not important right now.

In my mind, I flat-out disagreed. Considering the fact that our entire family was just attacked by highly skilled combatants, all because of not only who my father was but who my mother was as well, I felt like I had the right to know. Regardless, I didn't speak. Partly because I didn't want to be beaten again and partly because I didn't want to discuss this topic any further with my father, whom I've never once felt close with throughout my entire life.

Ever since the conversation began… whenever my father wasn't speaking to me, the silence was tense and increasingly made me more anxious. This is the longest we've ever gone looking at each other face to face, and our uninviting feelings toward one another were clearly evident.

I hated him, and he hated me, and we both hated that all we had left was each other. But something about our current relationship now… I don't know, really. The fact we have been pushed closer together…

I just don't understand why it feels so wrong to possess such a sensation. Is it really wrong to have hope? Hope… that the two of us may one day be able to accept each other for who we are?

I wanted to ask him so much. Just… about anything, everything. But I couldn't… I wouldn't. Instead, I opted for the safety of silence, creating an even thicker wall between us than there already was.

The following morning after our chat, my father, whose clothes were filthy and drenched with sweat and liquor, brought me outside, taking me a few hundred feet away to where he had buried Bee throughout the night. We stood staring at the grave for a long time for different reasons. He knew mine, and I didn't know his, but I understood how important Bee was to him. I wanted to cry, to mourn for the sister I had grown to love, but I couldn't with my father there. So I held the river of tears back and just stared at the grave.

Eventually, my father turned and returned to the cabin, leaving me alone. Whether it was because he understood how I felt or if he had taken enough time there to pay his respects, I don't know. But with the freedom to express emotion in front of that who I still cared for most, the fragile emotional dam of mine broke wide open, as the flood of emotions tore me apart from within as I grieved once more.

***

I wasn't allowed to leave the cabin again for the next two years if my father wasn't with me. As far as the government knows, I was killed along with my mother and sister that night. And due to that fact, I can't be seen or heard by anyone. Not yet, at least. My father made the valid point that I still need to grow and mature further before he registers me under a new identity before the trials. But until then, I must stay dead to the world.

Even so, I sometimes sneaked out to Bee's grave when my father wasn’t around and kept her updated about all the hellish training he was putting me through. Weightlifting, cardio, combat training, weaponry, everything. And he was right. The academy was a cakewalk compared to his standards, especially when he was drunk or hungover. Anytime I would fail, he would make sure, through physical methods… that I knew I had failed… and wouldn't forget that I did. And once he was finished, he would heal me right back up so I could try again.

And you know what else sucked? His food, or more specifically, his cooking. Mom definitely should've taken the time to teach him because I sometimes wondered if he even knew how to cook. But nonetheless, when he was sitting across the table from me, I calmly ate the food he so generously prepared, not a peep or complaint out of my mouth.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I knew he didn’t have to prepare food for me if he didn't want to, and I'm thankful he did. Although, sometimes... the food gave my stomach cramped knots.

Even though he spent a lot of time with me, my father still had a duty to the capital and spent just as much time in Saneth. He had a reputation, and his disappearing out of thin air one day after he was confirmed to be alive would only raise more and more questions over time. He spent the days in Saneth and the nights with me to keep me safe.

As the weeks and months passed, bags began to develop under his eyes, and most people probably believed that he was grieving over the loss of his family, which was reasonable. But in reality, he hardly slept anymore. Only when I passed my daily, or I guess, nightly tasks early enough… did he allow himself some shuteye for a few hours. And I won't lie… to a slight degree, I pitied him for that.

Once again, as torturous as his training was, and as much as I despised him every second I was with him, he didn't have to be doing this. I was already dead to everybody else… he could just kill me and free himself from such a bothersome burden. Nothing was stopping him…

So, I began trying extra hard every day. It was gradual, but not only did I eventually start meeting his demands, but I was also soon exceeding them. And the quicker I completed whatever he had planned for me that day, the sooner he could rest. I still hated the bastard, but I felt like I could at least do that much.

Over time, my muscular physique became toned and chiseled to suit my body weight. I eventually surpassed the six-foot mark in height, nearly catching up to my father, who stands six foot two inches tall. Appearance-wise, I looked twice the size I was before, and my father even had to pass down some old clothes of his after I outgrew the clothes I had gotten from Zeris early on.

And while a tiny part of me still wanted to improve the only relationship I had left in this world, my main drive to get stronger was fueled by something much more sinister and bleak within my now ruptured, blazed heart.

The burning sensation of revenge.

I've gone to sleep every day for the past two years, knowing I'll experience nightmares about that night. And in every nightmare, there's one person at the center of it all, as the same scene never fails to include itself. I watched, holding the gun in my hands, as the glass dagger penetrated right through Bee's neck, and my mother was knocked out right in front of my eyes. But what's different now is that whenever the choice comes… I shoot that son of a bitch. I shoot him until there are no bullets left in the gun. In a fit of rage, I sometimes even thrashed every burning item I could carry on top of him before letting his body lay in the scorching gallows of my devastated house.

If I could go back in time, I would make that decision in a heartbeat. I didn't have the resolve before, and for a long time… I didn't know what I could do to redeem myself, what I could do to fix the mistake I made back then. But still, I believe that I must've lived for a reason. And after thinking about it for a long time, I realized that my purpose is to one day get revenge on Armaros, the man who ruined my life by killing my sister, my mother, and me…

I will avenge my family. I will kill him. No matter what it takes, no matter what it costs.

I've grown distant and quiet during my time at the cabin, never once disobeying my father. In fact, I never said a word to him unless he asked me a question or gave me an order, and I even started doing some extra training when my father wasn't around. My father has undoubtedly noticed this change in action and demeanor, but I don't think he cares. Honestly, if anything… I hope he's glad. I sometimes wonder if he would do the same as I would if he were placed in front of Armaros today…

What a foolish thought. Of course, he would.

The day finally came when my father took my picture and created a new fake identity for me. Ace Brantley is my name, and I'm an orphan whose parents both died after reaching the age of divination. It's a pretty believable story, considering how often this actually occurs. With this, I'll soon be able to return to Saneth, and if Armaros is still alive… he won't be for much longer.

But there's one thing in the way, the trials. No matter how you face it, there's no getting around the trials. You can try and avoid them, but you'll be searched for and executed. If you're in a situation like mine where you don't have a name or place in the kingdom, you won't ever be able to enter human civilization.

And if you're not adequately prepared or able to sustain yourself to live on your own… you'll only die of natural causes, as famine is still a recurring issue. Additionally, for those who somehow successfully avoid participating in the trials, you'll be killed if you're one day found as an adult and aren't on record.

Surviving the trials is the only way if you want an “in” to society. Most will die, but those who live have a slight chance at a prosperous life. That's not to go without saying that many of those who survive will only return to their former life of poverty, only this time without their memories… and a new job title to their name, serving the rich 'til death. These are the details my father informed me about the week prior, and he told me that now, I should be well enough prepared to excel.