Chapter 3: Tears
4 YEARS LATER
POV- Five-Year-Old Man
Not much has changed, these past four years and seven months, other than the fact I just turned five years old today and I finally understand a little more about the reason I’m trapped here. Since my mastery over the language is fluent and I have improved my hearing so that any conversation in the castle or the town around it can be heard by me, I have unraveled some mysteries about my circumstance.
Apparently, my mother is a being known as an ‘elf’, and my father is a dragon. Children born between races that aren’t similar enough tend to die early for one reason or another, or die in childhood because of susceptibility to disease. ‘Rushka’ as they’re called, are considered disgusting abominations (I guessed it) and can even be killed if they’re not careful about it. There are other Rushka like elf and dark elf Rushka, which aren’t looked down upon nearly as much, but are still seen as the “trash of society”.
As if being a Rushka wasn’t enough, my mother died while giving birth to me. Normally, I would be immediately put to death, but my grandfather, The Elven King, ordered me to be imprisoned down here instead. I was grateful to him at first, but then I learned that the only reason he had let me live was because his daughter asked him to. He could let me out at any time, but he refuses to, because he hates me. I’m glad I’m not an ordinary child, or I’m sure I’d be crushed.
Today’s meal drops from the slot in the door. I pick up the metal tray and clear it of food. I am about to drink the water, when I catch my own reflection again. I sigh. Maybe I should be resentful of the way I look, since it has caused me so much grief, but… Every time I see my face I can’t help but be enchanted by my own beauty. When did I become so vain…? I shake my head and down the water quickly. It’s not very clean, but it’s better than nothing. Besides, drinking it every day has made me nearly immune to disease.
Well, the water and the fact that my feces and urine is only cleaned out once a week by some kind of spell.
I sigh after swallowing the water, flopping back onto the bed. My tail instinctively curls around me and my waist-length hair is spilling off the mattress and onto the floor. Even though I am the size of a child, and my face still has its rounded plumpness, my movements are no longer childlike.
Every day for the past four years and seven months, I have run in circles around my room till I passed out, done pull-ups, sit-ups, push-ups, stretched my body to an ultimate level of flexibility, and practiced tight flips and turns which increased my agility. Now, I have a sort of wild grace that I certainly didn’t have in past life.
I am a weirdly intimidating sort of five-year-old because of that, and also because of the amount of anger I have towards this world. I mean, isn’t it really unfair? For me to finally get a second chance and do nothing but sit and rot in this disgusting dungeon? It seriously sucks! How can I live my life better, how can I protect anyone when I’m in here?
Some days when these thoughts cross my mind, I go into a rage, attacking the door with my tail and newly acquired claws on my hands and feet. The steel door doesn’t budge a bit each time. This spurs me into training my body harder and harder to its absolute limits. One day, I even manifested a ball of fire with my magic when I was in a rage. It was pitch black and it felt like pure power. However, even when I hurtled it at the door, there wasn’t even a scratch left.
So, I trained my body and my magic with meditation and exercise so much that I finally was able to do both at the same time. Stronger, faster, more!
But it wasn’t enough, the door didn’t budge. Maybe I’m weak? I know that my kind tend to be weak physically, mentally, and emotionally but… even after all of this training? I sometimes had sad days when I just sat and stared at the walls, counting each bump on the stone. Doing this increased my eyesight by a lot. So I decided to spend the sad days training my senses to the maximum. I have yet to find any limits to this growth.
As I got older, I realized that there was something strange going on with me. I seemed to have a lot more time each day to train. When I used to have about 16 hours a day, but I found the number was rising up to 23 hours a day. It wasn’t until I spent two whole days awake that I finally understood. The amount of sleep I needed was decreasing. Now, I only need to sleep for about an hour a week, and I would be very well rested with just that. I also needed only one meal a week. When I started putting meals back through the slots 6 out of 7 days, they caught on and started giving me only the amount I needed.
People seemed to think I was finally dying, and some people were actually happy about it, the sick bastards. What they didn’t know was that I was actually getting stronger.
I pondered these words a moment. What if this solitude is actually a blessing in disguise? I haven’t been killed, and I can focus on training myself in a way I wouldn’t be able to if I were around other people. This gives me an opportunity to become strong! I smiled at the new way of thinking that presented itself. Maybe that won’t let me forgive my grandfather, but it helps me cope with the loneliness of the situation, at least.
+1 wisdom, +1 intelligence, +1willpower
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Though it’s regrettable that I have no knowledge about the world, even the basics of reading and writing, I still have a lot of intelligence and wisdom just from thinking deeply or meditating. I think that all my blessings actually are helping a lot, but I don’t mind. Based on the progress I’ve had on breaking down that stupid door, I’ll need all the help I can get.
With newfound enthusiasm, I jump up from my bed and start to punch, kick and slash in the air at an invisible opponent. My tail occasionally slashes as well, since it has sharp ridges over the top of it and on the end. If I could just get my strength up, I would be an unbeatable monster!
THREE WEEKS LATER
The entire kingdom is in mourning. The queen, my grandmother, just passed, as well as my aunt and two older cousins. Right now, the next in line is my uncle and after him is my last older cousin. After my cousin, it’s me. Well, only technically. I probably wouldn’t be allowed to rule even if my grandfather wanted me to. Besides, I have no idea how to run a kingdom.
Anyway, the king is in a rage this morning. His wife has finally passed of the strange illness that has struck the castle of late, and he isn’t happy. The healers that were trying to help her are terrified of the king’s wrath.
But the king ignored them and he came straight down to my prison and he unlocked the door hurriedly. He stormed in and he saw me sitting there looking back at him. Normally, I would pretend to sleep, but it has been two years since someone last entered my room. And that was a servant girl who pretended as if she couldn’t even see me.
This was different.
The king is a man in well-adorned robes and of tall stature. He gives off a powerful and noble air with his royal blue eyes and long golden hair. He wears a simple circlet with a blue gem in the center and he has some sort of metal covering the points of his ears. He is powerful and bright, filled with authority. He doesn’t match the dank, dark room and the very dirt beneath his feet seems to disperse in his presence.
I would be awed if not for the contempt muddling his eyes.
“You… you are bad luck. Only three weeks after the anniversary of my daughter’s death and… my wife!” His voice was thick with sadness, and his eyes hollow for a moment before they filled with rage, ‘Have you cursed me? What did I do to deserve this?!”
I say nothing in reply. A part of me decides he is not worthy to hear my voice, and the silence brings me satisfaction. Who was he to storm in here asking what he’s done? He locked his own grandson down here all this time, alone! If I were an ordinary child, I would have surely died.
The king’s eyes narrowed, he drew his sword, pointing it at me. “ANSWER ME!” In that moment, I thought that he was a pitiful old man. He just needed someone to blame, didn’t he? I couldn’t hate him like I thought I would. He isn’t a bad king, his subjects are happy and the land is at peace. He raised his children to be honorable. Depending on how you look at it, I could be considered the pest, the problem here.
After a long moment of me not responding, he put the sword down and let out a defeated sigh. The lantern he was holding dropped and shattered, leaving me in the familiar darkness of my prison, and him in the unfamiliar, terrifying feeling. I saw him sitting there clearly, and his shoulders were shaking. Is he crying?
…
What does a person do in a situation like this? It’s been a long time since I interacted with someone, but I think I’m supposed to…
I pat his shoulder as consolingly as I can. He stiffens in surprise, but then he looks up at me with unfocused eyes. “…you aren’t so bad, are you? Maybe it’s because I kept you here-.” He stopped, looking down again. He whispered something and a bit of light appears in his palm, illuminating the room. I took a small step back, finding the light to be a bit too much to my sensitive eyes. He smiled. “It’s alright, I won’t hurt you…” he spoke in a soft voice, as if he thought I was a small animal.
“This must be the first time you’ve seen it huh? This is magic. Ma-gi-c.” he spoke slowly to teach me, but I didn’t say anything. He smiled softly, “You are actually quite beautiful.” Gently, He wrapped his arms around me and drew me into an awkward hug. “Maybe I lost part of my family, but with you, I will gain some of it back. My grandchild.” He nodded assuredly.
To my grandfather’s (and my) surprise, I started to cry. My logical side was unaffected, and I wasn’t particularly relieved or happy, but the part of me that was a child cried his eyes out speaking of loneliness and pain and fear and darkness. I’m really glad I’m not just an ordinary kid. If I was, the solitude would have destroyed me forever.