The piercing screams of anguish echoed throughout the village, carrying a palpable sense of dread that stretched for kilometers. The night sky was ablaze with flames as homes and buildings were consumed by fire, their collapsing structures painting an ominous orange glow over the chaos below. Shadows danced eerily in the flickering light, giving the destruction a nightmarish quality.

In a small, modest home on the edge of the village, two brothers, Ash and Marcus, huddled together. Their once innocent, carefree world had crumbled into an unrelenting nightmare—a reality too cruel to accept as truth.

Minutes passed like hours. Each agonising second dragged on, heavy with the weight of uncertainty. Then, as if their silent prayers were answered, the front door burst open with a resounding crash. A man, rough and battle-worn, stormed inside. Dirt and blood stained his clothes, his laboured breaths speaking of the horrors he had faced. Without a word, he moved swiftly, gathering what few belongings he could fit into a worn leather bag. His hands trembled—not from exhaustion but from sheer urgency mixed with dread.

"We're leaving," he declared, his voice a peculiar blend of calm authority and underlying tension.

Ash, the younger of the two, couldn't hold back his fear. Tears streamed down his pale face as he choked out a cry, "Where's Mom?"

Marcus, his older brother, echoed the sentiment, his voice steadier but his eyes betraying the same fear and desperation.

Their father's face darkened, anger and sorrow intermingling in his expression. Yet his voice remained steady, almost too calm. "Don't worry. Mommy has already gone ahead. But we don't have time—we have to leave now."

Though reluctant, the boys nodded, their trust in their father overcoming their confusion. He scooped them up, one in each arm, and bolted out the door without a second glance.

The forest greeted them like a wall of shadows, but their father pressed forward, weaving through the dense thickets with astounding speed. Branches whipped past, foliage blurred into streaks of green, and the rhythmic pounding of his feet on the forest floor filled the air.

As they ventured deeper, the brothers couldn't help but glance back at the burning village. The horrifying sight branded itself into their memories: bodies littering the ground, homes crumbling into ashes, and the flickering glow of destruction lighting the night sky.

To calm the youngest, their father began to hum a soothing melody, his voice soft and steady despite the turmoil. Gradually, Ash's trembling subsided, his grip on his father's shirt loosening.

Their escape continued until Marcus suddenly pulled away, his voice cutting through the relative quiet. "You lied!" he accused, anger and betrayal lacing his words.

Ash froze, his heart pounding as he stared at his brother. Marcus's next words came out louder, harsher. "I saw Mom back in the village! You said she was waiting for us!"

Their father stopped abruptly, his face hardening. "Marcus, enough!" he snapped, his tone sharp but cracking under the weight of suppressed grief.

The tension between father and son boiled over into a heated argument, voices raised and emotions spilling over. Ash could only watch, paralysed by fear and confusion, as their words became indistinct shouts. Eventually, the shouting stopped, replaced by an uneasy silence. Overwhelmed, Ash's vision blurred, and the world seemed to tilt and spin.

When he awoke, it was in an unfamiliar room. He lay on a bed, his brother sitting nearby, his face streaked with dirt and exhaustion.

***

"Wow," a man muttered pitifully, his voice breaking as he sat on the cold, hard floor. Blood trickled from his head, staining his face as the chill of the winter evening seemed to seep into his very bones. The room was shrouded in darkness, save for the faint glow of a single, dim light. Nothing but a young man's anguished sobs filled the space, the air heavy with sorrow.

"When did my life come to this?" he whispered, his voice barely audible, as though even his words were weighed down by the despair he felt.

Life had not always been this way for him. As a child, growing up in poverty with only his mother by his side, he had dreamt of a better life. It had been his greatest ambition to one day become wealthy and, in doing so, make his mother the happiest woman in the world.

But the years had not been kind, and as time passed, his ambition only deepened, especially after his mother was diagnosed with Grade 3 cancer. At just 17, he had already seen more hardship than most people would in a lifetime.

With no choice but to drop out of school to pay for her treatment, he threw himself into the work that would keep them afloat. Even then, the odds were against him. The treatment alone wasn't enough to save her. What she needed was the newly developed, cutting-edge cancer cure—but it came at a staggering price, over $400,000.

Stolen novel; please report.

This was when he began his business. Four long years of relentless work, sacrifice, and sleepless nights, and finally, he had made it. His first big month had arrived, the moment he had worked for.

He became the talk of the town, a symbol of success in his young years. He was earning between $20,000 and $50,000 a month—an amount most could only dream of. But unfortunately, this story was destined to have a tragic ending.

Every cent he had earned, every penny he had saved during those years, had been for this moment—to finally afford the life-saving treatment his mother so desperately needed. The treatment had a guaranteed 100% healing rate, regardless of how advanced the cancer had become. With hope swelling in his chest, Ash rushed to the hospital, eager to bring the good news to his mother and pay for her cure.

But as he entered the hospital, something was wrong. The nurses, their faces full of confusion, were taking longer than expected to check him in.

"What's happening?" he thought, the unease creeping up his spine. "Why are they taking so long?"

The nurses exchanged nervous glances. One muttered under her breath, "What do we say?" The other, equally unsure, replied, "I don't know."

His heart began to race, but it never occurred to him that something terrible could have happened. Minutes dragged on, heavy with uncertainty. Finally, the doctor who had been overseeing his mother's care emerged, his face a picture of sorrow.

"Ash, come with me," the doctor said softly, his tone heavy with a gravity that Ash hadn't expected.

A sinking feeling filled his chest as Ash followed the doctor down the sterile hallway. His mind raced with questions.

"Did something happen to my mother?" he asked, his voice trembling.

The doctor's face twisted in anguish as he repeated, "I'm sorry..."

Ash felt his world tilt. He was stunned, disbelieving. Tears began to blur his vision, his throat tightening as he tried to make sense of what was happening. The doctor led him into the room where his mother lay.

Her lifeless form rested on the hospital bed, her body pale and cold to the touch, her peaceful expression a cruel contrast to the brutal reality of the situation. The heart monitor beside her emitted an unbroken flatline, the sound a haunting reminder of what he had lost.

"No..." Ash whispered, his voice cracking. His knees buckled, and he fell to the floor beside her, his raw, unrestrained cries reverberating off the sterile walls.

"MOM!" he screamed, his voice breaking with the weight of his grief.

His mother—the woman who had sacrificed everything for him, the one who had never once burdened him with her pain, the one who had always been there to confront his fears and encourage him through every hardship—was gone.

"WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY?" He screamed for what felt like an eternity, his voice hoarse and desperate, echoing through the empty room. For five long minutes, he cried out, the sound of his pain filling the silence.

Later, as Ash lay crumpled on the floor, blood staining the cold tiles beneath him, he managed a weak, bitter laugh. His head throbbed, but somehow, the dull pain was nothing compared to the heartbreak he had suffered.

"Cough, cough... the floor's hurting my butt," he joked weakly, his bloodied face resting against the wall. It was a pathetic attempt to mask the deep sorrow that lingered in his heart.

"I disappointed Mom..." His words were a whisper, barely audible as they escaped his lips.

For months after that day, Ash withdrew from the world. He confined himself to his apartment, only leaving for the bare necessities. His life, once full of promise, had taken a complete turn. His business, which had once been destined to become a global sensation in just a few short years, now operated almost entirely without him. With millions of dollars at his disposal, he barely spent a fraction of it. Yet, the wealth that once seemed so essential to his happiness now felt hollow, a cruel reminder of what he had lost.

His days were filled with anguish as he lay on his couch, scrolling through his phone in a haze of self-pity. Time and again, his thoughts spiraled into rage and grief.

"Where was all this money when I needed it?" he would scream, the words bitter on his tongue.

The first year after his mother's death had been unbearable, a constant struggle between the deep lows of despair and the slow, painful climb back to something resembling life. But even as time passed, he never regained the vitality he once had, the energy that had driven him to work tirelessly for his mother's sake.

"I'm sorry, Mom..." Ash whispered, his voice weak and full of sorrow. He had failed her, and that thought would haunt him for the rest of his days.

Now, as Ash lay on the ground, blood staining the floor, he felt the weight of his choices bearing down on him. The pain in his body was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness that filled his soul. He couldn't remember how he had ended up in this situation. All he knew was that someone had likely been sent to assassinate him. His billion-dollar business had made him enemies, and though this wasn't the first attempt on his life, it would surely be the last.

As he lingered on the edge of death, he asked himself, "Was my life good? Was I doing my best?"

"No," he thought, regret gnawing at him. "I could have done better. I could have worked 18 hours a day. I could have started my business sooner, before Mom was diagnosed. I could have recommended that she go for regular checkups. I could have treated her better..."

Ash's final thoughts were of his mother.

"Thank you for everything you did for me, Mom. Even now, as I die and leave this world, I'll never forget you, and I'll never let your efforts go to waste."

"Do you want to live again?" a voice suddenly echoed in Ash's mind.

"Yes," he replied, his voice faint but filled with longing.

"Then I will see you shortly," the voice responded.

"Even in my last moments, I'm still clinging to life. And now I'm hearing voices in my head," Ash thought, a weak chuckle escaping him despite the circumstances.

His vision blurred, and the pain in his body began to ebb. He felt a strange lightness, as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Slowly, the world around him faded into darkness. He could no longer see, feel, hear, taste, or smell. The world disappeared entirely.

What Ash couldn't have known was that what awaited him after death was something far beyond what he could have ever imagined—a gift, waiting to be given to him, even in the depths of his despair.