Chapter 005
The Past is Knocking on the Door
“My parents? I see them almost every day in my nightmares,” I joked, trying to lighten up the mood, “Of course, I know a lot about them—let me think.”
I hadn’t thought about my parents in years. They were so important to me that when I lost them, I could only weep and resent myself when I thought about them. I buried those memories deep, hidden under the piles of nightmares and suffering I had. One time, Mom and I were trapped in the same shadow-creeping room where she died. However, the blood stopped dripping, the gray-haired man was frozen mid-kick. Mom’s eyes flickered a fresh-blood maroon and she repeated, “Why didn’t you save me,” over and over and over.
I didn’t leave my bed that day. I thought I didn’t deserve a happy life.
So now, after all that suffering. The old man wants me to dig those memories out of the pile of rubbish? It took me forever to get them buried, but if it means I get some answers… I’ll do it.
My mind blurred like it tried to navigate through the deranged waves of the ocean in the thunderstorm. I didn’t remember what my parents did for work, what they enjoyed—hell, I couldn’t even remember what they looked like or sounded like.
I see them in my nightmares almost every day. I should be able to remember something.
I whirled around, searching for the answers but I felt like I was only ending up in the same place. Almost like a maze with no exits. How could I not remember? I had known them for half of my life! I should at least have one memory of them!
“You don’t know, do you?” Muttered the old man.
“Shut up,” I whispered.
“Pardon?”
“Shut up!” I yelled, my voice raging and shaking as wildly as my heartbeat as I slammed the broken table. “Can’t you see that I’m thinking? It hasn’t even been a minute!”
“Hey brat, it's been 5 minutes,” he responded, “did you sneak a shot back at the bar?”
I sunk back onto the mossy stool. It felt like I had been living with a hole in my chest without realizing that it was missing. No, I just never found it strange that it had disappeared.
“It’s alright to know nothing—“he uttered, patting my back “—that’s why I’m here to answer you. I can’t say I’ll be able to answer much about your parent's death, but I can answer about their life.”
I slapped away his arm, “I don’t need your sympathy. I don’t need any answers either. I only followed you because you were someone my dad knew.”
I stood up and pushed in the mossy stool and strolled to the door.
“That’s it? Really? I thought you would be burning with rage like me. Don’t you want revenge?” the old man said, following me to the door.
“Of course, I’m full of rage. Of course, I want revenge. But I don’t need your help to do it. Do yourself a favor and stay out of my life.” I responded.
“You will die.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Then you're delusional,” he uttered, “nobody wants to die.”
“What about you? You want revenge too.” I replied.
“I’m an old man. I’m losing a battle with time. I just want to rest in peace when my time comes,” he announced, crossing his arms, “But you… you’re just a kid. You have an entire life ahead of you. Why don't you just take it easy and try to live a nice life.”
“How I wish. But it doesn’t matter anyways. How can I live normally knowing that there is a thief out there? One that stole everything I loved from me. He left me with nothing to protect and nothing to care for.”
“I’m not going to pretend even for a second that I understand your life. However, revenge only builds up a need for satisfaction that can’t be fulfilled even when you kill the cause. The rest of your life will be one perpetual, empty, hell. I can’t let you live that life.”
“Can’t you just shut up?!” I yelled, unleashing my fist onto the wall which surprisingly didn’t break. “You said it yourself. You don’t understand a thing I’ve gone through! My parents were murdered! Their blood dripped onto my hands. I heard their last screams. I... I couldn’t do anything.”
Tears began pouring out of my eyes. What the hell am I supposed to do?
“It’s alright to want revenge. But this is out of your hands. Let an adult take care of this for once. I know Father Airo personally—the great man he is. You shouldn’t have any worries at your age. How old are you?... fifteen?”
He was right. I had no leads. I didn’t know where the men were and had nowhere to start. And yet… this was the last purpose I had. The last thing that drove me forward.
“Look at me right now. Do you really expect after everything that’s happened, for me to give up just like that?” I sobbed, “Maybe if I met you sooner, I wouldn’t be such a mess.”
“It took me a while to find you without attracting the attention of my superiors. I’m sorry.”
I had come too far already to give up. Unfortunately, a day couldn’t go by without the thought of revenge. Maybe if Father Airo had spoken up sooner, or if I had met this old man sooner.
The old man sunk back into his skin. He plopped down onto his mossy stool.
“I made a promise to your father,” he said, “We knew he would get killed, so right before the night of his death. Your father asked me to prevent you from ever getting your hands dirty. But it looks like I made the mistake of waiting too long to meet you.”
“If you knew he would die, then why the hell didn’t you do anything?!” I screamed, grabbing him by his collar.
“I offered to. But… he said he didn’t want anyone else caught up in his problems” grieved the old man, “I begged him to allow me to help. All he said was to take care of you.”
“But he was going to die! How could you just walk away?”
“You idiot!--” he yelled, chopping my head with his hand– “Do you really think I wanted to let him go? It would be disrespectful to ignore his last wish. He knew that if I had gotten involved, it would have killed me! Also, of course, I didn’t want to walk away. I regret it every day!” screeched the old man out of breath.
“Then where the hell were you all my life?! When I cried under the sheets of my bed, hoping that nobody would hear me? When I fainted from all the sweat dripping down my head because of the first nightmare? You were never there for me. Wasn’t that my father’s last wish?!”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“HOW DARE YOU!” he panted, “I had to make myself look like a fool when meeting you. Of course, I knew who you were. I would never mistake Vy’len for someone with white hair! I had to protect you from your parents' enemies too. Make sure you were safe y’know? All without attracting attention from anyone in my department."
“Who are your superiors–never mind that, who even were my parents? And if you wanted to protect me so much, why didn’t you just take care of me yourself?”
“It's just that…”
“It's just that what?” I asked confused about his lingering sentence.
“It’s just that I didn’t have everything for you. I couldn’t be a good father and let you grow up in a loving environment. My work keeps me busy. Here I was now, yelling at you from the top of my lungs like we were fierce adversaries meeting on the battlefield. I’m not fit to be a parent.” He sighed, fanning himself with his hands. “I’m sorry for getting overworked. Now, if you want to know about your parents I have time to chat.”
----------------------------------------
I had restricted myself from speaking about my parents and past. Not that nobody was interesting but the memories were too powerful for me to contain. It anchored me to the same place I was 5 years ago, unable to move forward and useless. It kept my misery close to my heart and stabbed any chance of finding happiness.
But now, I felt like I could finally speak my mind. I didn’t want to talk about my parent’s death and things related to them, so I stuck to the topic of the old man’s memories with them.
It turns out my father was so much more than a father. As the old man and I chatted, I realized that my father had such depth to him that the father I knew was only a part of his character. It only carried a part of his personality, his mistakes, and what made him a good person. He was a friend, a doctor, a partner, and more importantly, a role model.
I had the urge to speak about their deaths. But, I didn’t want to impose on the old man. That would only bring gloom to both of us. So, I hoped the conversation would naturally lead itself toward that. If the old man wanted to speak about their deaths, he would himself.
“Your father was the smartest man I ever knew! He always loved helping others too. There was that one time I needed a new building for my new office. By the time I finished that sentence, he had already written up the paperwork and given me the necessary money. Of course, I declined because I really only said it for attention and I couldn’t take money from him. However, I’ll never forget his gleaming smile,” chortled the old man, “his mother sure was lucky.”
“Can you tell me something about her?”
“I apologize young one, I do not know much about her,” he said with a light coating of guilt. He stood up out of his stool and began wandering the room.
“Aha! Come over here—“ he gestured to another room—“I have a painting of your parents over here.”
I followed the old man into what seemed to be a bedroom. The room was full of furniture that was clearly out of place… perhaps only the furniture was moved from his mansion. He had a fluffy, white bed with cloud-like pillows. He had a clean-cut cabinet and table with no signs of mold anywhere.
There was a glowing globe outlined in gold on a wooden drawer next to the bed. I knelt on the ground and reached out my hand to touch some of the sparkles flaking off, but my hand bounced off like there was a force field.
“Over here!” He yelled from another room, “I found one!”
He popped his head out through the doorway, but his face dimmed a little when he glanced at where I was. He marched over towards me, gloom sketching onto his face.
“Oh, you found that. Guess I should have kept it hidden away.” He sighed, submerging into the bed.
“What is it–if you don’t mind me asking,” I asked, leaning my arms on the drawer.
“That’s the capsule of my screams. Even us adults get nightmares too y’know.” He covered his face with his hands like he was hiding some scars that were etched onto his soul. “For years, your father’s face appeared in my dreams. ‘Why didn’t you save me?’ He asked, over and over and over until I went insane. I’m not going to say my suffering was anything close to your parents or you, but it caused me to scream in the night. I eventually settled on buying that capsule for a small fortune.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know something like that was happening to you,” I said looking up, “It was kind of selfish that I didn’t think that you suffered too. My father was like a son to you, right? I guess that makes me your grandson.”
The old man stuttered for a couple of seconds.
“You brat! Don’t get to attached to me, I’m about to fade away any day now!” He yelled, “Now do you want to see that picture or not?”
“I’m coming, don’t worry.”
----------------------------------------
The old man lead me into a different part of his rotting house. The dust laid untouched on piles and piles of wooden boxes. The room was dim and our only light source was the old man’s handheld flickering lamp.
“You should stay out there–” he said, pointing to the exit– “You could get lost in this mess of mine!”
I took his advice and wandered around the boxes toward the exit. I occasionally had to step over a blockade of them. I reached the doorway again and it just occurred to me, the storage was a lot bigger on the inside than the outside. What type of person was my father?
“Alright I’m coming out!” echoed the old man from inside the room. He brought out what looked to be a painting that was covered in a rag. He held up the painting next to the wall and it just stuck there. I didn’t know how, but it did.
“Are you ready for the big reveal?” he chirped, smiling, “ta-da!”
He yanked off the sheet to reveal a painting of two individuals I didn’t recognize and the old man. I was somehow there too, wearing the brown rags that Father Airo gave me. My face sagged from insomnia and I wasn’t a pretty sight. My grimy face with scratches and dust from the streets. My oily, white hair had been ruffed up, looking like the end of a broom.
“What do you see?” asked the old man.
“Can’t you see it?” I asked, pointing my finger at the painting, “You're over there and I’m over here. In fact, this is your house in the background. But I’ve never been here. How is this possible?”
“All I see is a blank canvas. Your parents asked me to show you this after all the attention on you faded,” he responded. “They also asked me to give you this.”
He opened his hand to reveal a small parchment-envelope sort of thing. It was covered in lime-green, forest-green, black, and white hexagons to make a texture. Maybe it was their will or a final message to me. I opened out my hands and he placed the envelope into them. I waited for something to happen like the painting. There had to be something special, but nothing happened.
I tried ripping it open like I normally do–not that I get many envelopes–but the paper felt like iron. I then tried yanking it open, but if ripping didn’t work, yanking wouldn’t work either. I scanned to see any openable creases but there were none. However, I caught a glimpse of texture shifting around–it was moving.
The enchanting process of altering texture mesmerized my eyes. It looked like something I had only seen Mother Lay’rene do when she patched some library rugs with new fabric. The fabrics had blended in together like two rushing rivers streaming into the same lake.
The paper uncovered a maroon and purple hexagon texture that spelled out something.
“Only for your eyes and ears Lac’en,” I whispered, reading the note mindlessly.
“Can you speak up?” asked the old man, that was crossing his arms, waiting for the envelope to open.
“It says only I can read the letter.”
“Damn, if you wanted me to leave, you could have just asked and I would have been fine stepping out.”
“I’m not lying!”
“Sure you are–!” he chuckled, “But I’m only kidding. You aren’t the type of person to do that.”
The old man sneaked out of the room like I wasn’t already aware he was leaving. He slammed the rotting door behind him.
Suddenly, gyra runes started to manifest on the letter. I had read about runes in the “All You Need to Know About Gyra Artifacts Volume 3” by Ry’con J’avr at Mother Lay’rene’s library but these were far more complicated. The fireplace at my new home was powered by two gyra runes. Even one single rune could produce an entire function for an artifact, but I counted 23.
It started to unfold itself to reveal a handwritten letter. The words were written shakily in ink. It was as if the writer could barely hold a pen.
“Dear Lac’en,
I truly hope you end up reading this.
I am Vy’len–well that’s the name I’m called by my colleagues, you would know me as “Father.” I wanted to take this chance to say that I’m sorry for not being there for most of your life. I was always too busy with my work as a gyra surgeon downtown. I could never take a break because injuries never took a break either.
But I’m especially sorry that your Mother and I have left you alone in this world. I truly hope you have an amazing family, one that loves you and treats you like their own. I’m sure that you have many questions about our deaths, but I’m afraid I don’t know much about it myself. Even if I did, please do not go looking for those that killed us.
I’m not going to try and act like a father now, but I’m sorry for everything that has happened to you. Mier’kno is a good man and he always treated me like his family.
I hope that you are able to move on through life. Life isn’t hard, but it isn’t easy either. I’m sure you noticed all the yelling and commotion that happened every day on the streets. Life is kind of a thorn in our sides that pops our dreams like a balloon.
Promise me this Lac’en, never give up on life, only then will you find true worth. Try to be happy in life and see the good things. You never deserved this fate.
Love, Father.”