Chapter 5.5

The Past is Knocking on the Door II

My father’s words sent waves quaking through my hands. He said that I didn’t deserve this hell. Damn… I really needed this.

It was like he was speaking directly to me.

I was angry at him though. Simply because he blamed himself for his death. Even in his death, he thought of others. The old man was right, he was a great man. He never deserved this fate. That was why I continued this path. I would never stop continuing this path because of all the suffering they went through.

They needed vengeance.

My hands shook as I grasped the letter, not wanting Father’s voice to disappear even though it was all in my head. This was something he left for me. Since I didn’t have my memory or anything from my old house, this was some of the last proof of his existence. He didn’t even have a gravestone so I had somewhere to go and wash my tears in the pouring rain.

I was ashamed. I only thought of myself when they died; I never even thought of my parent's feelings. My father’s guilt from not being able to save my Mother and I from doom would be more crushing than any other weight in the world.

What did we do to deserve this?

I gazed back up at the portrait of my parents, the old man, and me. But it had changed, just like the letter. I was now in the background of the painting. I was in the reflection of a mirror on the wall, my dried eyes staring right back at me. A younger version of myself now took my place. He was sitting on my father’s lap, gleaming brighter than the sun shining in through the back window. His hair was silky, unlike my rough, oily mess.

We were sitting on a gold-laced, green couch. The entire room was full of silky furniture and freshly-painted walls. Their entire environment screamed expensive from the hiko rug which was known to have fuzzy fur to the glass chandelier hung from the ceiling.

The person I assumed to be Mother was wearing a lipstick-red dress and had her purple hair tied up with a golden tiara. She had my sharp, deep-sea blue eyes that I couldn’t find on anyone else. Father was wearing a black suit and tie which complimented his hair.

This couldn’t be my parents and I. This had to be a completely different family, born into a completely different world than mine. They had massive bookshelves behind them, while I had to run on the dusty streets with my friends–which wasn’t that bad.

“Who exactly are you Father? Was this really us?” I whispered, clenching the letter. I didn’t even notice the old man sneaking up from the side.

“What are you looking at?” asked the old man, yelling into my ear.

“Oh my Ailvas!” I screamed, jumping back.

“Bwahahaha! That was nice!” chortled the old man, “Anyways, what enchanted you so much that you couldn’t hear a bone-creaking man like me sneak up behind you?”

“Oh… I wonder how close I would resemble my Father had I been born with his black hair–speaking of which, I don’t see many people with black hair these days.”

“What in the heavens are you on about!” yelled the old man, “Vy’len doesn’t have black hair!”

“But earlier… when we first met, I asked whether ‘Vy’len’ had black hair or not… and you responded yes. Do you remember?”

“You MUST have sneaked a drink at the pub earlier. Black hair is the sign of a cursed individual!”

“Nevermind,” I muttered, looking back at the painting.

Was Father truly cursed or am I hallucinating—no he definitely has black hair. What happened… who are you?

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” asked the old man as stared at the painting, even though he couldn’t see anything, “woah, I didn’t think you’d actually cry.”

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I’m crying? I lifted my finger and felt the watery tears streaming down my face.

"Well, it must be beautiful then. I wish I could see it.”

“Yeah…” my voice drifted off as if lost on the waves of the ocean. I knew these two people, but… it was as if they were something so close to me that I had forgotten it was there.

“Hey, old man—“

“Don’t call me old man brat!” Interrupted the old man.

“Sorry,” I responded, turning to face the old man.

“Good. Now what did you want to say?”

“It's just that… I’m curious about what my parents did.”

“We already talked about that though,”

“No, not that—“ I waved my hands to signal no— “I mean something they did to deserve that.”

Why did my parents die? It was hard to contain my curiosity about the question. In the painting they look like nobles, my father has so-called “cursed hair,” and they know a mysterious old man that has a supernatural house, plus it's weird that they would even get murdered in the first place when the security is so tight from the war.

The old man was stuck in stone. Maybe I confused him too much when saying that. The way his brain is wired, you can practically hear the fuses spitting.

“Oh you mean that,” uttered the old man as his face flickered from the realization, “I can’t say that to you.”

“Huh? Why not?” I begged.

“Because it will only inspirit your revenge,” lectured the old man, crossing his arms, “If you want to hear it, I need an oath that you won’t use this for revenge.”

“I don’t know…” wandered my voice as I thought. Could I break the oath? No, it’s probably going to use gyra.

“Earlier… At the pub… I mentioned something going down which is why I wanted to meet you,” said the old man, “Just know that I am achieving a crucial step in my revenge. Like I said, take it easy, let the adult handle this.”

“Then can I join you when I’m an adult?”

“Brat, I’m being serious,”

“I am too,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

“This isn’t some sort of game that you can play. There aren’t any respawn lives like those board games or books. You only have one life and you better make sure to take care of it.”

“I’m sorry, but please let me help. I want to get vengeance with my own hands.”

“Please Lac’en… I beg of you. As your father’s last wish, please, don’t make the same mistakes he did. Don’t even take a step into our world. My begging has to mean something.” pleaded the old man, sinking into the ground.

“I’m sorry, but it’s already too late,” I muttered, “Like you said, revenge is a force that drives us, but also tricks us too. But I’m already dependent on that force to keep me going.”

“Looks like I won’t be able to convince you with words.” he sighed, submerging into the chair, “If you want to continue your revenge, you have to beat one of my colleagues in a duel.”

“Why should I agree to that? I can always try to achieve revenge by myself.”

“Then I will stop you with all of my power. I have to honor the dead. The enemies aren’t weak. Once you find them, you can’t flick them and then they will flop over. Your parents were Lakirian warriors Lac’en, and they were killed easily.”

“They’re warriors? How? Tell me how they were killed!” I yelled, “Who killed them? Why were they killed? And if they're dead, then why aren’t you?”

“I’ll answer your questions if you can beat one of my comrades,” announced the old man, “You have to be strong if you want to hold information that could get you killed.”

So basically you don’t want to keep babysitting me from my parent’s enemies hoping to get revenge.

“Alright… when will it be?” I asked.

“Well… none of them are free now and they need a break when they get back. So, at the earliest a month. But I’ll keep in contact with you,” uttered the old man, reaching his hand out to shake, “Deal? But be warned, they won’t go easy on you.”

“Deal,” I responded, shaking his hand. My grip almost slipped, making it awkward but I was thrilled to achieve a new milestone on my path.

”How will I contact you?” I asked.

“You’re mistaken. I’m the adult here, so I’ll do the contacting,” he responded, “Well I’ve gotta go now. I’ll be rootin’ for you!”

As the sun’s glint fazed through the brown stained window, blinding me for a second, the old man disappeared into the light. I looked back at the portrait, seeing if it had changed.

I couldn’t see it that well, but my reflection in the mirror on the painting seemed to have gotten sadder.

Mom, Dad, don’t worry, I’ll make you happy soon.