The only pillar of support growing up that Alex had was his mother. She was his mentor, his friend and his guardian all rolled into one. Violet had emigrated from a post-soviet country in search of a better life, but alas, that was not meant to be. Due to various circumstances, she had to settle down with Alex’s father. Their relationship was always a rocky one, ever since Alex could remember, and it only worsened the more Alex grew.

At first, it started with simple fights, mundane stuff that happened everywhere all the time. But with time, it began to escalate. Alex could still remember the night his father was fired. He came home dead drunk in the middle of the day, and after berating his mother, turned his attention to his would-be son. Would-be, because the more Alex grew up, the more he started looking like his mother and nothing like his father. After a drunken tirade about him being a bastard of his whoring mother, his father started hitting him. He could still remember the lingering sting on his cheek years after.

His mother was a certified engineer back in her home country, but after the last of her family died and she relocated, she couldn’t land a job as one and was forced to take up a job at a high school, teaching physics. The day it happened, Violet was still at work, and there was no one at home to defend young Alex.

Hours later, when she finally came home and noticed her son’s bruised cheek and puffy red eyes, Alex saw the unbridled fury of a thousand suns cross his mother’s face. She calmly took some ice from the fridge and applied it to his cheek, gave him a small candy and told him to wait there while she went to his father, sleeping in a drunken stupor in their room. Alex felt something wrong in her words, and so decided to secretly wait outside the room, just in case.

His mother entered the bedroom, woke his father up and started speaking in hushed, but angry tones.

“You piece of fucking shit. I put up with you all the time, and don’t say a thing, but I swear to god; touch my son one more time, and I’ll gut you like a pig in your sleep.” she threatened.

It took a short while for the drunk man to come around and make sense of the words he heard, but once he did, anger began cluttering his mind.

“What did you say, you fucking whore!? I took pity on you years ago, and this is how you repay me? Spreading your legs for god knows who and saddling me with that little bastard!?” angrily screamed the man.

“I warned you, touch him one more time, and see what happens.” his mother said with cold, seething hatred in her voice.

What happened next was always a haze in his mind, whether he genuinely forgot, or decided to tuck the memories away. His father stood up and started grabbing his mother, followed by more violence. After he decided he had enough, he walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him, took a hateful look at Alex, still standing in the hall, grabbed his coat in a hurry and left, leaving Alex and his mother alone.

Still in shock from what he had witnessed, he meekly opened the door to the bedroom and saw his mother crying silently on the floor, nervously trying to light one of her cigarettes. Failing to understand what happened, he approached her.

“Mom, why are you crying? Please don’t cry,” the young boy spoke, tears starting to form on his face.

“It’s okay, Sasha, come, hug mom,” replied the woman with a sweet smile blooming on her face, quickly overshadowing her tears.

The boy, no older than seven, still oblivious to what the tears or the bruises on his mother’s body meant, went over to hug her.

As soon as he reached her, he wrapped his hands around her raven black curly hair and held tight. After a short while, he let go and looked into her forest-green eyes.

“Everything is going to be fine,” she said while wiping the tears away from his face. “Remember what I always tell you?”

“If I lose, the bad guys win,” the young boy answered, struggling to pronounce the words.

“That’s right. If you lose, the bad guys win, so you can’t cry, you have to smile. Now let’s go for a walk, and we’ll get your favourite ice-cream.” said the woman with fake cheer.

Alex took her hand, and they both walked out the door of the apartment, not knowing this was only the start of the hell called his life.

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After that fateful event, life went on. His father never got a job after that, which led to even more resentment on his part, which, in turn, meant more violence for his mother, though, oddly enough, his father never touched a hair on his head ever again after that incident. His father’s unemployment also meant his mother was forced to shoulder the full weight of a household on her back. Those years, Alex felt as if he was living on tiptoes. There were some days Alex would go as far as to call normal, and then there were those days, days where Alex lived in a vicious cycle of pain, violence, and his mother’s crying face haunting him. Over the course of time, Alex became more accustomed to his situation. He learned to spot when the smell of violence was in the air by the simple act of observing his father; his gait, his words, his facial expression. It was a skill Alex became adept at and used on a daily basis. He could usually tell what was on another person’s mind with only a few clues to go on, choosing how to react to elicit his desired response.

By the time of his thirteenth birthday, the situation had become unbearable. Unfortunately, Alex and his mother had no one else except themselves, and so, having no place to go, were forced to continue living with his father. His father lived in the master bedroom, while Alex and his mother lived in what was once his bedroom, which meant that a lingering sense of fear accompanied every trip to the kitchen or bathroom or any other shared space.

It was around this time that his mother shared her love of books with Alex, and opened the doors to the beautiful world of books for him. He still remembered his mother’s gift he received on that birthday; the first book he ever read – A Wizard of Earthsea. Reading about Ged Sparrowhawk’s adventures was the only solace Alex had in a world out to get him. Following that came other books; at first, tens, then hundreds, and then, by the time he reached puberty, thousands.

At school, Alex was detached; excelling at his grades, but doing the bare minimum in the way of social interaction. Only due to having a place to escape to in his books, did he survive the gruelling, vicious cycle of his life; School, home, suffering, sleep, rinse and repeat.

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The next breaking point came when Alex was about seventeen, give or take. He had already passed puberty and thus stood tall at around 180 centimetres with a powerfully built frame. It was a Friday night, and Alex was out with some of the very few friends he had, one of which, was Colin. At that point, they all had a couple of beers and were passionately discussing something when Alex’s phone rang.

He took a look at it and saw his mother’s number flashing across the screen. He picked it up in a hurry. What he heard was his mother’s trembling voice coming through.

“Sasha, call the police. Your father, he, he tried to strangle me,” said his mother with terror suffusing her voice.

“Please, I locked the door, but it won’t hold him for long,” she added, crying into the phone.

At this point, the connection interrupted, and Alex was left standing in silence.

“Is something wrong?” asked Colin, seeing the ashen look on Alex’s face.

“I have to go, sorry,” said Alex.

What happened next, once again, was clad in mist in Alex’s mind. He could vaguely remember picking up his jacket, bolting down the stairs of Colin’s parents home while frantically calling 911. After making the call, he started sprinting towards his home; the physical effort of running at full sprint for fifteen minutes, the only thing that kept Alex from completely breaking down. When he finally reached the apartment complex, he didn’t even wait for the elevator, opting to rush up the stairs. As soon as he entered his apartment, the first thing he saw was his drunk father trying to bust the door to his bedroom open. Seeing this, and hearing his mother’s tearful sobs on the other side of the door made Alex see red.

He immediately tackled his father to the ground and started pummeling his face until his fists were covered in blood. He was no longer the fearful child that had to hide behind his mother’s skirt; this time, he would protect her. His mind, clouded by pure and unadulterated hatred towards his father, could only remember the police officers dragging him away from his father’s bloodied body while he was screaming.

“You disgusting monster, if I see you even looking in her direction one more time, I promise, I will end you!” screamed Alex in a frenzied voice.

Unfortunately, nothing much changed in the following days. Due to unknown reasons for Alex, the police officers were unable to arrest his father, and he, in turn, merely waited for Alex’s absence when harassing his mom. This forced Alex to become even more detached from his social life. Every day after school, he would hurry back home and spend most of his time cooped up in those four walls just so his father wouldn’t be able to lay his filthy hands on his mother. And so, Alex was once again bound in this metaphorical prison crafted of these wretched circumstances.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

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Later that year, a truly disastrous event happened in Alex’s life. His mother always had a weak heart, having been born with heart arrhythmia, but up to that point, it had been manageable. Unfortunately, the last few years took their toll on her heart, and it started failing. Soon after, she collapsed while preparing dinner one day and was admitted to the local hospital. Alex’s new routine consisted of rushing to the hospital after school hours were over to keep her company until nightfall, after which he would return to his apartment, where his father was usually drinking his soul away. During the many months of being hospitalized, Alex could see his mother’s body withering away, slowly but surely. Her last day was vividly branded into his brain.

Having rushed from school straight to the hospital, he entered the bleak building and found his way to his mother’s hospital room, greeting the familiar faces of the various doctors and nurses along the way. As soon as he entered the room, he met eyes with his mother.

“Just in time, pass me my phone, please. I’ve been craving to listen to some music,” she spoke with a weak voice.

Alex immediately reached for her coat and started searching for her phone while he spoke.

“You should have told the nurses instead of waiting for me all this time,” said Alex with worry in his voice.

“Oh, please, I’m sure they didn’t sign up to babysit me when they took the job. Besides, I’m sure they have better things to do,” his mother replied with a sarcastic smirk on her face.

As soon as Alex found the phone in the coat’s inner pocket, he passed it to his mother and took a seat in the couch near her bed.

“How was school?” she asked expectantly.

“As usual. I mean, fine, straight A’s and all that. I’d rather listen what you were up to.” replied Alex.

“How many times have I told you, Sasha? The only chance people like us have at a better life is through our brains. I know it’s boring, but you have to pull through,” she added with worry in her voice.

“I know, Mom. Don’t worry about me; I’ll manage.” Alex tried to reassure her.

“Hmm. Now, what should I listen to? Oh, I know, my favourite.” she said sheepishly.

Violet may have been forced to leave her home country behind, but she refused to do the same to her culture. Since a young age, she’s been teaching Alex Russian by speaking it when they were alone as well as introducing him to various books, films and songs in the language. After she finished typing away on her phone’s screen, the sounds of music could be heard in the small hospital room. Alex’s mother took a look at her son and started to sing along.

“Somehow kids always feel

A disgust with their age,

And in fights, we would spill

Hidden hurt and dark rage.

But our mothers would mend

Those patched-up rags of ours,

While our hearts would be rent

By the books we devoured.”

Content to listen to his mother’s sweet voice, Alex patiently waited until she finished singing before speaking.

“A Ballad about Struggle, eh? That’s my second favourite, though,” he said, enjoying the peace of mind provided by his mother’s performance.

“Really? I remember for sure this one used be your favourite,” she said with mirth in her voice.

“Which one is it, then? Common, don’t keet me waiting,” she joyfully added.

“My favourite one is A Ballad about Hatred,” Alex replied wistfully.

As soon as his words left him, his mother’s face was covered by a familiar sadness. She knew the song well; after all, she had shown it to Alex the day he nearly murdered his father. The song was meant to teach Alex something, what exactly though, eluded him. Nonetheless, he took a peculiar liking to the song. Shaking her head as if to chase away unnecessary thoughts, his mother turned her attention to her phone and with a couple of swift finger movements found the song, and hit play. As the song started playing, Alex became drawn into the music, and this time, without even noticing, it was him that started singing along. Hearing her son’s voice, she felt compelled to join him, and so the hospital room once again filled with music.

“Hatred maims youth, mars its innocent lustre;

Hatred inundates the heart in a flood;

Hatred - it yearns for, it thirsts for, it lusts for

Black boiling enemy blood!

Hatred does take men captive - it trammels and binds -

But when heroes are wroth, is it blood that they lust?

And the hatred in us - neither wicked nor blind:

Bracing winds will dry tears from our eyes and our minds,

These, the tears of a hatred both earnest and just!

Hatred won’t long stay concealed or immobile;

Drink, for the chalice of wrath overflows!

But in our hearts, ruled by hate pure and noble,

Love, too, unfailingly flows.”

The last line of the song was played, and the room once again turned silent. Alex took another look at his mother and spoke.

“I love you, mom,” said Alex, full of emotion.

“I love you too, son,” she said.

But as soon as her words left her, she broke in a fit of violent coughs. Seeing this, Alex immediately panicked and was about to storm off in search of a doctor or a nurse, when his mother grabbed him with her weak hands.

“Don’t bother, I know you may not want to hear this, but my time is short,” she spoke in between coughs.

“You have to promise me; you have to promise me that you’ll live. You can’t give in to despair like me, Sasha, you can’t, you mustn’t! I know it can be hard sometimes, but you have to persevere. Someday, you’ll find happiness, even if it doesn’t seem like it. You have to promise me; you have to promise me! Promise me!” she spoke with fervour.

“Mom, please don’t go, please! I promise, I promise! Just don’t leave me, mom, please don’t leave me.” he spoke in a frenzy, tears starting to roll down his cheeks.

She took one final look at her son and spoke.

“I love you. I love you so much. You’ve been my little flame all my life, providing warmth when life was cold and uncaring, and scorching all my fears and troubles away. I’m so happy I received the chance to be your mother, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more for you.” she said with finality.

A few painful moments later, Alex was holding his mother’s lifeless body in his arms. That day, something broke inside of him.

A thick veil in his mind obscured the following events. Alex could vaguely remember doctors rushing in, trying to resuscitate her. Then, after failing to do so, how they turned to Alex to express their condolences and inquiring about funeral procedures. Cremation, he answered them. His mother always told him she wanted to be cremated after death, something to do with not rotting alongside a hundred other corpses some six feet under. The day of her cremation was the day he started smoking the same Marlboro Reds his mother used to.

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After that day, nothing was ever the same. Alex quickly moved out, finally forsaking his father, then he quickly found a part-time job with which he could afford renting a small one-room apartment, finished high school, went to some no-name college for a business and marketing degree, and upon graduation landed a job at a small company as the sole marketing department.

Following his mother’s death, Alex didn’t live, but rather, he sleepwalked through life. He got a degree like his mother wanted him to. He landed a relatively nice job, had a couple of short-term relationships and even reconnected with Colin, the only one of his high-school friends who didn’t abandon him in his time of need. From the outside, it looked like Alex was perfectly fine when, in reality, the only thing stopping him from ending things was his promise to his mother on her deathbed.

Today was another one of her death anniversaries, and as usual, Alex took the day off. Grabbing a bottle of wine along with his pack of cigarettes, he went to the roof of his apartment building and settled into a comfy chair while pouring himself a glass. This is what he did on these days; he would immerse himself in solitude, and reminiscence about the happy moments he shared with his mother.

Today though was somehow different. The night sky was clear, but instead of stars, it was stained with pure darkness. As Alex was drinking his wine and puffing on his cigarette, a murder of crows flew above his head. As the wine slowly filled his head, he found himself walking to the edge of the roof, eerily drawn to it. Looking down, he saw nothingness, when by all accounts there should have been people, cars, and lights. It was as if the only thing existing in this world was Alex, the roof, and the boundless darkness above and beneath him. Alex was too tired to care, too tired to care about anything, really. Looking at the darkness across the edge, he spoke.

“When am I going to find happiness?” he asked into the abyss.

And the abyss answered him.

“You’re not. You were destined for a life of suffering, and so it is that you shall suffer. Why give meaning to the words of a dead woman? Why cling to such meagre hope, when clearly what you need is the sweet release of death.” a distorted voice answered him.

“No, that’s not true,” said Alex, full of uncertainty.

“But it is. You need only look inside yourself to see the truth.” the distorted voice once again replied.

And so Alex took another look inside himself. It would be so easy to end this, to end this all. A simple step over the edge and he would be free of all pain and suffering and doubt and all the weight of life.

“Take a step, Alex, join me, join your mother, it’s time to rest.” added the voice.

But as Alex was lifting his foot over the edge, one of his oldest memories chose to resurface at that exact moment. A memory so old, that even its vestiges were forgotten in his mind. The memory provided such a stark contrast to the bleak darkness around him by illuminating his very soul. It washed over him like warm summer rain and made him remember every cherished thing that ever happened to him. It provided him with a strength of will he never knew he had in himself. The sudden torrent of emotions made him understand he had to live, but not because he promised his mother. He wanted to experience such joy again; he wanted to explore what life had in store for him; he wanted to live.

“Speak the words, child,” the voice told him in a motherly tone.

And for the first time in his life, Alex spoke with absolute conviction.

“I want to live, because if I die, the bad guys win,” spoke Alex.

As soon as the words rang out, the space around Alex started to collapse as if it were made of fine glass.

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Inside the Legion’s Hall stood Elder Bellum with Cian and Moira at his sides. In front of him lay a man with his eyes closed, holding a pitch-black egg in his hands. The three of them were gazing at the man with absolute focus, looking for any sign of a change when finally, something they had been expecting all along was starting to happen.

The egg, neatly resting on the man’s chest, wrapped in his arms, was beginning to hatch. At first, only a small, minute crack could be seen on the surface of the egg. But with each passing moment, the cracks branched; one turned to two, two to four, four to eight, and so on until the whole surface of the egg was covered in cracks. It seemed as if the egg needed one final push to hatch completely, and that push came when the man holding it opened his eyes.

As soon as Alex opened his eyes, the eggshell broke into countless pieces, shattering and revealing the creature coddled inside.

It was a small, ethereal snake seemingly made of dark smoke; its scales - the colour of night itself, its eyes – the same shade of green as Alex’s, and atop its head, a small bone-white horn sticking out. Taking a moment to come to grips with its new reality, it quickly made it’s way to Alex, wading through the air until it reached his head, and quietly settled around his neck.

Alex started to return to his senses slowly, once the creature had been born. Sitting on the Hall’s marble floor, the memories of his trial washed over him all at once, and tears started streaming down his cheeks. These tears were not tears of pain though, but rather tears of understanding, acceptance, release.

Alex felt as if the weight of the world was suddenly lifted off his heart, and he was content to sit there and take in this feeling when Elder Bellum finally addressed him.

“Congratulations are in order. Now, rise and stand proudly, Legionnaire,” said the Elder, his voice full of joy.