The sky wept in sheets, each drop a tiny hammer pounding the cobblestones. The wind shrieked, a banshee tearing through the alleyways. I sprinted, my heart a frantic drum solo in my chest. Every splash of the cold rain felt like a slap of betrayal, yet I couldn't stop. Tucked securely beneath my ragged shirt lay my prize – a buttery croissant pilfered from the grumpy baker's window.
"Get back here, you little scoundrel!" The baker, a portly man with a face like a dough ball, lumbered after me like a roly-poly on a sugar rush. His bellows of rage echoed off the damp brick walls, garbled by the wind. "This little gremlin! Does he think I made these croissants out of air?! I'll teach him a lesson he won't forget!"
Road after road, alley after alley, I weaved through the labyrinthine streets, adrenaline fueling my legs. Finally, the chase petered out. The baker, panting heavily, stopped in his tracks, a defeated look etched on his face.
I stopped running as I finally lost him. Lowering my gaze, I unwrapped the makeshift cloth around my prize. A sliver of hope – the golden crust of the croissant remained unblemished by the downpour. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. It was getting darker by the moment, shadows stretching long and menacing like grasping claws. I had to get back before worry etched lines on her face. With a final glance at the fading light, I set off again, a stolen croissant clutched in my hand and a renewed sense of urgency fueling my steps.
The rusted hinges groaned in protest as I heaved open the warped plank that served as our door. A gust of wind, icy and carrying the faint scent of rain, snaked through the gaping holes in the church's facade, sending shivers down my spine. "Gloria Kingdom," I scoffed, the once-proud title leaving a bitter taste on my tongue. This crumbling shell, far from the kingdom's shimmering capital, was all that remained of a once-holy sanctuary, at least in my point of view.
Inside, darkness clung to every corner, punctuated only by the flickering flames of a dying fire. The air hung heavy with the stench of mildew and despair. A child, no older than four, whimpered in the gloom, his cries a stark contrast to the incessant bickering of two women huddled near the fireplace. My heart, a leaden weight in my chest, sank lower. This was my homecoming.
My hard-won prize, a single, slightly squashed croissant, felt like a cruel joke in this scene of misery. A forced grin stretched across my face as I held it aloft, a captain brandishing booty to a crew on the verge of mutiny. "Ahoy, me hearties!" I announced with a strained cheer. "Dinner be served!"
But the usual spark of hope in their eyes was absent. One child, feverish and skeletal, lay huddled in the farthest corner, his ragged breaths rasping against the silence. The pot beside the fire sat empty, a cruel reminder of their hunger. My smile faltered, the croissant tilting dangerously in my grip.
Why? The question echoed like a death knell in the cavernous hall. Why did I endure the gnawing hunger in my own belly? Why did I brave the dangers that lurked outside these crumbling walls, just to find them a single, meager meal? What kept me going, day after day, when even the spark of defiance seemed to be dying?
My ruby eyes, usually bright with a fierce determination, clouded over. The reflection in the stagnant water at the bottom of the pot mocked me – a predator stripped of its fangs, a guardian failing its ward. For a moment, the darkness threatened to swallow me whole.
Six. That was all I was. Yet, unlike the other children frolicking in the meadows of ignorance, my six years held the weight of a weary soul. Life was a bitter pill I refused to swallow, the world around me a drab tapestry woven with rejection. I was an outcast, tossed aside by a society that deemed me…unworthy. Why endure another sunrise in this personal purgatory, trapped in a life I couldn't rewrite? Why cling to existence when death promised sweet oblivion, a final escape from this relentless misery?
But a strangled laugh escaped my lips. Pathetic. Even the act of ending my life seemed beyond my grasp. I was a coward, a paradoxical being yearning for freedom yet too weak to claim it.
"The little hero returns, I see."
The voice, warm as summer rain, sent a jolt through me. Her words, a gentle caress, enveloped me from behind. I felt her kneel, the embrace a silent symphony of understanding. Her head rested on my shoulder, a cascade of midnight hair tickling my neck. "Welcome back, Ash," she whispered, and a warmth bloomed in my chest, foreign yet strangely comforting.
The world, perpetually drained of color, seemed to flicker. A single tentative hue, then another, bloomed into existence. A flicker of appreciation, fragile yet defiant, ignited within me. This wretched existence, was it truly so worthless?
She held me tighter, as if sensing the storm brewing within. As if compelled by an unseen force, I turned. Her face, pale and gaunt, held a pair of eyes that shone like embers – red, defiant. A genuine smile, devoid of pretense, stretched across my face as I held out the solitary croissant. "Yeah, I'm back, Mother," I said, the word tasting sweet on my tongue. Her smile, a flicker weaker than mine, nevertheless mirrored the newfound resolve within me.
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In that moment, the answer shattered the oppressive silence. This fight, this desperate clinging to a life deemed worthless – it wasn't for me. It was for her. She, the ember in the dying embers of my world, was the reason I clawed my way back from the abyss. She was the reason I would fight this infernal existence, one sunrise, one stolen croissant at a time.
So, why didn’t I take this life of mine at that sunset? Why did I choose to keep moving on, when you left me… At that sunset?
At that sunset, the twilight sky bled scarlet, a cruel mockery of the inferno that devoured my world. The "royalties," blind tyrants who deemed us expendable, had unleashed their cleansing fire. In its hungry maw, everything I cherished was consumed. Everyone I cherished was consumed… The only one I cherished… was consumed…
There, amidst the crackling pyre, stood she. Her raven hair, once a cascading river, danced a macabre waltz as flames licked at the edges. The heat, a monstrous sculptor, slowly chipped away at her flesh. Yet, in her eyes - absent of terror, shimmering with an unsettling peace - burned a vibrant life force that mine, the supposed survivor, desperately craved.
Our final exchange, a heart-wrenching tableau. A gentle, forgiving smile graced her lips, a stark contrast to the scowl etched on my face, a mask for the abyss within. The world crumbled around me, but I stood frozen, a statue sculpted from grief. A choked laugh, a melody stolen from the inferno, escaped her lips as a single tear, a testament to a love that defied annihilation, traced a path down my cheek.
"You're alright...Thank God..." Her voice, a whisper snatched by the flames, was a balm on a festering wound. Then, silence. Her eyes fluttered closed, a final act of acceptance, while mine remained wide open, reflecting the horrific beauty of the pyre consuming them.
The crushing blackness lingered for an eternity, or perhaps mere seconds. Time blurred in the suffocating dark. My body, a numb shell, refused even the slightest movement. Then, with a jolt, sight returned. Blinding white assaulted my vision, replaced by the sterile expanse of a white ceiling.
An alien warmth cocooned me. Shifting, I discovered myself swaddled in a soft blanket. Glancing right, two figures materialized by the open doorway, their hushed conversation a muffled murmur. My breath hitched. Lou and Romeo.
Was this some cruel twist of fate, a dream dredging up fragments of my past life? A bittersweet pang of nostalgia warred with a resurgence of past pain. A lone tear, cold and unwelcome, traced a path down my cheek. Hastily, I brushed it away before they noticed the flicker of movement.
My approach, heralded by the subtle ripple of my Flow, drew their attention. Relief flooded Romeo's face. "Young Lady, you're awake!" His voice boomed, a hand ruffling my already unruly hair. "How are you feeling? Better, I trust?"
I managed a curt nod. "I'm well," I murmured, the strain evident in my voice. "Though I never anticipated collapsing from sensing a Sponsor's Aura." My gaze flickered to Lou, expecting his usual stoicism. Instead, he puffed out his chest, a smug grin plastered across his face.
"No need for thanks!" he declared, radiating an odd sense of pride.
Tsk… My lips twitched. Thanks wasn't exactly on the menu, Lou.
An awkward silence descended. Lou and Romeo shuffled their feet, their eyes darting nervously away from mine. Finally, Lou cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "Uh...Bug," he began hesitantly, "your Flow...it's, well, incredibly potent. So, umm, maybe you could...tone it down a bit?"
The implication hit me like a cold wave. The moment I shed the cloak, my Flow would unleash its full, suffocating force. Clearly, a permanent wardrobe change was in order. Wasting no time, I strode towards the closet and retrieved the concealing cloak my mother had gifted me. Tucked away in a corner, I spotted the bracelet Dad had given me. It pulsed with a faint light – a tempting solution, but for now, an impractical one. Using it would only further overwhelm my parents, and I wasn't about to burden them with constant worry.
With a newfound resolve, I approached them again. "So, Lou," I started, my voice firm, "about your offer to take me on as an apprentice. Were you serious?"
A sly grin stretched across his face. "Absolutely! Who would pass up the chance to have a little fun while training you, right?" Fun? A flicker of annoyance sparked within me. Did he truly see me as some kind of plaything? "Anyway," I sighed, pushing Lou's childishness aside, I turned to Romeo. "What about you, Romeo? Would you be alright with it as well? Honestly, being under a Sponsor's guidance feels like the best way to accelerate my growth."
Romeo nodded, his usual calm demeanor masking a hint of concern. "I wouldn't object," he said, a subtle scowl forming as he glanced at Lou. "However, I must warn you, Lou's training methods can be...well, unorthodox. Brutal, even. But," he added, his gaze returning to me, "I have faith in your ability to handle it."
"Thanks, Romeo!" I beamed, genuinely touched by his concern. A simple thank you seemed to brighten his entire day, his features softening as if I'd offered a glimpse of paradise. It was strange to think someone so strong could be so easily swayed by the words of a little girl.
"Actually, about your parents' permission," Romeo interjected, holding up his phone. "While you were resting, I took the liberty of contacting them. The moment I mentioned a 'sponsor' –" he shot a pointed look at Lou – "they were more than happy."
My eyes widened. Everything was settled so quickly! Relief washed over me. As Romeo finished, Lou puffed out his chest once more and began a triumphant hum. "So, so," he muttered, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Seems your folks are fans of the great Lou, wouldn't you say?" He leaned in conspiratorially, trying to project an air of effortless coolness. "Well, can't blame them! Tell you what," he winked, "considering their devotion, I might just grace them with an autograph."
Romeo and I exchanged bewildered glances. This was a reaction we hadn't anticipated. Instead of the seriousness I'd expected, Lou's response bordered on... childish. "Actually," I started hesitantly, "after seeing that, I'm starting to have second thoughts about your care. You’re a little...too much on the immature side, wouldn't you say?"
A frown creased Lou's brow. "Immature? Who's immature? This is the confidence of a champion, Bug!" He puffed out his chest again, but the bluster lacked its usual conviction.
"And arrogant," Romeo muttered under his breath, shaking his head. This unexpected display of ego from Lou was clearly testing his patience. And mine as well. Ugh, I need to bare his behavior for a while, good luck with that, little me.