Pov Trish

3 years later

Trish had just turned three, and a stray thought hit her; she wasn't sure of its origin.

She looks at her mother with her eyes gleaming with sudden wisdom and intellect beyond her years.

“Moma, can I have a birthday party? I've never had one before.” not knowing her statement had a dual truth.

With this one statement, her mother looked at her daughter, confused, as she had never heard of a birthday party. It was only for a mere moment, but in that instant that passed, Trish’s expression turned to abject horror and all-consuming fear.

A wave of crushing depression and hysteria caused her to have trouble breathing, and she promptly started bawling the tears, seemingly flowing without end; her body shook with massive tremors, her heart shuddered, ripped with sudden knife-sharp agony, causing her to grasp her chest tightly. This child's emotions were crushing and more overwhelming than a 3-year-old should ever have.

Her mother appeared before her instantly and tried to wrap her arms around her, but as if out of a primal instinct, Trish’s body moved at a blindingly fast speed, sidestepping her mother's grasp. It was so quick her mother didn't even see her move, an afterimage left in her wake.

When her mother finally realized what had happened, she looked at her daughter in surprise and immediately became concerned. Her daughter looked like a wounded animal that had been abused for years without remorse. She knew with a glance that her daughter's soul was tortured, and it was up to her to comfort her.

When she thought about the thing that hurt her daughter, the pit that was in her belly that was long emptied after the defeat of (IT) was once again filled with a searing hatred, this one seemingly even more potent than the last.

Trish’s eyes fluttered, then rolled into the back of her head, and the whites of her eyes started glowing.

Trish's hands began glowing a bright multi-color and joining her pals into the size of a small ball. A spell was being activated and rushing towards her mom. At first, it was just one, but then it was hundreds.

The multi-function had been activated along with Chaos Bolt; the same spell that had killed hundreds of monsters flew directly toward her mother.

Who, with a wave of her hand, canceled the spell.

The hundreds of spells vanished without a trace as if never existing in the first place. Trish’s mother walked toward her at a brisk pace.

Activating her magic again, “Leonis Cor,” a calm sea-green energy enveloped her hand then she cautiously brought it to her child's head. Then all went blank for Trish, but a gentle serenity filled her psyche as, once again, the tortured part of the soul was put back in its protective cage.

Her mother knew what she must do. She went to find for her daughter a magic item usually used for criminals' sealing bands.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

2 Birthday parties later

Now five, she was well into her physical education.

It started at 5:30 in the morning.

Her mother gently shook her awake, smiling it’s time to wake up, hunny.

Cthunk cukink

Her four bracelets noisily smacked into each other. Trish yawned and stretched. “I'm up, moma,” she said amid another yawn.

With a quick bath to wake her up, a large breakfast of roasted wild monster meat, and a hearty piece of warm fresh bread slathered in a Trixian berry jam her mother made. The taste of breakfast always makes her mouth water.

A tear always escapes her eyes every time she sees a meal prepared by her mother or her parents, even showing the slightest bit of affection. Ever since that day two birthdays ago, her emotions were harder to control, and she didn't know why.

Wiping her eyes, she grabs the food with her bare hands and starts eating with such gusto that she almost choked, causing a slight cough to escape her lips. She reached out for her glass of fresh milk to help her swallow.

Buh-UUuurrrp!

She belched loudly, embarrassed she looked at her mom.

“Excuse me, it was just so good,” her mother gave her a knowing smile.

“Run along. It's time your teacher is waiting on you.” Her mother replied almost musically, her smile never leaving her face.

Now, at 6 am, the tired and full Trish, still rubbing her eyes, started working on her Physical education, which took six hours. Four hours of which was body conditioning, and the other two were taken by weapon training. Her preferred weapon was the bow. She wasn't sure why, but she felt the bow was close to her heart.

Her father taught this class, and he was extremely strict. He was careful not to have any of the training to break bones, but everything else seemed fair game. If it weren't for his kind eyes, she would have thought he hated her, but while his words and actions were stern, they never had an ounce of malice.

The first thing she did before she started the run with her father was put on her running uniform, which takes a few minutes to get on over her clothes because it weighs over 220 Kilos.

“Because of this dang suit, I can never catch up to Father,” she muttered, annoyed.

Like every morning for the past few months since she started, she was determined to try.

After thirty minutes of running, she stumbles, breathing heavily, her body wanting to give up from the exertion. Her chest felt extremely heavy, and her breathing labored becuase of the weighted clothing her father made her wear daily. Her stamina gets sapped fast.

“Trish, you're slow! When I take my eyes off you, you'll just get eaten by a random goblin at that speed.” His voice was dry like the desert, showing no emotion.

He says the same thing to her daily, which always causes her to do her best to rise to the occasion in defiance.

Like every day prior, she fails to catch his shadow, let alone his coattails.

After the strength training, she was ultimately out of stamina, but it was finally her favorite part of what her father taught.

Archery.

Even out of breath, she always got her second wind regarding her bow training.

Today was once again focusing on breathing, aiming, and patience. He has yet to allow her to let loose an arrow he keeps repeating to her.

“If you can't create a mental image of your arrow flying true. You must bring the image to reality and feel it with your soul, or you will never let one arrow fly on my watch”. The stern words are etched into her mind, never to leave.

Even though she had tried to convince her father that she had shot true when she imagined it, he always replied Not yet, child. The target in your mind is too large, and the bow you are wielding never had an arrow; that's not your bow, among other such nonsense to her.

Even after training, she must wear her uniform until night fell she was not to take it off.

Having been reminded like she is daily by her father, she went and had lunch. Which was a much smaller meal of mostly berries and dried meat and half a loaf of bread and honey-sweetened tea. Which she, of course, devoured in mere minutes.

Then, four more hours of chores like chopping firewood and going to the stream to get water.

While doing chores, she sang softly the songs she made up right on the spot, or so she thought.

“Her palms are sweaty….”

Her voice drones on, never realizing she is breaking copyright.

Finally finishing her chores, her muscles were screaming, but she did not care. She was ready for the rest of the day, finally being able to play with her best friend of four years, Momo, whom only she could see.