Zethir looked at his hand, seeing a thumb-sized ant biting and stinging his palm.

It hurt, to the point that he was biting his lower lip…

“Why do you bite me? I'm not food.”

And yet, he didn't rush to crush the ant. His eyes, red like ruby, contentedly stared at the puny ant.

“Zethir!” A voice called out from behind, making him turn around. There, his mother rushed toward him, holding a wooden ladle.

“Where have you been, you child!” His mother scolded, grabbing his other hand and dragging him off. “Don't play with bugs,” she said after noticing the ant on top of his palm.

“Why are you here?” Zethir asked, his bright-red eyes gazing up at his mother's crimson ones.

His mother's brows furrowed, her eyes turning fierce as she forcefully squashed the ant on his palm with her thumb.

“You child, watch your tone, ah!” She clicked her tongue out of frustration. “Your father's home, he's looking for you. Who knows, maybe the bastard wants to marry you off for money.”

“Father?” Zethir tilted his head. “I have a father?”

“Otherwise? I fucked a tree?” His mother scoffed, before gnashing her teeth. “That bastard comes home once every five years, so obviously you haven't seen him before!”

As she said so, the mother-son duo reached the doorsteps of a wooden, dilapidated house. As his mother opened the door, Zethir saw a man sitting on a chair like a sack of potatoes, a bottle of beer in hand.

“Witch! Ye’ back,” he said, earning a scowl from his mother.

“Billian, call me that once more and I'll turn you into a woman!” She yelled, but the man just placed the bottle of beer in his mouth and took a long sip.

“‘s zat my brat?” He asked, motioning with his chin to Zethir.

“Damn right,” his mother yanked Zethir's hand, throwing him toward the man, his “father.”

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“If you're gon’ take him, just get it over with. I'm damn hungry and the pot won't stir itself!” His mother yelled, storming into the kitchen and not long after, the clattering of pans could be heard.

On the other hand, Zethir stood in front of his father.

The man had deathly pale skin, just like him and his mother, as well as glossy black hair, but his eyes were brown. Not only that, his cheeks were sunken, and dark circles made themselves at home beneath his eyes.

“What’s yer name?” The man said, taking another sip from the bottle. However, he later frowned, peering inside the bottle.

It was now empty, apparently.

“I'm—” Zethir tried to answer, when his father raised the bottle and threw it at his head.

“Giv’ me ‘nother beer!” He yelled, and seeing Zethir unmoving, he went and kicked him too.

Zethir stumbled back from the kick. Clutching his forehead, he felt some warm liquid soak his fingers and palm.

“...it hurts,” he mumbled, tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

“Well?! Are ye gonna do it or not?!” His father screamed, struggling to stand up.

Zethir lowered his head, “Okay.”

Dizzy, he walked toward the kitchen. He didn't know where to get beer, but surely, his mother did, right?

However, just as he entered the kitchen, he failed to grab the wall and support himself. Tripping on his own foot, he fell to the floor, hitting his head again as more blood gushed out.

“Yih?! What're you doing?! Get out! Get out!” His mother shrieked, running toward him to kick his body out of the kitchen.

“Go fuck off! Don't disturb me when I'm cooking!”

After yelling so, she closed the door leading to the kitchen, leaving her son's unconscious body on the ground.

At the same time, Zethir’s father waited for his son, only to fall asleep without getting his second bottle of beer.

{=|=}{=|=}{=|=}

“Four years old. Looks like a skeleton. No aptitude for magic.”

A man with a red cape over his shoulders spoke, sitting on the couch in the living room. Zethir’s father sat on a wooden chair in front of the man, with Zethir standing beside him. His head was bandaged up, but they were already stained with red and were dripping blood.

As for his mother… she was nowhere to be seen.

“You want that thing to marry my daughter?” The red-caped man said, raising his voice and an eyebrow.

Zethir's father rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to speak like his tongue was tied.

“A’ least he's got a breath,” he said.

“Billian,” the man frowned. “My daughter's twenty-four. She wants a child, I want a grandchild. How in the world do you expect that thing to give us that?”

“...wait a few years?” Billian, Zethir's father, asked, confused.

The other man laughed, unable to believe the man before him. “Look, go sober up and talk to yourself in the mirror. Ask which part of your brain failed to turn.”

Billian’s brows nearly touched, his lips downturned. “Goryo… You're in my house, remember.”

“And what? You'll fuck me up?” Goryo sneered. “Listen here, pretty boy. I don't care how much beer or drug you inhale, but keep your delusion in check. Wouldn't wanna fuck up one day, eh?”

Billian stood up, making the wooden chair rattle and tumble back. Goryo remained seated, amused.

“Sit down,” Goryo ordered, but Billian clenched his fists. Then, before the former could react, Billian sent him a punch to the face!

“Fuck—” Goryo growled, standing up only to feel a punch to his throat.

“Billian, you don't know who you're fucking with!” Goryo hollered, but Billian's ears were full, and his fists were thirsty.

Zethir watched, unblinking, as his father pummelled the other man helpless. Until Goryo took out a pocket knife and shoved it to his father's throat—his father quickly collapsed, eyes rolled back, his body going limp.

“Fuck me,” Goryo wiped off the blood on his now crooked nose. Then, his eyes went to Zethir's frame.

“You his son, right?!” He yelled, stomping toward Zethir.

Zethir didn't flinch—even as the large man's fist filled his vision and sent him flying to the wall.

“That'll teach ya, ptui—” He spat on Zethir's face. Seeing that the boy had no reaction, he frowned, raising his foot…

“Tsk.”

But in the end, he only kicked the ground as he left.

A while later, Zethir stood up, his world spinning. Subconsciously or not, he stumbled toward his father, before standing over his dead body, unmoving.

That was the scene his mother walked into when she returned home.