⚠️ Trigger Warning ⚠️
This chapter contains references to childhood abuse, emotional trauma, and domestic violence, which may be distressing for some readers. Read at your own risk.
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[TRIAL INITIATED – Ember of Gold]
[Subject: Laef Kirelson]
Don't... say my name.
I despise that goddamn surname. Every time I hear it I cower, fighting my instinct to whimper in fear, that same instinct that was drilled into me.
Now, the system mocks me, displaying the Kirelson name like a trophy. Like this game doesn't know my household name has a darker past.
That's all this is... one twisted game.
The fire didn't burn me.
It surrounded me, yeah, roared up from the bottomless pits of hell, but it didn't hurt. Just... pressed in. Pushing me towards the center, towards... my past.
I stepped forward anyway, tightly gripping my pink bow like a lifeline. I despised my role. My bow, I even despise its responsibility. Games are supposed to let you choose your class, I thought.
Why's did it have to be pink?
I paced back and forth, waiting for my worst fears to come to life while smoke consumed the field.
Then... I saw him.
Me.
Or rather... him as me. He had the same brown eyes. Same world cursing scowl. Eight years old, barefoot with cuts and bruises across his legs. Hoodie three sizes too big, hood up like it could hide the bruises across his eye. The marks across his face. He stood there like a cornered dog, fists raised even though he was shaking.
He looked like he hadn't slept in years.
"You..." I whispered, suddenly trembling.
"Get up," he snapped.
I blinked, trying to hear over the sound of cackling fire. "Huh?"
"Get. Up." His voice cracked, shrill and furious. "You don't get to just stand there. You fight. You always fight."
I laughed... Bad move.
The kid's eyes narrowed. "You think this is funny?"
"No. I think this is bullshit," I muttered flatly, cocking an arrow. "I've seen illusions before."
"Not an illusion," he growled. "I'm you."
My chest tightened as my arrow flew. "I don't have time for games," I spat. "Especially one's about the past."
Bullseye... Right to the chest. But, the illusion shimmered, respawning unharmed in the exact same spot.
"You can't get rid of me. Its time to face your past. Your fears," He said, unfazed by my arrow. "No running this time."
I could feel my expression shift, horrified as I shot another arrow. Then another.
"I'm the kid who learned to flinch before he learned to spell," he yelled, unharmed. "The one who counted footsteps and prayed it was just yelling this time."
Why won't he die...
"I know," I said hesitating.
"No, you don't." He stepped forward, as the hiss of an arrow struck his leg.
But... it had no effect. He kept walking until he was in front of me, jabbing a finger into my stomach. "You buried me."
I swallowed hard. My bow trembled in my hand.
"You made jokes," he spat. "Called it therapy. Said pushing aside your emotions was easier to cope than facing your own goddamn past."
"I survived," I whispered.
"Surviving ain't living," replied younger me, his voice trembling. "You ran. You fought. You never stopped fighting. But you never came back for me."
My throat burned. "I didn't know how."
"You didn't try."
Silence.
I dropped the bow.
"I kept thinking... If I made people laugh enough, maybe they wouldn't see the cracks. If I fought hard enough, maybe no one would notice I was bleeding inside."
He didn't answer.
"I fought because I thought I had to," I said. "Because that's all I knew. That's what he drilled into us, right? 'Cry and I'll give you something to cry about.'" I paused. "That's why I can't stop now."
Another arrow.
"I thought if I stopped, I'd die," I shouted watching him rematerialize from across the field.
"You didn't die," the boy yelled. "But I did."
Everything became a blur as I notched an arrow, letting it hiss by. Then another. Then another. Until... I lost count.
I screamed, shouting to the top of my lungs,
"What do you want?! Why won't you die?!"
Almost fifty arrows laid across the field, each one hit their mark. Yet, the boy just sat there, arms curled in a defensive position. That same position from my childhood.
"Violence gets you nowhere, Laef..." He sobbed. "Haven't you learned that?"
Tense silence...
"Fine... Let me remind you." the boy finally whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm Sorry for this..."
Suddenly, I found myself on my knees stammering. "Don't... I can't go through it again."
The world around me vanished. The flames, Eli's yells, even the little boy. I was suddenly I was in front of a narrow hallway. A crooked door stood to the righthand side.
I took a slight step forward, and suddenly everything hit me at once.
My old home.
I knew this smell. That foul scent of sweat, vodka, and drunken rage.
Then...
His voice.
"You call that cleaning? a man growled from behind a door.
Then the sound.
That sound I swore I'd never forget—flesh on flesh. A slap.
It always started as a slap... Until it was fist.
I turned, eyes wide as I ran towards the door.
I already knew what I'd find... but something in me couldn't make the same mistake.
Eight-year-old me was there again, curled in a corner. His arms curled over his head in an attempt to protect himself.
"Fight!" I screamed, sobbing. "Fight back!"
Uncontrollable tears fell against the creaky hardwood floor, sizzling on impact. I didn't question why they sizzled, only stared; shouting.
I watched my younger self take it. I watched that same damn posture. The flinch. The waiting for it to end look in his eye.
I couldn't move. Maybe because some part of me thought I still deserved it. Or that it was no longer my fight.
"You think strength is surviving that?" the same boy whispered beside me. "You think fighting back makes you strong?"
My fists clenched.
"I am strong," I said.
"No," he replied. "You're just scared."
Suddenly, my bow manifested in my hands. Instinctively, I cocked an arrow and fired it into the old man's leg.
For once... he stumbled.
"See! He's weak, fight back!" I shouted to the boy, but he shook his head. "I won't become him."
Those same words I spoke at sixteen years old.
"I didn't need a fighter," he said. "I needed a hug."
I stared at him, the boy vanishing from my hands.
"Just one," he whispered. "One hug to tell me I wasn't disgusting. That I didn't deserve what happened."
I froze.
Was a hug all I needed? They don't solve anything...
"You're not weak if you stop," he whispered. "You're not broken if you cry."
His words hit harder than any belt. I didn't want to admit it but he's right. Years later, I've forced myself to suppress my emotions. Especially crying.
After all these years, I was still afraid. Still scared of a man I'd probably never see again. Still scared of becoming him. Of not being enough. Of failing anyone who counted on me.
"I didn't know how to stop," I whispered. "I still don't."
The boy didn't answer. He just sat beside me, knees pulled to his chest, tears running down his cheeks. Mine too.
"I'm tired of fighting," I admitted. "I'm tired of pretending like it didn't happen. That I'm fine. That the jokes make it better."
He didn't speak.
I looked over at him and slowly I reached over. Hesitating every step of the way. He flinched and I paused, worried if this was right.
There's nothing to lose.
Then I pulled him into a hug.
He didn't hug back or wrap his arms against me. He just sat there, frozen. Stiff as he waited for me to laugh, waited for the joke at his own expense.
Until he realized there was none.
And something in him cracked. Just like the green ember, rays of light leaked from his body. But, they were golden as the sound of glass shattering pierced my ears.
His small hands clutched the back of my shirt. His entire body shook, the kind of cry you never wanted people to see because you were afraid they'd think different of you. They'd... pity you.
Something in your past you never wanted to touch again.
And I held him tighter.
"I see you," I whispered into his hood. "I'm sorry I left you here. I'm sorry I made you fight alone. But I'm here now. And I'm not leaving again."
His sobs quieted as he exploded into golden embers and ash. They didn't burn, they didn't hurt as they flooded my body. They felt warm. Almost relieved.
Suddenly...
I was laying across the ash, back in the burning village. My childhood home had vanished and along with it... the boy.
I turned towards the monster, watching the golden embers evaporate inside the belly of the beast.
[Ember of Gold – 2/5 Sources Extinguished]
A final sob broke free as I stood. My body felt lighter, the boy's warmth still across my arms. Like a weight I'd been carrying for far to long had finally vanished.
"I won't forget you..." I whispered to the wind as my head hung.
Then...
The fire slowly dropped and I stumbled back into the trial field.
As I looked around, Eli was leaning against a rock, ribs still bruised but smirking through it.
"Welcome back," he rasped.
But... I didn't answer. I couldn't.
I needed time to process.
Maybe this isn't a game? What kind of game does that?
My bow was gone. But I didn't miss it.
Not this time.
Melissa shouted from across the field, frozen before her own ember... red, glowing brighter than the others. Almost wild.
Hers must've started after mine.
I felt relieved, I knew her trial would be over soon, after all she's the strongest in the group. Fearless, our elected leader despite Eli being our Vanguard. The Meatshield.
I looked across the field, my gaze eyeing her floating blades. I finally understood why she carried so many. Because when your past cuts deep enough, you start believing pain's the only thing that feels real.
Then... I looked at her.
And immediately my stomach twisted. Something was wrong.
Melissa was... crying.