Eight days after the night incident.
From Erik perspective, I still don't know what really happened on the night of the party. Everyone is silent; they don't talk about it much, but that's not the most important thing. The more important part is my 5-year-old big brother, Rudra, who had stopped talking. For about five days, he hadn't left his room. Even his friends, Rubi and Vivin, came to visit, but he refused to see them. It was completely surprising. Mom told his friends he had a fever and was resting, and he didn't even come out for dinner.
On the eighth day, he finally emerged from his room. Now he sat with us at the dinner table, but not a word was spoken—just pure, heavy silence. He looked at his food strangely, and his usual happy face was gone.
Alice, our mother, tried to break the silence. "Dear, forget about that dream. It happens sometimes. You are my brave boy, Rudra."
He remained silent for a moment, thinking. Then he spoke. "Mama, I know I try, but that dream keeps coming back, literally many times. I can't sleep when I try. I feel so weak. I feel like I can't even raise my hand when I think about that thing."
Suddenly, with a sharp, hard voice, Reyand, our father, spoke. "Hey, Rudra, don't be pathetic. Listen up. Practice hard because the day after tomorrow, you will be fighting me in the training ground, do you understand?"
Rudra tried to interrupt with soft words, but Father cut him off. "I won't hear any excuses. Either you stop dreaming, or you stop dreaming of becoming a good adventurer."
Silence fell over everyone after those words. After dinner, everyone bowed slightly to Rudra—a strange, heavy gesture—and moved to their own rooms. Rudra's room felt particularly silent and dark.
Rudra's Perspective
Why did Father say that? Why does he want me to duel right now? I thought. I can't even touch my sword.
Oh, crap. I moved to hold my practice sword, but my grip was so loose I couldn't hold it tightly. Holy crap, why is this happening to me?
I sat in my chair and turned on a lamp. I closed my window with the curtain so I couldn't see anything that might trigger my fear. It's not normal to isolate from everyone and live alone in a room all the time. I think I am alone in doing this. Maybe someone else does this kind of crap.
Instead of dwelling on those thoughts, I brought out my page and dip pen and started planning the fight. I didn't usually do this, but this time, I knew I was too timid to even hold a sword properly.
First, I wrote down everything I knew about my father's moves—what I'd seen and the stories I'd heard during dinner. Then I wrote down my own fighting style and attack moves. Wow, it's amazing how few people could match me when I was in my good state, I thought, a shock of pride mixed with current despair. And now I'm a coward kid.
I forced myself to analyze and strategize, spending half the night creating a defensive plan.
The next day, I woke up late in the morning. Mom called me more than five times, but I was in such a deep sleep I couldn't hear her. She came in and was surprised by how much I'd slept.
I trained that day, but handling the sword wasn't easy; it was like I had forgotten how to wield one. It had been eight days since I'd truly seen the light of the sun, yet practicing in the backyard felt easy, strangely comforting.
Next, I tried to manage my mana control. Normally, a quiet time of meditation makes this easy. Now, it was hard to regulate—harder than it had ever been. I felt a new core inside me, intensely wide but not easy to handle. My chest suddenly started hurting. I managed to hide the pain. If I told Mom, it would be hard for her to worry about two kids. I wanted to behave like a grown-up.
It's literally hypocritical to tell myself that after making such a fuss over a bad dream, I thought.
Then, a sudden, loud boom!
It came from my room. I moved toward the house, looking from the backyard. "Oh no, my room window is blasted!"
A sudden, sharp cry reached me: "Erik!"
I rushed toward the house, shouting. "Mom! Erik! Mom! Erik! Are you fine?!