019 ※ Self-Destruction 101: How to Let Your Ego Ruin Everything

I took a step back, the weight of his words pressing down on me. My breath hitched as I braced myself, every fiber of my being trying to fight the sting of what he said. His accusations tore through me, and yet, I couldn't push them away. The defensive instinct surged in me, but it was no use—his words were already buried deep within my mind, echoing painfully, impossible to ignore.

"You judge my whole race because a part of them hurt you," he said, his voice biting into the silence like a razor-sharp blade. "You hate everybody, and you're a skittish person, always running away from everything. I needed you because you're powerful, and I want to save the other races, but I can't do it alone, no matter how badly I want to. And even when you're needed, even when you're needed more than ever, you refuse to let go of that pride of yours. You don't reach out, you don't try to make things better, and your ridiculous pride continues to stand in the way."

"It's like you're trapped in this endless cycle, unable to move forward. You refuse to join us in something that is bigger than your childish hatred for witches, fae, royalty, and nobility. Do you even realize how much of a waste this is? You're wasting your powers, throwing them away when they could help others. You claim to hate the way the royals and nobles treat the poor, but what do you do to change it? Nothing. You're hiding in fear, hiding from us, but it's not us who are blind to the truth, it's not us who are letting pride and hatred take over. Aren't we?"

His words were like a heavy weight dropping onto my chest, suffocating me, and I hated that they were true. I couldn't escape the truth, no matter how much I wanted to. Every word he spoke, no matter how harsh, hit me where it hurt the most. And the worst part was, I didn't know how to respond. How could I? He was right.

I stood there in stunned silence, my mind racing. How did I get here? What the hell have I been doing for all these years? I had spent so much time running away from the world, refusing to face anything, refusing to confront the people who needed me, who needed my help. I was too proud, too stubborn to admit that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't the only one in pain. But I was too wrapped up in myself, in my anger, in my need for revenge, to see that. I was too busy blaming everyone else for the way I felt, too busy hiding from the world.

And now, in the face of his words, everything came crashing down.

"What a perfect narcissist king you are," I spat, my voice laced with a mixture of bitterness and anger. "Before you start talking about how I don't keep my promises, my name is Avain, your majesty," I added, each word sharper than the last. The sarcasm and venom dripping from my tone were enough to make my insides twist. I needed to get away. I couldn't stand being there, facing him, facing myself. The judgment in his eyes was too much, and I couldn't handle it.

Without another word, I turned and walked briskly to the door. Every step I took felt like it was tearing me apart. I needed space, needed to think, to clear my head. I couldn't be around him any longer, couldn't stay there and listen to the truth I already knew, the truth I had spent so long trying to avoid.

I reached the door, slammed it open, and stepped into the night air without a second thought. The moment I was outside, I started running, my legs pumping furiously beneath me as I tried to outrun the whirlwind of emotions that had taken over. My heart pounded in my chest, my mind spinning with confusion and frustration, but I couldn't stop. I ran as fast as I could, not knowing where I was going, just knowing that I couldn't stay there any longer.

The ground beneath me blurred as my legs carried me farther and farther away. I could feel the burn in my muscles, the exhaustion creeping up on me, but I ignored it. I had to get away. I needed to escape the suffocating thoughts, the overwhelming guilt. So, I ran, faster and faster, the world around me becoming a blur of motion.

It wasn't until I reached the top of a mountain, breathless and shaking with fatigue, that I finally stopped. Two hours had passed since I fled, and my legs were barely able to keep me standing. My body trembled as I sank to the ground, too exhausted to move any further. Tears flooded my eyes, and I let them fall, each one carrying with it the pain I had buried for so long. I let myself break. The storm that gathered in the sky mirrored my own turmoil, dark clouds swirling as the first drops of rain began to fall. It wasn't long before the storm intensified, as though the heavens themselves were grieving with me.

The rain poured down in sheets, drenching me to the bone. But I didn't care. I didn't care about the cold or the storm or anything anymore. I was a mess, and the storm outside seemed to understand that. It wasn't until I realized the storm had started because of me, because I had lost control of my emotions, that I truly understood the weight of it all. I had caused this chaos, both inside and out. I let the rain wash over me, feeling it mix with my tears as it cascaded down my face. It felt like everything—the storm, the rain, the pain—was trying to cleanse me of the years of self-inflicted torment.

I cried harder than I ever had before. It wasn't just the release of years of isolation and fear—it was the acknowledgement of everything I had been running from. I had spent so long hiding in the forest, terrified of anyone who might come near me, terrified of being found out for what I was. I had feared that someone would come and try to kill me for being a witch, but what was I really hiding from? Why had I isolated myself from the world? What was I running from?

Did I think that hiding away in that damn forest would somehow make everything okay? Did I honestly believe that running away from the world would solve my problems? Did I think that maybe, just maybe, my mother would approve of the choices I made? Because deep down, I knew she wouldn't. She would be ashamed of me, disappointed in the way I had lived these years.

I couldn't help but feel the deep ache in my chest. How could I have been so blind, so full of hatred? How could I judge people for being different—witches, fae, royalty, nobility—when I had spent so much time hiding from everyone, unable to accept who I was? I was just like the people I despised, and that realization hit me harder than any punch. How could I hate them when I had become exactly like them in my own way? How had I let hatred and vengeance define who I was?

I was a fucking hypocrite. I had let the hunger for revenge, the need to strike back at the world that had hurt me, consume me. And now, standing there in the rain, I could see how much damage I had done—not just to others, but to myself.

I didn't care about the storm anymore. The heavens were as angry and lost as I was. But still, I let it rage, just as I let my emotions rage unchecked. I cried until there was nothing left but emptiness, the weight of my pride shattered, my heart exposed and raw.

I didn't know what the hell I was doing anymore, but for the first time, I knew something had to change. I had to face myself, and maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop running.