Chapter 1 — The Prelude To The Prelude (15)

*****

As I followed the girl, I found myself gazing into a specific memory. The scene was set in a dimly lit room, with only a few candles illuminating the space. The room consisted of a bedside table, a bed, and a small bookshelf filled with various books, with a wooden sword placed atop it.

On the bed were two figures: a silver-haired woman with crimson eyes and pointed ears, and a young boy, around four or five years old, with crimson hair and eyes. The boy was perched comfortably on the woman's lap, and they seemed to be engrossed in a conversation.

The boy looked up at the woman and asked, "Mommy, did brave heroes really come to our world a long time ago to defeat the mean demon lord?"

With a soft chuckle, the woman gazed at the boy with warmth in her eyes and confirmed, "Indeed, Leon. That is no mere tale, but a factual account of events. The heroes in question were summoned from their own world to aid in the defeat of the aforementioned demon lord and restore peace to our realm. Though not without their trials and tribulations, the heroes were ultimately successful in their mission and returned to their homeland."

The boy was thrilled to hear about the other world where the heroes had been born. "That's incredible!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "So there really is another world besides ours? I would love to learn more about it!"

The woman let out a gentle chuckle as she lovingly ruffled her son's hair. "If only I possessed the knowledge you seek, my dear. Alas, no scripture nor tome has ever been penned on their world. Even I am at a loss. However, I have heard rumors that it was a wondrous place indeed. They even had a mode of transportation they called 'cars' that allowed them to travel great distances in a short amount of time."

The boy's eyes sparkled like a radiant star as he eagerly listened to his mother's story. The scene was enveloped in green, which I assume was chosen to represent the emotion of joy.

As I kept walking, another scene gradually came into my view. This new scene was enveloped in a bright orange hue. I figured the color represented determination, as it seemed to radiate with an unwavering energy.

The crimson-haired boy was now standing in a yard, a little older than in the previous scene, perhaps six years of age. He gripped a sword firmly with both hands, while a man with long crimson hair tied back in a ponytail stood next to him. Despite appearing a bit slender from a distance, he had a muscular form and was also holding a sword, teaching the young boy about swordsmanship.

Suddenly, the boy posed a question to the man, his voice ringing loud enough for the neighbors to hear, "Father, if I work hard and improve my swordsmanship, can I become a hero like the ones mother told me about?"

"Of course you can, my son! But with great power comes great responsibility. As a hero, you must always protect the weak and stand against wrongdoing. Do you understand?" the man replied, his voice equally loud and proud, as he ruffled his son's hair.

The boy nodded eagerly, his eyes shining with determination. "Yes, I do! I want to be a hero that you and mother will be proud of. I want to be like the heroes from the stories she told me, who always stood up for what was right and protected those in need."

The man ruffled his son's hair affectionately. "That's my boy! I have no doubt that you will become a great hero, one who will make a real difference in the world."

I shifted my focus to the back of the girl who was walking ahead of me. As I trailed behind her, the initially positive scenes began to take a negative turn.

Suddenly, a sound from my surroundings jolted me, and I instinctively turned my head towards its source. It was a memory that I had long thought was buried deep in my mind.

The scene was dominated by the color red, representing anger. I saw a younger version of myself, vehemently demanding, "Take that back!"

The next scene was of my grandfather, his cold eyes fixed on my younger self, as he delivered the devastating message, "Effective immediately, you are no longer one of us." The color surrounding this scene was blue, symbolizing the intense sadness felt by my past self.

The memory that followed was one of my younger self crying uncontrollably in the pouring rain, asking, "Why?! Why did things have to end up this way?!" The color surrounding that scene was grey, reflecting the sense of despair that had taken hold of me.

Each memory in this place was surrounded by a unique color, reflecting the emotions that were running through me at that particular moment.

"Here we are." The girl paused as she reached a particular memory. colors surrounding it were dark and indistinguishable, like a black stain on a pure white fabric.

The memory in question depicted the same boy I had been observing until now – me. In the recollection, I was curled up in a ball at the edge of a bed, my head tucked between my knees.

Glancing around, I realized that I was back in the same room as the first scene. However, something had changed—and it was hard to miss. In fact, the state of the room was so different that it hardly seemed like the same place at all.

The once-tidy space was now in complete disarray, as if a violent storm had ripped through it. The curtains hung haphazardly, the books were scattered across the floor, and the bookshelf lay in ruins on the ground.

I had a bad feeling about this. I didn't know why, but I was starting to break out in a kind of cold sweat.

I turned to the girl beside me, and found her... smiling.

Just then, a knock echoed through the room. A woman's voice sounded from the other side, laced with worry.

"Leon, are you awake? If you are, would you mind opening the door? I need to talk to you."

My younger self lifted his head briefly, but then tucked it back down between his knees without a word.

"Uhm... I understand that you're having a hard time dealing with what happened, but it's not good for you to stay locked up in your room like this. It's been a week since you last came out, and it doesn't seem like you're eating enough. Your father and I are so worried about you. I was hoping we could talk, even just for a few minutes."

Once again, my younger self remained silent, refusing to respond.

"Please, Leon. Just for a minute. I only want to see you," the woman's voice spoke up again, laced with a sense of desperation

I could sense the emotion in her voice, and it sounded as though she was on the verge of tears. I heard a thud as if she had leaned against the door, possibly resting her head on it.

"I-If you won't answer me, then I'm left with no choice. I'm going to come in, alright?" she said with a hint of determination, before turning the doorknob. I heard a faint clicking sound, and the door creaked open slowly. The woman peered into the room through the gap, and as soon as she saw the state of the room, her face visibly paled

"Leon?!" The woman rushed towards my younger self, her face filled with worry as she took in his haggard appearance. "Look at how pale you are! And those dark circles under your eyes... What on earth have you been doing? What's happened to you?!"

The boy before her looked nothing like the one who used to listen to his mother's stories with a bright smile on his face, or the one who would give his father a determined grin when he talked about becoming a hero someday.

This was a different boy altogether, unrecognizable from the vibrant child the woman once knew. Even I struggled to recognize him.

There was no trace of a smile left on his face, and his once bright eyes now looked hollow and empty. His cheeks had sunken in slightly, and dark circles were visible underneath his eyes, a clear indication that he hadn't been sleeping well. And those eyes... It was as if he had cried so much that he had nothing left to give, yet they remained vacant.

At the sight of those empty eyes, my mother immediately hugged him, pleading with him to snap out of it. "Leon, please don't do this to yourself. I understand how much pain you must be in, but don't let it consume you. Please, don't give up like this."

The emotions in this memory grew in intensity, and the darkness seemed to consume everything in sight. The black stain grew larger and larger, and even the memories that were once filled with distinguishable colors turned dark. It was as if this feeling was eroding everything in its path.

My younger self's voice was cold and distant as he spoke, but he wasn't looking at my mother when he said this. "...Just leave me alone," he whispered. "I don't need your concern."

Mother held onto him even tighter. "N-No, I won't leave. If I do, you'll shut yourself off from us forever. I don't want that, and I don't want to see you suffer like this. You need to talk to someone or you'll only make yourself suffer more." She pulled back and looked him in the eyes, but he wasn't meeting her gaze, he wasn't seeing her. "I-I know. How about I tell you some more of those heroic tales you love?"

"...What's even the point of listening to those? I couldn't become like a hero anyway," my younger self muttered, still refusing to make eye contact with Mother.

There was a brief moment of silence as she seemed to gather her thoughts, but before she could speak, my younger self spoke up again.

"Do you know the truth, Mother? I have no talent, none at all. Be it in swordsmanship or magic, I struggled with both. Everyone in my school told me to give up, they said that no matter how much I trained, I would never be good enough. But I refused to listen to them. I continued to train harder than anyone else. During breaks, I practiced my swordsmanship and magic tirelessly. I believed that with enough determination and perseverance, I would become strong, I would become great. But in the end, nothing changed. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't improve."

Mother listened intently, her eyes welling up with tears.

"I was decent at other classes, sure, but I wasn't exceptional. Marcus was the one who excelled in everything. Even though he hardly put any effort into his studies, he was still better than me. It made me wonder, was it because he had the talent that I didn't? He was probably the one destined to become a hero, not me."

Marcus was a natural at everything. No matter how hard I tried to beat him, I always fell short. He excelled at everything, from etiquette and tea ceremony classes to horse riding and strategy classes. I was always trailing behind him.

"I've been called pathetic, a weakling, useless, and incompetent by many people. It hurts even more when even my own grandfather has said those things to me."

Yes, that's exactly how it was. Every single person around me seemed to be looking at me with disdain. From the heads of the noble houses to their children, even the instructors and our retainers—they all had cold eyes that spoke volumes about their opinion of me.

"Mother, what are your thoughts about me now? Despite knowing that your son is incompetent, are you still able to take pride in me?"