Chapter 8 Sorrow

Stepping across the threshold of his ash-strewn apartment, Cassy gathered a few essentials from the uninhabitable mess. He needed to stay warm, at least.

Taking one last glance at the room where he had slept for the past year, he sighed. "There's no chance I'll get my security deposit back," he thought, a bitter smile flickering across his lips.

Absentmindedly, he made his way up the stairs to the roof, passing the pigeon house where the landlord kept his messenger birds. The echo of his footsteps was swallowed by the stillness, a reminder that the world below had long forgotten him. He paused just before the edge, gazing out at the gloomy slums below.

In the lower boroughs, there wasn't much to see unless you enjoyed the sights of open-air crime, gambling, and poverty. At this hour, only those with nowhere to lay their heads remained, shadows of their former selves, existing in the periphery of a city that no longer cared.

Cassy perched on the edge of the rooftop, the chill of the night air biting through his clothes, gnawing at his skin like a relentless predator.

He clutched a tattered blanket around his shoulders, its thin fabric a meager barrier against the frigid wind that howled with a life of its own. The charred remnants of his once-comfortable apartment felt like a distant memory.

Finding a clean spot near the pigeon house, he laid down the chunks of bed frame, each piece heavy with the weight of his past. He smashed the larger fragments into smaller bits, the rough splinters biting into his fingers.

Pain clung to him, a familiar contrast to the numbness settling over his thoughts. It served as a cruel reminder of his existence—a reminder that he was still alive in a world that felt so cold and indifferent.

With a box of matches in hand, he struck one against the brick wall, its flame flaring to life. He lit the wood, watching as the tiny flames flickered and danced, casting ghostly shadows against the crumbling bricks.

As he huddled around the fire, its warmth was fleeting, a fragile flicker that barely penetrated the oppressive darkness. "This is what it's come to," he muttered, the words swallowed by the cold night air.

He wrapped himself tighter in his worn clothes, their fabric threadbare and frayed from years of use. Each layer felt like a shroud, binding him to a past he couldn't escape. As he gazed out at the slums below, Cassy felt a profound sense of loss.

The streets were alive with the sounds of desperation—distant shouts, the clatter of dice being thrown, and the haunting laughter of those who had nothing left to lose. In the cold, stark light of the fire, he saw the outlines of street girls moving through the shadows, their faces gaunt and hollow, reflecting a reality they had come to accept.

"If you're watching me, Mom, I'm doing well," he whispered into the night, his voice barely rising above the crackling flames. "I just got a job for the first time in my life. No more fighting… well, not in the pits, at least." He smiled sadly into the fire, though the smile felt heavy and bitter.

"I hope you're warm wherever you are… I'm sure you're smiling looking down on me, right?"

He paused for a breath, accidentally inhaling the smoke from the fire.

"I miss you very much." He brushed his cheek—damn smoke in his eyes—though the cold trails still marked his skin. The memory of her smile flickered in his mind, a distant warmth swallowed by the encroaching chill. It's been six years since that day; it's been a dreadful journey. But I've done it, haven't I?

"You would be proud, right, Mom?"

Yet, as he drew his knees to his chest, the harsh reality of his surroundings crushed the moment. He was alone, surrounded by the ghosts of his past, the loneliness tightening around his heart.

Each breath felt heavy with despair, suffocating him in the oppressive silence.

Cassy didn't want to be alone anymore. When she passed, he had felt shock at first, followed by a dull ache that had now morphed into a gnawing emptiness. Clenching his fists tightly, he struggled to remember what that pain had felt like, yet all he found was a hollow echo, an absence that mirrored the void of his existence.

The fire crackled again, a brief spark illuminating his face, but even that warmth felt fleeting, like a mirage in a desolate wasteland. Hope flickered only to be snuffed out by the weight of his reality, leaving him shrouded in the cold darkness of his solitude.

With a heavy sigh, Cassy leaned closer to the flames, allowing their meager warmth to seep into his weary bones. This was his last night in the slums, yet the thought of escape felt like a cruel joke, a fleeting dream that would soon be dashed by the weight of the past.

As Cassy huddled closer to the fire, his fingers brushed against the ring he now wore. It was both a symbol of misfortune and hope for him. Only time would tell which it would inevitably become.

The ring felt cool and solid, an almost unnatural coldness that seemed to pulse against his skin, as if alive. There were whispers about artifacts like this one—fragments of ancient power that carried the weight of something much larger than any one person, symbols of both salvation and ruin.

For all he knew, it was just an old ring. But considering where he was and why, that seemed doubtful at best. Willful ignorance at worst.

He ran his thumb over the band, feeling a strange surge of energy, a tingling at the edge of his senses. It was as if the ring was trying to reach out, offering him strength… or maybe a warning.

"Maybe I'll figure you out someday," he murmured, his voice lost in the crackle of the fire. For now, it was just him, the relic, and the unanswered questions it brought with it—a shard of hope as uncertain as it was powerful.

The darkness enveloped him, a thick blanket of despair that settled over him, and he succumbed to the silence. In his dreams, he finally felt warmth. He wasn't sure why, but his mind felt clearer.

Cassy awoke feeling sore to his very soul; a night out in the cold was rough, especially considering how long it had been since he had a good night's rest. Paired with his injuries, it was almost unbearable.

His joints felt iced over, and it hurt to bend them. Still, he fought through, blowing his nose on an old shirt. Perhaps I'm sick, he thought, each breath a reminder of his fragility.

As the last bit of the sun crossed the horizon, gifting precious warmth to the city's sky, he heard the dim tolling of a bell. Unable to dispel the inexhaustible fog blanketing the city, thousands of crows and pigeons fled from the bell tower, angrily soaring into the sky and leaving only feathers in their wake—a fleeting symbol of the life he wished to grasp.

Cassy breathed in deeply, allowing himself to take in the moment one last time before he left. It was time for a new chapter in his life, but he felt like a ghost, lingering in the remnants of a past that refused to let him go.

He had been given a chance, yet it felt like a cruel joke, and he wondered if he could ever truly escape the shackles that bound him.