A journey back home

Wilson's outstretched hands froze with the offered cup mere inches from his grasp. His eyes narrowed, confusion etched on his face, as if Lady Samantha's words had only added to his perplexity.

He parted his lips to speak, "Ermm Ma–" but she gently cut him off, her voice infused with concern, "It's best you take the water, you look like you could really do with a glass."

Wilson, parched and desperate for the water, accepted the cup from Lady Samantha and drained its contents in gentle, grateful gulps.

Yet, even after quenching his thirst, his gaze remained fixed on hers, his eyes darting wearily with a mix of confusion and anxiety.

But as he took in her face, he found himself mesmerised by her captivating beauty—her enchanting eyes like gems shimmering in the light, and her perfectly shaped pink lips, which seemed to glow like soft, blazing torches, illuminating the space between them.

As he gazed at her, the initial caution on his face gradually gave way into a subtle infatuation and adoration.

Unbeknownst to him, his spiritual defences had been surreptitiously compromised – a concept he might even understand, and one he was surely unaware of... for now.

The enchanting voice, laced with an irresistible charm, drifted into his awareness once more, "What's your name?" it asked.

Without hesitation, Wilson's lips parted, and he responded in a stiff, slightly monotonous tone, "Wilson."

Noticing the impact of her subtle manipulation, Lady Samantha nodded in satisfaction.

As she began to pose further questions, Wilson abruptly jolted out of his trance-like state. Though unaware of his previous vulnerability, his eyebrows furrowed in cautious suspicion once more.

Unbeknownst to him, his instinctual responses had sparked Lady Samantha's interest, prompting a brief, introspective remark: "Oh! Such remarkable mental resilience! Truly exceptional."

With gentle steps, she glided towards a stool in the nearby rear, her movement under his intense gaze.

She grasped the stool and positioned it beside his bed, her dreamy voice unwavering as she spoke, "Wilson, I found you lying amidst the shrubs in a somewhat dangerous location and I brought you here to safety."

"Yet, I sense that something dire must have led you there, and I must understand the circumstances to determine my next steps. To help you, I need to know what happened to you and how you got there."

Wilson's face turned ashen, his body trembling as he stuttered, "I- I don't know! I went to sleep yesterday, expecting to wake up to my birthday celebrations, but… but I found myself here."

His voice cracked as he added, "W-what about my parents? And my sisters?" Fear etched his face, his forehead pale and slick with sweat.

Lady Samantha's expression softening in sympathy, as she gently cradled his hands offering solace.

As she did, a soft, ethereal glow pulsed from her palms, gradually seeping into his skin. The calming effects were palpable, as his turbulent emotions subsided within moments.

Before he could grasp the wonder of the light emanating from her hands, she spoke again.

"Now, place your hands on my palms, close your eyes, and focus your thoughts on the memories you last recall."

With his mind now clear and stable, Wilson followed her instructions.

As he placed his hands on hers, she enveloped them with a gentle, comforting grasp, channelling the same soothing energy into his body. A deep calming sensation coursed through his veins, and his body radiated a soft, ethereal light.

Suddenly, the world around him melted away, leaving only the faintest whisper of its presence. Opening his eyes, he found himself in a dark, yet familiar space.

Despite the darkness, his eyes adjusted, and the outlines of the room materialised before him.

His eyes trembled with a mix of emotions as recognition fully dawned on him – he was back in a place he had deeply yearned to be, a place where memories and longing entwined.

The familiar musky scent of sweaty underwear in the far corner wafted up, transporting him back in time.

Torrents of memories flooded his mind, as two gentle streaks of tears streamed down his face.

Suddenly, the bulbs in the North and West corners of the room flickered to life, illuminating the space he had called home for so many years.

With tears blurring his vision, he wandered around the room, taking in the familiar sights. His gaze lingered on the portraits hung on the wall, each one telling a story of love and laughter.

His hands trembled as he traced the wooden toys his father had lovingly crafted for him when he was small. Caressing them tenderly, he placed them in a crib that sat at a distant end of the room, as if tucking away a part of his childhood.

His gaze lingered on the old crib, and memories of his infancy resurfaced, summoning the image of his chubby baby self with big, round eyes and a shiny set of teeth.

A faint, wistful smile crept onto his sorrowful face as he reminisced about the past.

After a moment, he moved on, his footsteps leading him to the dining area. That's where he spotted a note, its presence unexpected in his normally tidy space.

Knowing he couldn't have left it there that fateful night, he wondered if it might be a message from his parents or siblings, sparking a mix of emotions within him.

With his heart racing, Wilson hastened towards the table, his anxiety, and nervousness palpable.

As he reached for the note, his trembling hands betrayed his emotional state. Lifting the paper, a sweet orchid fragrance wafted up, transporting him back to memories of his mother.

The scent filled his nostrils, and his face contorted in a mix of longing and nostalgia. His pupils dilated as he unfolded the note, revealing his father's familiar, yet disorganised handwriting.

A chuckle escaped his lips, a bittersweet mix of sadness and fondness for his father's imperfect script.

His father's handwriting was a whimsical dance, with some letters soaring like stars and others meandering like the moon.

In stark contrast to his mother's elegant script, his father's writing was like night and day. The family would often tease him about his handwriting, but he'd chuckle and say it was too late to change now.

Yet, he made sure to instil the importance of beautiful handwriting in his children, ensuring they inherited their mother's graceful script, a trait he cherished.

As he gazed at the note, a warm chuckle gave way to a deep emotional resonance. The message read:

Dear Son, Happy Birthday. We doubt you'll see this, but we had to leave it behind. What kind of parents would we be if we didn't?

This is our parting message, Son. Though we're unaware of the circumstances, one thing is certain—you'll thrive without us.

You're destined for greatness in a vast, unknown world. We wish we could share more, but we're equally in the dark. Still, we know you'll make your mark.

The stories we told you as a child, the tales of magic, monsters, and mages, were true. Yes, Son, they were real.

We shared those stories to prepare you for the world we come from, a world that's our true home. Our family was once a powerful clan, with our forces and a rich history. But times changed, and we were attacked by a mysterious enemy. To this day, I still don't know their origins.

We couldn't risk exposing you to that danger, which is why I never spoke of our surname.

As you explore your origins, be cautious—our clan's legacy attracts danger. We've kept this secret to protect you, but we know there's no way you won't decide to go on that quest.

Your mother and I would have preferred for you to live a simple life, but we know you're destined for greatness.

Our wishes seem insignificant compared to your fate. There's so much more to share, but time is short. Forgive us for rushing and dumping this on you.

By the time you read this, we'll have embarked on our final journey to the realm of the dead. I'm sorry that our departure coincides with your birthday, but please make us proud.

Be strong, hold on to your love, and be cautious. Our spirits will always watch over you. We love you, Wilson.

As his eyes devoured the words, his hands trembled until he reached the final letter, the last tangible connection to his parents.

"No! No!! No!!! This can't be happening! MUM!!! DAD!!! MARTHA!!! MAUREEN!!! NOOO!!!!"

Wilson screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking with anguish as he bowed forward, overcome with excruciating pain.

The note crumpled in his fists as his fingers tightened, his screams fading into muffled, despairing moans as he slumped to the ground, defeated.

Just as he did, the bulbs in the room began flickering slowly, then intensified, building up to a sudden, jarring PAAA!!! sound that resounded through the space, jolting him out of his bereft state.