Mother's tale
Mixed emotions painted across her face, a reflection of the stark contrast between her true identity and her affiliation with this organisation.
But as they say, you never know what fate has in store for you – things we are powerless against.
Her eyebrows, shaped like delicate arches, seemed to whisper stories of their own, hinting at a past marked by pain, the weight of which still lingered.
Despite having felt lost many times, her gaze has always remained fixed on some unseen horizon, her determination unshakeable, a beacon of resilience.
These goals, though, remain unknown to people, perhaps that's not the only thing hidden, shrouded in a mystery that only she can unravel.
But she knew that the longer she played the game, the greater the danger. Hence, the subtle cracks in her impregnable walls, a testament to the stress she'd been under.
Strangely enough, no tears dared to breach the defences of her eyes.
As she applied the herbal paste to her toothbrush, her head swayed gently, the soft bristles gliding against her teeth in a soothing rhythm.
Just as she was about to spit out the remaining suds, a sudden realisation struck her.
"Come to think about it, the phenomena exhibited around that lad are in no way ordinary," she said, as she spit out the suds.
"Firstly, the area where I found him was alive with vibrant energy, a unique hotspot amidst the surroundings.
A clear sign of genius, an extraordinary initiation. Moreover, his trance-like state when I merely channelled energy to calm him down was peculiar, to say the least.
Only a Master-Level Time mage could induce such a state, and I'm certainly not capable of that… yet, somehow, it happened."
"Hmm… Or was this the work of a third party?" she pondered, her voice a soft, contemplative murmur, lost in thought.
As she pondered the enigma before her, a flicker of unease crossed her mind.
"And then there's the issue of him almost draining me during the recovery session. I initially attributed it to his fragile state, but what if it's something more… ?"
Her voice trailed off, laced with a hint of concern and calculation. "I hope this isn't beyond my control…"
"I'll observe how his recovery unfolds in the coming days," she thought, "and if he's just an orphan with a clean backgroun, then, I can mould him into a valuable asset.
Creating a new profile for him would be easier, then I can utilise him to my advantage."
But her mind wasn't done racing yet. "And there is the issue of Vincent's unsolicited curiosity," she mused, "I hope he's not thinking of poaching this one also, that sly fox!"
"I wouldn't put it past him to try to snatch a potential talent like that for himself." She made a mental note to keep a close eye on the young talent, ensuring Vincent didn't get the chance to swoop in and steal him away.
With her mind already turning to strategies, she refocused on the simple methodical motion of brushing her teeth.
As she spat out the remnant suds, the water's gentle gurgle washed away her words, leaving only the echoes of her thoughts.
***
The next day, a boy lay motionless in the infirmary, his knees bent upwards, his head resting at the peak.
His eyes, red and sore, with visible dried tear marks, told the tale of a tearful session.
Yet, his gaze remained empty, lifeless, and his lips were sealed, defying the expected cries. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the haunting turmoil ravaging his soul.
His mind's eye wandered through memories of the past, oscillating between sweet reminiscences of yesteryears and the horrors of yesterday.
He recalled the excitement his younger self felt upon noticing the unmistakable bulge in his mother's belly, ecstatic at the prospect of a new addition to the family.
The exhilaration reached new heights when she gave birth to a surprising set of twins.
Memories came flooding back: helping his father build cribs and toys, and assisting his mother in knitting tiny socks and clothes.
His thoughts drifted to the ancient berry tree in the compound, its steadfast presence a comforting constant.
He remembered how it basked in sunlight, swayed gently in the breeze, and shed its leaves to form a crunchy carpet, inviting endless hours of play.
Memories of a serene childhood haven came flooding back: clear blue skies, a lush little garden, star-filled nights, friendly neighbours, the bustling market, his mother's delicious cooking, his father's playful teasing, and his siblings' constant mischief.
But as he gazed upwards, an unfamiliar ceiling stared back at him, a harsh contrast to the idyllic world he once knew.
The herbal scent in the air and the sterile surroundings of the infirmary were a far cry from the warmth and love that once enveloped him.
He had been surrounded by loved ones for so long that even a day's separation felt like an eternity. And at the mere mention of hell, his mind flashed back to the haunting vision from yesterday, a chilling reminder of his new reality.
Instantly, his shoulders shuddered, his feet turned ice-cold, as if fear had wrapped its chilling arms around him.
The blood-curdling sight of his family's mangled bodies, nailed to the ceiling like condemned sinners, seared his mind.
Their faces were frozen in eternal agony and anguish, denied a peaceful death.
Wilson's thoughts were consumed by the brutal murder, his mind unable to grapple with the philosophy of life and death. All he knew was the excruciating pain of his loss.
As he dwelled on the gruesome memory, his eyes slowly turned bloodshot, his fingers balling into a fist, as if clenched in a silent scream.
Like a miasma fog tainting clear skies, thoughts of revenge spread across his mind, shrouding his thoughts in darkness.
But his gaze snapped towards the distance as the soft slam of a door broke the spell. Lady Samantha entered, her presence commanding attention.
She glided effortlessly across the room, her light steps accompanied by the soft rustle of her dress, like a gentle breeze on a summer day.
The ruby pendant on her neckline caught the light, drawing attention to her graceful neck and radiant face, a beacon of beauty in the midst of turmoil.
Despite his inner chaos, Wilson couldn't help but be drawn to her elegance.
But, a man of discipline, he slowly shifted his gaze away, refocusing on his inner struggles.
Despite her graceful parade, Lady Samantha reached the bed with surprising speed, her legs moving with a quiet purpose.
She retrieved a laying stool from the corner and positioned it beside him, mirroring her actions from the day before.
"Hi Wilson, Good morning, how are you doing today?" she asked, her warm smile and angelic voice a stark contrast to his passive demeanour.
Wilson's face remained dull, his mouth shut in response to her question.
Lady Samantha's smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered, her eyes filled with empathy.
"I know you're still hurting, Wilson. But I want you to know I'm here for you, to support you through this difficult time."
Her voice was soft and gentle, a soothing balm to his fractured soul. As she spoke, Wilson's gaze drifted towards her, his expression unchanging.
Yet, in a surprising move, he parted his lips to speak, his lifeless voice a stark contrast to the emotions swirling within. "My mother once told me a story… Are you interested in hearing it?"
His gaze drifted towards her, his face still expressionless. Lady Samantha's eyes sparkled with curiosity, though she seemed taken aback by the sudden topic change. She nodded, encouraging him to continue.
"In a world where magic existed, multiple stories intertwined… humans, beasts, and creatures alike. My mother called it… The Primal Era.
Humans formed clans and disciplines, some chose to roam, exploring the world's marvels. Like the ancestor beasts, some kept their kind close, while others sought strength through adversity.
Humans proclaimed themselves the superior ones, but the beasts refused to accept this status, sparking a cycle of slaughter.
Humans hunted beasts, and beasts retaliated, each side seeking power, land, and treasures.
As the violence escalated, it finally erupted into a full-blown war, marking the end of the Primal Era and ushering in a new age of strife and transformation."
Wilson's face contorted in a forlorn expression, his voice cracking with emotion, as he paused for a moment to collect himself before continuing.
"I can't forget, she told me this tale on the night before my tenth-year birthday.
Despite most parts of the story being vague and indescriptive enough, that was where she dropped the story.
No matter how much I begged her, she didn't budge. She only said she'd complete the story on my 18th year birthday. I took it as she would rather not tell me the story anymore…"
"Why would an 18-year-old me still be captivated by a story from eight years ago?
But, as it turns out, I was eerily close to the truth… she wouldn't be there to finish the story when I turned eighteen, after all."