"Really?—The ASPs!?"
"That's awesome, Darren!"
Yes…
I remember it all too well;
The prelude.
"Right!?"
Darren agreed enthusiastically.
His eyes shone with youth and ambition.
"Don't forget me, Drelan."
The other boy said confidently.
"You too, Aiven!?"
"Yup!—We didn't even need to undergo any assessment or nothing!"
Aiven replied boastingly through the gap in his teeth.
"We're just that good!"
Darren added, alongside a cheerful laugh.
The prelude that began in that safe haven of ours.
A play place within my palace of nobility.
It was always just us.
My father—too busy working as the head general of the 10th Division.
The maids—almost robotic, their monotonous voice and obedient attitude always drove me away.
Everyone else acted the same way—as if I didn't exist… The only piece of acknowledgment they owed me came from my last name.
Thus, they're all I had.
"But, they said it'd be a while before they'd come to pick us up."
Darren reluctantly muttered.
"That's right, what if we miss the debut?.."
Aiven added.
"No need to be pessimistic guys!—I can help!"
Shut up.
"Really!?"
Please…
Shut—up…
"Of course!—I'll ask my father if he could do something to help you guys!"
But I didn't.
I was terrified of letting them down—driving them away…
So I senselessly talked.
"Thanks Drelan!"
"I knew we could count on you!"
With my fathers influence, I managed to help them out.
And so the silence rolled in.
Our playplace became desolate—an eerie shell of what it once was.
Did I care at the time?
No, I believed I was being selfless—prioritising their happiness over my own, yet I failed to realize at the time, why—I really did what I did.
Knock
Knock
Knock…
"Father?"
Drelan whispered.
The door creaked open—inside, a scarcely moonlit desk, on top of which laid an abundance of paperwork
He was never home—father.
I had always been curious as to why.
What could have been of such urgent significance that would outmatch that of your family?
Both that anger and curiosity led me to picking up those damned papers that had always piled up on his desk.
Mission Report—it read.
You would think a report would give a number for casualties—no, this one gave a number for survivors.
Zero.
Zero.
Ze—ro…
I shuffled frantically through another stack of papers.
My fingers turning numb as my gaze flew to the bottom half of each report.
Zero.
Zero.
Zero.
My head—spinning.
My vision—fading.
The ASPs are renowned heroes, aren't they?
There has never once been a tale of their defeat.
So what the hell—was I reading?
With trembling fingers, I dropped the papers and hastily ran out my shell of nobility—of solitude.
I had never been outside before, not enough to know where the hell their houses were.
But knowing so was ultimately redundant.
I remember the bright flares of blinding white light shooting down at the brick road.
The blaring sounds of the planes engine roaring—clashing with the intense breeze that night.
I remember that feeling of relief that overcame me the moment I saw them yet to embark.
"Darren! Aiven!"
"Drelan?"
Aiven yelled out—the roar of the plane's engine made it difficult to acknowledge Drelan's words.
"Don't go!"
"Please… Don't go!"
"I can't hear you!—Speak up!"
"You're all—going to die if you leave!"
Their faces of confusion warped into ones of mockery.
They chuckled—failing to heed his dreadful warning.
"Are you seriously trying to get us to give this up because you couldn't come along!?"
They jestered.
I had hoped the plane's rumbling had distorted what I had heard.
But their faces made it all too clear.
I ran to them, hoping to get this sickening blood off of my palms.
But… the stains never left—the hue of red grew more foul and prominent the more steps they took towards that damn plane.
And yet, the torch in the dark I was looking for in this hopeless situation had its flame expose itself.
My father stood out among the dozens of guards surrounding him.
I ran—an attempt to take it all back.
Instead of telling him to stop them, I told him to let me go as well—I couldn't find the nerve to tell someone else to fix the mess I started.
"You're too weak, Drelan."
What?
"They're—too weak too… Father—THEY'RE TOO WEAK TOO!!!"
He cried out, sobbing as he was escorted away.
And so, I failed miserably.
That feeling of helplessness ate away at me—I'll never—no, I can't—forget how that felt.
"Drelan…"
So I gripped a blades handle for the first time.
I swung, more and more, hoping the aching in my arms could suppress that dreadful feeling.
"Drelan?..."
That's right…
Until either of us are killed, I'll fight until I can properly tell them to turn back myself.
"It'll be alright, son."
The general whispered, though barely audible through the heavy strikes of rain.
I hate this feeling.
I hate this weakness.
I hate this tongue.
I hate these hands.
I hate myself.
I hate the ASPs.
"I HATE YOU!"
Drelan cried out, dropping the charred limbs of his only friends.
Tears endlessly streamed down his red-struck face as his eyes shone a bright amber.
"THIS IS YOUR FAULT!"
"NOT MINE, NOT THEIRS!—YOUR—FAULTT!!!!!"
I didn't even know what I was saying anymore.
All I remember was seeing a face I'd never seen my father wear as I continued through my tear-veiled vision.
I chose to lay the burden of my mistakes on him, because the reality is, I was too weak to carry them myself.
And yet, I couldn't convince myself that was the case—no, I told myself I was more than capable of saving them, if only he hadn't stopped me.
So I ran, that blade still within my clutch, secretly boarding vehicle after vehicle, until I had found myself before the thresholds of the 10th Divisions headquarters.
In a frenzy, I underwent that second trial, charging headfirst into any mutant I saw.
I felt as though I could conquer the world if I so pleased—totally consumed by my own sense of pride, I couldn't even realize that I hadn't been hitting anything at all.
That's right, that bloodbath of mutants wasn't my doing, and the one thing it took for me to finally realize that, was to see my group members' corpses get barbarically mutilated right before my eyes as they jumped in to shield me.
Those words I said to my father no longer played in my mind on repeat.
They had ceased entirely.
I am—a fool.
A hypocritic fool.
I left—ashamed of who I came to be.
The hilt of my blade—corroded by blood.
Yet I still gripped it.
After all, it's all I had left.
I couldn't face him after what I had done, so I felt my only way to atone—was to prove him wrong.
That pride… That's—what kept me going.
That damned last name—that nobility, it didn't fix anything.
That's right.
Strength—is the one thing I could ever believe in.
The one thing that could possibly define me, and the one thing to mend the relationship with my father.
Beep…
And without it…
Beep…
I'm…
Beep…
Nothing…