It was my first time seeing the light. My cries shattered the air, filling it with a high-pitched yell similar to that of a wolf's howl. My mother, seeing me for the first time—her smile was priceless, almost like a museum's treasure. These memories are somehow fixed into me—that's what makes me special, but like everyone's life, it isn't always so perfect. In the quiet, idle morning, five days after my arrival in this chaotic world, an unexpected event broke out—the sky turned dark, the clouds bled. Our world suddenly became a dystopia; it was like hell—full of cries, full of pain. What had caused this? We wondered, but in my situation, it was much different. Our thoughts were filled only with fear, chaos, darkness.. dystopia.
My father held me tight, looking at the window of the sanctuary, seeing the hell we were in—we already knew it was them, the world government, this damn cruel organization. Everyone gripped their sword tight, but my father? He was preparing to leave—what did he know? He wrapped me inside soft, comfy black wool and held me tight. He took another glance at my mom, who was crying inside the sanctuary. Whispers stabbed through my ears, hearing voices talking about me as we were about to get out of the sanctuary. My father sprinted across the streets—empty and glowing with danger. Everyone's sight was fixed on my father, now running from the hazard chasing us behind. They stared at my father while he slowly vanished from the maroon-colored fog until he was completely gone.
During these moments, I didn't know what was happening—all I remember was sleeping inside a cozy, black cloth wrapped around me like a burrito. I woke up, hearing a bell, a large one, ringing slowly—its sound echoed through my ears, which really annoyed me, leaving me crying. No one came for me to check me out, no one came for me to aid my cries—no one came for me. Where had my father gone? Where was he when my cries echoed? I don't know.. all I have is this place, with an uncomfortable flat, wooden slab—a bed. The colored walls.. red and black, supporting me from all surrounding danger; perhaps it's better than our sanctuary.
As I continued to cry, footsteps disturbed the air filled with my screams—then, the door swung open, making a stretching sound that stopped my emotions. We both stared at each other, not making a single sound—not moving a single action. We stayed like this for a minute, then he walked towards me—an unfamiliar face, full of scars—wind blew along with his long, white hair, revealing a cross mark on the left side of his forehead. He carried me, staring with a straight face, then put me to sleep. As the years passed by, our bonds grew stronger—now, every time I hear the word "father," his face is what I always imagine.
As we were eating a roasted turkey, munching on it, hard and slowly, a thought suddenly got into me: when is my birthday? My mind was battling—should I tell my father? My body paused for a moment but quickly decided that I would. I looked at my father, who was happily eating the turkey. "Hey, dad.. may I ask something?" I questioned, looking at his eyes as he continued to swallow every bit of it—my father, still munching on his food, looked at me, his eyes widened in surprise, followed by a nod. "When is my birthday?" His face looked straight at me; he seemed shocked, his face was frozen—I don't know why, but he did not answer.
Every time I questioned my dad, he didn't use his voice, not even once until.. another strange thought entered my mind in an instant, like a person entering through the door. What if I become an adventurer? Isn't going out in the world, discovering everything every day fun? I wondered. So, I asked my father if I could become one, and for the first time in my life he used his voice, answering: "An adventurer? Yeah, yeah, you can.." he mumbled without hesitation, even a lion rethinks when targeting prey—how could he agree so fast? I don't have problems, though; I want to live that life, an adventurer.
Here starts my journey. My father told me that I should know how to fight first, even just a little bit—he even said that I'm only 16, and there is no rushing. Months passed by; my father taught me how to fight. With each step taking months, my body grew stronger and stronger each day. It was hard, it was a struggle, but everyone started slow and difficult, right? We trained so many things, including my lungs, my flexibility, my focus or reflexes—even my fighting skills. The first day was hard; my father pushed me to my limits like I'm a honey badger or something—then on the 13th day, I hunted a polar bear by myself. Even my dad couldn't believe I could defeat one myself.
Every day felt like school, hard, stressful, and all—he even started to randomly throw rocks at me, testing my reflexes—well, I dodged some, but the rest... they gave me head bumps. Sometimes, I wonder, are we actually training, or are we just playing around? Each day got more intense; at the same rate, childishness grew more noticeable—I will never forget about these moments. As the days went by, I was getting closer and closer to my goal my dad gave me: lift that 100kg stone slab and throw it near the cliff to the ocean—and so I did. I tried lifting it by gripping the top—it was a failure; my grip wasn't that impressive. Then, I tried lifting it from the bottom, which worked, but that steep slope.. it took me so many times to slide it up. I was exhausted—my strength ached so bad, but I couldn't just give up; my goal was two movements away.
My father woke up in the morning; it was still a little dark; fog filled our world—our tiny island; our home. He looked out the window and was shocked to see me trying to lift the huge stone slab—I did not notice him that time—suddenly a surge of energy got into me, giving me the strength to lift it and successfully throw it off the cliff to the ocean. I laid down on my back; my strength was all used up—I couldn't move, I couldn't stand; I felt like I was paralyzed, or I think I was already. As I continued to lay down, my eyes started to close, slowly—maybe exhaustion had already reached me. Just as I was about to fall asleep, I was woken up by claps coming from the house—it was my father, smiling at me, clapping out of joy; he even laughed a little—but, my body's energy ran out and put me to sleep.