Lioras - 13 Years Old - Diary Entry 278
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The wind was swift today, striking everything in its path with purpose. It felt primal—angry, hungry—like something not seen since the days of stillness. Back when the land was calm, and peace was just how life was.
I don't remember the wind ever being this powerful. It used to feel small. Weak. Insignificant. So why—why today—do you roar with such intensity that the cliffs beneath me crack from your rage?
I ask myself sometimes: who am I? Why am I the way I am? Why does everyone around me think and see the world so differently?
Mother always said I was smart. But she never told me the cost of that.
To be a genius is a gift. But to have a gift is a curse no one talks about. It can feel lonely. It can make you mad.
To be loved, to be cared for—but never truly seen… That's not something I wanted. I didn't ask for it. I never wanted to be different. I would've been happy being average.
Hah… there I go again. Idiot. Talking to myself like someone's listening.
I mean, who would care to hear the story of Lioras Brune? A boy from the planet Pamarthe. A boy with no future, despite his so-called genius. A boy who grew up too fast, and still knows nothing.
Would you read that story? Would you care? Would you listen to his pain, his struggle, his truth?
…Exactly. Why would you?
My story will be the same as the person next to me. I'll live. I'll laugh. I'll struggle. And then I'll die.
You're probably wondering why a thirteen-year-old sounds this dark. Why I'm not bright and innocent like a child should be.
Well… maybe that's why I'm different. Why I don't care. Why I'm so quiet.
Because in silence, I find strength. And in strength, I find reality.
Not life. Not death. The middle.
The part no one talks about. The part that bores them. The journey.
You don't know what I mean, do you? I guess I should explain.
People say they love books. But I think they only love the beginning and the end. Most don't care about the middle. They just want the thrill—the spike of adrenaline. They can't handle the quiet. The struggle. The darkness between life and death.
Sometimes I wonder if there's more. If I'm missing something.
When I look out from these mountains, down to the raging blue sea, I wonder if I could be more than what I believe. If there's something inside me besides this darkness— Even when I'm surrounded by the light of the people I love.
Is there really no escape from this reality? Is this my destiny? To be a nobody? To live on this lonely island where my family has stayed for generations?
Is it wrong to want more? To finally be seen?
Is that wrong?
I wish I could be normal. That I could let go of this darkness. That I could be seen—truly seen—on this land.
But that's not my reality. It never was.
So when you read this, and you wonder why there's so much pain in my words, Why there's so much longing for something I can never have— It's because I've learned I'll never be more than the limits this universe gave me.
I was never meant to be a hero. Never meant to be a villain. Never meant to be anything more than a working-class nobody.
I hate that. I hate what I am. I hate that my future is already written. I hate that I can't accept it like the rest of my family. Like the rest of this universe.
But I can't. I won't. I deny it with every breath in my body.
So don't read this and think I'm smart. Don't read this and think I'm evil. Don't read this and think anything at all.
I am nothing. A null.
I have the power to grow, but in the end, I'll leave no mark. No value. No legacy.
So remember this:
You don't know who I am. And you never will.
And that, my friend, is the journey I live. The journey no one cares for. The journey that will bore most.
I need to go now. My family's calling—probably to help Dad or one of my brothers. Who knows.
But I know this: As much as I hate it…
This is my reality.
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Pamarthe – Brune Family Homestead, Near the Cliffs
Lioras breathed deeply and closed the diary.
It wasn't anything new—he'd been writing in it for as long as he could remember. The voices were calling his name, but he didn't move. He couldn't. Not yet. Not until he felt some flicker of purpose. Not until the words on the page came to life.
But no matter how long he waited, the pages would never become sentient. They would always be a dream he fought for in silence—a dream that would remain just that.
He slid the book into his pocket, the motion eerily familiar. Routine. Rehearsed. His body ached from sitting too long, but he didn't stretch. Didn't sigh. Just stood there, listening.
The wind was never quiet. Not like him.
It had been howling all afternoon—louder than usual, like it was trying to say something no one could quite understand. Lioras liked to imagine it was speaking to him. Not in words, but in feeling. Like the wind understood him better than anyone else ever had.
And maybe, in some strange way, that was true.
The voices grew louder. Closer. His father's low murmur. Jace's sharper tone. Halric's laugh—brief, then gone. Lioras wasn't blind. He knew they didn't really need him. They just needed someone to fill the space. To patch the silence in their family with something that looked like presence.
He looked out at the ocean. Its crashing waves, wild and furious, seemed almost innocent compared to the war inside his own mind. Each day, his existence felt harder to justify.
And then, the voices stopped.
Like even they didn't know what to say anymore.
Lioras knew what came next. He knew what he had to become—the version of himself they could understand. The one who filled their void, even as his own remained empty.
Null.
He accepted that role without complaint. He always did.
Lioras took one last look at the world around him—the cliffs, the sea, the sky—and then, without a word…
He turned.
Lioras felt the wind hold him, like it was begging him not to do this—but he had already made up his mind. The silence was behind him now.
Only a few meters away stood his family, framed by the pale sky and the jagged cliffs. Davin—or as he strictly preferred to be called, Sir—stood at the front, arms folded, his flight jacket zipped to the collar. His posture was rigid from years of discipline and training. Jace stood just behind him, mimicking their father—hands on his hips, jaw tight. Never truly his own person, just a reflection of someone else. A mimic of a man.
Halric lingered farther back, shifting his weight from foot to foot, eyes flicking between the others and Lioras. He always looked so innocent. Perhaps he still was.
Lioras enjoyed the silence. It was simple. Clean. And for a moment, as they all stood there, it felt like they could see each other—really see each other. Like the masks had slipped, just for a breath.
But silence never lasts.
Davin broke it first. "Lioras, we need your help with the ship."
His voice was never comfortable. There was always something about it that unsettled people—like he was trying to sound human but hadn't quite figured out how. Robotic, but sentient. Maybe in that way, he and Lioras weren't so different.
"The nav core's misaligned again," he added. "I've tried recalibrating it twice. Its still drifting."
Lioras nodded once. Nothing more needed to be said. "Okay, Sir."
Jace scoffed. "That's all you've got to say?"
Lioras looked at him. Jace's arms were crossed now, his stance wide—like he was ready for a fight that hadn't started yet.
"We've been out here looking for you," Jace said, clearly aggravated. "Dad's got a job lined up, and here you are slacking off and daydreaming. We don't have time for you to be off in your own head."
"I wasn't—" Lioras started, then stopped. What was the point? Jace never listened. He only saw what he wanted to see. They might've been close once, but now all Lioras saw was a reflection. The same eyes as their father —eyes that made Lioras feel emptier than he could ever write about.
Halric stepped forward, his voice quieter. "It's okay. We just didn't know where you went."
His tone wasn't accusing. If anything, it was apologetic. His eyes met Lioras's for a second—really met them—and then dropped.
He wished the world could be like Halric. That the rest of their family could be like him. Even himself. Maybe then the world would be a better place.
"I told them you'd come," Halric said. "That you'd help."
Lioras nodded again. "Of course. I'll help Halric, You can count on me."
Davin gave a short nod—the closest thing he ever gave to approval. "Good. We'll need it running before sunrise tomorrow. Don't come home until you've fixed it."
He turned and started walking back toward the homestead without another word. Jace followed, muttering something under his breath that Lioras couldn't quite hear—but he was sure it wasn't pleasant.
Halric lingered, like he wanted to say something more.
"Are you okay?" he asked, voice barely audible over the howling wind.
Lioras didn't answer right away. He just looked out at the sea one last time, then back at his brother.
"I'm fine," he replied.
It was a lie. But it was the kind they all accepted as truth—because the alternative would mean facing reality. His reality.
Halric gave a small nod, then turned to follow the others.
For a moment, Lioras nearly called out to him. To say something. Anything.
But nothing came. Just silence.
Lioras sighed and began walking—his journey to the old family hangar beginning with the weight of everything left unsaid.
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