The tombstone leaned to the side, like it had given up trying to stand proud. Poison ivy and moss smothered most of the stone.
A cold breeze tugged at my sweater and hat. I stood still, hoping to feel something—sorrow, anger, anything. But the wind slipped through me like a midnight ghost.
I ran my finger across the name engraved in the cold stone:
Amara Solen.
My mother.
I never met her, but sometimes it hurts like I did. I wondered if it was normal for a son to stand at his mother's grave and feel nothing but questions.
Maybe that's what people mean by a mother-son connection. Or maybe I just want it to mean something.
I bent down and pulled away the weeds. I searched for her—hoping for a face, a voice, a reason. Instead, I found a grave.
Why did she leave me alone in this cold world?
"Do mothers care for their children?" I asked the wind.
Some soft, broken part of me hoped it would answer. But it didn't. I stood there, stagnant.
A pale white butterfly landed on my shoulder. It crawled to my hand. I raised it carefully. I closed my fingers just enough to trap it. I felt its tender wings against my hand as it tried to escape. I let go.
It staggered, then flapped away. I sighed. I didn't watch where it went. I turned and walked away.
Behind me, it glitched once—then disappeared.
"Kael," the teacher said.
I looked up. The whole class was watching me like I'd just discovered the cure for cancer.
"Would you like to share your thoughts with the class?"
I stared out the window. The trees moved, shedding red flowers. Everything was too green. Too calm.
"Nature is beautiful," I said, Detached.
They started clapping. The teacher wiped a tear. Like I was Einstein reborn or Shakespeare's lost cousin.
"That was beautiful, Kael. Surely, the system chose a worthy foe."
"He's the system's child of course he'd excell", a girl whispered.
"You mean he has no parents ?", her friend asked.
"Well rumor had it he had a mom , she died after giving birth to Kael and he was adopted by the system "
"Poor thing ".
Later that day...
"Kael, I… I know you're busy and everything," a girl stammered. "But I was hoping we could maybe catch lunch this weekend… if you don't mind?"
The tenth one this week. All beautiful, I'll admit. But love… I don't think I'm capable of that feeling.
I woke up one morning with only a name and a headache, nothing else , no memories, no clues. Just me.
I was said to be the System's child. And yet I felt lonely, like Adam in Eden. Except Adam had God.
The system doesn't love its children. It sees love as a waste of time. It makes humans weak and vulnerable. It built us through obedience and respect. And I've been a good boy, for all I know. It adopted me, so the least I can do, right?
I offered one of my trained smiles—the emotional kind—and turned her down gently.
But as I walked away, something cracked inside me. The mask I'd worn for so long felt like it was turning to dust.
After school, I used a ditore—a forbidden side tunnel built for system outcasts. No cameras. No watchers.
I sighed. This time, it wasn't a teenage sigh. It was an old man's. One of those aging, dying sighs.
I let my face relax. My jaw hung. My shoulders slumped. Ten bags beneath my eyes sagged with ten more stacked from sleepless nights.
No more smiles. Just… emptiness.
I stood beneath the old bridge—at least five hundred feet above the forgotten ground. Wind whipped past me. I closed my eyes and leaned forward, just a little.
For a moment, I imagined it. Letting go.
I stood there, gazing at the sunset. The bridge responded with a thud as it crumbled. This wasn't my lucky day, huh? I thought as I fell.
And suddenly—the weight on my back lifted. A boulder I didn't know I was carrying rolled off my spine.
The cold breeze passed through me as I fell. For once, I felt free.
I almost… almost managed to smile.
I closed my eyes bracing for impact yet nothing happened, I opened my eyes to a blinding, endless white. No sky. No ground. Just… stillness. Like the world had stopped breathing.
And me—trapped in the center of it.
Then she appeared. A woman wrapped in a soft orange glow, like a candle in a storm.
She smiled. The ache in my chest sharpened.
I didn't move. My limbs felt like stone. I didn't dare speak.
"How big you've grown, my son."
My lungs forgot how to breathe.
Before I could respond, her hand brushed my cheek—warm, tender, like a memory I never had but always longed for. Her eyes—glassy, crystal, ancient—held more love than I knew how to handle.
"My son," she whispered, "I'm sorry… for taking your life away. I only wanted to protect you."
The words stabbed something I didn't know was bleeding.
Protect me? From what? From myself? From the truth?
Her gaze didn't waver.
"But this… this isn't coincidence," she said. "It's fate."
What is she talking about?
I wanted to scream. Ask her why she left. Why did she never stay? But her eyes… they looked straight into me—past the pain, past the questions, past the boy I was pretending to be.
"Pick the red gate, my son. Be strong." She paused. "I wish…"
Her voice cracked like glass. Her form began to crumble.
"No—wait—MOM!" My voice broke free in desperation. "Don't leave me!" I shouted, tears blurring my sight.
"I love you," she whispered as the last of her scattered into light.
She became a butterfly—orange at first, then darker… darker… black wings.
It fluttered upward, shedding a trail of glowing dust like dying stars.
I hesitated before chasing it.
I touched it and the world collapsed into darkness.
Then—two buttons hovered before me, like choices in a game I never wanted to play.
Blue: Continue to your original destination. Become royalty, the System's full child.
Red: Sector 234. Join the army.
A timer blinked: 00:30.
I froze. My mind spun.
Blue. Comfort. Power. Purpose. A life where people bowed when I walked by. Where I could forget all this. Forget her. Forget myself.
But is that who I am? Would I be safe or just caged with velvet chains?
Red. War. Blood. Pain. A path that would leave me never the same again.
Was this bravery? Or madness?
I glanced at the timer. It ticked down: 10… 9… 8…
I moved toward blue. Then stopped. Then, I reached for red. My hand shook violently. I didn't want this. But I couldn't run from it either.
3 seconds left.
Then—a shadow passed behind me. Cold. Silent.
An arm draped over mine, like death tucking in a child. It tapped my trembling finger. Click.
The red button lit up. And a voice—soft, dark, almost proud—whispered,
"Fly, my little raven."