Elena's POV
Nine Years Ago
It was a moment etched in my memory, a warmth that enveloped me, sitting comfortably on my dad's lap. His large hands gently caressed my cheek, and I could feel the love radiating from him. The air around us was thick with unspoken emotions, but his voice broke the silence as he leaned closer to me.
"Goodbye, my moon. Always remember that daddy loves you," he said softly, his tone carrying the weight of something profound.
I looked up at him, my heart sinking at the word 'goodbye.' To me, goodbye felt like the closing of a door that would never open again. "I love you too, daddy. Don't say goodbye. Just say see you soon. Goodbyes are forever, Dad. Never say goodbye." My tiny voice was filled with a mix of hope and fear, an innocent plea to hold onto something I didn't want to lose.
He smiled at my words, but there was a sadness in his eyes that I couldn't quite understand at that age. "My wise little girl. I will miss you a lot. Goodbye, darling." As he spoke, I could sense a change in his tone—a heaviness that hung in the air between us.
"Don't make me cry, Dad. Promise you won't go anywhere." I felt my heart beat faster, a child's instinctual worry bubbling to the surface. I reached out, bringing my pinky finger forward to him, a gesture of a promise sealed in childhood innocence.
Dad chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. "Is that mommy calling you?" he asked, shifting the topic to something that could pull me away from the gravity of our conversation.
I didn't answer immediately; instead, I just leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on his forehead, the familiar scent of his cologne mixing with the warmth of his skin. It was a moment of comfort I wanted to hold onto forever. I hugged him tightly, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my cheek. Taking a deep breath, I finally got off his lap, my little legs carrying me toward Mom, hoping to find solace in her presence.
That day—nine years ago—was filled with a bittersweet blend of love and loss. Though I didn't fully grasp the meaning of our exchange back then, I now understand how deeply the bonds of love can be tested, and how memories can linger long after a loved one has said goodbye.
That night, as the clock ticked away the minutes, the air thick with tension, I watched my dad step out of the door, his figure silhouetted against the dim light of the porch. Instantly, a sense of unease washed over me—a prickling sensation at the back of my mind that warned me something terrible was about to unfold. Anxiety wrapped around my chest like a vice, constricting my breath. The world outside felt heavy and ominous, a storm brewing on the horizon of my young heart.
As the shadows lengthened, the fear that clung to me started to manifest itself, and tears began to stream down my cheeks. I felt as if my heart were being torn from my chest. My mother, noticing my distress, rushed to my side. She enveloped me in her warm embrace, her voice a soothing melody amidst the chaos in my mind. "It's okay, sweetie. It's going to be alright," she whispered, trying desperately to instill a sense of safety that I couldn't grasp. But the comfort she offered felt distant, as though it were slipping through my fingers like sand.
Despite her valiant efforts, the sadness overwhelmed me. I continued to cry, each sob a raw echo of my fears, until my exhaustion finally took its toll and I drifted into a restless sleep. Yet, sleep brought me no peace. Instead, it ushered in a realm of nightmares—vivid and horrifying scenes that played out behind my eyelids. In one particularly harrowing dream, I saw my dad's head being ripped from his body, his expression twisted in agony and desperation. He was pleading for mercy, his voice a haunting whisper that begged for one last moment with me, for one final chance to say goodbye. I could only watch in terror, rooted to the spot, my heart shattering with every terrifying image.
When morning finally arrived, it brought with it a cold, stark reality that I hadn't been prepared for. My mother's face was pale, her eyes filled with a horror that mirrored my nightmares. She received the news bluntly, the sharp edges of reality slicing through the fragile veil of my dreams. My father had passed on. The words hit me like a tidal wave, crashing down with an unrelenting force that left me gasping for air. In that moment, a part of me—the part filled with love, innocence, and unwavering trust—vanished into the void with him.
I watched as my mother tried to maintain her composure, attempting to be the pillar of strength I so desperately needed. But beneath her brave facade, I could sense her pain radiating like a palpable force, the cracks in her armor visible to anyone who cared to look closely. I felt the anguish emanating from her, the palpable grief swirling in the air around us—a reminder of the lives we once knew.
Fueled by the raw anguish of loss and a burning fury for the injustices of the world, I made a vow deep within my heart. I will not let my father's death be in vain. I will seek justice for him, I will uncover the truth behind his passing, and I will bring those responsible to their knees. This promise, forged in the fires of grief and pain, would become my mission. I will avenge my father, no matter the cost.