"It's wrong…" Eídal whispered as he scrubbed his face forcefully. "It's definitely wrong!"
Frantically, he tried to wash the black blood off his cheeks behind a communal washbasin. He was alone. Unable to bear his own anger, he plunged his head into the barrel of water, submerging himself up to his ears. As he held his breath, he thought:
'That amount of power. My attitude. The outcome of the battle. Everything went wrong!'
He yanked his head out and took a deep breath.
"Haah. What's with the 'I'm sorry'? I sounded so ridiculous."
It was evident that he had lost his chance to become an ally. The heroine herself had said so.
"I'm useless… Even my hands are shaking."
Looking at his reflection in the water, Eídal realized the terrible expression of defeat on his face.
"It's always the same… Always… Always… In the end, I'm always useless!"
He struck the barrel several times. The pain in his knuckles brought a doubt to his mind: 'Is it okay? Is it okay to keep being like this?' There was no answer.
"Ugh! Damn it. Damn it."
He clenched his hands tightly, digging his neglected nails into his skin. Frustration made him fall to his knees as he leaned against the water barrel.
"Damn it!!! If I let it slide again, would that be okay? Giving up, would that be okay?… Damn…"
It was clear that Eídal hadn't changed at all over the years. He was still the same boy trapped in an adult's body.
"But…"
However, now there was a compelling reason preventing him from giving up. A reason that only made sense to him.
"My family," he murmured the word. So cheesy, so special, so unique, so his—Family… The heroes put my family in danger. I have to save them. Save them, save them, save them… I must be of use to my family.
Eídal repeated it until he calmed down. Then, pushing his hair back with his fingers, he tried to get back on his feet. Still, his face remained pale. This weariness in his body was caused by the thorcam[to contain emotions].
The amount of vomit was abnormal; Eídal had literally emptied his stomach. Unlike the first three times using the thorcam, the dizziness now was almost unbearable. Everything spun as if he were…
It's worth noting that the more it is used, the more aggressive the side effects on the body become, to the point of taking the user's life.
To be specific, the side effects of the thorcam[to contain emotions]were:
First use: "mild discomfort"
Second and third use: "dizziness"
Fourth to sixth: "vomiting"
Seventh to tenth: "high fever accompanied by visual and auditory hallucinations"
Eleventh to thirteenth: "erratic behavior and personality alteration"
Fourteenth to fifteenth: "internal bleeding and bleeding from all body orifices"
Sixteenth: "death"
These were just the side effects of the thorcam[to contain emotions]. While the symptoms could be alleviated through rest, there was no way to reset the usage counter.
Between yesterday and today, he had already used the thorcam[to contain emotions]four times. His current symptoms were: mild discomfort, dizziness, and vomiting. All of that made him look so deplorable.
'Does this mean I'm at my limit?' Eídal thought.
It's worth noting that Eídal had overlooked the immense pressure and stress he was under, which also contributed as an additional side effect on his body.
'I'm not even suffering the most severe side effects, and I'm already at my limit. I really am useless…'
If he used it more, he could die, but if he didn't use it, he wouldn't even be able to speak. That put him in check. Due to the unbearable dizziness, after taking a few steps, his body slammed against the ground with a dull thud.
"Aghhh"
The impact with the cobblestones bruised his forehead, and from the open wound, a warm sensation ran down his cheek. It was blood. So small, so fragile, so weak. Proof that Eídal was still just a simple human. And like his body, his spirit had also hit rock bottom.
"What am I supposed to do?…" he quietly wondered as tears began to moisten the corners of his eyes.
Unable to cry, still lying on the floor, Eídal gazed into the distance. He breathed slowly and steadily, like someone on the verge of death; caught between tears and resignation. He was on the brink of fainting.
He didn't fix his gaze on any specific place, just on the horizon. Suddenly, something caught his attention.
A few meters from his face was a small bush. It was a white rosebush. But what really stood out was the small black caterpillar moving among the branches and thorns. It wasn't the most dazzling or large caterpillar. It seemed to want to climb to the top of the rosebush, perhaps to begin constructing its cocoon. For some reason, Eídal thought that once the caterpillar hatched and became a butterfly, the result would be quite disappointing.
With no strength to move, he remained watching the tiny insect.
Suddenly, a strong wind began to blow. The torrential gust made the caterpillar fall from the branch. For a moment, Eídal compared himself to that caterpillar.
'Aren't we very similar?' he wondered. 'Despite our efforts, neither of us can achieve our goals. We try to fight against something that overpowers us. You against the weather and me against the heroine… You with the rosebush and me against the world… What a couple of fools. Ha-ha-ha…'
But…
"Eh?"
Contrary to Eídal's thoughts, the caterpillar began to climb again. It seemed to refuse to give up. The wind returned, and the caterpillar slammed against the ground. The scene repeated itself several times: the caterpillar climbing and the wind making it fall. Over and over again. Until the sky finally darkened, signaling a heavy downpour.
With that, would the caterpillar continue despite the imminent rain? Or would it abandon the idea of climbing the rosebush and seek shelter? For some reason, Eídal wanted to see it give up.
"Look at me," he advised the caterpillar. "It was just one. One single attempt with the heroine, and I ended up like this. Completely defeated and unable to stand."
It would be no surprise if it died.
"I couldn't even last a day."
Was there any difference between the caterpillar and Eídal? Surely not; they were so similar. Neither was special, strong, talented, or stood out; yet both aimed too high.
"Are you still going to keep trying?!"
The dizziness was unbearable. The world itself was spinning. And for some reason, his whole body felt tired. A fatigue that forced him to gradually close his eyelids.
As Eídal drifted off to sleep, the caterpillar kept trying. Even when the first drops of rain began to fall, it did not give up. Watching its repeated failures, Eídal lost consciousness amidst the rain.
'It's over… You're probably going to die.'
This was his first defeat in the race to kill the heroes.
◇◆◇
How much time had passed since that time? How many years would Eídal be when it happened? He couldn't remember clearly; so many years had gone by that his memories were fading and becoming blurry.
Winter was approaching, bringing with it the inevitable scarcity. During this season, it was crucial to ensure there was enough food and firewood to survive the intense rains that flooded the sandy lands of the village, turning them into real swamps. No plants could grow there, and the animals, also seeking shelter, became difficult to hunt due to the relentless weather.
The elders of the village used to say, "The time of floods is coming. The one that fills the land with mud but leaves our pockets dry. It's time to spend!"
As men of value and utility, it was essential to keep their wallets full, saving throughout the year just to spend when winter arrived. Thus, neither the wife, useful for satisfying them, nor the children, useful for taking care of them in old age, would go hungry. Keeping them from starving was vital, for a dead son could not support them, nor a dead wife satisfy them.
As the men mentioned, it was a time to spend, although as villagers, they didn't possess great riches. More than spending, what they did was exchange their products for others. This barter was common in the south of the country of Longer, near the Wall of the Races.
Large caravans of merchants passed through the villages at the end of summer, trading agricultural products and hunting skins with the towns they traversed. However, Eídal's village, Rufona, was not very skilled in agriculture, which forced them to primarily trade skins, receiving lower-quality products in return.
If only they were richer...
Like the Guiolinai from the north, with their minerals and treasures; or the Ruionai, with their spices that added flavor and color to food; or the village of Carne, famous for its jewelry in the west. Even the nearby village of Luxionai, with its abundance of livestock, whose treasures were the eggs laid by their broad-legged hens, which the elders of Luxionai boasted were their official currency, equivalent to gold, as they served to buy land.
If only they were rich...
They could have obtained something more than mere dried fruits. But for now, they settled for exchanging 20 kilos of Orion bull hide for a couple of tasteless, dried apples. It was what they had, and it was due to their own incapacity and uselessness that they didn't deserve anything more. A fair payment, even considered generous by others.
The designated day arrived, and several villagers gathered in the square with large amounts of hides, like the Giil, the Diil, the Nuul, the Tuul, and the selfless Caspitans, each setting up their own trading stall. The women organized the hides as if they were garments in a wardrobe, while the men checked their scales over and over, ensuring that no shrewd merchant would steal even a gram of their valuable work. Meanwhile, the children, accustomed to being helpful, assisted their mothers with large flyswatters, driving away the two-tailed moths that tried to lay their eggs on the hides.
The merchants arrived, and as if buying cattle, they shouted and negotiated over minimal differences in the coppers. They argued whether the weight of the coppers was correct or if the villagers' scales were tampered with.
The Giil family would say, "No, sir! If my family has ever placed anything on the table that we don't deserve for our work, then from today on, may we never hunt a single bull again! And for our lie, may the village call us useless!"
To which the merchant replied, "Mr. Giil, look at yourself, cursing yourself! Your promise must be useful then! I have no choice but to trust that your word carries nothing but truth."
In the end, fruitless conversations, typical of the useless.
In the midst of all that commotion, one figure moved back and forth with a heavy gait. It was Eídal, who, from the perspective of a child, carried a large amount of firewood. Up and down he went.
'One, two, one, two,' Eídal repeated in his head.
As the sound of the firewood in his short arms produced a rhythmic noise, albeit a melodically terrible one.
His tutor, Albert, had gone out. He usually did not participate in these exchanges, even though their cabin was full of old, dusty hides. That's why they always had to settle for tasteless, rancid food, and by mid-winter, they ended up eating the hides. The taste had, on more than one occasion, made Eídal hide his food under the bed, as his tutor Albert hated eating together.
Despite that carefree, almost hateful attitude, Eídal cared a lot for his tutor Albert; he even considered him a true father... although the feeling was never mutual. However, Eídal wanted to surprise his tutor. He had a plan.
'Tomorrow... yes, tomorrow...,' he told himself the night before, snuggled under his blanket.
"I will trade some hides with the merchants. Not all of them! But enough to have something to eat by mid-winter. Ha-ha-ha..."
This small act of rebellion, and in turn independence, made little Eídal's heart beat nervously.
He woke up early and cleaned the old scale that his tutor kept propped up on the firewood. After fulfilling his tutor's orders and collecting the firewood, Eídal set out to carry out his whim.
Just like when he climbed the hill with the firewood, he came down, this time with a hide on his head and dragging the small scale. However, instead of heading to the main square, Eídal walked directly toward the merchants' carts.
When he appeared before the first merchant, all the merchant could see was a small bundle of hides, along with a rickety scale and a pair of tiny feet barely visible beneath it.
Suddenly, the little bundle of hides spoke: "I come to do business! You, esteemed sir, seem to be someone who could help me."
'How polite!', thought the merchant, surprised by the child's courtesy.
Leaning toward him, he replied with regret:
"I'm sorry, but I've already exchanged all the dried fruits and products I had to sell here. I have nothing left but hides."
The little bundle remained silent for a moment before responding:
"I'm very sorry to have bothered you. Anyway, thank you for your time, kind and respectable merchant!"
Eídal continued on his way, passing by two, then three more merchants, but none seemed interested. Perhaps they had run out of fruits, or maybe the hides Eídal offered were too old and worn out to catch their interest.
Finally, he approached a pair of carts set apart from the others, a caravan that seemed different. Eídal thought:
'They are far away; they probably haven't bought anything yet.'
With excitement, he headed toward one of the carts. A couple of tall men, dressed in dirty but not worn clothes, were there.
With his usual attitude, Eídal approached and offered them his goods. However, one of the men, realizing that Eídal was just a child, surprised him with a question:
"Hey! Are you alone?"
"Yes, esteemed merchant," Eídal replied.
"Who sent you here? Your mom? And your dad, is he still trading hides? Or something like that," spat the man.
Eídal fell silent, but remembering that lying was wrong, he responded honestly: "Esteemed merchant, unfortunately, I have no mom or dad. My tutor, the highly respectable Mr. Albert, is in charge of taking care of me, although he is not in the village at the moment."
Upon hearing Eídal's words, the merchant broke into a disgusting smile. For the first time since the conversation began, he paid true attention and, cunningly, asked:
"So, why are you here?"
"Esteemed merchant, what I seek is a little food in exchange for these wonderful hides. Look! I assure you that you won't find better hides in all the village of Rufona than these."
"Wow, you have talent..." murmured the man.
Then, smiling in a way that sent a shiver down little Eídal's back, the man continued: "I want it, I want it!" he said mockingly, turning to his companions, who laughed along with him.
Then, turning back to Eídal, he added:
"I want it, little one! But I have a better deal for you. You need food, and I need more slaves."
And without giving him time to react, they kidnapped him. Despite his kicking and screaming, they locked him in a damp, empty storeroom at the back of the carts.
How long did he spend there? Eídal only remembers feeling cold while trying to process what had just happened to him. He weighed the pros and cons of the situation when a sea of tears began to flood his eyes. Time seemed lost, and the dark, damp cart only offered him a feeling of loneliness.
A loneliness that Eídal began to hate.
What had he done wrong? What was his fault, his sin? Disobedience? Was that his mistake? If so, then he would never again disobey what the adults told him!
But an unexpected voice pulled him from his trance:
"Are you okay...?" said a breathless voice.
It was Íngrid, with a cold look and a hint of anger.
"Íngrid..." Eídal whispered, feeling relieved.
"Ah, good, let me help you," Íngrid said, climbing into the carriage and extending her hand. "You shouldn't get so close to strangers, especially if those strangers are slave traders. For God's sake...!"
"How did you get in?"
"I bought you. Just kidding. I was a little worried, you know? But after finding you, I asked Lorenz's father to take care of it. Don't worry, those slavers are long gone."
Eídal wiped away his tears and took Íngrid's hand.
"I'm not worried! Not worried at all! I-I had everything calculated!"
"Everything calculated?! You don't know how to lie, do you?" Íngrid said.
"Well... Although it stings my pride as a man a bit, it's great to have you by my side. But I won't deny that I thought the entrance would be a bit more exciting, you know? With explosions and all that! And to think it ended up being so simple..."
"What do you mean? There's no spectacular entrance for a kid. Why do you talk like that? Are you still nervous?"
"That's a lie! But really, I appreciate that you came to help me. Thank you."
"Well, someday, when I'm in trouble, I'll give you the chance to handle the situation. I hope you help me too," Íngrid said, with a touch of sincerity, but still sounding a bit distant.
Íngrid's words, though unintentional, touched Eídal. In Longer, helping others and avoiding problems was essential. Men worked; women satisfied; children prepared to continue the cycle. It was what was valued most, that hated but necessary word...
"We must be useful to others."
Usefulness was everything. And Eídal wanted to live it, just as Íngrid demonstrated in that moment: to be of help to others. Even though it was difficult, he at least wished to help and be useful to those he considered close, to those he saw as family.
Even if, at first, that usefulness was just a facade, nothing more than a crude intention to imitate someone he admired. Íngrid had always been there for him, and so had his tutor, though in a different way. So, with all his effort, he had to do everything possible to help them. That was a small seed of conviction that was planted in his heart that day.
◇◆◇
On the floor of a community laundromat, a young man lay in the rain. The torrential downpour had dissolved the dirt and fluids that stained his clothes. It even seemed to have given a bit of color to the young man's face.
Due to the water pooling in his mouth, Eídal jolted awake. As he coughed, he wondered,
"How long was I asleep?"
There was no clear answer; the thick clouds made it impossible to guess the time. Most of the symptoms from using the thorcam [contain emotions] had faded, though a strong weakness still coursed through his body.
As he sat and looked at the sky, Eídal allowed the rain to cleanse his face.
"That dream. Why now?"
Clicking his tongue, he cursed his fate. He checked the box around his neck: the four thorcams and a few silver coins were still inside. He carefully stood up; his legs still trembled. But just as he was about to move on, he noticed something.
Beneath a white rose in a nearby rosebush lay a black caterpillar. It looked like it was about to start building its cocoon. For a moment, Eídal sighed in admiration.
"In the end, you did it, huh?"
However, instead of continuing on his way, his feet changed direction. Approaching the caterpillar, he gently brushed the rose. Speaking as if to an old friend, he said,
"You didn't choose a branch, a thorn, or a leaf, but the biggest and most beautiful rose. Congratulations."
The petals were soft to the touch, and small droplets of rain rested on them like morning dew. Somehow, the caterpillar seemed pleased with its choice. This also warmed Eídal's heart, like a small light in the midst of the storm. However…
"But…"
In an instant, Eídal crushed the caterpillar along with the rose.
"It's over."
Without mercy, without remorse, without hesitation, he squeezed it into a ball of garbage. The thorns embedded in his skin; nonetheless, his expression remained empty.
When he opened his hand, he saw the remains of the dead insect. The white petals were stained red, and in the middle lay the crushed black caterpillar. Looking up at the sky, Eídal accepted his reality.
"I am weak. Just like this caterpillar."
He wondered what his family would think if they saw him now. As he imagined their reactions, a contraction of pain appeared on his face.
"I am weak… I can't be of help to you… Íngrid… I can't take down the heroes."
In truth, he was a mouse in front of a herd of elephants.
"I can't be useful to you… Still, I…"
What can someone do when they have no alternatives left?
"Still, I…"
Hitting rock bottom is another way of saying that one has no options left. But being out of choices doesn't necessarily mean giving up. The only thing a person who has hit rock bottom can do is…
"Still, I'm not going to give up either."
Move forward.
Ironic, but true. The word "surrender" shouldn't even be considered in the dictionary of someone who values themselves. Eídal had accepted this fact long before meeting the heroine.
"I can't back down. Not because of my lack of strength or my weakness. If only I weren't weak... If I weren't weak... If I weren't we--"
Because he preferred death over surrender, like a bucket of cold water upon seeing that crushed caterpillar, an idea struck him suddenly.
"What if I said I want to stop being weak?" He realized, as clear as water, that he had just found a strategy born from hitting rock bottom. "Yes, that's it!"
His spirits lifted immediately, like when he found the answer to a difficult question within the exam itself.
"If only I weren't weak! If only I weren't weak, then…! Alright! That gives me an idea." For the first time in a long while, a faint smile formed on his pale face. "I'll pray that it works."
So innocent, yet dangerous at the same time: a true wolf in sheep's clothing.
"Alright! Are we ready for round two, esteemed Heroine?"
Eídal pulled a piece of a stout branch with a leaf in the center from the wooden box. It was the thorcam [track objects].
In this defeat, Astrid had made just one mistake. After all, the worst thing you can do is give a cornered animal free time. No matter how weak it is, in the end, it will show its tiny teeth and bite you.