I sat in the courtyard that day, staring at the pool of water before me. The wind was cold, but I hardly noticed it anymore. The water's surface rippled gently in the breeze, casting broken reflections of the garden's once vibrant beauty. But even that beauty seemed distant now, just like everything else in my life.
I was no longer Ren Kurogane, heir to House Kurogane. I was Ren, the disappointment—the boy who couldn't awaken his bloodline, the failure everyone wished to forget. And no matter how much I tried to hide from that truth, it haunted me in every gaze, every word, every moment of silence.
The courtyards were quieter these days. The servants no longer hurried to tend to me, and the girls who once sought my attention had all but disappeared from my side. The air that once buzzed with life now felt stagnant, heavy with an unspoken tension that clung to me like a second skin.
I had never known what it felt like to be unwanted until now.
I glanced at my reflection in the pool, my face pale and drawn from the endless rituals and failed attempts to spark the power that should have been mine. Dark circles framed my eyes, a result of too many sleepless nights and the constant pressure to succeed. I didn't even recognize myself anymore.
"Ren?"
The voice was soft, hesitant. I turned to see Serene standing a few feet away, her hands folded nervously in front of her. She was the only one who still spoke to me with any sort of warmth, though even that seemed to be fading with each passing day. Her wide, innocent eyes—the same ones that had once made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I wasn't entirely alone—now held a flicker of doubt.
"Serene," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I wanted to say more, to reach out to her, but the words stuck in my throat. What could I possibly say that would change anything?
She took a few tentative steps toward me before stopping, as if unsure whether she was welcome. I didn't blame her. No one knew how to act around me anymore. I wasn't the golden heir they had all expected me to be. I was a shadow of the boy they had once believed in.
"I… I thought you might want some company," she said, her voice barely audible over the wind. "It's… it's been a while since we talked."
I nodded, though I couldn't bring myself to meet her gaze. "I'm not much for conversation these days."
She stood there in awkward silence for a moment, her hands wringing the fabric of her dress as she struggled to find the right words. "It's not your fault, Ren," she finally said, her voice trembling slightly. "None of this is. You couldn't control—"
"I couldn't control it?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, sharp and bitter. I turned to face her, my eyes burning with a frustration that had been building for weeks. "Then why does it feel like everything is my fault? Why do I have to live with this weight on my shoulders, while everyone else moves on as if nothing happened?"
Serene flinched, her eyes widening in shock. I hadn't meant to snap at her, but I couldn't stop the anger that welled up inside me. It wasn't fair—none of it was fair.
"I'm sorry," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "I didn't mean to…"
She shook her head, her expression softening. "No, it's okay. I understand."
But she didn't understand. None of them did. How could they? They weren't the ones who had to live with the shame, the constant whispers, the knowledge that they had failed their family, their kingdom.
"You should go," I said quietly, turning back to the pool. "There's no point in wasting your time here."
Serene hesitated, her hand half-raised as if she wanted to reach out to me but didn't know how. After a long moment, she finally lowered it and stepped back. "I'll be here if you need me," she whispered before turning and walking away.
I watched her go, her figure growing smaller until she disappeared around the corner. Once again, I was alone.
And that was when I realized—I had always been alone. Even when the others were around, even when they pretended to care, I had been nothing more than a role to them. The heir, the symbol of the future. Now that I had failed to live up to their expectations, I no longer had a place in their world.
And that was when the truth settled in—I had always been alone. Even when they were by my side, even when they faked their concern, I had been nothing more than a symbol, a vessel for their ambitions. The heir, the future they needed. But now, having failed to become what they demanded, I was nothing to them—cast aside, forgotten. My existence, meaningless.
Plink
Plink
Tears slipped into the lake, each drop sending jagged ripples across the surface. I stared into the water, watching my reflection fracture and twist, much like the life that had once been mine. Everything had crumbled because of me, and yet, I was powerless—just like I couldn't stop the tears from falling, or the crushing weight of everything I had lost. The world felt broken, warped beyond recognition. And the face staring back at me... wasn't just a stranger—it was someone I couldn't bear to acknowledge.
__________________________________________________
Later that night, as the halls of the estate grew quiet, I sat in my room, the weight of the day pressing down on me like a leaden cloak. The grand windows that once overlooked the vast gardens now felt like prison bars, trapping me inside a world that no longer wanted me.
A knock on the door broke the silence.
"Enter," I called out, my voice tired and hollow.
The door creaked open, and Alys stepped inside. Her face was calm, composed, the perfect image of grace and elegance. She walked toward me with measured steps, her expression unreadable.
"Ren," she said softly, her voice smooth as silk. "How are you feeling?"
I looked at her, trying to gauge her intentions. Alys was always the most difficult to read. She had perfected the art of the mask, always saying the right things, always playing her part. But behind those calm, gentle eyes, I knew there was something else—something far more calculating.
"I'm fine," I said, though the words were empty, devoid of meaning.
"Hmm... I'm going home... for a little while." Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as she moved closer, her steps so light it was as if she wasn't even there. She sat beside me, her presence delicate, almost ethereal. Without a word, she took my hands in hers, her touch gentle but firm. "There's something important I need to attend to. My parents... they've asked me to return for a short while."
Her words lingered in the air, but they felt distant—like another inevitable goodbye wrapped in a temporary promise.
"'Short while,' huh?" Those were the words they always used to deceive themselves, not me. It wasn't my heart they were protecting—it was their own mercy they wrapped in those empty promises. Each time they told themselves it was for the best, they would bind me in the ritual chains, forcing me through those excruciating rites. The purpose? To awaken something inside me, something I didn't even understand.
Of course, I was just a child. How could I have grasped what was being done to me? After each ritual, I would lose consciousness for days, my body drained, my mind shattered.
After her goodbye, the months that followed became a parade of farewells, each more hollow than the last. "I'll see you soon," they all said, their voices dripping with false comfort. But the truth was far more sinister. They did see me again—far sooner than I could have imagined. Only, it wasn't by my choice. I was dragged back into their clutches, over and over, pulled into the abyss of their rituals.
Every time, they greeted me with smiles, but not the kind that offered warmth or solace. No, these were twisted, unnatural grins, mouths stretched too wide, eyes gleaming with something dark. Their faces became grotesque masks, mocking my suffering. Before the horror began, I always saw those mana bars flash before my eyes, and then the agony would start again.
Each ritual was a descent into madness. The torment tore through my body, shattered my mind, left me gasping for air that never seemed to come. The pain was unrelenting, each trial somehow worse than the one before. If the earlier rituals were supposed to be my "awakening," then what followed was nothing short of pure, unfiltered hell. A hell so twisted, so vile, that the previous agony felt like a distant, fleeting dream—a memory of pain that now seemed gentle in comparison to the depths of the torture that followed. It was as if they had ripped open the gates of the underworld and tossed me into its darkest pit, where even hope dared not tread.
_________________________________________________________________
(AIN: Hey, wonderful readers! I hope you're enjoying the journey so far. Your feedback means the world to me, so please drop a comment to share your thoughts, theories, or what you'd like to see next! Consider donating power stones if you feel generous and want to support my work. They help me keep the creative juices flowing and bring you even more exciting content. I appreciate your support.)