(Chris's POV)
It had been two agonizing weeks since the incident with Will and Papa. My heart ached more with each passing day as I recalled the horrific scene. I sat in my small room, clutching the wand Will had given me on my eighth birthday—a delicate wand, carved from a smooth, dark wood with intricate designs etched into its surface. I traced the engravings with my fingers, feeling the familiar warmth of the gift, trying to find solace in its touch.
Tears welled up in my eyes as the memory of Will's pained face resurfaced in my mind. How could I make Papa return to the kind, loving father he used to be? The father who would laugh with me, who'd teach me magic, and who'd praise my efforts even when I failed. Now, all that remained was a shell of the man I once knew, someone who was lost to the war, to his fears, and to his pain.
As I sat there, lost in thought, Papa's voice boomed through the house, jolting me out of my reverie.
"Give me money!" he bellowed. "I've run out of alcohol!"
"No!" Mama's voice was defiant, her tone firm, though I could hear the underlying tremor of fear. "You shouldn't buy any more alcohol! I won't give it to you, no matter what you do to me!"
Her refusal only seemed to fuel his rage. "How many times do I need to hurt you so you can understand and just give me what I asked for?" he snarled, his voice low and menacing.
I peeked around the corner of my room, my heart pounding in my chest. I knew I shouldn't be watching, but I couldn't help myself. Then, Papa's gaze shifted, and his eyes locked onto mine.
"What are you looking at?" he shouted, his face contorted with anger.
Startled, I stumbled back and fell, the wand slipping from my grasp. Papa's eyes narrowed as they landed on the wand. His expression twisted into a greedy smile.
"What's that?" he asked, his voice dripping with malice. "Is that a wand? Isn't that expensive? Give it to me so I can buy my alcohol."
"No! Please, anything but this!" I pleaded, scrambling to pick up the wand and clutching it to my chest. This wand was my most precious possession, a symbol of the bond between Will and me. I couldn't let Papa take it away.
"Wait, where did you get that?" Papa asked, his eyes darkening with suspicion. "Is it from that brat?"
I hesitated, but my silence only made him angrier. "Give it to me so I don't need to hurt you," he added, taking a step toward me.
"Philip!" Mama intervened, her voice filled with desperation. "I'll give you money; just don't take away her wand."
"If you'd just given it to me earlier, we wouldn't need to end up like this," Papa sneered. "Give me the money and the wand, and maybe I won't hurt you."
"No! This is my treasure!" I screamed, my voice trembling with fear and resolve. Clutching the wand tightly, I tried to make a dash for the door, but Papa was quicker.
"Where do you think you're going?" he growled, his wooden sword slamming into my back. I crashed to the floor, the pain radiating through my body.
"Don't hurt our daughter anymore!" Mama cried out, her voice breaking with anguish. Without hesitation, she cast a spell.
"Wind Slice!" she shouted, and a sharp gust of wind shot towards Papa, the force of it slicing through the air with a deadly precision.
But Papa was prepared. With a swift movement, he activated his sword skill. "Horizontal Slash!" he countered, and the wind dissipated as his blade cut through it effortlessly. Before I could even react, he lunged toward Mama with terrifying speed.
"Single Shot!" Papa roared, his sword crashing down with enough force to shatter stone. Mama collapsed to the floor, unconscious, but not before casting a final, desperate Wind Slice that lessened the blow. Her body lay motionless, a small pool of blood forming around her.
Terror gripped me as Papa turned his gaze back to me. "If you don't want the same to happen to you, give me that damn wand without any resistance."
"Please, Papa, don't take it away from me!" I sobbed, clutching the wand so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Tears streamed down my face, a mixture of fear and desperation. I couldn't let him take away the last piece of Will, the last piece of hope I had.
"I don't need your crying!" he shouted, striking me again with his wooden sword. The pain was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the thought of losing my wand. Despite knowing it was pointless, I continued to beg.
"Papa, please!" I pleaded, my voice cracking.
"I said, give it to me already!" His voice was filled with rage, and he hit me once more.
Through my tears, I imagined what Will would do in my place. Would he still fight back, knowing it was pointless? Of course, he would. Will was strong, much stronger than I could ever be. He would find a way to protect what he loved, no matter the cost.
"Will, please help me!" I cried out, pouring all my hope and desperation into that single plea, even though I knew he wasn't coming. Not after what he had suffered because of me. But still, I called out for him, because he was my only hope.
And then, it happened. The window, which had been hastily covered by a curtain after it was broken two weeks ago, suddenly burst apart. Light flooded the room, blinding and bright, a stark contrast to the dim, oppressive atmosphere that had suffocated us for so long.
Amid the radiant glow, a figure appeared— a boy my age, standing tall and proud, a wooden sword gripped firmly in his right hand. His face was set in a determined expression, but his eyes were warm, filled with a kindness that made the darkness in my heart fade away.
It was Will.
He looked at me and smiled, a smile that washed away all my fears and filled me with a renewed sense of hope.
"Chris," he said, his voice calm and reassuring, "I'm here to help, as you wished."