The wooden floor creaked beneath heavy footsteps. I kept my gaze low, staring at the ground, my hands fidgeting in my lap. The air in the small cottage was thick with tension. I could feel the weight of my father's eyes on me, burning with anger and... something else. Disappointment? Fear?
"Damian," he said, his voice trembling with a rage I hadn't heard before. "Do you have any idea what you put your mother and me through?"
I remained silent, my throat tight. I didn't need to answer. He knew.
The next moment came faster than I could react. His hand connected with my cheek, the sharp sound of the slap echoing through the room. The sting was immediate, spreading across my skin like fire, but I didn't flinch. I didn't react. I just sat there, staring at the ground.
"That was for what you did," he muttered through clenched teeth, his voice cracking. "How could you... how could you even think about taking your own life?"
I wanted to tell him, to explain the crushing weight I felt every day, the emptiness that gnawed at me from the inside. But I knew he wouldn't understand. How could he? He still saw me as his son, his little Damian, the boy who played in the fields and laughed with the village kids. He didn't see the darkness inside me—the part that whispered that I didn't belong here, that I didn't belong anywhere.
Then, in an instant, the anger faded. His large hands trembled as he pulled me into a rough embrace, pressing my head against his chest. I could feel his heart pounding, faster than usual.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry. Don't ever... don't ever do that again. You're my son. I need you here."
I closed my eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. It was hard to feel anything other than the guilt that weighed me down. Guilt for hurting him. Guilt for hurting my mother. Guilt for not being strong enough to face this life without wanting to run away from it all.
I wrapped my arms around him, returning the hug. "I won't," I whispered, though the words felt like a lie. I wouldn't try again—not because I didn't want to, but because I couldn't bear the thought of seeing this look on his face again.
Time passed, as it always does, and life in the village moved forward. After that night, things shifted between my parents and me. My father, once always around, took a job as a guard for the duke's household. He rarely visited home anymore, only coming back on weekends when he could. My mother and I continued on as usual, she was like a hawk around me always checking up on my condition.
I made sure she didn't need to. I became the perfect son—or at least, that's what I let her see.
Every morning, I plastered a smile on my face. I told jokes, played games with the other village kids, and ran around like everything was normal. I became the ringleader of the children, organizing games, races, and little adventures into the nearby forest. The kids adored me, looked up to me even. I was Damian—the funny, carefree boy who could make anyone laugh.
But it was all a lie.
Inside, nothing had changed. I was still broken. Still angry. But I couldn't let anyone see that. I had to keep it buried, deep where no one could reach it.
Four years passed, and I had become quite skilled at wearing my mask. By now, I was eight years old, and life had settled into a predictable routine. My mother's belly grew larger by the day, and she often stayed indoors, resting. She was pregnant now. The village was small, the people simple, but they were kind. I had two close friends, two boys: Eli and Corwin. They looked to me for guidance, though I wasn't sure why. I wasn't particularly strong or clever, but I had become adept at pretending I was.
Eli was the quieter one, always thinking before he spoke. He had dark hair and a sharp mind, often helping his father with work around the village. Corwin, on the other hand, was all energy—loud, brash, and constantly getting himself into trouble. His carefree attitude was infectious, and I often found myself laughing along with him, even when I didn't feel like it.
Together, we explored every corner of the village, from the muddy riverbanks to the dense forest that stretched beyond the fields. To them, I was a natural leader, always coming up with new games, new ideas, new ways to make the day interesting with my experience form Earth it was not really hard. But to me, it was just another way to distract myself.
In those moments, I forgot. I forgot about the gods who had sent me here, about the life I had lost. I forgot about the emptiness that threatened to consume me. I was just Damian, the boy everyone knew and liked.
But at night, when the house was quiet and my mother slept, the mask slipped. I would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how long I could keep this up. How long I could pretend that everything was fine.
One evening, as I sat outside, watching the sun set behind the hills, my mother waddled over to me, her swollen belly making her movements slow. She sat down beside me with a sigh, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"You've grown so much, Damian," she said softly, her brown eyes filled with warmth. "Sometimes, I look at you and wonder where my little boy went."
I smiled, the fake smile I had perfected over the years. "I'm still here, Mom."
She smiled back, though I could see the worry behind her eyes. "You've been so helpful these past few months, taking care of things while your father's away. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Her words cut deep. I didn't deserve her praise. Not when I was still struggling with the same feelings that had almost led me to end everything. But I couldn't let her see that.
"I'm just doing what I can," I said, shrugging.
She looked at me for a long moment, her gaze searching, as if trying to see past the smile I wore. For a brief, terrifying second, I thought she had seen through me, that she knew the truth.
But then she just sighed and leaned back, resting a hand on her belly. "Your brother or sister will be here soon," she said with a tired smile. "I hope they turn out as wonderful as you."
I looked away, unable to meet her eyes. "Yeah... me too."
As the days passed, I buried myself in knowledge. The village had little to offer in terms of education, but I scoured every book and scroll I could get my hands on. The small village library, run by an old man who barely remembered my name. History, magic, the world beyond our tiny village—I consumed it all. I needed something to focus on, something to distract me from the thoughts that crept in when I was alone the day that I learned that this world is not an ordinary one I was determined to know more.
I learned about the duke's household, the nobility that ruled over our land, and the complex system of power that governed this world. I learned about the magic that flowed through everything here, though I hadn't yet tapped into it myself. The old books spoke of grand wizards, ancient spells, and kingdoms that stretched beyond the horizon.
And I learned one crucial thing—this world was vast, and my place in it was small. I don't have any grand ambition I just want to take care of my family and let my life passed by. If that God wants to use me as an entertainment I would make him regret choosing me as I will lead the most boring life I can. I would be the character of any story a side character easily forgettable and disposable. "Hehehehhe" a chuckle exited my mouth.
'What a weird boy' the old man thought
Until then, I would wait.