The forest stretched endlessly before us, its canopy of intertwining branches casting shadows that danced in the soft glow of the setting sun. I felt the weight of Mia's small hand in mine, her touch gentle, trusting. Too trusting. Each step we took away from the palace felt like another brick crumbling from the fortress I'd spent years trying to build around myself.
Mia's voice broke the silence, soft as the wind.
"Kaizen, do you think... do you think we'll be okay?"
I didn't answer immediately. How could I? The truth would shatter her. And I... I didn't have the strength to piece her back together. Not anymore. Its been three days since that fateful day, and truth is, it is only getting worse. The pain, that I can't even feel is tearing me away. But, I cant let her know that.
"We'll be fine," I said, forcing the words past the hollow ache in my chest.
"I'll make sure of it."
We reached a small clearing, the air cool and crisp. Perfect for the night, I told myself, though deep down, I knew no place could ever feel like home again. Not after everything.
"Stay here, Mia," I said as I let go of her hand and set my bag down.
"I'll get the camp ready."
She nodded, her large eyes watching me carefully, as if she could see through the cracks I fought so hard to hide.
I worked in silence, gathering wood for the fire and clearing the ground for our tent. The motions were mechanical—familiar, but empty. My hands moved on their own, tying knots, staking corners, building what was supposed to be safety. But inside, I felt nothing. Not pride. Not fear. Not hope.
Nothing.
I glanced at Mia, sitting on a nearby rock, her small frame dwarfed by the forest around us. She was tracing patterns in the dirt with a stick, her lips pressed into a sad, determined line. She'd been so quiet these past few days, quieter than usual. I hated it. Hated that her silence felt like a mirror, reflecting everything I was trying so desperately to suppress.
But I couldn't let her see. Not this.
"Hey, Mia," I called, trying to inject some life into my voice. "Wanna help me with the fire?"
She looked up, her expression brightening for a moment before dimming again. She nodded and came over, her small hands awkwardly arranging the sticks I handed her.
"You're doing great," I said, even though her arrangement was far from perfect.
She paused, her gaze flicking to me. "Kaizen... do you think Mama and Papa are going to come back?"
The question hit me harder than it should have.
"They... they might," I lied, my voice steady.
She stared at the firewood, her fingers tightening around a twig. "I miss them," she whispered.
My throat tightened. I wanted to tell her I missed them too. That I missed how things used to be, back when the world wasn't so heavy. But I couldn't.
"You're strong, Mia," I said instead, placing a hand on her head. "Stronger than you know."
When the fire finally crackled to life, I sat down across from Mia, staring into the flames. The warmth licked at my skin, but inside, I felt frozen. Every spark reminded me of the dream—the same one that haunted me every night. The one where everything I loved burned, and I stood there, powerless.
I closed my eyes, letting the flames blur into a haze of orange and red.
Why can't I feel anything?
The question gnawed at me, a constant whisper in the back of my mind. Every step, every breath felt like dragging a corpse. And yet, every time I looked at Mia, I knew I couldn't stop.
She needed me to be strong.
So I pretended.
"Kaizen?" Mia's voice was soft, hesitant.
"Yeah?" I opened my eyes, meeting her gaze.
"Do you think we'll ever go back?"
Her question hung in the air, heavy and unanswerable.
"We'll see," I said finally.
She nodded, but the sadness in her eyes was unmistakable.
"You're not going to leave too, are you?" she asked, her voice trembling.
My heart clenched, the words cutting deeper than they should have. I forced a smile, hoping it looked real.
"Of course not" I said, my voice light.
"We'll always be together"
Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she didn't press further. She just leaned against me, her small body warm against my side.
And as I wrapped an arm around her, I felt the weight of her trust pressing down on me, suffocating in its innocence.
I was broken. Empty. But for her... for Mia, I had to keep pretending.
The night crept in slowly, the shadows growing longer as the sun moon was clear over the horizon. The forest seemed to come alive with every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig. It was a different kind of silence here, the kind that felt heavier than any noise. The kind that pressed on your chest and made it harder to breathe.
Once the fire had settled into a steady flame, I moved around the campsite, setting up the shelter. I worked mechanically, my hands moving without thought, as if they had memorized the motions from years of practice. I arranged the tarp and secured the corners, making sure it was tight, that it would hold.
Mia was sitting on the rock again, staring at the fire, her small fingers wrapped around a piece of wood she had been fiddling with. Her gaze was distant, her expression older than her years. I hated it. I hated that she had to grow up so fast, that I couldn't protect her from the world that had shattered around us.
Once the shelter was set up, I went to gather food. There were no words between us, just the occasional glance as I went off into the woods. The forest felt both suffocating and liberating, the canopy above me a maze of tangled branches. My footsteps were quiet, too quiet. My breath, even quieter.
I hunted with the same detachment that had become my norm. Each movement felt like I was going through the motions, like a machine—cold, efficient. I had to keep going. For Mia.
When I returned, Mia was still at the fire, her face illuminated by its warm glow. I didn't say much, just handed her a small portion of what I had managed to catch. She accepted it without a word, eating slowly, carefully. She looked up at me then, her eyes softer than before, but I could see the questions swirling in them—questions I wasn't ready to answer.
After we ate, I set the rest of the food aside and sat next to her, pulling my knees up to my chest. I looked at her, trying to keep my face neutral.
"You should rest, Mia," I said, my voice hoarse. "We'll need energy for tomorrow."
She nodded, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. "Okay."
I watched her crawl into the shelter, curling up under the blanket I had made. I could hear her breathing slow as she drifted off to sleep. I stayed outside, my mind restless. The fire flickered, casting dancing shadows on the ground, and for a moment, it felt like the world was still.
But it wasn't.
My hands tightened into fists, and the weight in my chest grew heavier. The pain I couldn't even feel gnawed at me. I couldn't escape it. The emptiness was suffocating. I should've been better. I should've protected them. I should've done more.
But I hadn't.
I stood up slowly, moving toward the edge of the clearing. The stars above were bright, too bright. They seemed to mock me, twinkling down at me from a distance, as if to remind me of everything I had lost.
I ran a hand through my disheveled hair, my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was failing her, that the facade I was so desperately holding up would crumble. That I would crumble.
But not yet.
I could still hear Mia's soft breathing behind me, and that was enough to keep me moving forward. I had to be strong. For her.
I sat down on a rock, my eyes trained on the sky, searching for any sign of something, anything that could give me hope. But there was nothing. Just the vast emptiness of the night.
I clenched my jaw, biting back the pain that surged through me. It hurt more than I could put into words. I hurt in ways that no one would ever understand.
I stared at the stars for a long time, the cold air biting at my skin. And as the night stretched on, I finally whispered, though I wasn't sure if I was speaking to myself or to the universe.
"Happy Birthday to me.. right..? mom..."
I could see her face, clear as day, even with my eyes closed. Her soft smile, the warmth in her eyes when she would bend down to hug me tight. The way her hair would fall over her shoulder, the scent of lavender that always surrounded her, like a comforting presence I had always taken for granted.
I could almost hear her voice in my ear, whispering, "Happy Birthday, Kaizen... my boy." I could feel her hands on my face, cupping my cheeks gently as she whispered those words, like she was holding me close, even when she wasn't.
I closed my eyes, trying to shut the images away, but they wouldn't leave. Her soft laugh. Her words of encouragement. Her unwavering belief in me, even when I didn't believe in myself.
I let the silence consume me. I couldn't let her go. Not yet. Not when everything around me was falling apart.
I knew that the only way forward was through the pain. There was no way around it, no easy path to take.
I let out a shaky breath, my chest tightening with the weight of it all. And then, without warning, the tears came.
I didn't want to cry. I never had. Crying felt like a weakness I couldn't afford. Not for Mia. Not for anyone. But the dam inside me cracked, and I couldn't stop it.
The tears fell freely, the silent sobs wracking my body, shaking the very core of me. I let them come. Let them wash over me, even though I hated every second of it.
It hurt. Everything hurt.
But as the last tear fell, I whispered through the pain, my voice rough and hoarse.
"This will be the last time," I said, the words barely audible.
"The last time I'll cry. I won't let myself fall apart anymore.."
And in the stillness of the night, with only the soft rustling of leaves around me, I wiped my face and steeled myself. The pain was still there, buried deep inside, but I would carry it. I would carry it until it crushed me, if it had to. But I wouldn't show it. Not again.
For Mia. For Valor.
I would keep going. No matter the cost.