The swirling storm of Berethia's mind began to shift, the chaotic whispers fading into an eerie silence. Changra found himself standing on the outskirts of a familiar scene—Berethia's village. Yet, it wasn't the quiet, struggling settlement he had glimpsed before. The once-thriving village now lay in shambles, its buildings charred and crumbling, as though time and tragedy had conspired to erase its existence.
The air was heavy with tension as the scene unfolded. Berethia appeared in the distance, her figure smaller, younger, cloaked in a ragged green robe that billowed in the wind. She approached the village slowly, hesitantly, as if each step was a battle against the weight of her memories. Her staff, now little more than a twisted branch, tapped against the ground with each step.
Her voice was quiet, almost pleading. "Please… I just want to talk. I want to make things right."
Changra watched as her younger self entered the village square. The few villagers who were present froze at the sight of her, their faces contorting into expressions of fear and disdain. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, low and venomous.
"It's her…"
"The cursed one…"
"She came back?"
Berethia's shoulders hunched under their stares, her steps faltering as the weight of their hostility pressed down on her. Still, she pressed on, her voice trembling as she addressed the gathered crowd.
"I'm sorry," she said, her tone raw with desperation. "I didn't mean for any of it to happen. I've changed. I—" Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard, trying again. "I just want to come home."
A man stepped forward, his face twisted with anger. "You think you can just walk back in here after what you did?" he spat, pointing an accusing finger at her. "You killed them. Your own family. You brought ruin to this place."
Berethia flinched as though struck, her hand tightening around her staff. "I didn't mean to," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I just… I couldn't—"
"Get out!" a woman's voice rang out, sharp and unforgiving. "You don't belong here. You're nothing but a monster."
The crowd's murmurs grew louder, their hatred palpable. Berethia's breathing quickened, her eyes darting from face to face, searching for even a glimmer of understanding or compassion. But there was none.
"No," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm not a monster. I'm not."
The whispers around her grew louder, overlapping and echoing in her mind. Changra felt the weight of her growing despair and fury pressing against his chest, a storm building just beneath the surface.
And then, her voice shifted. It was no longer pleading but low, dangerous, laced with something dark and venomous.
"If I'm a monster…" she murmured, her grip on her staff tightening, the green light at its tip beginning to glow faintly. "Then maybe I should show you what a monster really looks like."
The memory shifted again, the edges of the scene blurring and reforming as the whispers of the villagers faded into the background. Changra now found himself following Berethia as she moved through the ruins of her childhood home. The walls were cracked and crumbling, the roof sagging under the weight of neglect. Dust coated every surface, and the air smelled faintly of mildew and ash.
Berethia hesitated at the threshold, her hand hovering over the doorframe. Her breath hitched as if the act of stepping inside was a battle in itself. Then, steeling herself, she pushed the door open.
Inside, the dim light revealed her parents and her sister seated at a rickety wooden table. Her mother looked older, her once-vibrant hair streaked with gray, her face lined with worry. Her father's shoulders were hunched, his hands gripping a cup tightly as if it were the only thing holding him together. Her sister, now a young woman, sat silently, her gaze fixed on the table, her expression blank.
The room fell silent as they noticed her. Her mother's eyes widened in shock, her father's mouth tightened into a grim line, and her sister's hands clenched into fists.
"Berethia," her mother said, her voice a mixture of disbelief and unease. "You shouldn't be here."
Berethia took a cautious step forward, her voice trembling. "I—I came back to make things right. I know what I did. I know I hurt you, all of you, but… I've changed."
Her father slammed his cup down, the sharp sound echoing through the small room. "Changed?" he growled, his voice low and simmering with anger. "You think you can just waltz back in here and pretend everything's fine?"
Berethia flinched but held her ground. "I didn't mean for any of it to happen," she said softly. "I didn't want to hurt anyone. I was angry… confused… but I've learned. I've grown."
Her sister stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "You killed them," she hissed, her voice trembling with emotion. "You killed our brothers, our friends, half the village! And now you expect us to forgive you?"
Tears welled in Berethia's eyes, her hands trembling as she gripped her staff. "I didn't want to," she said, her voice cracking. "I was just so tired of being ignored, of being nothing. I thought if I made them listen—if I made you listen—"
"We listened," her father spat, rising from his chair. His eyes burned with fury, his fists clenched at his sides. "And you destroyed us. You destroyed everything."
Her mother's voice wavered, her hands trembling as she reached out. "Berethia, please… leave. We can't… we can't do this."
Berethia's heart shattered at those words, her mother's plea cutting deeper than any blade. Her tears spilled over as she looked at each of them, searching desperately for even the smallest glimmer of forgiveness. But there was nothing.
"I came back for you," she whispered, her voice hollow. "I came back because I thought... I thought you might still love me."
Her sister let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and cold. "Love you? After everything you've done? You're dead to us, Berethia. You were dead the moment you killed them."
Berethia staggered back as though struck, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. The green glow of her staff pulsed faintly, the light growing erratic as her emotions spiraled out of control.
"No," she murmured, shaking her head. "No, I came back to make it right. I came back to fix it."
"You can't fix this," her father said, his voice cold and final. "Leave. And don't ever come back."
The room seemed to tilt, the weight of their rejection crashing down on her like a tidal wave. The green light of her staff flared brighter, her tears evaporating into the air as her grief twisted into something darker.
"Fine," she said softly, her voice trembling. "If that's how you feel."
The light from her staff grew blinding, and Changra could feel the heat of her power even from within the memory. The room began to ripple, the edges of the scene fraying as Berethia's madness began to take hold.
When the light faded, the room was no longer the same. The air was thick with an oppressive heat, the shadows dancing wildly as the green glow of Berethia's staff pulsed like a heartbeat. Her family stood frozen, their faces twisted in shock and fear.
Her father was the first to react. He took a step forward, his jaw set in anger, his voice a low growl. "Enough of this nonsense! Put that damn thing down, Berethia!"
But Berethia didn't move. Her eyes were wide, glowing faintly, tears still streaking her cheeks as her grip on the staff tightened. "You never listened," she said, her voice eerily calm, yet trembling with an undercurrent of fury. "You never heard me. It was always about her."
Her father's brows furrowed, his anger faltering into confusion. "What are you talking about?"
Berethia's gaze snapped to him, her expression twisting into something dark and manic. "You know exactly what I'm talking about!" she screamed, the green light flaring brighter. "It was always her! Lilian, the prodigy! Lilian, the beauty! Lilian, the one who mattered!"
Her sister, Lilian, took a cautious step back, her hands raised in a mix of defense and disbelief. "Berethia, stop—"
"Don't you dare!" Berethia cut her off, her voice sharp as a blade. She turned back to her father, her eyes blazing. "And you. You never looked at me the way you looked at her. I could've moved mountains, and you wouldn't have cared. I could've burned the world for you, and you wouldn't have noticed."
Her father shook his head, his anger returning. "That's not true, and you know it! You're my daughter—"
"Am I?" Berethia's laughter was bitter and hollow. "Because all I ever felt like was a burden. A mistake. A failure."
The green glow intensified, swirling around her like a storm. Her father took another step forward, his hand outstretched as if to calm her. "Berethia, listen—"
"No!" she screamed, slamming the butt of her staff into the ground. A wave of green energy erupted, throwing him back against the wall with a sickening crack. His body crumpled to the floor, lifeless.
The room went silent, save for the ragged sound of Berethia's breathing. Her mother screamed, rushing to her husband's side, but it was already too late. Lilian stood frozen, her face pale with shock.
Berethia's chest heaved as she stared at her father's lifeless form, her emotions swirling in a chaotic storm within her. For a moment, something like regret flickered in her glowing eyes, but it was quickly swallowed by her rising rage.
"He never listened," she said, her voice soft and trembling. "He never cared."
Her mother looked up at her, her eyes filled with horror and heartbreak. "Berethia… what have you done?"
Berethia's gaze snapped to her mother, her expression hardening. "What I had to," she said coldly. "For once in my life, I wasn't ignored."
Berethia's chest heaved, her grip tightening on the staff as green energy crackled around her like a storm barely contained. Her gaze, once filled with a glimmer of hesitation, hardened as her mother's sobs filled the room.
"Berethia, please," her mother whispered, her voice trembling as she clutched her husband's lifeless body. Tears streamed down her face, her hands shaking as she reached toward Berethia. "This isn't you. You're my daughter. I know you're hurting, but this—this isn't the answer."
"Your daughter?" Berethia echoed, her voice low and mocking, yet trembling with raw emotion. "Am I really? Or was I just the other one? The one who wasn't perfect, who wasn't enough?"
Her mother's expression faltered, confusion and grief mingling in her tear-streaked face. "You've always been enough, Berethia. You've always been my—"
"Stop lying!" Berethia's scream cut through the air, the green energy around her exploding outward in a violent burst. The walls of the small home shook, cracks spidering across the wooden beams. "You never saw me. You never heard me. All you cared about was him—" she jabbed her staff toward her father's lifeless body "—and her!"
Lilian flinched as Berethia's eyes locked onto her briefly, but Berethia turned back to her mother, stepping closer, her movements slow and deliberate. The air grew heavier with every step, the crackling of her magic a harbinger of the storm within her.
Her mother shook her head, her voice cracking as she pleaded. "We loved you. We—"
"No, you didn't!" Berethia's voice broke, her eyes glinting with tears that refused to fall. "You loved an idea of me, the one you wanted me to be. But the real me? The one who cried herself to sleep every night? The one who begged for your attention, for your approval?" She shook her head, her laughter bitter and hollow. "That girl never existed to you."
"Berethia, please, don't do this," her mother begged, her hands clasped as if in prayer. "You can still stop this. We can fix this. I—"
"No," Berethia interrupted, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "You can't fix this. You never could."
Her mother's tears flowed freely now, her face a mask of heartbreak as she looked at her daughter. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."
For a moment, the green glow of Berethia's staff flickered, the chaotic energy around her dimming as her mother's words hung in the air. But the silence was shattered as the storm within her surged forward, consuming the flicker of doubt.
"Sorry doesn't fix it," Berethia said, her voice cold and final. The light of her staff intensified, blinding and all-consuming as she raised it above her head. "Sorry doesn't bring back the years I lost. Sorry doesn't make you love me."
Her mother's lips parted, a final plea dying in her throat as the green light descended.
The room filled with a deafening roar as the magic struck, engulfing her mother in its wrath. When the light faded, all that remained was silence—and the faint, acrid smell of burnt wood.
Berethia stood frozen, her chest heaving, the glow of her staff pulsating erratically. Her gaze lingered on the empty space where her mother had been, her expression a tumultuous mix of triumph and sorrow.
"You'll love me now," she whispered, her voice breaking as the storm within her mind raged on. "You have to."
Behind her, Lilian let out a choked sob, and Berethia turned, her glowing eyes locking onto her sister as the memory continued to spiral deeper into darkness.