Xarath sat in the hollow of an ancient, gnarled tree, its roots wrapping around him like skeletal fingers trying to pull him into the earth. His body ached, exhaustion gnawed at his mind, and his heart—his heart felt like it had been torn apart and put back together too many times to count.
The forest around him whispered, the wind stirring the branches like ghostly murmurs from the past. He let out a long, shuddering breath and closed his eyes, allowing his mind to drift back—to a time before exile, before disgrace, before he was abandoned by everything he had once loved.
For the first time in a long time, he let himself remember.
The Ellucia Estate – A Childhood of Wonder
Xarath's earliest memories were bathed in warmth. He could still see the towering halls of the Ellucia estate, a fortress of stone and glass standing against the sky. Sunlight spilled through the grand stained-glass windows, painting the marble floors with brilliant hues of red, blue, and gold.
He remembered running through the halls as a child, laughter echoing as his sisters chased him in an endless game of tag. Xia, the eldest of his sisters, was always the fastest. She was strong, disciplined, and precise—traits that made her their father's favorite. But in those carefree days, she was also the sister who would ruffle his hair after tackling him to the ground, grinning triumphantly as she declared herself the champion.
Ella, the second eldest, had been quieter, but her presence had always felt like a steadying force in his life. While Xia excelled in combat, Ella found her passion in archery, her eyes sharp as a hawk's. He remembered watching her practice for hours in the courtyard, her face calm and focused as she loosed arrow after arrow into distant targets. She rarely spoke of her emotions, but when Xarath had stumbled into the training yard after scraping his knee, it had been Ella who wordlessly pulled him to sit beside her, handing him an apple while she continued her training.
And then there was Mai. The youngest of the four, she had been a whirlwind of energy and mischief, a prodigy in magic yet still the little sister who had clung to Xarath's arm whenever she was frightened. She had followed him everywhere, always asking questions about the world, always looking up to him. He could still hear her giggles, the way she would cheer when he lifted her onto his shoulders, the way she would tug at his sleeves and demand stories before bed.
Despite their differences, despite their family's rigid expectations, they had once been happy.
Hadn't they?
A Bond Fractured by Ideals
Xarath's fond memories came with an edge of pain. He had always been different. While his sisters had thrived under their father's iron-fisted rule, he had struggled against it.
He had never been strong like Xia, nor as disciplined as Ella. He lacked Mai's magical talent. Instead of perfecting his swordsmanship or honing his combat instincts, he had spent his days reading, exploring the gardens, and—most disgracefully—talking to the common folk beyond the estate walls.
He had wanted to understand them. To help them.
But that had been the first crack in his bond with his family. His kindness had been seen as weakness. His desire to rule through compassion rather than dominance had made him an outsider in his own home.
He could still remember his father's harsh voice:
"The world does not respect kindness, Xarath. It respects power. You will never be a leader if you cannot understand that."
His sisters had tried to help him in their own ways. Xia had pushed him harder, trying to make him stronger, trying to mold him into someone who could survive in their ruthless world. Ella had watched him with unreadable eyes, perhaps hoping he would change on his own. And Mai—sweet, innocent Mai—had clung to him, insisting he didn't need to change, that he was fine just as he was.
But in the end, none of them had stood beside him when he failed.
None of them had spoken against their father when he was disowned.
None of them had reached out to him when he was cast into the streets.
Had they ever truly loved him?
Or had they only tolerated him because he was family?
Memories of Betrayal
After his exile, he had still held onto hope. He had convinced himself that his sisters would come for him, that they would seek him out in secret, that they would offer him a place to stay or words of comfort.
But instead, he had been met with cruelty.
He recalled the moment he had seen them again, wandering through a nearby town, his stomach empty, his clothes tattered. When he had called out to them, their eyes had passed over him as if he were nothing. No recognition. No warmth.
Then, laughter. Not from them, but from the commoners they had paid to beat him in the streets.
His own sisters had watched as he was kicked and spat on, amusement glimmering in their eyes as they turned their backs on him.
That was the day something inside him had truly shattered.
The Struggle Between Love and Hatred
Xarath opened his eyes, staring at the canopy above him. The branches swayed, whispering secrets he could not decipher. His chest ached, a storm of emotions tearing through him.
He wanted to hate them. He should hate them.
But he didn't.
Instead, all he felt was a deep, consuming sorrow.
He still loved them.
Despite everything, despite their betrayal, despite their cruelty—he still missed them. He missed Xia's fierce determination. He missed Ella's quiet strength. He missed Mai's endless laughter. He missed belonging somewhere.
He pressed his palms against his face, his breath shaky.
"I don't know what to feel anymore," he admitted to the silence of the forest. "Should I curse them for abandoning me? Should I be angry? Or should I… should I be happy that they're safe? That they still have a home?"
A part of him wanted them to suffer, wanted them to feel the pain he had endured. But another part—perhaps the part that had made him weak in their eyes—wanted them to be happy.
Even if it meant he had to suffer alone.
Even if it meant they never thought of him again.
A bitter smile tugged at his lips.
"Maybe that's the difference between us," he murmured. "They left me behind without hesitation. But even now, I can't bring myself to do the same to them."
His hand clenched into a fist.
"But maybe… I don't need to."
The thought was small, fragile, but it took root. He had spent so long dwelling on his past, drowning in memories of what he had lost. But what if—just what if—his future didn't have to be defined by his family?
What if he could carve a new path, one that was his alone?
For the first time in a long time, he let himself consider the possibility.
The possibility that his fate was still his to decide.