Echoes Of Ossian
Was it wrong for me to think of him that way? As my little brother?
My heart was torn with the weight of that thought, but it felt natural, as if something deep inside was finally recognizing what I'd long buried. He was innocent, and in that moment, I couldn't bring myself to hate him. Not even when I knew the truth about who he was, the heir to the legacy that had caused so much suffering, the boy who, by birth, had brought more pain to my life than Icould ever escape. But none of that mattered in the end. I was destined to die for him, I had always known that. I had accepted it, or at least, I thought I had.
For a while, it didn't bother me anymore. My life—what was it worth? A life spent in shadows, in sacrifice, in service. I'd gladly give it for him. He was just a child—just like I was. He never asked for the burden of that name, the weight of that blood. He didn't ask to be born into the prison that was his family.
And then, after the incident, something shifted between us. He couldn't stop calling out for me. His voice, soft and pleading, reached me in the quietest of moments, echoing in the depths of my heart. He spoke endlessly—about his days spent alone in the forest, about the animals he'd befriended, about the dreams he nurtured, about the small pieces of freedom he'd found away from the suffocating walls of the mansion. It was his refuge, his escape. The simple, innocent pleasures that the rest of us took for granted.
And sometimes, late at night, when the sky turned dusky and the world seemed to hold its breath, he spoke of his father. Of how the man who should have been his protector, his guide, was instead a tyrant. I never understood it then, but now, listening to him, I began to piece it together. His father—his cold, unyielding father—only saw strength, intelligence, potential for greatness. Not love. Not care. Only a reflection of his own selfish ambition. And when the little heir faltered, when he made the inevitable mistakes of a child, his father's wrath was swift, harsh, unrelenting.
Those bruises, those scars that I once thought were just the result of his reckless adventures, were the product of a father's cruelty. My heart sank with the realization, and a fire of anger began to burn deep inside me. I should have seen it sooner. I should have known. All those years of watching them together, those moments when I felt a sharp sting of jealousy—jealousy that he had a family, that he was loved—now I understood. It wasn't love that he saw in his father's eyes. It was fear. His heart—his small, fragile heart—was weighed down by the same dread that I had lived with for so long.
He was just a child. A child who had been forced to grow up too soon. He should never have had to live like this, trapped in the same prison I was. The thought of him enduring the same suffering that I had made my blood boil. He knew what had happened to my mother. He knew what I had endured. And now, it seemed he was bound to the same fate.
But the worst of it came when he learned the truth. He found the whispers, the dark secrets of the family, the ones I had long since resigned myself to. The servants, the maids, their hushed voices told stories in the shadows, and slowly, like an inevitable storm, the little heir pieced them together. He understood more than I had ever realized. He came to know the full weight of what his birth meant—what it meant for him, and what it meant for me.
It wasn't until one fateful evening, when his father's cruel words flowed from his lips, that the truth truly came to light. His father—drunk on his own power, confessed everything to his son. He told him that he held the power to shape his future, that his life was in his hands, just as mine had been. He placed the weight of that responsibility on the little heir's shoulders, telling him that, like me, he could break him. He had the power to destroy him, just as he had destroyed my life.
He could ruin him. Just like he ruined me.
And that realization—that he had the power to shatter the very life I'd tried to protect—was a knife to my chest. What could I do? How could I stand by and watch him suffer the same fate as me?
I stand frozen, unable to shake off the weight of his father words. They echo in my mind, replaying over and over again, each repetition a cruel reminder of the twisted fate that has bound me and the little heir. The burden his father has placed on him—it's suffocating. I can't help but think of my own past, how his father's words are the same as the ones I heard all those years ago. Only difference now is, it's not just me anymore.
It's him too.
"Ainar..." I whispered softly, my voice barely carrying through the still air. My eyes, unable to look away, found their way to his—those eyes that seemed to hold an entire universe within them, a vast expanse that was both terrifying and beautiful at the same time.
He looked at me then, his gaze meeting mine, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The world, the weight of the burdens, the guards, the expectations—they all disappeared, leaving only us. In that moment, I realized something that had eluded me for so long: he wasn't just the heir, the prince, or even the child of a cruel king. He was Ainar. A soul, fragile yet full of life, carrying a light that I could almost touch if I dared to reach for it.
And then, without a word, he smiled.
It was a small, quiet thing—his lips curving upwards just slightly—but in that smile, I saw everything I had longed for, everything I thought I could never have. It was a smile of hope, of understanding, and perhaps most of all, of connection. His eyes still held that vastness, that depth, but now there was something more—something that said he saw me too, that in some strange way, we were both standing in this world together, bound by the same invisible threads.
I felt my heart tremble in my chest, caught between the fierce desire to reach out and protect him, and the painful knowledge that I might not be enough to shield him from the harsh reality he would soon face.
But he smiled again, and for that moment, it felt like the entire universe aligned in that simple, unspoken understanding.
With his gentle smile and innocent heart, he was not the same child he was before. I see it in the way he carries himself now, the slight tremble in his hands when he speaks of his father, the quiet sadness in his eyes when he talks about his loneliness. He's starting to understand, starting to feel the weight of the world on his small shoulders. It's too much for anyone, especially for a child like him. I can see it now, how every time he smiles, it's forced, how his laughter no longer carries the same lightness.
I want to protect him. I want to keep him safe from the same fate I suffered. I can't let him fall into the same dark hole that swallowed me. But how? I'm just one person. One guard who has been trained to obey, to follow orders, to protect him from anything that comes his way. But I'm beginning to realize it's not enough. Not anymore.
I remember the times I've seen him in the garden, standing at the edge, his gaze far off in the distance as if searching for something, someone. I've watched him, kept my distance, not because I don't care, but because I've been so afraid. Afraid that he would see me for what I truly am—a mere shadow in his life. And yet, in moments like this, when I see the pain in his eyes, I want to close the distance. I want to tell him everything, to let him know he's not alone, that I understand what he's going through, but I can't. He has enough burdens to carry. He doesn't need mine too.
But I can't shake the feeling that he knows. That somehow, through all the silence and the distance, he sees through me. That perhaps, in the deepest corners of his heart, he understands what we both share—the darkness of being born into a family that never wanted us, the struggle to survive, the fear that we might never be good enough.
I look out at the horizon, the same horizon he stares at with such longing, and I wonder if he's searching for a way out. If he's hoping for a life that's different from the one his father has planned for him. And in that moment, I realize something. Maybe, just maybe, we're not as different as I thought.
He's just a child, like me, forced to carry a weight no one his age should bear. And yet, he keeps moving forward, despite it all. Maybe that's what I need to do too. Maybe it's time I stop being just a shadow in his life and start being something more. I don't know what that means yet, but I won't let him carry this alone.
I take a deep breath, my resolve hardening. I'll protect him. Not just because it's my duty, but because it's the only thing that matters anymore.
His heart longed to explore the world, to taste freedom. After each of his passionate monologues, he would patiently await my response, and in return, I would simply affectionately pat his head before vanishing from his sight.
He'd leave for his home with a contented smile, his rosy cheeks flush with delight.
Those times marked the happiest moments I had ever witnessed in him and experienced within myself. I had someone to nurture, someone to shield. In this newfound connection, I discovered a purpose for my otherwise meaningless existence.
Frequently, he would slumber against my shoulder, as if it were the sole sanctuary for his troubled soul. We shared calm, solitary moments, yet were profoundly present for one another.
Amid our leisurely stroll through the near forest behind the domain, I assumed the role of a brother the best way I could for him, discovering the world with him. I was as eager as him to learn about the world. A world that I never saw on my own either, I experienced life for the first time alongside him.
To me, he shone as a solitary star in the dark expanse of my life. He rekindled the warmth within the depths of my heart, a warmth I believed had long been extinguished. By his side, I rediscovered the freedom to embrace the innocence of my childhood.
I found myself yearning for those days to stretch into eternity.
I couldn't fathom a better way to live alongside him.
Until that fateful day.