About eight years since that day when his world first shattered.
"Mom! I know my dream now!" The memory still burned as vividly as ever.
The boy's voice had rung out across their small kitchen, bubbling with the kind of innocent excitement that only children possessed. His small hands had been sticky with jam from breakfast, his hair sticking up in all directions.
"What is it sweetie?"
His mother had turned from the stove, that gentle smile he'd thought was real spreading across her face. Steam rose from whatever she'd been cooking, filling the room with warmth.
"I... want to become a mage! The strongest one!"
He'd thrown his arms wide when he said it, as if he could already feel magic coursing through his tiny body. His eyes had sparkled with dreams too big for his small frame.
"Oh..."
Something in her expression had shifted then. Just for a moment, like a crack appearing in glass.
"Do you think I can do it, Mom?"
The question that had sealed his fate. The innocent trust of a child asking the person he loved most in the world to believe in him.
"Y-yes! Of course, you will become the strongest!"
Her response had come too quickly. Too forced. But he'd been too young, too trusting to notice the hesitation.
―Mother. You fucking liar.
The bitter truth he'd only understood years later.
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"M-Mom! D-don't leave me... don't! I-I will be a good boy, I-I'll do the laundry, sweep the floor, a-and..."
His desperate promises had echoed through the dusty street as he crawled after her on his hands and knees. Each word had torn from his throat like pieces of his soul.
The woman who'd once called him sweetie didn't even slow her pace.
She just continued walking toward the wagon, her back straight and unforgiving. Her face had been wiped clean of any emotion, as if she were disposing of garbage rather than abandoning her own child. Meanwhile, the boy had been bawling his eyes out behind her, his small voice breaking as he begged the only person he'd ever trusted not to leave him behind.
When she'd stopped in her tracks, hope had bloomed in his chest.
The boy had grabbed onto her ankle with both hands, his desperate fingers clutching at the fabric of her dress. She'd turned to look down at him then, and he'd looked up at her with eyes full of tears and desperate love.
But the face that met his gaze had been twisted with disgust.
"Mom..."
"DON'T YOU DARE CALL ME THAT, YOU PIG!"
The words had hit him harder than the stomp that followed. Her foot had come down on his small hand with a wet crack that echoed through the empty street. But he hadn't cried out from the physical pain.
The agony in his chest had been far worse than any broken bone.
What had filled his mind that day, burning bright and terrible, was a single thought:
―I... HATE YOU..!
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About eight years after that day when his childhood ended, "What a horrible nightmare..." The same words he spoke every morning.
Rynan's eyes had opened to the familiar sight of wooden planks above his head. A ceiling he'd memorized down to every knot and crack over the years. The room around him was simple—dark wood walls, a single window to his right letting in the morning light, and not much else.
He'd sat up slowly, pressing his right hand against his forehead as if he could push away the memories that haunted his sleep.
―Haah... If only... I was able to use magic...
The same bitter wish that followed him every day. If he'd just had power, maybe things would have been different. Maybe she wouldn't have—
"RYNAN!!! GET UP, IT'S TIME FOR BREAKFAST!"
The shout from downstairs had made him jump straight up, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"DON'T SHOUT SO EARLY IN THE MORNING, EMI!"
He'd shouted back without thinking, his voice still rough from sleep.
"YOU'RE DOING THE SAME!"
Her response had come immediately, and he could practically hear her rolling her eyes through the walls.
"Aghh... This is stupid, I should just go."
He'd swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed clean clothes from the chest nearby. His reflection in the window had shown him the same face as always—black hair falling in a Curtain Mullet style he never bothered to fix, sharp features that made him look older than his thirteen years, and those blue eyes that people said reminded them of clear morning skies.
His body had filled out over the years too, all the work around the house building muscle that seemed almost unnatural for someone his age.
He'd walked down the creaky stairs and turned right at the bottom, following the familiar path to the kitchen. There, at the rectangular wooden table that dominated the room, sat Emi with her arms crossed and her bottom lip stuck out in an exaggerated pout.
Her blue hair fell to her shoulders in that messy wolf-cut that somehow always looked perfect, and her purple eyes were giving him that look that clearly said "I would never do such idiotic stupidity." She was small and slender, with the kind of cute figure that she maintained through—
Wait.
Actually, now that he was looking at her properly...
"E... cup..?"
The observation had slipped out before he could stop it.
About ten seconds after his incredibly stupid observation, "..." Emi's silence stretched like a taut bowstring.
Her purple eyes had gone completely blank, staring at him with the kind of emptiness that usually preceded natural disasters. The kitchen had fallen so quiet he could hear his own heartbeat hammering against his ribs.
"PERVERT!"
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"
The scream that followed had probably woken half the neighborhood.
About thirty minutes after Emi had nearly knocked him unconscious, "This soup is really good..." Rynan had finally worked up the courage to break the silence.
They'd both settled at the rectangular wooden table, eating the vegetable soup Emi had prepared. She was completely absorbed in her meal, her face still flushed red from their earlier... misunderstanding. Meanwhile, Rynan sat across from her with a bump on his head the size of a small egg, courtesy of her perfectly aimed punch.
The house around them was spotless as always—Emi maintained it with the kind of obsessive care that left no dust particle unaccounted for. Every surface gleamed, every corner swept clean. It was the kind of home that felt too perfect, like it was trying to make up for something missing.
She'd taken him in out of pity after the incident with his mother, though the whole trust situation between them was still... complicated.
"Ry..."
Her voice cut through his thoughts. She'd started using that nickname a few years back, and hearing it always made something twist in his chest.
"Yeah?"
He kept wiping the table, not looking up. Safer that way.
"Have you ever thought of entering the Academy in Ylza..?"
His hand stopped mid-wipe.
The question hit him like ice water to the face. His thoughts went spiraling immediately, memories of dreams and broken promises flooding back. He'd made this mistake before. He'd trusted before.
"No. I'd rather stay here and do chores."
The words came out flat and final.
―Wait. Is Emi crying?
Even with her back turned to him, he could tell. The slight shake of her shoulders, the way she was trying to muffle her sniffles. The careful way she was wiping at her eyes when she thought he wasn't looking.
But why..?
"Emi..?"
He approached her slowly, like she was a wounded animal that might bolt at any moment.
"T-that's n-not what you're supposed to say..."
Her voice cracked on every word, confirming what he'd already suspected. The bossy, short-tempered Emi who never showed weakness was crying because of him.
"Emi... Wha-"
"Y-you're supposed to say 'Of course I'm going, I hate it here!'!"
"No, I-"
"You're just holding your dreams back because of me, am I... right..?"
When she finally turned to face him, the sight nearly broke his heart. Tears were streaming down her face, her purple eyes red and puffy. This was the girl who'd punched him senseless just thirty minutes ago, now falling apart because she thought she was holding him back.
"Emi, you're wrong! I want to stay here!"
"I-It may be expensive, b-but I can gather money just for you to accomplish your dreams!"
"Emi... even if I go... I-I can't use magic..!"
The confession tore from his throat before he could stop it. The bitter truth he'd been hiding for years.
She closed the distance between them then, wrapping her arms around him and holding on like he might disappear. Her whole body was shaking against his, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
"I-I'm not like your mother... I'm here for you... please. Believe me..."
"..."
He couldn't find words. What could he possibly say to that?
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About three hours after Emi had cried herself to exhaustion, "I feel so guilty..." The words echoed in his empty room.
Emi had gone to bed hours ago, completely drained from their conversation. Meanwhile, Rynan lay staring at the dark wooden wall beside his bed, guilt eating away at his insides like acid. The pale moonlight streaming through his window cast everything in silver shadows.
―That was... the first time I've seen her cry. I... didn't know she cared for me that much.
"She kept that act up for seven years just for me to feel comfortable in this house?"
The realization hit him like a physical blow. All those times she'd been bossy and demanding, all those morning arguments and petty fights—had she been putting on a show just to make him feel like he belonged somewhere?
―I should go check on her. To see if she's okay.
He stood up slowly, adjusting his plain white shirt. The floorboards creaked under his feet as he walked to his door, then turned right toward Emi's room. He hesitated for just a moment before turning the handle.
The door opened with a slight creak.
The room was empty.
Her bed was still made, the covers undisturbed. The window stood wide open, letting in the cold night air that made the curtains dance like ghosts.
"EMI!?"
His voice cracked as panic flooded his system.
"EMI!"