I heard a sweet voice.
"JACE!!!"
The voice I heard gave me this nostalgic feeling. My hands lost their will to fight, and they felt as if they were fed away.
Side-glancing—slowly I glimpsed her riding—black boots. Her white veil looked very familiar. My brain went silent but spun in my head, leaving me in turmoil. Until...
I heard her voice—she was my mother!!!
Nuns are not allowed to have children—of course I know that much. I lived in a church, and even though I was raised in a repugnant way—there was this one sister who always took care of me.
I was six when we first encountered each other. A fragment of my painful, lowly memory flashed right before my eyes.
The church father Athos—the one trembling in fear behind me—as I got a grip on who she is, his old nagging voice echoed in my head.
"How many times do I need to tell you, how many times. Such a disgraceful, lowly, impudent child!!"
He was standing right before me, wigging about a case inanely pathetic.
"I didn't do anything... father please listen to me... I—I—I didn't, father."
Quivering like a pendulum, tears fell off as I saw his face rageous.
But he didn't. He grabbed a thin metal bar, throwing it out of the blue. It slammed my forehead, bounced back, and fell onto the ground.
Blood splashed onto the floor—as I screamed.
"Haa.... Haag.... Hg... Hguahaaa..."
Thrashing on the floor, my legs tossed themselves. Covering my ravaged forehead with my hands, I whined on my back hopelessly.
He laughed. Father Athos smiled and sat down on his chair as if he was some kind of supreme being. Not knowing that inflicting pain on others will turn its face on him—inflicting it on him one day. Maybe not by the same person, or might not even by a human.
Yet, there's one thing that's crystal clear.
'NO ONE WILL EVER STOP ME FROM TAKING MY REVENGE.'
As I was endlessly in pain on the ground—she came—the sister came. A well-defined waist with balanced shoulders. Slim and beautiful legs.
She came rushing to me. She didn't care about the blood, nor about why. She healed my face, covering my wound with her palm.
She set her prayer—my wound started to hurt less and less over time. The green light immersed in her hands from the surrounding thin air as she finished clothing my skin back to regenerate it.
Father Athos calmed down. "Take this piece of shit out of my face," he uttered.
We walked to the backyard to mow the lawn. She finger-clasped mine with her eyes. Her eyes were cold as an eagle's piercing gaze, locking onto its prey high above.
Even the one who felt like a mythical creature was shaken by it. She asked me why he was doing it.
We were walking on the underground corridor.
"It's because of a misunderstanding."
"Ohh... I see. And why is that?"
"There are boys in the church who stole fruits and objects from a store."
"So??"
"He blames me for it. No matter what I tell him, he doesn't listen. He always says it's me."
"Be careful kid—very careful, okay!"
"Okay sister, I will."
"May God bless you with all divine protection."
"Thank you, sister."
This was our very first chat. At age six, for almost two years from that day on, she had been taking care of me.
She gave me food secretly. Took me on walks. Helped raise people's assumptions about me.
Her name is Sister Eira.
She left the church on her volition. She didn't even say goodbye. Was it hard to say? Was it? Didn't she know how heartbreaking I felt?
Now that she is gazing at me—as if she is solving an enigmatic art—should I ask her... 'WHY?'
NO!! I shouldn't. I'm not Jace anymore, I'm Jane. She carelessly drifted like a bird twisting on me as a rope.
"Is that you, Jace? Jace, answer me Jace."
What a batshit day this is.
I held her hands off my shoulders.
"Who's that, sister? I don't recall seeing you before. Ohh... and by the way, I'm Jace, not Jane—if you actually meant it."
Her heavy smile faded away, as a masterpiece painting gets washed. She gazed down, slouching on the floor.
I rolled over to see the fight.
The first thing I noticed was Father Athos. As much as I wish to persecute him—I won't.
At least not as Jane.
He fell down on his knees. His legs trembled as a paper caught beneath the waving breeze of the ventilator. His eyes held tears as he whined on the floor.
This is the power of the first-born son of the Hazen family.
'VERNON HAZEN.'
On the other hand, Vernon and the principal were ready to fight. Vernon outstretched his arms, clapping them as they extended forward, hissing:
"What a pain."
Slowly, from his interconnected palms, a light shined. A more appealing light, with a blend full of blue-black.
He then finger-clasped all his fingers while holding the dazzling light in his palms, interconnecting.
Covering his palms, he extended his hands horizontally to both sides. The light shaped into a navy metal bar. He extended his hand as far as he could go and dropped it on the ground.
Just when it was about to fall, it began to roll, making a circle in front of him. He shoved his hand inside the rolling bar, straight in the middle.
Then rolling it on his hand, he turned it around. To be honest, I thought it was going to be a spear—but this was a mythic artefact.
It's named 'Silver Scythe.'
It makes sense—his curly-silver hair with his curly-navy beard. That white skin like snow and those cunningly sharp phoenix eyes. It fits his style.
The old man laughed at him, saying:
"Ostentatious as ever... but did you forget who taught you?"
Vernon expressionlessly claimed that he would prevail. Not even his former teacher could beat him.
The principal laughed again, and suddenly a twist happened. Unexpectedly, things unfolded on the left side, not on the right.
Sister Eira sprinted towards Vernon. As she reached him, she tripped herself and fell.
Thankfully Vernon held her.
Her eyes, crying, made me wonder—'AGAIN!!!'
She looked at him and said:
"VER... My adorable Prince...."
She kissed him right out of the bet.
"Be mine forever, darling."
HOW???