[Seven Years Ago]
Three old men sat upon the deciding throne of the council.
Their seats were carved from dark stone, elevated just enough to remind everyone below that judgment flowed only one way.
A boy stood before them.
Seven years old.
Small.
Silent.
That boy was Garrick.
"Garrick," said the head of the council, his voice cold and final, "the decision has been made. You possess an evil power. Therefore, you are to be executed."
Garrick did not cry.
He did not beg.
His eyes remained empty, as if death was only another thing he had already learned to accept.
Guards stepped forward and seized him.
They dragged him from the chamber, iron boots echoing against the stone floor.
The doors closed.
Silence lingered for only a moment.
Then the man seated to the right of the head leaned forward.
"We could exploit his power," he said. "Could we not?"
The head of the council folded his hands.
"It is too dangerous to keep him alive," he replied calmly. "But we can use him. The same way we used his father."
The man on the left scoffed.
"We already extracted the father's power," he said. "Why stop there? We can continue the cycle. Use the child, extract what he produces, and then end him."
The head nodded slowly.
"And the boy himself," the left man continued, voice sharp with disgust, "he is already a monster. He despises his own mother for abandoning him. His hatred toward girls is absolute. He refuses to let any near him. As for boys… yesterday he killed a fellow trainee simply for mocking him about not having a mother."
The right man hesitated.
"He is dangerous," the left said firmly. "Get rid of him."
The vote was taken.
Two to one.
The decision was sealed.
[Prison]
The guards brought Garrick to the deepest section of the prison.
It was a place built not to hold criminals, but to contain things people feared.
The corridors grew narrower the deeper they went. Torches burned dimly, their flames weak and trembling.
No one spoke to Garrick.
No one met his eyes.
They locked him inside a small stone cell, barely large enough to lie down in.
The door slammed shut.
Chains rattled.
The guards left.
Silence returned.
"So," a voice said softly, "you're the boy who killed his own comrade."
Garrick's eyes snapped to the side.
Across from him, in the opposite cell, stood a girl about his age. Her expression was calm. Curious.
Garrick clenched his fists but said nothing.
"What a child," she continued. "Hating your own mother without knowing the truth."
Garrick's breath hitched.
He slammed his fist into the bars.
"What do you know about me?" he shouted. "You fool."
The girl tilted her head.
"You are the real fool," she said quietly. "You believe your mother betrayed you. But that lie was given to you."
Her eyes narrowed.
"I know everything."
Garrick shook his head violently.
"I don't believe you."
"Oh?" she said. "Then let me show you."
Her eyes began to glow blue.
A deep, unnatural blue.
"I have the ability to enter memories," she said. "Not only yours. But the memories of those connected to them. And I can show them to you."
Garrick hesitated.
"Is that even possible?" he whispered.
The girl raised her hand.
"Watch."
She activated her technique.
[Memory]
Warm sunlight filtered through wooden windows.
A small house stood on the edge of a quiet village.
Inside, a woman laughed.
Her name was Rel.
She knelt beside a young boy, tying a cloth around his wrist.
"Don't run too far," she said gently. "You'll trip again."
The boy smiled.
Garrick.
Younger. Happier.
A man entered the room.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Calm.
His name was Aldren.
He set down his sword and lifted Garrick easily into his arms.
"You're growing," Aldren said proudly.
Rel smiled at them both.
They were happy.
They were strong.
Too strong.
The memory shattered.
Dark robes.
Council insignias.
Screams.
Aldren stood bloodied before a man whose eyes glowed crimson.
That man's Blood Art was simple and cruel.
By killing, he extracted power.
Aldren fought.
He did not fall easily.
But in the end, his strength was torn from him, piece by piece.
Rel screamed.
The council watched.
Aldren died standing.
The memory shifted.
Rel ran.
Night after night.
Village to village.
Garrick clutched to her chest.
She starved so he could eat.
She collapsed so he could walk.
She fought soldiers with bare hands when she had no power left to spare.
Each time they were found, they fled again.
At last, Rel stopped.
Her body trembled.
She knelt before Garrick.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears falling freely. "Your body is weak. But you will survive."
She placed her hand on his chest.
Her power burned.
Flowed.
Everything she had poured into him.
Her strength.
Her future.
Her life.
When she finished, she was empty.
Rel smiled weakly.
Then she ran.
But not with Garrick.
She carried a doll wrapped in cloth.
A fake child.
The council followed her trail.
They found her.
She did not beg.
She did not cry.
She only said one thing.
"Please," she whispered, "let my son live."
They killed her anyway.
The memory ended.
The prison returned.
Garrick collapsed to his knees.
His chest hurt.
His vision blurred.
"She didn't abandon me," he whispered.
The girl watched quietly.
"She died protecting you," she said. "And the council told you she ran away."
Garrick's hands shook.
Hatred twisted inside him.
But now it had direction.