As the sun began its descent, the young man finished his training and started the walk home. He could feel the weight of the pitying stares from everyone he passed. He was alone, as he always was.
He loathed this sense of exclusion, and he could guess the reason behind it. Yet, every time he pressed his mother for the truth, the answer was always the same: "When the time comes."
Their house sat in a quiet neighborhood, tucked away from the city center. Reaching the doorstep, he paused. Today was his fifteenth birthday—the threshold of adulthood. But another thought gnawed at him. He suspected he was a half-breed, and if that were true, this could very well be his last year alive. Surprisingly, the thought didn't bring him much sorrow; he had long felt his existence was redundant anyway. He had no dreams, and to him, a life without a dream held no meaning. Still, a shadow of doubt clouded his mind: Was this truly how it would all end?
Shaking off the thoughts, he pushed the door open. He found his mother inside, her eyes bloodshot and rimmed with tears. The moment she saw him, she stiffened, pulling herself together in an attempt to mask her grief. She was holding a polu. But the vibrant, traditional birthday dessert seemed powerless against the heavy gloom permeating the room.
***
Polu is a traditional birthday treat made from various fruits and milk, served in a bowl-like fruit shell and adorned with edible seeds that display the celebrated person's age.
***
"Happy birthday, Khaia,"
His mother said, her voice uncharacteristically deep and solemn.
She hadn't forgotten. But if Khaia's suspicions were right, they both knew this would be his last. His mother's fragile state only anchored that grim realization. Though he loved her, it felt more like an obligatory bond than a warm affection. Growing up in isolation, Khaia had never truly known what a "family" felt like; he had spent his childhood envying the glimpses of warmth he saw in others. Still, a small part of him felt a flicker of happiness that she had acknowledged the day.
Drained from his training, he spoke in a low, exhausted rasp.
"Thanks, mom."
They sat in silence, eating the polu. Finally, Khaia broke the quiet.
"Mom... am I a half-breed?"
His mother froze. She turned her gaze toward him and let out a long, heavy sigh. It was common knowledge that half-breed children did not survive; there had never been an exception. Those who knowingly bore them were treated as outcasts, or worse.
"So, you figured it out," she said, standing up. "Now that you know... do you hate me?"
Khaia closed his eyes for a moment. She had brought him into this world, but he didn't know if it had been by choice or a mistake of his father's. He refrained from asking; he was afraid that if he heard an answer he didn't like, he might actually start to hate the only person he had left.
"I have no reason to hate you,"
he answered carefully, choosing his words to avoid drifting further apart.
"But I wonder where my father is. And I wonder why, despite the fact that I'm dying—despite the pain it causes me—you still force me through this Essence training. I know that because I'm a hybrid, having both bloodlines in my veins makes using the Essence a death sentence. It only accelerates the end. I assume you know this too. I just hope there's a reason for all of it. I don't hate you, because I believe in you. I believe there is a purpose behind it all."
Looking at her son, the mother felt as if she were speaking to her husband; the boy was his father's shadow. She realized then that she didn't truly know her own son. A wave of self-loathing washed over her for failing to be a "real" mother, yet she knew she had to maintain that distance.
"I am truly happy to have a son like you, and I am sorry I couldn't be better," she said, her voice strained. "I can't explain everything right now. The reasons are... personal. But don't worry, you'll get your answers. I'm glad you don't truly love me. There is a box on the table with a letter and a necklace. Your birthday gift. I hope you like it. That's all for today."
She stood up and headed for the stairs, looking utterly spent. She didn't want to say goodbye like this, but she had no choice. She had poured her blood into that necklace; the end was near. She couldn't afford an explanation. Today was the day. She cursed those responsible for this fate and climbed the stairs. She heard her son call out, but she didn't look back. If she did, she wouldn't be able to go through with it.
Goodbye, my son, she thought. I hope you find happiness. I'm sorry I couldn't stop you from growing up like this. She entered her room, closed the door, and collapsed onto the bed.
"What? You're just leaving without saying anything?"
Khaia shouted.
"Mom! Mom!"
There was no reply. Despite his urge to stop her, the sight of her had paralyzed him. She had looked devastated—pale, weak, barely able to walk. How had he not noticed it sooner? He sat back down, cursing his own self-absorption. He had been so focused on his own misery as a half-breed that he had been blind to her suffering.
"I was too focused on myself." he whispered: "I'm an idiot."
He took the box from the table and walked to his room.
He sat on his bed, deciding he would apologize tomorrow and finally try to understand her. He opened the box. Inside was the necklace, the envelope, and a small notebook. The envelope bore a chilling instruction: Open only after putting on the necklace. He tried to tear it open, but it wouldn't budge. Magical sealing, he thought.
The necklace was hexagonal, flanked by two glass tubes containing liquids that looked like blood. The one on the right was darker. In the center sat a glowing red gem. It felt like a powerful ward.
He slipped it over his head.
The moment it touched his chest, a searing pain shot through him. The metal fused to his skin.
He panicked, clawing at it, but the more he struggled, the deeper it bit. The cords of the necklace sank into his neck like veins. He felt his own blood being siphoned into the device. Darkness swarmed his vision, and he collapsed.
When he came to, the veins around the necklace were prominent, pulsing as they pulled his life force into the gem.
He was terrified. He had never heard of a "gift" like this. How long had he been out? He realized his mother must have heard his screams, yet she hadn't come.
Was this supposed to happen? The pain felt like a concentrated version of his Essence training.
Desperate for answers, he stumbled upstairs. The door was locked.
"Mom! Mom! Please, I don't hate you! I love you!"
No sound came from inside.
"Please, just be okay..."
Using the strength from his years of grueling training, he kicked the door. The wood splintered, and the door swung open. But the room was empty of life. Instead, motes of Essence drifted in the air like dust in a sunbeam. On the bed lay a heap of raw Essence.
Khaia froze. He recognized this. It was an Essence-Death. When a being loses control, the Essence consumes the body, turning it into pure energy. Like a fire turning wood to ash. But his mother wasn't a half-breed; she was a master of control. This shouldn't have happened.
He fell to his knees. The only family he had ever known was gone. He didn't fully understand love, but he understood the hollow ache in his chest. For the first time in his life, he let himself cry.
Eventually, he stood up. He gathered the remains of his mother's Essence and released them out the window, offering a prayer the way she had taught him. As he turned, he noticed the necklace glowing. The blood inside shimmered with a faint yellow light before settling.
Downstairs, he picked up the envelope again. This time, it opened effortlessly. Inside was a note:
"Khaia, if you are reading this, you are fifteen and you have the necklace. And you have lost your mother (I am sorry for that). I'm sure you have questions—about why you were born, why I left, and why your mother acted the way she did. You had to be born. I've explained everything in the notebook. Don't worry, you won't die. But from now on, you are on your own. Be strong."
— Your Father.
Khaia's head spun. He wouldn't die? That was impossible. The dual bloodlines were supposed to clog the Essence channels, leading to a painful, early death.
"The notebook," he whispered. He felt a flicker of something new: a thirst for vengeance.
He took the notebook, but as he did, the necklace flared with such agonizing intensity that he nearly blacked out again. He saw the black cloth in the box glowing with strange yellow runes. Before he could process it, the world went black once more.
He woke to the sound of a commotion outside. Through the window, he saw a squad of men ransacking the neighborhood.
On their backs was a purple eye symbol. The Eyes of Khun. The Emperor's elite shadow unit.
They were high-tier Essence users who only moved for high-stakes missions.
What are they looking for?
Khaia knew that no matter where he hid, they would find him. He looked at the notebook, then at the black cloth.
He opened the notebook to the first page. His breath hitched. The very first sentence made the book slip from his nerveless fingers. His eyes filled with pure terror.
The first sentence read:
"..."