Nurturing the Hero to Avoid Death

Ch 9.5.1 - Like A Dream (Alfred's POV)

Light streams into the room.

It’s morning.

I know I have to get up, but try as I might I can’t seem to rise from bed. My body is a bit stiff and I can’t move. My breath comes out in harsh puffs and sweat clings to my body. It feels gross.

Oh, it happened again, I thought. It’s been a while since I’ve had this dream.

The memories have faded. Just as I was about to forget, I have this dream.

It feels like someone showed me this dream. As if to make sure I won’t forget.

The dream always begins at night. In pitch darkness, my mother and I sprint through the town’s back alley, a mixture of smells thick in the air. Chasing after us are several bad-looking men.

As we pass by other people, we desperately cry out for help, but those onlookers turn away from us in disgust after a single glance. They ignore me and my mother, walk away from us as if they hadn’t seen anything. As if we were just air.

No one is willing to help us.

The country my father brought us to was said to be the largest on the continent. Everything from as far as the eye could see was beautiful, big, and bustling. The country was overflowing with goods and people.

However, such a great place naturally drew the interest of outsiders. Immigrants flocked over like moths to a flame. But these people were from all over the world with clashing cultures. They were alien, uncivilized and dirty, a hindrance to all.

As such, no one batted an eye if a crime was committed before them. Even if that crime was murder. No, they would be all the more happier that the immigrant population was cannibalizing themselves. Law and order? Justice? Don’t make me laugh.

The country’s inhabitants had come to a tacit agreement. This was a place where all would be forgiven.

Every few months, my father returned home from his business trip. Listening to his travel tales was one of the few pleasures in my life. In his stories, he often mentioned a smaller neighboring country. Despite its size, its immigrants lived ordinary and happy lives. It seemed like something out of a dream.

Every time, my father would tell me and my mother that someday, once he’d saved enough money, we would all go there.

Then one day, my father didn’t come back from his business trip. Several months rolled by, but he was still nowhere in sight. My mother believed he would definitely return one day. I, however, had my doubts.

Perhaps he lost his life on his way home. Or, maybe he found a better life and no longer felt like coming back.

One day, after getting paid for finishing my shift, I went shopping at the market on the way home. And I encountered a group of gangsters. I took my mother and ran. However, we were no match for their speed.

The dream always starts when we are cornered in the alley, and repeats over and over again.

The wind whipping past as I run. My mother’s screams.

Over and over.

The fear gripping my entire body as I dash off without her.

I run.

And run.

And run.

Daggers of guilt pierce my heart, causing me to come to a full stop. Questions of how I could abandon my own mother attack my psyche ceaselessly. I condemn myself. Without wasting time, I turn around and run in the direction from which I had fled.