Lr stories part 1: Power royale

Chapter 29: Ice Age Part 3

The cold was relentless, each gust of wind biting through the layers of their coats as if the clothing was made of paper. William Dangerfield shivered, not just from the freezing temperatures, but from the memories creeping up on him. The snow crunched beneath their feet as he, Angelo, and Kindliker trudged through the vast, wintry wasteland. But William's mind was miles away.

It was as if the world faded around him, leaving only a ghostly landscape of his past. He was back in that tiny, sterile hospital room, the beeping machines, the smell of antiseptic, and the pitiful, weak light coming from the single window on a dreary winter day. His mother lay on the bed, her frail body almost disappearing into the white sheets.

Twelve-year-old William stood beside her, clutching her hand. Her skin felt cold—colder than the snow he now walked through. Her eyes were tired, yet they still held a warmth that reached deep into his heart.

"Mom?" his younger self had asked, his voice trembling.

She had smiled at him, weak but sincere. "William, my sweet boy," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the machines. "Life isn't about winning or losing... it's about how you play the game."

William had frowned, not fully understanding. "But... what if I want to win?"

Her smile widened, though it cost her great effort. "Winning is fine, William, but it's not everything. What matters is how you treat others along the way. Be good to them, my son. Be good, even when it's hard."

Her words lingered in the air like the scent of the flowers that had been brought to her bedside, and then she was gone. The machines went flat, the beeping turned to one long, endless tone, and young William had stood there, numb, unable to cry.

The snow crunched again under William's feet, and he was back in the present. His mother's final words echoed in his mind, and a wave of guilt washed over him.

He had joined the Power Royale for the money, for the luxury he craved, to escape the life of a "greedy loser" as he often thought of himself. But now, after everything that had happened, he couldn't help but question his motivations. Was he really the righteous contestant he had convinced himself to be? Did he deserve to win, or was he just a selfish man chasing a dream he had no right to?

He glanced over at Angelo, who was still clutching his wounded stomach but walking beside him with resolve. Angelo wasn't in this for greed. He was here to save his family's bakery, to provide a future for the people he loved. Even Tommy, who they had just fought, had a reason far purer than William's—his mother's life hung in the balance.

The realization hit him hard. Others in this competition were fighting for something bigger than themselves. And here he was, fighting just so he could spend the rest of his days sipping drinks in Hawaii.

William stopped walking, and Angelo and Kindliker paused, looking back at him.

"What's wrong, William?" Angelo asked, concern in his eyes despite the pain he was in.

William didn't answer immediately. He just stared at the snow beneath his feet, feeling small in the face of the harsh truth he had been avoiding. "I'm... I'm not the good guy here," he muttered.

Angelo raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"All this time, I've been telling myself I'm doing the right thing, that I'm the righteous one... but I'm not. Not like you, or even Tommy." William finally looked up, meeting Angelo's gaze. "I'm just a selfish guy who wants money. I don't deserve to win."

Kindliker, ever the pessimist, scoffed. "Join the club. We're all here for selfish reasons. What difference does it make?"

Angelo shook his head. "It makes a difference, William. You might've started this for yourself, but that doesn't mean you can't change. Maybe... maybe this is your chance to do something better."

William didn't respond, but his friend's words hung in the air. He looked down at his hands, the hands that could manipulate metal into anything he wanted, and realized that what he really wanted now wasn't something he could forge or create out of thin air. It was something deeper, something he would have to earn.

The three of them continued walking, the silence between them heavier than the snow. None of them noticed the figure standing some distance away, half-hidden by the falling snow. Tommy Tomorrow watched them with a look of sadness and determination.

Tommy knew what he had to do, but he wasn't sure if he could bring himself to do it. His mother needed him to win, but these people weren't just faceless enemies anymore. They were real, with their own struggles and reasons.

As the snow fell quietly, Tommy stood there, watching William and his companions disappear into the whiteness. He had a decision to make, and whatever he chose, it would define the rest of the game.

To be continued...