Blades of the Night

Chapter 8 - Part 1

Leo woke up in his sleep, feeling somewhat sleepy but refreshed. A soft glow sneaked through his window, illuminating the room where posters of fighters and champions plastered the walls. He squinted at the clock; it was early. The day stretched out before him with endless possibilities, yet uncertainty loomed over him like a shadow.

He vividly recalled the crisp autumn morning when he trudged to school, leaves crunching beneath his feet, but the journey home was a hazy blur, lost in the recesses of his mind like a fading dream.

He was plagued by a nagging sensation, a phantom itch in the recesses of his mind. An elusive thought danced just beyond his grasp, teasing him with the possibility that he had overlooked something crucial. Yet, try as he might, he couldn't pin down whether this feeling stemmed from a genuine lapse in memory or merely an overactive imagination playing tricks on his weary psyche.

The breakfast table buzzed with his parents' chatter, the aroma of freshly cooked pancakes wafting through the air. Leo sat, fork in hand, lost in thought as his mother recounted the latest gossip from the neighborhood.

"You wouldn't believe it, Leo," his mother chirped, oblivious to his distraction. "The Millers are finally putting their house up for sale. Can you imagine that big yard going to waste? What will happen to all those projects they never finished?"

Leo nodded absently, his gaze drifting to the window where birds flitted about, drawing him momentarily from his reverie.

"Are you listening, Leo?" His mother's voice cut through his fog.

"Yeah, uh, sure," he replied, snapping back to reality.

His father looked up from his newspaper, arching an eyebrow. "You sure seem lost in thought this morning, son. Is everything alright?"

Leo forced a smile, "I think I have forgotten something."

"Forgotten?" His father set the newspaper down, an intrigued glint in his eye. "Forgotten what? Your homework, or are you talking about something more serious?"

"Maybe... something heavier," Leo admitted, gazing at his half-eaten pancake. "I don't know."

His parents exchanged a worried glance, their concern palpable in the air.

"Leo, if something's bothering you, you can talk to us," his mother coaxed. "You know we're always here to listen."

"I don't remember, damn it!" he roared, slamming his fist against the table, his eyes blazing with a mixture of frustration and fear. He felt something oozing out of his body like a powerful storm, swirling beneath the surface, demanding release.

His parents recoiled slightly, surprised by the sudden outburst. The tension hung in the air, thick enough to slice through. Leo's breaths came in sharp gasps as he felt the weight of his unresolved emotions spiral around him like a tempest.

"Hey, it's okay," his father said, voice calm yet firm. "Take a breath."

The quiet concern in his father's tone broke through Leo's storm. He inhaled deeply, letting the air fill his lungs, trying to anchor himself to the solidity of the moment.

"I'm just... I feel like I'm on the edge of something," Leo finally managed, his voice quieter, his gaze now resting on the wooden table.

His mother reached across, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Whatever it is, you don't have to face it alone. We're your family. We'll figure it out together."

"Maybe it's just school," Leo mumbled, avoiding their eyes. He hurriedly pushed the rest of his pancake aside, his stomach a tumult of unease.

"School can be overwhelming," his father said, nodding knowingly, his weathered face etched with lines of experience. "With the world outside in constant turmoil, a relentless barrage of heart-wrenching news affecting countless lives. It's as if a storm of misfortune rages on, unleashing its fury upon those unfortunate souls caught in its path."