𝐄𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 | [𝐛𝐱𝐛]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

A beautiful baby boy was born into the world, his arrival marked by the wails that echoed through the room like a melody of life. Far above, hidden in the unseen realms, the goddess of fate stirred. She turned her gaze downward, peering through the threads of time, and her eyes landed on the child, this fragile, innocent thing who had just taken his first breath.

Her eyes flickered with curiosity, but it was the gleam of mischief that settled within them. She leaned closer, hovering over the mortal plane, her presence invisible to those in the room. As she watched the boy, her lips curved into a sly smile, her fingers clasping together in a gesture of glee.

"Oh, how fun," she whispered to the winds, her voice like silk and shadow. "Shall we cast a spell on this one? Just for sport?"

Her laughter was soft, but there was a darkness to it, an undercurrent of something far more sinister. The child below stirred as if sensing the weight of fate beginning to bend around him, but no one else noticed. The world continued to spin, blissfully unaware of the touch of a goddess.

__________________________

      Xeno

"What do we do now?"

"Poor boy..."

"We can't tell him. He's too young."

"But we can't just leave him, either."

Their voices blurred together as I sat in the corner, legs drawn up to my chest, small and forgotten in the midst of the chaos. I was five, but even at that age, I could feel the weight of the room—the heavy sadness that clung to the walls, the pity that dripped from their words.

My body ached from the scrapes and bruises I'd gotten, but it wasn't the kind of pain that would last. Not like the pain that settled in my chest, hollow and aching. It felt like a part of me had been torn away.

My parents weren't just hurt. They weren't just injured.

They were gone.

Dead.

I could feel the eyes of the adults on me, watching me, waiting for something. Waiting for me to cry. Waiting for me to break down, to let the grief consume me. But I couldn't. The tears wouldn't come.

It wasn't that I didn't want to cry. I just... couldn't. No matter how much I tried to summon the emotion, it was locked away, somewhere deep inside me where I couldn't reach it. It was as if something inside me was broken. Something I didn't understand.

"A curse," that's what they whispered. That's what they called it when they thought I wasn't listening.

The other kids in the neighborhood—at first, they were just confused, like they didn't know what to make of me. But soon, confusion turned to fear. They avoided me. Whispered about me behind my back. Some of them even ran away when I got too close, as if whatever had taken my parents might reach out and take them too.

I never laughed. I never cried. No anger, no sadness, no joy. It was as if all my emotions had been drained from me, leaving nothing but a hollow shell.

My parents had tried everything to fix me, to bring out something—anything—from me. But nothing worked. And yet, they never stopped loving me. Even when I couldn't show them I loved them back, I knew they still believed in me. They never gave up hope.

But now they were gone, and I didn't know what to do. I was too young to understand death, too young to know how to survive without them. I couldn't go to school. I couldn't live on my own. And I had no money, no one left to take care of me.

I was alone.

"Xeno."

My name sounded strange, almost foreign, as it pulled me out of my daze. I lifted my head slowly, blinking through the haze of numbness, and saw a man standing before me. He was older, with lines etched into his face—lines that spoke of years of hardship and loss. His eyes, though kind, were filled with sorrow.

"I'm your uncle," he said softly, crouching down to my level. "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you."

There was something in his voice—something calming, almost soothing. But behind it, I could hear the sadness he was trying to hide. He held out his hand to me, his palm open, waiting.

For a moment, I just stared at it. It felt like a lifeline, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to take it. I wasn't sure if I could. But then, without thinking, my hand moved on its own. I slipped my small hand into his, and he gently pulled me to my feet.

"Everything's going to be alright," he said, his voice low and reassuring. But I could hear the doubt in his words, the uncertainty. It was a lie, or at least, a hope he didn't truly believe in.

He patted my head softly, offering me a weak smile. It was the kind of smile people gave when they didn't know what else to do. The kind of smile meant to comfort, but it didn't reach his eyes.

I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say. Instead, I just let him lead me away, away from the wreckage of my life, away from everything I had ever known.

And just like that, I left.

But as I walked with him, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Deep inside me, buried beneath the numbness, there was a flicker of something—a shadow of a feeling I couldn't quite name.