"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," A voice murmured within the confines of a confessional.
"It's been a while since my last confession. Actually—" he let out a dry breath, "—this is the first one. Ever. Since I was born."
"But last night, I…"The words stalled in his throat. He clicked his tongue, frustrated. "Sorry. I just—give me a second."
"Sorry, it's just... my dad, he used to come to this church - when I was a kid. He'd bring me along with my mother, and after service, he'd always come here. Every time. Never missed a day."
"I used to hate when he would walk towards the booth. He'd spend a long time in here, and I'd always be forced to wait on him, wondering why the hell he's taking so long," he scoffed sarcastically.
"Language," commanded another voice belonging to the priest.
"—Sorry," he muttered. "Force of habit."
"I remember always begging my mother, if we could leave and just meet him back home, you know? But every time... I got the same answer," he said as his words fell slowly, weighed down by memory.
"For a long time, I didn't get it. Didn't understand why this place mattered so much to him."
A breath.
"Until that day."
"The incident in DISTRICT 12, seven years ago."
"My mother and I were there. When the explosion hit, she covered me. I remember that part clearly. Her arms around my head. Then everything went dark."
"When I came to, I saw many people around me; some were dead, others were trapped like us."
His voice thinned. "I yelled for help until my chest burned. Until I thought my lungs were going to give out."
"And then I saw them coming."
"I thought they were rescuers." A bitter laugh slipped out. "I really did. But they weren't there to help anyone."
"One of the other survivors was a mother," the voice said quietly. "Her son was beside her. Well... what was left of him."
"She begged them to save her son. Tears were falling down her face. But they... they just laughed at her."
"I watched them kill her."
A pause
"I was eight at the time.""And the strange thing is—I wasn't scared. Not really. I didn't think I was going to die."
The voice hardened.
"I was angry. Angry that they could do that. Angry that life meant nothing to them. Angry that I couldn't stop it."
"When they noticed us, I screamed at them. Told them she hadn't done anything wrong. That they were monsters."
His voice wavered, then steadied.
"I told them God was watching."
"But they just stared at me. Like I hadn't said anything at all."
"One of them stepped closer. Bent down until we were eye to eye."
"He smiled… and said, 'Then let Him watch harder.'"
"I couldn't move after that. Couldn't breathe. All I could hear was my heart."
"Then he drew his sword, aiming it at my mother's face while she lay unconscious." His voice strained. "I screamed. I tried to tear myself free. Tried to reach her. But I was stuck. Trapped and useless."
"He lifted the blade—"
"But then someone stopped it."
"An Imperial Knight."
"He came out of nowhere. I'd never seen one up close before, at least that's what I believed."
A bitter exhale.
"That's when I realized who he was."
"My father."
"I never knew what my dad was. Whenever he'd leave home, they'd always tell me he was only going to the city for business. Yet, whenever he came back home, he seemed different... bitter..."
"I saw him fight nine men at once," the 'voice' chuckled
"It wasn't a clean battle, though. My dad got cut up pretty badly. But he'd keep going, keep fighting."
"I'd never seen that look in his eyes before. It was like he was dead, like he wasn't even fighting with the sword but rather as if...
...he became the sword itself."
"And the other guys," the 'voice' sighed.
"The other guys, they saw that look, and they tried to get away from him. But my dad...he chased them all and cornered them. Every single one of them - he cut them down."
"After he got them. He came back to free us. And when I looked at his face, I saw something. He was smiling. His face was torn open. His hands were soaked in blood, and his entire body trembled from the pain."
"Yet, despite it all, he was smiling."
"I didn't understand it. Not back then."
"But now? Now you understand?" the priest asked
"Yeah... Yeah, I do," the 'voice' replied with a sigh
"If so, then what's the point of professing any of this?" the priest asked curiously.
"If anything, you were simply blind to your father's true identity, not knowing what he did isn't a sin of yours to bear."
"Blind, huh?" the 'voice' said with a smirk
"No, no, Father, you misunderstand me. You see, I didn't just learn my father's true identity, but rather I see things from his path now."
The air in the room thickened, the atmosphere tense from the 'voice' in the dark.
"Tell me, what is it that you've done?" the priest asked, his voice tinged with concern.
"I'm not here for atonement of my past Father. I'm seeking forgiveness for what I will do."
"That isn't how this works. Just what exactly are you gonna do?"
The booth fell silent. The voice in the dark said nothing, and the priest's words hung in the air like a looming cloud.
"I'll become the sword."
-----------------------------
Under the pale light of three moons, screams pierced through the wind. Women and children were being forced into a carriage at the docks of Caldonia. The city streamed across the horizon, distant and beautiful, a contrast to the chaos below.
Among the group of men that had captured them, one started to speak. He was dressed like nobility, a huge disparity to the slums and filth around him
"Hey! Hey! Settle down," a nobleman called, his voice sharp, almost joking.
"Come on, why the long faces, guys? We're getting 10,000 Baras a head for each of you!" He laughed.
"So if you behave, I might even repurchase one of you. Of course, you'll belong to me after that. If you don't-"
He drew a sword, pressing it against the neck of one of the women. Blood welled instantly.
The other captives screamed out of fear
"Shut up! Shut your mouths! All of you."
He shoved the woman down into the carriage violently. The other captors followed suit as the captives' cries tore into the night.
"You can scream all you'd like; no one can hear you," the nobleman mocked.
Beyond his figure, the silhouette of another emerged from the shadows, perched above a nearby container. He was dressed in black and navy blue, wearing a blindfolded mask that covered his eyes; his skin tanned like bronze, and his figure loomed over them like a vengeful spirit. The captives noticed the strange figure and recoiled in shock, alerting the nobleman to turn around; however, he was struck by the figure as he leaped down towards him, knocking him out in one strike.
The other men yelled at the figure in black, approaching him with drawn swords. Yet the figure in black did not recoil at their words. He moved like liquid, catching the sword that the nobleman dropped and dashing towards the men.
CLANG! CLANG! Steel rang against steel, echoing off the containers. Dust and the metallic tang of blood filled the air as the captives pressed their faces to the floor, trembling, while others watched on in awe and terror. Despite being outnumbered, he cut the men down one by one, injuring them but not killing them. Yet his movements were elegant and filled with grace.
The figure in black managed to subdue the last one until-
*TSCHIK*
The click. The metallic click of a gun being loaded.
The nobleman managed to recover and aimed the gun at the figure's back before firing.
"Watch out!" shouted one of the captives
The figure in black spun around as he managed to parry the bullet with the sword before retreating into the maze of containers as the nobleman fired after him. One of the bullets grazed his left shoulder.
He got up and chased after him, moving slowly as he searched for him in the enclosed, tight spaces.
"Just who do you think you are!?" the nobleman sneered, "Do you think you're gonna get away with this?
"Do you know who I am!?"
As he searched slowly, he heard footsteps behind him; spinning around in fright, he fired into the shadows. His bullets pierced nothing but darkness.
The nobleman grew livid. Becoming more frantic as if being mocked by the figure in black.
"Where are you!?" he shouted into the darkness.
"Here," responded a voice from the shadow behind him.
The nobleman spun around in desperation, firing at where he presumed the figure's head would be - only to be met with the emptiness of space. The figure had ducked under his arm before slashing to cut the nobleman's gun hand off in one clean arc.
"Sorry… but you shouldn't bring a gun to a sword fight," spoke the figure in black, tilted his head sarcastically
The nobleman collapsed on the floor due to shock, falling unconscious from the blood loss, as the figure made his way back to the carriage, and cut off the chains and cuffs bound to the captives.
"Head North until you reach Charlotte Road. There are Enforcers on patrol. Flag the first one you see and report everything you witnessed," he instructed.
Despite the fear still lingering within their bones, they all hurried out, scampering over the bodies of the unconscious men who put them in there.
Yet among them, a single boy lingered, staring at the figure in black.
"Jackson? Jackson, what are you doing? We have to go!" his mother urged.
"Who. Who are you, mister?" the boy whispered to the figure.
The figure stood there, as if encased in ice. The question puzzled him greatly. Indeed, he did have a name, given to him by the ones who birthed him, yet he didn't at the same time. For the one who received that name and the one who stood before this young boy, they were connected, yet different. As if he were a shadow, a reflection of the one called...
-----------------------------
"ENARK! ENARK ALASDAIR!" a voice rang through the halls of a warm home.
He stirred, the syllables dragging him out of sleep like waves. He removed his blindfolded mask, revealing his pale azure eyes.
"Who…?" His voice was thick with sleep.
The door bursts open, and an elderly woman hurries in.
"Enark, come on, it's time to get up. You don't wanna be late on your first day, do you?"
"Don't worry, Grandma, I'm up," he mumbled, still half-asleep.
"I don't think so, young man. Come on," she said, tapping his shoulder lightly. "And… what's this big cut on your face?"
"It's nothing, don't worry about it," he said calmly, not wanting to worry her.
"Don't give me that, boy. Where could you even get hurt like this?"
"I just slipped on the stairs, Grandma. That's all," he replied.
She sighed, half-joking, half-concerned. " And I suppose you haven't been using the cane we gave you either."
"I told you many times that you shouldn't be running up and down the stairs. Even I have a hard time climbing it nowadays," she teased
"Alright, up, up!" She helped pull him out of bed. "Once you're dressed, breakfast is downstairs."
"Is it toast and eggs?" Enark asked enthusiastically
"And sausage," she replied with a big smile.
"Oh! I should have some bandages in the drawers downstairs. Before you eat, let's cover up that cut on your face. We wouldn't want you scaring off potential friends on your first day looking like that." The woman winked as she walked out the door.
"Hey, wait! But what if they think it's cool?" he asked, hope threading his words as she descended the stairs.
"Wouldn't they?" Enark wondered, sitting quietly in his room, recalling the events of the night. He reached up and touched his face at the cut.
"Ow."