In the evening, I said goodbye to my friends and headed out to my place.
Anger is all that my mind lingers on right now. Did that beetle battle really make skipping school worth it? On top of that, the Tank got stolen from me. Heck, now that I think about it, I'm wasting my time with these childish beetle battles. It's not like I can get a job by doing it.
As I enter the store, there stands my Uncle Tim, staring at me, and Aunt April with a very concerned look on her face—everything telling me that I'm in for a long lecture by Uncle Tim.
"Winter, why did you skip your class? Care to elaborate?" Uncle Tim's voice was sharp and full of pain. The lines around his mouth were deeper than usual, and his eyes were upset with me.
I didn't respond. I cannot.
"Winter, when your parents died in the Demon Gate attack 13 years ago, you were just 4 years old. By some miracle, you were saved—a second chance at life. Your parents sacrificed themselves to protect you. Your father used all his remaining energy to make a call to me on your behalf.
"You're falling behind in the competition, son. Life is hard, either you finish the line or others do.His voice softening into something closer to despair than anger
"Oh, honey, calm down. He already has a lot on his mind," Aunt April adds
Don't you understand the gravity of the situation you're in?" he continued. "We gave everything so you could live, not just survive. Here, in the safety of the capital, Auraline, in the Eldrasur Kingdom's heart."
Winter stared at the stone floor, shame burning hot behind his eyes. The guilt he carried was vast and enormous. He wanted to explain how he feels, to scream that it wasn't laziness, that something inside him was just… stuck. But the words never came. And so Uncle Tim, who had moved mountains to get him here, was left speaking into the silence.
"I brought you here for a better life," his uncle added finally, his voice cracking under the pressure of disappointment. "And you're throwing it away, Winter."
The tension-filled hall was disturbed by the sound of the door. A gust of cold air swept inside with the arrival of a customer, who contrasts with the pizzeria's warm environment. Uncle Tim straightened his apron, forcing a smile onto his tired face before retreating to the back.
"Winter, take his order!" he called, his tone more routine than warm now. Aunt also followed him, leaving me and the guy alone.
Winter grabbed his apron, wiped his hands on it, and turned toward the stranger. The customer looked barely older than him, but carried himself like a commander. His clothes were finely stitched, though travel-worn, and his eyes held a sharpness as if he were registering everything going on in front of him.
"So, Mr. winter. I believe you have something of importance to the kingdom," the young man said evenly.
Winter blinked. "I'm sorry?" he managed.
"It's thievery, Winter. A beetle. You know everything. Quit the act," the stranger continued, coming closer. Orange hair, green eyes—the description matches you. He closes his notebook after confirmation.
Many could have that. Why pick on me? Oh shit, I'm shaking. Why can't I keep myself together when someone with an intimidating personality puts me into a corner?
"I think you're the only one I have seen today who matches it."
He keeps his book in his pocket as if I told him everything that he wanted to hear.
Winter's stomach twists. He is caught. Panic surged through him as he recalled the beetle battle with Zake.
"I'm sorry. I don't have Tank with me. I lost it in a beetle battle—in a bet."
"Tank, the beetle even has a name and Beetle battle? You are 18 years old and still play kids' games. Grow up. Did you steal the beetle for such childish stuff?" The guy shakes his head in disbelief.
Well, no, I'm 17, I want to correct the guy, but what even is the point of telling him that? i'm already ashamed because of the way this stranger is scolding me.
Winter nodded.
"The beetle," the man said slowly, after a pause, he continued. "it is not what you think it is. The beetle went through multiple dangerous experiments — demonic blood, fused with volatile negative energy. Its purpose is to lure demons out of hiding, like bait dipped in poison, so that the adventurers can kill them. And now you're telling me it's out there in the open? With this other guy, Zake?"
I hadn't meant to get involved in anything like this, Winter thought.
"There have been demon sightings," the stranger went on. "Three, in the last three days. In the capital. We believe the beetle is responsible. And if Zake still has it… He's in trouble. You are insanely lucky not to have come in contact with a demon up until now."
The man extended his hand. "Phill Fields," he introduced himself, his voice returning to its former steadiness. Then, without ceremony, he placed a small, iridescent pill into Winter's palm.
Winter stared at it, a growing dread wrapping around him like a vice. "What is this?"
"It will help with tracking," Phill said. "But you are the tracking device."
"What?" Winter said.
"Don't interrupt me. This will heighten your senses, similar to a demon — and help you look out for the beetle. The only problem is that this is a prototype. But we'll have to take the risk. We don't have time to run protocols or wait for a clean operation.
I cannot do it. Ingesting it has consequences. I can't afford to be down for days — bedridden, immobile. But since it's an imperfect pill, things could be even worse. And you… well, you're the one who started this. If you don't help, and this goes wrong, the death toll won't be light. And someone will be blamed."
Winter's mouth went dry. The pill was a doorway, and behind it lay everything he feared: confrontation, violence, the unknown.
"You have to find it," Phill said, eyes locking with Winter's. "Find Zake. Find the beetle. Help us stop what's coming."
Winter's hands trembled slightly as he raised the pill to his lips. He swallowed it dry. The bitter taste coated his throat, sinking into his core like a brand. There was no turning back now. For the first time, Winter wasn't running from failure — he was running toward a reckoning.
Uncle Tim, frustrated from waiting, comes to the hallway only to see no one.
"Winter?" Uncle Tim's voice filled with concern.