Why is the world so cruel to us—to me, to the boy, Jimson?
What did we do to deserve it?Nothing.
This life, these acts of love we endure… never for ourselves.No. We do it for hope—that fleeting, illogical drive.
Hope: unreasonable, unceasing, festering.
The world can throw any test, any challenge,and we will endure.
I must endure for us.
My hands tighten around the pendant.Whispers rise in the background—unheard, unimportant.
"Give it back! It's mine! You can't take it from me!"
This symbol. This curse.The empathy you twisted—turned into a mockery of purpose—has long gone cold for all but one,quivering and aching in trepidation.
Proof of my existence.Suffering as my validation.Meaning through sacrifice, over perpetual existence.
Is this the lesson you wanted me to learn, old man?Heh. Yonkshit.
This isn't your choice.It was always mine.
I rip it from his jugular.Ornamental copper and iron beads scatter into the mud and overgrowth.
"Are you even listening?! I said it's mine! Don't make me hurt you!"
I'm afraid of what this path will make of me.Truly.
I've always lived to help others.But now I see—that's not what the world, what he needs from me.
Protection. Love. Nurturing.In that order. I can only try.
This burden isn't mine by birthright or duty—but by choice.My purpose, shackled and self-forged, born from a tormented chain of kinship.
"Sharkie, attack!"
A dog lunges.I catch its chattering jaws mid-air, clamping them shut.
I cradle the beast in my hand like a flightless bird, my hands trembling.
You felt this too, didn't you, Jim?All of you. Parents, caretakers.
Guardianship.This word always seemed absurd to me—until it started beating within my own heart.
How could you ignore it, Mother, Father?This paranoia, this suffocating weight—it clings to your spine like an enemy waiting for weakness.
He's started speaking to me.Not through tongues, but through the blurring of my reflection.
Pulling a woolen veil of vague tapestry over my eyes—showing me his crooked, desperate, crumbling reality he lives and breathes inside me.
No light reaches me now.Only darkness.
"Please don't do this. I'll do what you want. I'll be your son. I'll work, no compensation needed. I'll even give you my Dao bone. Just please, Desmond… don't do this."
And it is for these reasons I must sin.
Crack.
A muffled whine.
"I'm sorry, boy," I softly mutter, petting behind his ears.The sound was wet, stiff, and final.Its body goes limp in my arms.
I'm sorry for this, God, for I no longer believe in your love.Without a shadow of lingering doubt.Jesus too.
Your words once guided me through the dark—but I've grown up now.
I must walk my own road,take responsibility for what I am about to create.
That house you call Heaven was always too grand for me anyway.And if you truly don't exist—then I'll birth you into being myself.
To atone.To bring order to this world.For the sins I'll commit…if even a finger is laid on that boy.
"Why…" he breathes through shallow, vacant sighs.
He hangs the dog's remains over his arms, fingers scrabbling through the grey, matted fur—as if searching for a heartbeat, some semblance of life to drag him out from the miserable reality before him.
"He was a good boy," I murmur. "Loyal, too.Too goddamn loyal."
I spit on the ground to cleanse the foul from my mouth.
"Jimson's dead now. The weight of those words may never sink in, Tim,but whether we like it or not, I have a responsibility now—to keep you safe.
No more rope. No more cloth. No more wire or thread.It's all gone now: our tools, our materials.
You understand what that means, right?There are no second chances for either of us.
The moment you commanded him to attack—to do that to me—his fate was sealed.My life and yours were both threatened.I couldn't be certain about his docile nature anymore.I just couldn't let that happen to us."
I place my hand over his and squeeze.
"Call me obsessive, call me cruel—perhaps I am.But the truth is, you share the weight of his death… and you know it.
Innocence isn't a shield, Tim, and ignorance is by no means a virtue.You've lived sheltered behind your father's shadow up until now.I can't promise happiness, but I can promise you guidance."
"I don't understand… Why are you taking everything from me?My mother, my father, my sister—her heirloom, my dog, my happiness!It's all your fault.You just take, take, and take—everything I was, everything I am.You stripped my identity bare—but for what?Why?! Why are you doing this to me?!Was Father right? Are you a demon?I trusted you! I thought you cared!"
Tim's voice cracks, crumbling with vitriol and despair.
My hand finds his cheek and holds it gently.
"I already explained it to you.We must let go of the past and move forward.
The past—it holds no power over us anymore, don't you see?Only the memories remain to haunt us,and even they fade, eventually forgotten to time.
That pendant too… it's not only what's binding you to what's already gone—it's the very thing I suspect is attracting those prowlers to us.
Your father, boy! His attachment to that thing is what killed him.Learn from his weakness—and let go.
Tim, you have to let go of it; to live, to thrive.It's hard, painful, torturous, I know."
I swallow a gulp of saliva. My throat constricts.
"But you can only move forward by carrying the past with you,not being crushed by it."
Slowly, I reach out, placing the emblem's shattered remnant into Tim's shaking hands, clasping them shut.
"Here. It's yours now. I won't take it again.But understand this—what happens next, that's on you.You must bear it. Responsibility isn't something I can always protect you from."
I stare into his eyes unflinching, weaving my fingers through his brown curls streaked with the all-too-familiar golden highlights at their tips.Their oily brine clings to my touch, catching the fluorescent green glow of the mossy overgrowth above,casting deep shadows beneath his troubled eyes.
What is he thinking?Hatred, emptiness, defeat—a burning, all-consuming rage.Shadows know I deserve it all.
I keep staring, observing as he looks down for a moment, our gazes descending into quiet rumination.
Then, suddenly, he tosses it away—the string, the ornamental beads, the pendant.They collide against the rock-face, scattering and drifting with the air currentsbefore vanishing into the narrow crevices along the canyon's edge.
I watch in disbelief, the echo of their fall still ringing in my ears.
Then he leaps into my embrace, arms wrapping tightly around my body,tucking his head beneath my chest, his entire frame quivering.
"If I have to trust you… then I will.Just please… don't abandon me," he squeaks softly.
My eyes soften. My heart palpitates.
What is this?I've heard compliments and gratitude many times throughout my life for my deeds,but they never meant anything to me—too shallow, too insensitive,too misaligned with my perception of my actions' worth.
But now… why does this feel different?A small warmth flickers in this infernal void of mine.
What is the difference?Is this what people call bliss?Why am I only feeling it now?
My arms slowly find their way around his shoulders.I lightly begin tapping his back, leading to a comforting pat.
"I will be here for you always, Tim.
We'll stick together—us against the world.
We'll be unstoppable, you just wait.
We'll show them… we'll show them all." I hold his head closer to my body as I
Giggling he looks up at me through smiling tears, revealing a toothy grin.