Malo, aside from his gifts, was an ordinary child.

  But let’s just say that he is exactly that: ordinary.

  He also came from an ordinary family.

  There was his brother, Jain—older and much louder and more confident. You may be surprised by that, considering how he had acted when Beric had first met him.

  But people tend to change when things happen.

  Then there was his father, Holder—stern, and upright.

  If you had to imagine him, then he’d be someone similar to Beric’s own father, Lucian. While he was someone who many would consider to be strict, when it came to his children, while still being firm in the way of how they should act, he was more lenient.

  Perhaps it was a father’s bias.

  Lastly, there was his mother, Esa—warm, jovial, and endlessly talkative.

  In simple terms, she connected them all. She joined Jain in endless conversation. She was quick to understand Holder's seemingly “rude and strict” comments, and she was patient enough to help Malo live a comfortable life while still guiding him on the right path of wielding his gift.

  Together, they lived peacefully in a small village tucked within the still forests of Myrkwind, a place so secluded that most travelers passing through would miss it entirely.

  And if one happened upon this village, and happened to glimpse the family as they strolled along the path, they would see nothing remarkable.

  Perhaps they would note, fleetingly, what a pleasant family they seemed: the elder brother striding ahead with a look of determination, the father following closely behind with a sense of order in the way he walked, and the mother who walked beside them, her smile glowing as she followed her family.

  Behind them all, the traveler would notice another child, but he was more quiet and less noticeable than the others, aside from the size of him.

  But then the traveler would move on. They would forget the family as quickly as the thought of what to eat for dinner—grilled salmon again? No, perhaps a berry stew instead. No, wait, he needed a place to stay-Oh look, a tavern just up the road.

  You noticed it, didn't you? How easily the thought of them slips away?

  That was the truth of Malo’s family: so ordinary, so normal, that few would think of them twice. But being ordinary isn’t a curse.

  Malo himself never thought it a bad thing.

  And with such a normal family, Malo himself never had any extraordinary dreams.

  Unlike many children, he did not dream of distant lands or riches waiting in the wide world. He cared little for adventure or travel. Had you asked him, he would have shrugged and said such things simply did not suit him.

  But his gift did not go unnoticed. His father, along with the elders of the village, insisted he reach higher. They believed it would be wasteful not to nurture such talent. With his raw strength alone, Malo could even overpower grown men at such a young age. Some villagers were proud of him, others fearful, and some even envious, but they all agreed on one thing.

  Malo did not belong in this quiet village.

  And so, from the time he was small, the elders warned of what might happen if such strength turned down a dark path.

  Yet Father and Mother had raised Malo carefully. From the beginning, they taught both Malo and Jain a set of principles:

  Be understanding, kind, and gentle to those deserving. Be merciful, just, and strong against those undeserving.

  It was an old teaching, passed from Father’s parents down to him, and then from him to his sons.

  Mother, for her part, gave them a lesson simpler but no less profound: “Even if others are rude, even if they hurt you, do not stop being kind. Just as you may fail to live up to our words, others will fail too. No one is perfect every day. So show mercy. Expect good from others. Cover their ill will with your own goodwill.”

  Those words were etched into Malo’s heart, and it was because of them that he never once considered using his gift for cruelty. His parents trusted he would use his power for good. They believed, with unshakable certainty, that one day he would become a hero.

  But what about Malo? How did he feel about the path that had been laid before him?

  Let’s see for ourselves.

  Most mornings, Malo rose early. His first task was to wake Jain, who inevitably mumbled nonsense in his sleep and rolled away. Malo shook him every day, but Jain never truly stirred. His mother had asked him to keep trying, but Malo never saw the point.

  After washing up, Malo made his way to the kitchen. There, he found Mother with a smile bright enough to almost blind him, laying out breakfast. Father was already seated, drinking quietly, and he would nod to Malo with approval.

  “Well done,” Father would say, “for rising early and preparing yourself for the day.”

  Malo only nodded. To him, it was just a compliment. Nothing too special.

  He sat at the table while his mother filled the silence with endless chatter. She spoke of her dreams, her plans, her meals, and always asked Malo about school.

  “What did you learn yesterday?” she’d ask eagerly.

  “Not much,” Malo admitted.

  Malo didn’t do well at school.

  “Then you’ll learn something today,” she replied, eyes blazing with encouragement. “You can do it!”

  Malo thought differently, but her enthusiasm never dimmed.

  Eventually, Jain would stumble in, hair in wild disarray, eyes half-closed.

  “You’re late again,” Father scolded him.

  “I’ll wake earlier tomorrow,” Jain yawned.

  All of them knew it was a lie, even Jain himself.

  Mother laughed and kept talking. Jain joined her, adding his jokes and banter, and soon the kitchen rang with noise and warmth.

  Malo ate quietly as always. He could not stop the noise. It was simply how his family lived.

  After eating his meal, he’d then go about his day and head on over to school.

  While he excelled in physical areas, school was not something that he could overpower.

  His mind kept running off to who knows where, and he found his eyes occasionally closing as he fought off sleep.

  He was confident in being able to fight adults, but sleep was something he could not beat.

  He really did try.

  But, unfortunately, effort alone isn’t always enough.

  Though, another reason for this is pretty simple: he was not meant to sit still and listen to endless lessons of history and numbers. Everyone knew it. Malo was made for training, for testing his strength under the open sky.

  But it’s precisely because of this, that naturally, people were scared of him.

  His classmates were prime examples of this.

  It was a different reaction than what he had been used to.

  His father was proud and excited for him. At first, Jain felt a twinge of jealousy, watching the attention Malo received. But as he helped Malo learn how to hold back, guiding him patiently, Malo realized something important: feeling jealous didn’t automatically make it a bad thing.

  Jealousy was not necessarily a negative aspect.

  But it wasn’t the same for everyone.

  Malo could only endure the slick comments and laughter of his classmates as he kept hurting himself accidentally while moving around.

  Malo noticed how often such “accidents” seemed arranged. Desks shifted just before he stood. Chairs appeared where they hadn’t been.

  But he said nothing. He endured the bruises in silence.

  Malo didn’t know why they enjoyed seeing that.

  Were kids that mean?

  Or, were they simply so overflown with jealousy that seeing Malo be capable of being hurt remind them that he was still just a kid?

  That he wasn’t better than him?

  No. Kids are just that mean.

  After these painful days at school, Malo would return home, where Mother fussed over him as if each bruise were a serious wound. She carefully cleaned his scraped knees, dabbed at his small cuts, and comforted him through it all.

  Malo didn’t understand why she treated it so seriously. They were just small bruises. If he truly was as strong as he was told, why should a few minor injuries matter?

  “You have to be more careful,” Mother said softly, pressing a wet cloth against his knee.

  “............I’ll try to,” Malo muttered.

  She glanced up at him and frowned. “You’re lying about something.”

  Malo froze. How could she know?

  “You always pause before telling a lie,” she explained matter-of-factly.

  Did he really?

  “……......No,” he said reluctantly.

  “You just did it again,” she said, letting out a soft chuckle.

  Malo looked down.

  “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?” she pressed gently.

  “........…”

  “If you don’t tell me, then I’m not making blueberry stew,” she added.

  Malo swallowed. He really loved Mother’s blueberry stew.

  After a few seconds of arguing within his own mind, Malo decided that it wasn’t worth it to miss out on her stew.

  “It’s the other kids,” he quietly answered.

  Mother paused. “The other kids did this?”

  Malo shifted uncomfortably. “It’s subtle, but they move their desks and chairs whenever I get up.”

  “I see,” she said quietly, before resuming the careful treatment of his bruise.

  Malo waited while she finished up.

  “Why haven’t you said anything?” Mother asked suddenly in a sharper tone.

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t you ask the teacher for help? Or us? Why have you stayed silent?”

  Malo kept his eyes low, staring at his own hands.

  Why had he stayed quiet? Was it fear? Embarrassment?

  No.

  “It’s because I’m strong,” Malo admitted.

  “Strong?” Mother echoed.

  “Because of my gift,” Malo continued. “Everyone says I have to be some kind of hero. I have to do great things, or else it’ll all be a waste-” He paused, thinking carefully about how to put it into words. "A hero isn’t someone who’s hated by everyone. A hero isn’t feared by his classmates because of his appearance. A hero is someone who can endure pain and still save everyone in the end.”

  Malo rubbed at his nose. “If I can’t even endure this, then what kind of hero am I?”

  While he was told to become one, all the kids never made him feel like one. They all saw him as a monster, as a child who could crush them with ease.

  To them, Malo wasn’t a hero. He was a villain.

  And no matter how quietly he endured it, no matter how much he tried to show them he meant no harm, no one would ever see the truth.

  Honestly, Malo never tried to make himself seem like a hero. That was never his goal.

  He just……...wanted them to stop being afraid of him.

  Mother was quiet for a long moment.

  Malo sniffed, wiping at his nose again.

  “You’re not a hero,” she said softly.

  “…....?” Malo looked up at her, confused.

  “At least, not yet,” she added, removing the wet cloth from his knee.

  “Maybe, in the future, you’ll become a great hero,” she continued. “Respected and loved by everyone. Your strength and power will be praised by all, and everyone will rely on you to save them from danger.”

  She looked him directly in the eyes. “But, as of right now, you’re still just a kid.”

  She pinched his ear lightly, making him wince. “You don’t have to worry about saving everyone. You don’t have to endure pain all on your own. And you don’t have to stay silent when someone wrongs you.”

  She let go of his ear. “If you keep letting yourself be hurt, thinking they’ll hate you more if you stand up for yourself, then who will save you?”

  Malo’s stomach tightened.

  Who would save him? But, was he even the one who needed saving? What was the point of his strength if he still needed protection?

  He gripped his legs tightly.

  “But I have to,” he whispered.

  He had to be strong.

  Just then, he was surprised when Mother lightly flicked his forehead.

  “Alright. Get up.”

  “What?” Malo blinked.

  She stood, brushing her hands on her apron. “Come help me for a bit.”

  Before he knew it, Malo found himself moving around the house, helping with chores. He carried logs for the firewood, hefted heavy tables and beds, and shifted furniture hiding dust and dirt that Mother had carefully swept aside.

  Was he being punished for something?

  It was all heavy grunt work that no ordinary child his age could manage.

  And it was all thanks to that “gift.”

  Finally, the last table was in place. Malo looked to Mother. At least she made him feel appreciated. She showered him with praise, hugs, and pecks on the cheek whenever he finished a chore.

  Malo didn’t understand how such a bright, affectionate woman had ended up with his strict father. Nor did he understand why he hadn’t inherited that same warmth.

  Maybe, if he had, the other kids would—

  “You are strong.”

  Malo blinked, puzzled by the sudden declaration. It was an obvious statement that he had been told many times.

  She grasped his hands gently. “But you are not invincible.”

  Malo stared back.

  “With this strength, you can protect so many. You can do so much good,” she said softly, “but you can’t protect everyone. Strength isn’t everything. There are things in this world you simply cannot overcome with strength alone.” She paused. “But, if your own strength isn’t enough, you can rely on those around you.”

  Malo was confused.

  Who could be strong enough to help him? And who or what could make him struggle?

  “Maybe,” she continued, “if you listened to those who believe in your strength, you could become unstoppable. A champion who fights every day, someone who bathes in glory within the arena.”

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Malo thought about it.

  It was definitely possible.

  And it was something that a person with his gift should do.

  “But,” she asked, tilting her head, “is that what you want? Do you want to use your strength just for that?"

  Malo glanced away.

  She smiled warmly. “Your gift may make you perfect for being a hero, but that doesn’t mean you have to be one. You choose how to use it. You are responsible for those it helps and those it harms. Even if you can’t be a hero, you can still protect and help them.”

  She squeezed his hands tightly. “Show your classmates that your strength isn’t just for fighting. It can protect, guide, and care. Your strength isn’t what defines you, but it’s how you use it.”

  Malo looked at her in the eyes. “How I use it?” He repeated in a quiet tone.

  “As of now, you are still young. A child full of curiosity, joy at the food you eat, sadness at the pain you endure. You are allowed to feel that sadness when others exclude you. You are allowed to feel lonely when you think no one wants to be your friend.” Her eyes became wet. “You are not a hero who must endure endless suffering. You are not forced to let strength alone define what you can bear. You are still a child."

  Mother rested her head gently against his. “You are my son.”

  Malo swallowed. He was unsure on how to respond.

  That was when she noticed a splinter in his hand.

  Fussing over it, she worked delicately, trying not to hurt him. It was such a tiny, ordinary injury, hardly worth the effort. Watching her try to remove it, only to fumble and lose it again, Malo waited patiently. He knew it was a waste of time.

  But he still let her.

  He felt a sudden, small understanding of his classmates. Just as they had delighted in his minor injuries, as a reminder that he wasn’t a monster but still a kid, his mother’s careful attention showed him the same.

  He wasn’t a hero, but he wasn’t a villain either.

  He was simply a lonely child.

  After that, Malo had some free time, which he spent wandering through the underbrush and the towering trees that surrounded their little village.

  He didn’t have a destination in mind—he rarely did—but to Malo, it didn’t matter. The simple act of exploring, of feeling the earth beneath his feet and the wind rustle through the leaves, was enough.

  Sometimes, Jain would join him, and the brothers’ adventures quickly turned chaotic. Malo remembered the chest they had found one afternoon. With curiosity, they opened it, only to discover a family of rats that immediately leapt out. Both brothers ran back in terror and surprise, hearts pounding in unison. Another time, they stumbled upon a pond that was home to a large crocodilian. Again, they fled, barely managing to escape. There were countless other moments of equal chaos, each one leaving Jain laughing, screaming, and running. Malo didn’t laugh or scream, but he did run.

  Dangerous times, Malo thought, shaking his head at the memories.

  And yet, when night fell and it was time to eat dinner, all of that seemed to fade away. Malo would sit at the table, enjoying the meal Mother had prepared, while Jain recounted their adventures with wide-eyed enthusiasm.

  He watched as Mother’s laughter filled the house, while even Father couldn’t help but let a small smile escape. Jain’s energy was infectious, and even Malo, usually quiet, listened intently, drawn into the chaos of their stories.

  Yes, these were dangerous times, much different from the calm, solitary walks Malo preferred. And yet, as he took another bite of his meal, Malo had to admit it.

  It wasn’t so bad.

  Some days, however, weren’t like that at all.

  On the days when rain fell relentlessly, making it impossible to be outside, the family stayed indoors. Malo would sit by the window, gazing out into the tree line, imagining what it might be like to wander through the wet woods.

  Father was seated in a chair with a book in hand. Every now and then, he would cough, breaking Malo from the verge of sleep.

  Jain sat next to him, clearly bored, fidgeting in his seat.

  Mother placed cups of warm tea on the table for them all, then returned to her knitting, creating a pair of thick, cozy garments for Malo and Jain. The cold months were coming soon, and she wanted them ready.

  No one spoke much. Aside from comments on the rain, plans for the next day, and Jain’s usual complaints, the house was quiet.

  And yet, it was not an uncomfortable silence.

  It was the kind of silence that came when people didn't need to fill the air with words. When just being together, without pretense or effort, was enough.

  It was a warm and comfortable silence that reminded them that they were all together, safe and content.

  Eventually, Jain’s head drooped onto Malo’s shoulder, sleeping out of pure boredom.

  Malo continued to watch the rain, listening to the soft patter against the window, feeling a sense of peace as he gazed out.

  He never liked rainy days. He disliked staying inside, trapped, doing nothing. He would have loved to take another walk today. But the weather could not be controlled. The rain came whether he wanted it or not.

  And yet, as long as he was with his family, it didn’t matter much.

  Mother began to hum a familiar tune, one Malo had known since he was small. His eyes grew heavy, and he felt a soft, warm hand pat his own.

  Malo closed his eyes and let himself sleep.

  As he slept, Malo’s mind drifted back to Mother’s words.

  What had she meant by all of it? Did he have other talents he hadn’t noticed? Other ways he could use his strength that went beyond fighting or carrying heavy burdens?

  The questions lingered like shadows until Malo woke, slowly, in his bed.

  The room was quiet. It seemed their parents had moved them to their beds.

  Malo glanced over at his brother.

  Jain’s chest rose and fell with each slow breath, the soft rhythm of sleep pulling him into dreams.

  There was no way Jain would be up early tomorrow.

  Malo rolled over toward the window on the other side of the room. Outside, the moon hung high and silver in the sky, and stars glittered faintly through the branches of the surrounding trees.

  The night was calm and peaceful without the rain.

  Malo’s thoughts returned to Mother’s question:

  “Is that what you want?”

  What did he want?

  Did he want to eat peacefully, without Jain laughing and accidentally spitting into his food? Did he want a normal day of school, where no one glared at him with those sharp, spiteful eyes? Did he want a quiet walk in the woods, where danger wouldn’t seem to lurk behind every tree? Did he want to skip chores, to rest and do as he pleased for a day?

  Yes……and no.

  He did want those things. He did want calm meals, ordinary school days, safe walks, and the luxury of relaxation. But, he didn’t want to change the life he had.

  So, he made a resolution.

  He wanted to use his strength to ensure that this life of his would continue.

  He would protect it.

  Unfortunately,

  Tomorrow was another rainy day.

  Thankfully, there was no school today.

  Malo woke to the soft creak of the bedroom door and found Mother standing by his bed.

  “It’s a beautiful day today,” she said, her voice bright and light, “Do you want to come with me to pick some blueberries?”

  Normally, Malo would have jumped at the chance. But this morning, he felt sore, his muscles stiff from yesterday’s labor and his sleep restless, punctuated by Jain’s relentless snoring.

  Malo stretched, letting out a long yawn. “Sorry, can I sleep a bit more?”

  Mother tilted her head slightly, surprise flickering across her face. Then she smiled softly. “Sleep in? Oh, that’s fine. There’s no school today. Sleep as long as you need.”

  She leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “When you wake up, we’ll all have blueberry stew.”

  Malo’s stomach rumbled at the thought, and he snuggled back into his blankets, drifting once more into sleep as Mother left the room.

  Hours passed.

  When Malo finally stirred awake again, Jain was still asleep, curled up in his blanket. But the sun had vanished. Through the window, Malo saw gray clouds stretching across the sky, and a gentle drizzle had begun.

  Exiting the bedroom, Malo went to the main living room, where he found Father sitting nearby in his chair, silently reading. Malo sat down as well, the two of them waiting for Mother’s return.

  Since he was feeling extra hungry, Malo had figured that by now, Mother should be returning soon.

  Jain finally woke up and came as well, joining Malo and Father. Outside, the drizzle escalated to rain, and the wind picked up, shaking the branches and making them sway violently.

  Malo began to worry.

  Mother had still not returned.

  When the rain became a storm and the winds tore the branches off of trees, Father rushed outside as Mother still hadn’t returned.

  Malo felt a knot tighten in his chest, and even Jain, usually so carefree, seemed tense.

  Father returned just as a jagged bolt of lightning struck nearby, illuminating the house in a blinding white flash.

  In that brief glare, even through the storm’s shadowed gloom, Malo caught sight of Father’s face. It was twisted, strained, full of anguish he had never seen before.

  Father rarely showed his emotions. Malo had always thought of him as unshakable, calm, a constant presence in the household. And yet, in that moment, everything about him screamed alarm.

  Malo’s heart skipped. His eyes followed Father’s hands, hidden behind his back.

  Slowly, with a trembling clarity, Malo understood what had happened.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Losing a family member is disheartening.

  It’s misfortunate, but it is inevitable.

  As soon as one is born into this world, the countdown on their demise begins, and they scramble upon themselves to do everything that they wish before it ends. They may even try to delay it, to make it longer, to just get one more second.

  But it never works.

  Death is a truth and law that none can oppose.

  And yet, even though it is known, that it is obvious, that it is something all humans have long accepted, the pain of losing a loved one doesn’t get better. It still burns like the fires of hell, with an intensity that never ends, even until the death of the one who grieves.

  It is truly a misfortune.

  To live our lives with our loved ones. To be glad that you were blessed with their presence. To be joyous that you had met them-

  To only see them succumb and pass away, with only memories to remember them by.

  And sadly, you and I will experience it as well.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  The funeral was held shortly after.

  Malo stood silently as Father spoke a few words, each one heavy with grief. Sometimes, Malo caught sight of the tears streaking his father’s face, something he had never seen before.

  Beside him, Jain sobbed openly, his small body shaking with each uncontrollable cry. Malo’s gaze swept over the villagers: elders with bowed heads, children clutching their parents’ hands, the other adults standing in quiet mourning. They all grieved for the same loss.

  Mother had died.

  Father had found her at the blueberry fields, her arm jutting out from beneath a landslide. Panic had driven him to dig frantically, but when the earth was cleared, all that remained was her lifeless body. The rainstorm had come suddenly, transforming a gentle drizzle into a violent downpour, triggering the landslide that stole her from them before she could escape.

  Unlucky.

  No. That wasn’t the word.

  Malo’s hands clenched into tight fists, his nails digging into his palms. He watched the elders lower Mother into the ground, the soil filling the grave as Father’s shoulders sagged over her tomb. Jain placed a trembling hand on his shoulder, a quiet comfort for both of them.

  And all Malo could feel was guilt.

  If only he had gone with her, he could have stopped it.

  With all his so-called strength, with the gift that had made him a so-called “hero”, he couldn’t protect the one person who mattered most. How could he call himself strong? How could he call himself a hero? What was the point of strength if it failed when it mattered most?

  Then, some of his classmates approached. The very same children who had teased and bullied him came forward, awkward, hesitant, eyes cast low. They offered condolences, murmured apologies for their past behavior.

  Malo didn’t respond.

  Seeing his silence, they shuffled away while quietly talking to each other.

  Now. Now you choose to apologize?

  Was it because of her? Because Mother had died, that you suddenly recognized I wasn’t some monster? That I was just a kid like you?

  Was her death necessary for you to see me?

  Malo’s chest burned with anger. He could not accept it.

  He couldn’t accept that Mother’s death was necessary for such a change. That it was necessary for things to be different.

  That it wasn’t his strength that made things different.

  That it was something out of his control.

  That he was..……..weak.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  The next day, Malo woke up as usual.

  He turned to his side, expecting to see Jain, but the bed was empty.

  “Oh.”

  Jain wasn’t there.

  Malo swung his legs off the bed and went through his morning routine. He washed up before he headed to the kitchen.

  The first thing he noticed was that Father wasn’t there either. How had he known so quickly?

  And then it hit him. No one praised him for waking up early today.

  Instead, Malo found Jain bustling around the kitchen, finishing preparations for breakfast.

  “Morning, little brother,” Jain said, his voice tired but soft, a small smile on his face. “Your favorite’s on the table, so go ahead and eat up.”

  Malo sat down, spoon hovering over the plate, and watched as Jain hurriedly gathered himself to leave.

  Finally, Malo noticed. It was a singular plate.

  “Where’s Father? And where are you going?” he asked.

  Jain stopped in the doorway as his smile faltered. “Father’s working, and I’ve got a few chores to attend to.”

  “You’ve never done chores this early,” Malo pointed out.

  Jain turned slightly, the light in his eyes dimmer now. “Yeah. I guess I haven’t.”

  With that, he left, the soft click of the door echoing through the empty kitchen.

  Malo returned to his plate. Blueberry stew. His favorite.

  He lifted a spoonful and tasted it.

  It didn’t taste as good as he remembered.

  “I don’t think you did it right,” he muttered aloud.

  He glanced at Jain’s empty seat, half-expecting a reply, only to remember that his brother had already gone.

  The house was quiet.

  No one else was eating with him. No playful interruptions, no chaotic laughter, no spills or spats. He could eat in peace, as slowly as he wanted, savoring the silence.

  But, as he continued to eat, he couldn’t help but feel that the meal tasted worse than before.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  At school, things were slightly different.

  Some students had even started talking to him.

  It was a change from the scornful eyes he had once endured, though there were still a few hateful glares.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” one murmured.

  “I’m sure she’s in a better place,” another said softly.

  Malo simply nodded to them all.

  Then, a classmate added, “But, you know, I hear Jain’s getting up early now.”

  Malo froze.

  “Yeah, isn’t he going around doing odd jobs as well? I hear he even helped out at the stables. No one ever works over there.”

  A few classmates nodded in agreement.

  “Wow, after…....uhm…....that, it’s good to at least see that Jain’s doing well.”

  The classmates jumped as Malo suddenly banged his hand on his table, crushing it fully to the ground.

  The classmates were scared frozen as they could only look at Malo.

  Malo didn’t like hearing that things were better after her death.

  After the brief outburst, the classroom slowly returned to normal. Malo found himself staring blankly at the window, lost in daydreams.

  He caught himself mid-thought, realizing he had had to pay attention again. But why?

  No one was asking him to.

  Malo then let his eyelids droop and dozed off.

  When he woke, it was the perfect moment to leave school. He then quickly got up to leave, only to bang his head on the doorway.

  Returning home, he instinctively stopped mid-step.

  Raising a hand to his head, he saw a few streaks of blood. A small cut, nothing serious.

  Looking around, he waited for someone to come fix him up.

  But no one came.

  “Oh well,” he thought. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

  He prepared to start his chores, only to be stopped again. Everything was already done.

  Confusion gave way to realization. Jain had gotten up earlier, done his own chores, and completed Malo’s as well.

  Malo felt a flicker of happiness. He could finally spend the day however he wanted. He could relax as much as he wanted to.

  Right?

  He stepped outside for a walk, but everything felt different.

  He had nowhere to go. Not that he ever did, but this felt different. He didn’t know what he wanted to do.

  As he wandered aimlessly, he glanced upward.

  It was just the sky. It was the sky that had always been there.

  And yet, something about it kept his focus.

  It was an ordinary blue with a bright sun that had small, white clouds floating alongside it.

  It was completely normal. There was nothing off about it. Anyone else would have given it a look and then returned to whatever they were doing.

  No one would give it a second look, let alone keep looking at it.

  But, to Malo, something about the sky was captivating.

  Perhaps it was the lazily, drifting clouds that went however they wished, rising and setting and moving at their own pace. Perhaps it was the sun rising and shining on a strict schedule. Or maybe, it was the pale blue sky that connected it all, the clouds and the sun, and him, the observer.

  It reminded him of something.

  Of three individuals in a bright and fun home, and him, who watched it all unfold, as a silent observer, and yet, who was still part of it all.

  Since then, rather than taking his walks, Malo found himself watching the sky.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  It was all he could do.

  All he did was lay outside and watch the sky.

  Until, of course, it rained.

  But this time, as Malo waited in the house, alone, he looked out the window.

  The storm wasn’t as violent as the one on that day. It was a mild drizzle, gentle enough to dot the earth with tiny silver beads.

  Father was out working, as he always was these days. Father had felt that for Malo’s future, he needed to work even harder. That was why he was rarely home...............though, Malo had a feeling that Father was simply avoiding their home.

  And so was Jain. Jain kept working as well, though Malo had heard a few rumors that Jain spent some time around the local Arena.

  So, Malo sat alone, waiting for the sky to clear.

  Soon, he noticed movement. It was a pair of children splashing in puddles, their laughter rising over the soft patter of the rain.

  He didn’t know what game they were playing, and honestly, he didn’t care. What mattered to him was how happy they looked.

  That was what made Malo begin to feel off.

  How could they enjoy themselves in such a dangerous, terrible time? Why play outside while it rained? Why risk it?

  But then, he paused. He caught himself.

  Was he upset? Then, what was he upset about?

  To him, the rain had never been dangerous. It was merely an inconvenience. A small disruption that caused his family to stay indoors and-

  Malo turned in his chair.

  Where was his family?

  He glanced back at the children outside.

  Placing a hand on the glass, he watched them laugh and chase each other, drenched but unbothered.

  To them, the rain was just rain. Mild, inconvenient, but harmless.

  To Malo, it was the cause of everything.

  It took away the responsibility of waking up his brother. It took away his Father’s rare compliments. It took away the chatter at the kitchen table, the playful arguments, the calm moments when Mother tended to his wounds. It took away the satisfaction of chores he had once relished. It took away the adventurous walks he had shared with Jain, the laughter at dinner as stories unfolded.

  It took away Mother.

  It took away his family.

  It took away his ordinary life.

  And with it, it took away meaning.

  It took everything.

  All it left was a silence, an unfamiliar one.

  It wasn't the same one as before.

  This one hurt.

  And yet, the world itself remained the same.

  The children outside continued to play. Clouds drifted wherever they pleased. The sun shone on schedule. The sky connected everything, unchanging.

  It had been the same before Mother’s death. And now, it remains the same.

  Except for him.

  Malo’s gaze hardened.

  Nothing was different, and yet everything had changed.

  It was an impossible idea, but his strength was the exact same.

  He was strong, yet he was too weak to save Mother.

  It was weird.

  If the world remained the same, and if things only changed for him…….....then did it really?

  Did things truly change?

  Ever since Mother had died, had anything truly changed?

  Some things had. Jain, Father, they had become more diligent and responsible. Perhaps her death had brought about that. But what about the things that hadn’t changed? What did that mean?

  If the world continued as if nothing had happened, was Mother’s life……….meaningless?

  He watched the rain fall.

  It was unfair.

  It was unfair that the world treated him like a monster. Unfair that something as simple as rain could take his Mother, destroy his life, and yet leave the world indifferent.

  He disliked that the world continued spinning, unchanged, while he was left behind.

  If life could be so easily taken, and then forgotten as everyone returned to their own paths-

  What was the point of living at all?