6 Ashes to Ashes (1)
"That old man didn't really give me much of a choice," I scoffed.
The only reason I came to such a remote place in the middle of nowhere in the mountains was to have a means to defend myself. I didn't care about demons, or the story of Realm of Shadows, I just didn't want to die.
'All of this is just so I can stay out of that blonde hair, blue-eyed protagonist's way and let him handle the rest,' I thought.
Looking in front of me, I remembered the details of the trial of Embers. Everything in it was a mere illusion designed to test my will. And so, I reluctantly stepped into the sea of fire before me. In the distance, I saw a figure kneeling with a blade stabbed into the ground, it was Dante himself. He looked up at me, and the world around me faded once again. I found myself in another illusion.
This time, I was back in my world.
"Alex, there, there, you'll be okay your mommy's in a better place now," my aunt said trying to comfort me, whilst patting me on the head.
I was in a dimly lit room, the air was heavy with grief. I recognised it immediately—it was the memory of my mother's funeral. As a young boy, I cried my heart out, and my father stood beside me in silence, both of us staring at her casket.
The scene shifted, and now I was at school, surrounded by other kids going home with their moms. One of my classmates asked where my mom was, and I simply replied she wasn't here, my dad would pick me up.
The rain started, hours passed, and my father still hadn't come. At the time I thought I had been abandoned. After my mother died, he barely spoke at all. To anyone. After the school called my aunt, it turned out he was at home, drunk out of his mind and fast asleep in front of several bottles of alcohol.
I hated my father at the time. I hated how he just gave up on everything after my mother passed away.
The illusion continued, and the scene shifted once again. This time, I was a 13-year-old child, surrounded by a group of kids at school. My fists were clenched and anger burned in my eyes. I remembered this all too well—getting into fights, beating up other kids who taunted me about my mother's death…
The school called my father again, but as always, he didn't answer. It was a familiar pattern. My aunt, my mother's sister, was the one always showing up.
"What's gotten into you?" She scolded, her voice stern. "You used to be such a good boy."
The school counsellor joined the conversation. "This sort of behaviour is usually related to things happening at home. Is everything alright there?" he asked, looking at my aunt.
My aunt hesitated for a moment before responding, "I don't know. I just take care of Alex from time to time."
On the way to my house with my aunt, she tried to talk to me. "Alex, are you really okay?" Her eyes scanned my body, noticing bruises that seemed far too severe to have come from a fight between children.
"Oh my goodness! Alex, were these from you fighting with those boys?"
"No," I simply replied, shrugging, not wanting to burden her with my problems.
But she persisted, and as we entered my house the reality of my father's declining condition became apparent. Long story short, she realised he was an alcoholic that was getting worse and he was beating me.
My aunt's expression hardened, and she took charge. "Alex, pack your things. You're coming with me."
From that day forward, I began living with my aunt and her family, who took me in and cared for me. It was a stark contrast to the chaotic and neglectful environment at home. Had I stayed with my dad, I'm not sure I would have turned out the way I did. My aunt was a stabilising force in my life, she was like a second mother to me, providing the care and support I needed.
As the illusions played my past, I couldn't help but feel a mix of anger, sadness, and a lingering resentment I thought I had long forgotten for my father—the man who had let me down when I needed him the most. I was angry, angry that I was shown something I wanted to never remember.
I shook off the memories, finding myself face to face with Dante's younger self.
***
Dante stared at me with a twisted grin, his eyes glinting a malevolence that made my skin crawl even if this was the inside of my book. "Deserved it, every bit of it," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Your father was a pathetic excuse for a man. No wonder your mother left this world. She was better off dead than living in the misery of your sorry family."
The words hit like a truck, each one reopening old wounds. My fists clenched involuntarily and I gritted my teeth, trying to remind myself that this was just a trial, just an illusion.
"You're nothing, Darian, just a weakling. Your mother died because she was unfortunate enough to be part of your cursed existence. A waste of breath, just like your old man," Dante continued, his voice a venomous hiss.
He began laughing, pushing me further toward the edge. "Look at you, trying to hold back the rage. But deep down, you know I'm right. Your mother's blood is on your hands. You're the reason she's rotting in the ground."
"Stop it." I said.
"Stop? You know it's the truth. On that day if you hadn't—"
I could no longer contain the fury that was building within me. In a moment of blind rage, I swung my fist, connecting with Dante's smirking face. The impact felt satisfying but I didn't stop. Blow after blow, fuelled by the anger that he had so deliberately stoked, I unleashed my rage.
Dante's laughter didn't waver; instead, it intensified. "That's it, Darian! Hahaha! Let the anger consume you just like it did me…" He said as the illusory world around us blurred and I found myself spectator to a scene I could only stand and watch, unable to move.
***
I was now witnessing a different story, Dante's story.
We were in a village. It was peaceful, the kind of place where everyone knew everyone else. I saw a teenage Dante, full of life, surrounded by his family. His mother, father, and a younger sister—smiles on their faces as they enjoyed the simple pleasures of their tight-knit community.
Then, chaos ensued.
Demons descended upon the village with a fury that shattered the tranquil atmosphere. Dante's family became victims of the demonic onslaught. Dante, amidst the chaos, made a choice. He picked up a sword and faced a demon, but the fight was brutal.
He was on the losing, the demon overpowering him at every turn. Just as it seemed his fate was sealed, a girl with fire in her eyes intervened. She was one of his best friends.
Fighting alongside each other, a brief glimmer of hope shone dimly in the darkness. However, her courage came at a cost. In but a moment, the demon struck her down. Dante, however, realising she had given him an opportunity, unleashed a unique sword technique to strike it down. His blade danced with flames, and with one precise strike, he vanquished the demon.
The scene ended, and Dante, now back to his younger self, looked at me with empty eyes. There was a weight in the air as he asked, "Why did I lose them all, Darian?"
I knew this question. I knew the answer he wanted. This question was part of what I wrote in Realm of Shadows.
"Because you were weak," I replied, giving him the answer he sought.
Dante's gaze lingered on me, and a hint of acceptance flickered in his eyes. "You're right," he said, his voice heavy with the acknowledgement of his own past shortcomings. "You're right, so I hope that with my sword style, you won't lose anyone you love."
The illusion then shattered, I found myself back in the cave in front of the Dante's older spectral form.
"Thank you," he said before disappearing.
[You've succeeded in the trial of Embers!]
.
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[Skillbook: Book of Embers will be added to skills!]
.
.
Memories flooded my mind. Dante's sword style was being carved into my memories.
[Book of Embers: Ember Strike unlocked!]
.
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[Description: Execute a rapid, precise sword slash leaving behind streaks of flames.]
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'Status,' I thought, quickly looking at my stats.
Name: Darian Grey
- Age: 16
- Race: Human
- Mana: 165
- Physical Abilities:
- Strength: E-
- Agility: F+
- Endurance: E-
- Dexterity: F+
- Skills:
- Basic Mana Absorption Technique Lv. 2 (★☆☆☆☆)
- Book of Embers Sword Style (★★★★★):
- Ember Strike Lv. 1
- [?]
- [?]
- …
I took a deep breath. The Book of Embers now resided in my skills. While the trial didn't exactly go according to what I wrote in the novel since I'm the one who took it, the results weren't bad, I got what I came for.
And thus, I stood up, stepping out of the cave and made my way back to the train station in the city.
***
