Chapter B1: The Ache Left Behind

  Several days had passed with nothing of note occurring in the town of Degan, a modest settlement resting on the far outskirts of the Great Conrad Imperium. Life continued in its usual, uneventful rhythm, as it always had for the townsfolk who called Degan home. Merchants opened their stalls at dawn, guards changed shifts along the wooden gates, and families went about their routines beneath the ever-watchful skies of Aldrion's western lands.

  Yet beneath that surface calm, something vital was missing.

  Carrera Gabe, a child born and raised in Degan, had lived most of her life in simplicity. Her days had once been filled with laughter, scraped knees, playful arguments, and endless hours spent with her closest friend. Adrian Chase. Or perhaps Adrian El Durakai now. The name no longer truly mattered to her.

  She did not care what he called himself.

  She only wanted him back.

  Back in Degan. Back by her side. Back to the days when the world felt smaller and kinder, when they would run through the streets until sunset chased them home, when tomorrow felt like a promise rather than a question.

  But that was never going to happen.

  Her friend was gone.

  He had left.

  And no matter how hard she tried to deny it, Carrera blamed the town for his departure. She blamed every whisper, every stare, every stone that had been thrown with hatred rather than hands.

  Because of them, she would never play with him again. Because of them, she would never hear his teasing remarks or his awkward attempts at confidence. Because of them, she would never again feel that familiar presence walking beside her.

  Because of them, she—

  What did it even matter anymore.

  Adrian was gone, and he was not coming back. No matter how much she wished otherwise, no matter how tightly she clung to hope, reality pressed down on her with cruel certainty. She was never going to see him again.

  That realization broke something inside her.

  Carrera sat beneath a large mango tree at the edge of the woods, a fair distance away from town, her small body curled inward as though she could protect herself from the weight crushing her chest. Bitter sobs escaped her lips as she buried her face against her knees, shoulders trembling with each breath.

  She sniffed hard, trying to force back the snot threatening to spill as tears continued to well in her eyes. She hated this feeling. Hated how her chest throbbed relentlessly, each pulse leaving behind a bitter sensation she could not name.

  Her heart hurt.

  It hurt constantly.

  And every time it did, the pain tasted sharp and unpleasant, as though grief itself had a flavor she was forced to swallow.

  She did not understand why it hurt this much. She only knew that crying made it worse, yet she could not stop the tears from coming.

  That was why she came here.

  Carrera never cried in front of her parents anymore. Instead, she would slip away from home and come to the woods, to this very tree, where she could let everything spill out in silence.

  She chose this place because it reminded her of Adrian.

  This was where he used to train, swinging wooden sticks at the bark with clumsy determination, pretending the tree was an enemy too powerful to defeat in a single strike. She would sit nearby and watch him, sometimes cheering, sometimes mocking him, always smiling.

  Now those memories felt distant, as though they belonged to a dream she once had rather than a life she had lived.

  She sniffed again, scrubbing at her eyes. The tears wanted to fall, but she forced them back with effort born of exhaustion. She did not want to cry anymore. Crying only deepened the ache, making it linger longer than she could bear.

  Footsteps crunched against dried leaves.

  Carrera stiffened.

  She quickly wiped her face, straightened her posture, and sat upright just as a familiar figure emerged from the bushes. Mister Gabe brushed aside a stray branch, squinting until his eyes landed on her.

  "There you are, baby girl," he said gently as he approached. "Daddy's been looking for you all over."

  He settled down beside her beneath the tree, his movements careful and deliberate. "What are you doing all the way out here?" he asked. "Your mother and I have been searching the town for you."

  It had taken them a while before they finally realized where she would be. This place held memories too dear for her to abandon so easily.

  "Nothing, Dad," Carrera replied with a small smile. "I just came here for fun."

  She had wiped away her tears, but the redness of her eyes and the heaviness of her lids betrayed her lie.

  Mister Gabe sighed quietly.

  The past weeks had been unimaginably difficult for their family. Under normal circumstances, Carrera's awakening would have been cause for celebration. Her soul core had manifested brilliantly, even earning her the rare privilege of being recognized as a Bearer. It should have been a moment of pride and joy, one worth celebrating beyond their means if necessary.

  But there had been no celebration.

  Not with their daughter trapped in this fragile, unstable state.

  His thoughts drifted back to earlier that day, to his wife's raised voice echoing through their home. She had blamed him without restraint, accusing him of allowing the friendship between Carrera and Adrian to blossom in the first place. If he had stopped it, she claimed, their daughter would not now be suffering over the absence of an abominable half-blood.

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  That was how she referred to Adrian.

  Mister Gabe exhaled slowly.

  Things had not been easy for him either. More than his work, more than anything else in the world, there was nothing he cherished more than his daughter. She was precious to him beyond measure.

  To witness such a bright, innocent child drown in sorrow, and to be powerless to ease her pain, tore at him relentlessly.

  His hand curled into a fist at his side, unnoticed by Carrera. Adrian's face flashed through his mind, and with it came a dark, fleeting urge to strangle the goblin who had left his daughter in this state.

  But the thought passed.

  His fist loosened.

  Despite the bitterness he harbored, Mister Gabe understood enough to know that Adrian did not deserve all the blame placed upon him. There were forces far beyond a child's control at work.

  Still, forgiveness was not something he could offer.

  Not when his daughter's heart had been broken.

  "Come on," he said at last, softening his voice. "Let's go home. Your mother's very worried about you."

  Carrera nodded faintly. She felt drained, empty, as though all the tears she had left had already been spent.

  Mister Gabe rose to his feet and extended his hand toward her. "Alright then. Let's go."

  She stared at his outstretched palm for a moment before taking it. Together, they began the quiet walk back toward town.

  Carrera followed slightly behind him, her smaller steps forcing him to slow his pace. She noticed how broad his back looked, how firm and steady his presence felt. The hand she held was rough, calloused from years of work.

  This was her father.

  Even at her young age, she understood how deeply he cared for her, perhaps even more than her mother did. He was not always around, but his love was undeniable, unshakable.

  As they walked in silence, a thought surfaced in her mind, heavy and persistent.

  "Dad," she called softly.

  "Yes, dear?" Mister Gabe replied, eyes still fixed on the path ahead as he matched her pace without effort.

  Carrera hesitated, then asked, "Do the townspeople hate Adrian because he doesn't have a father and a mother?"

  Chapter B2: The Weight of History

  At his daughter's sudden question, Mister Gabe could not help but pause. He wondered how such a thought had formed in her young mind, and what chain of emotions had guided her to ask something so heavy with implication. It was abrupt, yes, but more than that, it revealed a depth of perception he had not expected from someone her age.

  Still, Mister Gabe was an intelligent man, one who understood that moments like this required care rather than avoidance. If mishandled, such questions could grow into misunderstandings that shaped a child's worldview in dangerous ways.

  He stopped walking and turned toward her, lowering himself until he was eye level with Carrera. His expression softened, his voice calm and deliberate as he spoke.

  "Tell me something first, my love," he said gently. "What do you know about the one called Materama?"

  Carrera blinked at the sudden shift in topic. For a moment, she wondered what that name had to do with Adrian or with the pain she felt in her chest. Then she focused on the sound of it. The name stirred something faint but familiar in her memory.

  She thought carefully, her brows knitting together as she searched through old recollections. Then realization struck her.

  "Do you mean the man from the story?" she asked. "The one mummy used to tell me about before I went to sleep when I was little?"

  Mister Gabe smiled faintly, pleased by her recollection, and nodded. "Yes. That is the one."

  Encouraged, he continued, "If you remember his story, then tell me this. What kind of man was Materama?"

  Carrera hesitated again. The tale of Materama was one she had heard many times, a story often told to children as both a warning and a lullaby. It spoke of a world once unified, of peace among the five realms, and of how all of it was shattered by the rise of a single individual.

  If she had to describe him based on those stories, then the answer was clear.

  "He was bad," she said slowly, choosing her words with care. "An evil man. He caused the five races to fight each other." She paused, then added, "He made them split apart."

  Mister Gabe nodded, both in affirmation and approval. "That is correct, but it is not the full picture."

  He raised his hand and began counting on his fingers, his tone steady and instructive.

  "Materama's appearance threw the world of Thyrennor into its first chaotic era," he said, lowering one finger. "His actions planted the seeds of division that permanently separated the five races." Another finger fell. "He ruled as an authoritarian, seeking dominance through force rather than unity." A third finger dropped. "His ambition to become the Fire King of Thyrennor drenched every realm in blood."

  He paused, leaving one finger standing.

  "And lastly," he continued, his voice growing heavier, "his legacy left behind scars that remain even today, scars that continue to pass down through generations."

  Legend told of the final battle between Materama and the heroes who sealed him away. That clash had torn the land itself apart, leaving behind a massive wound upon the world. The place where it happened became cursed, uninhabitable to all forms of life, a silent reminder of what unchecked ambition could destroy.

  Carrera listened, but confusion clouded her expression.

  "I don't understand, Dad," she said at last. "What does any of this have to do with Adrian?"

  "That is a good question," Mister Gabe replied calmly. "You know that Adrian is a half-blood, part Human and part Demi-kin."

  Carrera shook her head, her grip tightening slightly around his hand as she waited for him to continue.

  "The other half of Adrian," Mister Gabe explained, "traces back to the origin race of Materama. He is a Demi-kin Goblin."

  He emphasized the last words carefully.

  "And that," he said softly, "is why Adrian is feared."

  Carrera's confusion deepened rather than eased. "Because he's the same race as the bad man?" she asked. "Because of something someone else did?"

  "The fear people feel," Mister Gabe said, "comes from the belief that someone born of the same race could repeat the same horrors. To them, Adrian is not just a boy. He is the possibility of Materama's return."

  That explanation made some sense to her, but only partially. It left too many questions unanswered, too many wrongs unchallenged.

  "I still don't get it," Carrera said, frustration seeping into her voice. "Materama lived a long time ago. Adrian wasn't even alive then. Why are they angry at him?"

  She was right. Most of the people living today had never witnessed Materama's reign themselves. Everything they knew came from stories, from songs sung by bards, from history books written by those who survived.

  Mister Gabe smiled faintly, though there was sadness behind it. His daughter's curiosity, her desire to understand the world, was something he cherished deeply, even if the circumstances were far from ideal.

  "That is the nature of actions," he said thoughtfully. "The choices we make define us. Flesh fades, bones turn to dust, but actions endure. They echo forward in time, shaping how future generations remember the past."

  He continued, his voice taking on a tone of quiet wisdom.

  "Materama became a symbol. Not just of himself, but of the Demi-kin as a whole. His actions defined how the world sees his race, and that perception has been passed down without question."

  He looked at her carefully. "Adrian's appearance reminds people of suffering. Of loss. Of fear. And so, even though he did nothing wrong, they project the past onto him."

  Carrera's face tightened, anger bubbling to the surface. "Even if he didn't do anything?" she asked sharply. "Even if he's kind and good?"

  "Yes," Mister Gabe answered honestly. "Some wounds are not healed by time alone, especially those left by catastrophic events."

  She frowned deeply, her small hands clenching into fists. The explanation did not comfort her. If anything, it made her angrier.

  "So it's unfair," she muttered.

  Mister Gabe did not argue.

  "Do you understand now?" he asked gently.

  Carrera nodded, though the motion was slow and reluctant.

  "Good," he said, standing upright again. "Now let's get back to your mother. She's been worried sick."

  He took her hands once more, and together they resumed the walk back toward town.

  Carrera remained quiet, replaying her father's words in her mind. She understood what he had said, every part of it, but understanding did not mean acceptance.

  Nothing he had explained made what happened to Adrian feel right.

  The more she thought about it, the more wrong it all seemed. To punish someone for crimes they never committed, for a history they had no part in shaping, felt deeply unjust.

  Even at her young age, Carrera realized something important.

  The world was unfair.

  And she hated that.

  As though to silently protest the logic forced upon her, she squeezed her father's hand tightly, her grip firm and unyielding.