He knew it was inevitable. With glass-like bones, failing organs, and weakening vitality like a wisp of fire in a completely melted candle, Yaw-yan, a 15-year-old boy, had been trapped in his own crippled body since birth.
He wished that the good doctor and nurses who had taken care of him for so long didn't trouble themselves this much. He really wanted to throw out a funny line to lighten the mood, but with blood pouring into his mouth, that was a no-go.
Maybe he could lift his thumb for them—oh, he couldn't feel his fingers. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't feel his entire body. That was new. Usually, he was in pain all the time, but it seemed that whatever was happening to him now had numbed his senses and taken the pain away.
That was welcome news. In the past, he always told everyone he was okay to ease their worries. But if he were being honest, he was tired of all the pain.
Not because he couldn't handle it—he had actually gotten good at it over time. He had stopped crying and yelling when he was 10, realizing that doing so only hurt his loving parents. They hated seeing him suffer.
What Yaw-yan was truly tired of was knowing that things would only get worse for him and his parents.
He was actually surprised he had made it this far. With all the complications and close calls his body had suffered in the past, he didn't even know if God was helping him live longer or just being cruel by prolonging both his and his parents' suffering.
But it seemed that, whichever the reason, God had already lost interest in him.
He just wished it had happened much sooner.
Because it sucked, living his life.
He was stuck in bed, unable to even sit up. He had been able to do so when he was five, but after his sixth birthday, his privilege of watching the outside world from his window while sitting in his favorite wheelchair was revoked.
Something had snapped in his body that day, and the complications started to pile up. After that, sitting meant bracing himself for excruciating pain.
He hated sitting.
He hated any activity that involved lifting his body even a tiny bit off the bed.
That had been his routine for the last ten years—just lying in bed.
So yeah, it sucked.
The doctors were saying something to each other. Their frantic movements didn't inspire confidence. It seemed that this was really it.
There would be no waking up for him after this.
One of the nurses—who Yaw-yan thought was the prettiest nurse he had ever seen, which was saying a lot—looked at him with teary eyes after the doctor whispered something to her. She nodded and walked out of the room.
The doctors and nurses continued checking his vitals, though he couldn't feel anything. This lasted for a couple of minutes until the door burst open, and familiar faces strode in.
One person sat by his side, leaning forward to get a better look at Yaw-yan's face, and gently caressed his cheek with her pale, shaking hand.
"Oh, my baby…"
Yaw-yan tried his best not to tear up.
He had planned to end his story with a face full of acceptance and resolve, like the protagonist of many of his favorite stories. He had even planned to smile through it till the end, showing everyone that everything would be okay.
But looking at his loving mother's tear-filled face, Yaw-yan's eyes betrayed him.
Tears flowed down his cheeks—the only thing his body allowed him to do.
His mother was saying something. He really wanted to hear it, but he couldn't.
His father, the usually strong and cheerful man who never showed weakness in front of him—not even in the hardest times—was now bawling his eyes out. His right hand was on Mom's shoulder, rubbing it for comfort, while his left gently squeezed Yaw-yan's thigh.
Years of pain.
Years of fear.
Years full of uncertainty.
That was what he had cost them.
The most loving parents in the world were chained to a curse named Yaw-yan.
And he hated himself for that.
His mother was a famous idol, and his father was the greatest baseball player on the planet. They had been young when they let their passion consume them. They said it was love at first sight, and when they finally got a chance to be alone, they threw caution to the wind and shared their love with each other.
The result of that love was Yaw-yan.
And the worst people in the world called him the karma that had befallen his parents.
Yaw-yan fully disagreed. His parents were good people—loving and kind.
So if anything, he wasn't karma.
He was a curse.
Yet, despite everything, his parents' love never wavered. They never gave up on him. They never resented him. All he had ever received from them was pure, unconditional love.
Yaw-yan wanted to say something to them, to convey his love and thank them for everything.
But this goddamned body wouldn't even let him do that.
The blood in his throat prevented him from uttering a single word.
Seeing his parents break down in tears, he wanted to assure them that everything was going to be alright.
Then the door opened once more.
This time, a nurse walked in, cradling a newborn child in her arms.
Yaw-yan's mother quickly stood from his bedside, pried the baby from the nurse's arms, and held her close as she walked back to Yaw-yan's side.
He couldn't hear what his mother was saying, but he was sure she was talking about his little sister.
She was so small.
The first time Yaw-yan saw her, he had never felt so relieved in his life. At first, he didn't know why. But now, he knew exactly why.
He was leaving this world. Leaving his parents.
He had been worried that they wouldn't be able to move on after he was gone.
But now, Yeng-yen—yeah, Mom and Dad sucked at naming—was here with them.
She was healthy. No signs of any complications or defects.
Not like her big brother.
So he was sure that life would be full of love and happiness for the three of them.
And he was happy that they would no longer be chained to him.
Yaw-yan stared at his parents. At his little sister.
He couldn't hear the noises.
He couldn't feel anything.
And his sight was slowly fading into darkness.
'so this is it, huh? It was a ride, I guess,' Yaw-Yan thought to himself.
A life full of pain and disappointment.
He never dared to dream, never wished for anything. He couldn't—not with his condition. Every day was just a cycle of waiting. Waiting for his meal. Waiting for his bath. Waiting for his medicine. Waiting for his check-up.
Waiting for his death.
And now, it was finally happening.
All he had to do now was close his eyes and surrender to the abyss embracing him.
Yaw-Yan's eyebrows twitched. Someone was slapping his cheek. The touch was weak—barely noticeable—but the sensation was strange. Maybe because it was such a small hand.
Yaw-Yan opened his eyes and met his little sister's gaze. His mother was sobbing into his shoulder, and his father was failing to stifle his own tears.
His sister was staring at him, as if asking for help—maybe because she was pinned between him and their mother.
He couldn't leave like this. He couldn't just die without saying anything to everyone. If this was his end, then he'd make sure it was epic—just like the protagonists in his favorite shows.
Yaw-Yan tried to move his hand. He gritted his teeth, pushing himself. There it was—he could feel it, his muscles, his fingers. Weak, but enough.
At that moment, everyone in the room noticed his movement. His mother pulled away from his shoulder to look at him.
'Come on, damn it! Work with me. This is our last time doing this. Give me that last bit of strength—I need to say my words to everyone.'
With a grunt, both of his arms moved, shakily pushing himself up to sit.
The doctor said something—his voice muffled—but Yaw-Yan could hear it, unlike before. He tried to gently guide him back down onto the bed, but Yaw-Yan growled, blood threatening to burst from his mouth. He didn't care. He needed to do this.
"NO!"
Everyone in the room froze, eyes wide, unable to believe what they were seeing.
No one dared to speak. No one dared to breathe. They just watched as the boy struggled to lift his body, pushing himself upright.
Yaw-Yan gritted his teeth. He was sitting now, breathing heavily, blood staining his chest from where it had spilled from his mouth when he shouted.
Sitting on his bed, Yaw-Yan looked at his parents. He stretched his arm and gave his little sister a gentle pat. The little girl giggled at his touch, making him smile.
Despite the blood on his chin, running down his neck and chest, Yaw-Yan looked serene. His face was devoid of pain or discomfort.
He looked at his parents and gave them a shaky but genuine smile.
"M-Mom… D-Dad…"
The words snapped the couple out of their shock. They rushed toward Yaw-Yan, grabbing his outstretched hand.
"L-Live… h-happy…"
He wanted to say more, so much more, but he knew—his body was running on its last fumes of life.
"Th-thank y-you… b-best parents..." Both of them gripped his arm tightly, tears streaming down their faces, refusing to blink—afraid they'd miss even a second with their son.
"Yeng-Yen… l-love her… l-live happy together…" His parents nodded, kissing his hand, then each other, then Yeng-Yen.
Yaw-Yan shakily turned his gaze to the doctors and nurses who had become part of his life all these years. He lifted his other hand, giving them a thumbs-up. 'Nailed it,' he mentally praised himself, seeing everyone return the gesture.
He looked back at his parents and smiled. "I love you! Thank you."
His mother, still crying, smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His father leaned forward, kissing his forehead and whispering that he would take care of his mother and sister. They gently laid him back down, and this time, the crying was subdued. The pain of leaving was a little less heavy.
Yaw-Yan closed his eyes. Now, he was ready to face the unknown, the darkness, and—
'Is that a giant tree?'
Why was he seeing a giant tree in his death?
Then everything was swallowed by darkness.
. . .
. .
.
"CHILD! CHILD, WAKE UP! YOU'LL DIE IF YOU DON'T MOVE!"
Yaw-Yan was jolted awake by chaos around him. An old man, dressed in what looked like leather hides—akin to the garments of cavemen or tribesmen from movies—was shaking him awake. Yaw-Yan blinked, disoriented.
He looked around. People dressed in similar attire were running frantically, panic in their eyes.
"CHILD, STOP STARING AND RUN! THE SILAO GRANDE IS APPROACHING!" The old man, despite his frail appearance, easily yanked Yaw-Yan to his feet, dragging the confused boy along.
"Silao… what?" Yaw-Yan muttered, still lost in everything happening around him.
"LOOK BEHIND YOU!" the old man roared, growing impatient with the naked child who had been sleeping so nonchalantly in the middle of a Silao Grande migration.
Yaw-Yan did as he was told and turned around. His body froze. His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto his back. The confusion on his face was replaced by sheer awe and horror.
A mountain was moving toward him.
Its massive body cast a shadow over the entire plain. Its front leg lifted slowly, brushing aside everything in its path—toppling trees, crushing hills, reshaping the landscape with every step.
Its enormous body was covered in soil, rock, and vegetation, making it look like a walking mountain. Its head resembled that of an ox, adorned with two giant curve horn, but its maw was that of a tortoise. The monstrous beast walked leisurely, unbothered by the destruction it left in its wake.
Yaw-Yan was completely shell-shocked, witnessing such a creature for the first time. He didn't even notice when the old man yanked him off the ground, throwing him over his shoulder and sprinting away from the beast's path.
The Silao Grande let out a deafening roar, shaking everything in its surroundings, declaring its status as the king of this land.
End of Chapter 1