Trila, Theales. Year 2561 (40 years ago).
In a ragged house, one that at first sight was so inconspicuous, the cries of a wailing child wouldn't end.
Darian Vaughan had been born in a cracked, beige bathtub. It was located in a damp and rotting washroom. Mold spread throughout the walls and edges of the dirty mirror.
Behind him, a panting woman with nose and ear piercings glared at the child in front of her. She had cold eyes, with no remorse or affection toward Darian. "Shut up." Her fist was clenched, and she was about to hurt the baby.
A figure barged into the bathroom, where the woman was panting heavily and half-submerged in water. It was his father.
The man, who had no hair, dark red eyes, and a burly physique, slammed his fist on the sink counter, causing the impact to reverberate across the bathroom. His devilish gaze locked onto the woman and the crying baby. "Why does it have to cry like that?" His tone ordered the woman in the bathtub to answer.
Her face was seething with rage.
"You fiend! You always have to make a fight! I just gave birth to your devil child. Give me a break!" The lady screamed at the enraged man.
In the background, Darian, who had just been born, kept wailing. The man stomped his feet and walked towards the bathtub. "Make the baby shut its mouth before I do." His threats were calm but deadly.
The woman's face was red as she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Get out!" He did eventually comply.
But of course, he didn't leave without making his mark.
. . .
Trila, Theales. Year 2576 (25 years ago).
Now 15 years old, Darian was used to the state of mind his mother was constantly in. The walls of their home were moldy, the floor creaked and caved, and the water was contaminated. It was a truly pathetic lifestyle, and it left Darian constantly wondering; Is this how all children live?
But despite this, he had never hated his mother. He couldn't. Resentment wasn't an emotion that registered in his head. Their unfortunate situation was still bearable, and he was grateful for that.
Darian was in his room, quietly counting his fingers. The boredom was so severe at his home that counting fingers was the best form of entertainment. On the back of his head, there was a red mark. It read, "Loser!" Scratching it, he felt his eyelids droop.
It wasn't until the door was slammed open that he twitched fully awake. "Y-You rat! You useless, no-good, waste-of-money rat!" His mother wobbled across the floor of his room. Darian did not reply; he only nodded his head. He noticed that it was the most effective method to get her to leave.
Contrary to his beliefs, she did not leave this time. Instead, she pulled out a paper from her back pocket and flashed a wicked grin. "Mama has a new job. Far, far away from you. She's going to get busy!"
It was simple what she meant: today was the last day she would ever see her son.
Darian's eyes were lifeless as he nodded.
"Alright. I'm happy for you, Mom."
She didn't reply, only barging out of the room while cursing Darian under her breath.
. . .
Trila, Theales. Year 2576 (25 years ago).
"How may I help you?" A lady at a receptionist's desk looked up from her stack of papers to lock eyes with Darian. It was a small building that had white, lifeless walls and a couple of black chairs near the entryway. It was empty; only Darian, who was holding his small duffle bag, was present.
The building is situated at the end of one of Trila's busier streets.
The reason it was bustling was because this was the homeless precinct. Thousands of poverty-stricken civilians gathered here, begging for even a sliver of hope.
The lady's brows furrowed. "How old are you?" She questioned, interrupting him before he could answer the previous question.
"15 years old," Darian responded quietly. The lady, who wore her brown hair in a bun and was clearly out of shape, sighed. "Boy, this is an orphanage. Are you sure you're in the right place?"
"Yes." Replying calmly, Darian tried not to break out of character. He wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. He often noticed how classmates and kids alike had parents who were excited to see them.
Do my parents hate me? He would wonder. Sometimes, he even apologized to his mother, thinking that the reason she was angry all this time was because of him. However, the reaction he got back was ugly and disheartening, so he gave up on that strategy.
The lady's expression softened, realizing he wasn't lying. She frantically gathered papers that were scattered around her u-shaped desk and replied. "Alright. Give me one moment, and we'll get a room set up for you." Darian rubbed the back of his head and exhaled.
"Yeah."
. . .
Trila, Theales, Year 2579 (22 years ago)
"Alright, Mr. Darian Vaughan." Two men walked into Darian's orphanage room with still expressions. They surveyed his living area with overt eyes. It was a small bed, a wooden desk, and a makeshift closet. The room itself was no bigger than Darian's old room.
The man on the left, who had a bald spot at the back of his head and wore crooked glasses, began. "Now that you are 18 years old, you cannot stay at this orphanage anymore."
The other man, who had a rough, patchy grey beard and a mustache, fiercely seized Darian's little belongings and threw them out of the door. "Out," he ordered, to which Darian followed immediately.
He walked past the receptionist, where the lady who admitted him waved somberly. "Stay safe." She wished. Darian forced a smile and looked back. "Thank you."
On the streets, Darian found a spot where he could beg for money in peace. In the other spots, he would often get harassed or hurt. He knelt and counted the money currently gathered. 33 Qunats... Not even enough to buy some water.
In Theales, the currencies used are the Dinar and the Qunat. 1 Dinar is equal to 100 Qunats.
He felt tears begin to swell in his eyes, and while sobbing and wiping the fluid sliding down his face, he cried out. "I hate myself." It was not uncommon for Darian to loathe himself. Every time his mother had a temper tantrum, he would bang his head against the rotting bed frame and curse himself. He had always thought he was the root cause of his mother's anger and hated himself for it.
"Um, excuse me." A delightful voice echoed in his ear. All he could see was her gorgeous black hair that cascaded past perfect shoulders. His eyes were blinded by the insurmountable beauty she radiated.
Her delicate hand placed a small 5 Dinar bill in his ragged, soiled palm.
"This is some extra money I had..." She bent down slightly and met him face-to-face. Her mesmerizing, ethereal eyes locked onto his. "T-Thank you."
Darian paused for a second. He had never received anything over one Dinar. So five? It was a dream come true. Wiping the embarrassing tears that had just fallen, Darian couldn't help but break out into a warm, innocent smile.
Just as he did, the girl's expression froze as her cheeks turned a slight shade of pink. Darian's eyebrow twitched. What's wrong? He gazed at her face, which was now beet-red.
While there could be a multitude of reasons as to why she froze at that moment, the real reason was simple:
Love.
. . .
Present day, Trila Municipal Hospital.
He rested his face on her palm and tried to smile. The bedsheets were stained with his non-stop tears. "Why couldn't it be me? I-I wish it were me!"
He couldn't help crying into her hand.
Darian! What did I tell you about putting yourself down? It was her — he could hear her in his mind. She was holding baby Emory in her hands and looked at Darian in disappointment.
He couldn't help but cry harder. Elara's expression softened as she sat beside him. She placed Emory in Darian's lap. They were in his home, sitting beside his very couch. Elara was wearing her favorite outfit, which was one that she bought in matching pairs for her and her husband. Long black pants, a black and white sweater, and an imprint of their initials on the shoulder. It took a lot of money to pay for it, but nonetheless, it was worth every Qunat.
You're going to be such a good father, I know it. Don't worry, I'll be here. Whenever you need me, I'll always be looking at you. Just don't forget about me, okay?
"O-Okay..." He replied to the woman in his mind with a somber tone.
"Mr. Vaughan."
A nurse's cold tone woke Darian up. He quickly tried to rub his eyes and hide the tears.
"Y-yes?" She was holding a cooing child; it was Emory.
"Here is your child. You will be able to take him home today. Please have everything prepared before exiting the hospital. We shall take care of the woman's body. Please select a date for the funeral on the way out."
"O-okay..."
He took Emory into his arms, his face surprised at the fact that babies weighed almost nothing. He felt something grab his finger. Looking down, he saw the baby's expression. The baby stared at Darian with a strangely still expression, as if analyzing his face.
"Emory..."
Darian stared at Emory's crimson eyes, the pair that matched his own.
Doing everything possible not to cry at that moment, Darian grabbed everything he needed and exited the hospital that day.
Elara's funeral was going to be in two weeks.