People of Zriwla weren’t unfamiliar with mystery and mysticism. It’s a land full of tradition and ancient laws that its people follow religiously without asking questions. No one knows when they were put in place or if they were legitimate, but hearing the stories of those who violated them was all that was needed for Zriwlans to live by them.

  There are places like rivers, forests, mountains, called divine and not to be visited at specific times. Night is the most common period when people avoid those areas, especially in a rural town like Azuma, where people live right next to the forest of darkness. The luminosity in those woods was frighteningly low; the ecosystem had its own rules, and the inexperienced who went there never came back. Although ghostly sounds escaped from it, silence was usually omnipresent.

  So when the people of Azuma heard loud noises from the forest as the sun was almost down, everybody hid inside their houses.

  Saying the streets were empty was an understatement. No merchants yelling, no women gossiping, and no children anywhere but home. On one of those once-busy roads walked a father and his son.

  The father was walking calmly, each step asserting dominance. His big stature and muscular body made him look immovable like a mountain, while the warrior tattoos all over his body flickered slightly, the golden strands in them seeming larger than usual. The chief guard of Azuma, with his perfectly grown beard and beautiful braided hair, had features that earned him the title of most beautiful man in town by the opposite sex. His simple clothes, though a bit messy, didn’t blunt his imposing but reassuring demeanor. Totally the opposite of his son behind him.

  Kazeem was beaten mentally and physically. He walked slowly, not from laziness but from tiredness, almost tripping a few times. His body, big for his age, was hunched; his head faced the ground; the light in his eyes dimmed. His fresh twists looked two weeks old, and his casual clothes were covered in dirt and twigs. He was clearly a mess, and fortunately there wasn’t anyone to see it …not that he would care.

  Gb?

  Gb?

  Gb?

  The word time in mystic tongue reasoned in his skull, giving him a slight headache.

  “…Paa, who is she exactly?” asked Kazeem. Meza was part of the older generation, but instead of staying connected to the community, she made the forest her house and rarely came back, only to buy things in the market and return. He’d only heard rumors about her and her moniker, spirit-watcher.

  Gb?

  “That’s what we call those who use Tumio after conquering a cursed area, spirit-watchers,” answered Zokou.

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  Fortunately Maa explained those words to me or I wouldn’t understand shit. Kazeem thought .

  “She’s just a desperate old woman who couldn’t improve, trying everything she can to live,” he continued, his tone cold and his eyes without an ounce of pity or sympathy.

  Gb?

  They walked in silence until Kazeem opened his mouth again:

  “Is she important for the town?” he said. He had sworn to end her life and, although it was in the heat of the moment, he still intended to do it. He had never killed anyone; in fact, he even despised killing the chickens his mother used to prepare their food. But all the recent events had shifted his personality a bit. Also, what happened earlier had made something snap in his head.

  Gb?

  What did she want to do with me in that forest? And that swing… He remembered clearly how the walking stick, covered with scorching purple fire, had rushed at his head. The thundering impact and the crater in the ground were clear signs no ordinary human would survive.

  Gb?

  If Paa wasn’t there, I would’ve been dead without even knowing why. What did I do to her? Clearly nothing! But not only did she want to kidnap me, but when I tried to resist she wanted to kill me?

  GB?

  The more Kazeem thought about it, the angrier he got. However, walking in silence calmed him down. Yes, she tried to kill him… but would he be the same? Did he really want to be? And even if he wanted to, did he have the power?

  GB?

  GB?

  Well, if she is indispensable for the village, I guess I’ll spare her. Not because I’m scared, obviously. He wasn’t happy at all. He realized how weak he was, to the point he instinctively tried to find excuses to escape the situation.

  GB?

  He tried to retract his question, “never mi—” ,but he was interrupted by a warm hug.

  Gb?

  Zokou, feeling his son’s distress, decided to use the best method he knew. Kazeem, startled for a second, tried to speak but his voice wouldn’t come out. Tears fell, rolling down his cheeks; his body shook uncontrollably.

  Gb?

  “Sh-she… she tried… she tried to k-kill me, Paa. I didn’t… I… I didn’t do anything… I—”

  Gb?

  “I know… I know,” said Zokou, tightening the hug. With his son crying in his arms, he asked, “How do you feel right now?”

  “W-weak… I-I… co-couldn’t… I couldn’t do… anything.” The more Kazeem spoke, the more frustrated he felt. He despised his weakness so much it made him nauseous.

  “Remember this feeling. The weak are doomed to feel this way until death. Only the weak have excuses,” he said, gently patting his head.

  “The strong don’t ask for care. Is she needed for the village? Yes. Why? Because she indirectly protects the town from the forest. But does it matter? No. If she’s needed because she is strong, become stronger. If she’s needed because she is smarter, then become smarter. All you have to do is be better than her, and then you’ll be able to make her feel what you felt today,” Zokou said, letting his son go and looking straight into his watery eyes, his tone firmer with each sentence.

  “Let’s go home, wash, eat and sleep. We will start the training tomorrow.” He said as he resumed his walk to home.

  Seeing the reassuring back of his father, his feeling started to settle. In the dead silent street, he stated to talk to himself in his mind.

  The strong don’t need excuse… the strong don’t need to ask question … the strong don’t care about the consequences because they can handle them. Then I will become strong, grow stronger until nobody can make me feel this pathetic.

  Old meza ? I will trample that bitch.

  Prisoning Fate ? Scenes ? Author ? Loop? I will fight it, destroy it, kill it and devour it until there is nothing on my path.

  The more he thought the more his resolution became clear. His posture slowly straightened like an arrow, his back almost look the same as his dad, although smaller and less muscular. His eyes regained their strength and each step he made became firmer. He regained his calm temperament but this time he was filled with determination. The silent declarations of this night will be carved on his soul and follow him until the end of time.

  Closing thought: Strength first, then mercy otherwise mercy is just fear in softer clothes