The Power of Revelation: The Truth Shall Set You Free

Chapter 21: This sorrow takes a hold

"That's just... terrible..." Ayaka murmured.

She didn't dislike the Harbinger too much, not after Aether had vouched for him personally, and after learning that he hated blatant manipulation, much like what had occurred in Inazuma before Ei retracted the Vision Hunt Decree, she was much more willing to exchange information with Tartaglia that would benefit them both, especially with regards to the Mystic Onmyou Chamber and the rogue Harbinger.

But now, seeing everything that he was going through, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him, despite being fully aware he was probably far stronger than her in terms of skills and power. No one should have to go through that alone, and the severe disconnect between him and his family's understanding of the situation was definitely not helping things at all.

Sitting still, trapped within the confines of his house (It wasn't a home. It couldn't be a home, not with how out of place Ajax felt), the boy felt... nothing. There was nothing to do, nothing to kill, no battles to win, and if there were to battles, no proof that he was alive, no proof that he was improving, then what was the point?

A meaningless existence, a ghost of his former self. And eventually, even spirits had to be laid to rest.

It was almost like someone had put a muted, greyscale, monochrome filter over his eyes; everything looked grey, and drab, and dull, like the life had been sucked out of everything, sucked out of him, leaving him black, cold, dead.

With nothing to do, alone with his thoughts, everything seemed to be amplified tenfold. The emptiness of the house, the darkness of the shadows, the voices in his head, screaming at him in an ancient language for running away from the Abyss, for being weak and helpless and absolutely useless, worthless.

Zhongli tightened his grip on the young Snezhnayan, resting his chin on Tartaglia's shoulder and letting out a quiet, comforting draconic purr.

So when his father sensed his restlessness and offering to bring him out ice fishing, Ajax jumped at the opportunity to escape from the prison of his own mind, at the chance to finally do something, desperate for some normality.

And for the first time since Ajax ever started going fishing with his father, he took the knife from his father's hands, without even being prompted, expertly slashing through the ice with the finely-honed precision of an experienced killer, a far cry from his usual meek self that shied away from the sharp point of the blade.

His father seemed disturbed by his sudden change of tune, and try as he might, he didn't do a very good job of hiding it, not with the way his brows furrowed in confusion and his muscles in tensed warily at his son, who just three days ago, could barely bring himself to slash the head off a training dummy, and perhaps in fear and trepidation when Ajax turned towards him, knife held tightly in his grasp like a child holding on to a newly acquired balloon at a festival.

Ajax suddenly turned towards him, brandishing the knife in his direction, and his entire body tensed up, muscles locking up as the edge of the knife reflected the first rays of light from the rising sun.

The boy could hear his father's heart pounding, could see his eyes widening in fear, his hands shaking from the cold, the surprise, the fear.

Is he going to hurt me? Stab me? What happened to you, сын? Ajax could almost hear, spoken in his father's voice, purely from observing his facial expressions, his body posture, every twitch of his muscles.

Ajax could hear the blood roaring in his ears. How could his father ever feel that he would hurt him? He could never hurt his family, couldn't even think of doing such a terrible, heinous act.