Burning Eos

1: I Cannot Scream

Everyone in Ashbourne is aware of the existence of the son of the tyrant, Nihilo. They know of him since the day he was born. From infantry to adolescence, they had been watching him from afar, from the foot of the hill where Hansel has always trained so rigorously.

  Perhaps, it was to become as skilled as his father in swordfighting, to maybe, one day, take over the throne and bring a better life to the Ashbourneans. Hansel always seems so hardworking and tireless. Still, evidence of exhaustion and apathy never left his face. Moreover, he barely had any friends. Nihilo just could not allow it. Besides, nobody liked to be associated with the prodigy of a tyrant.

  Despite eyeing Hansel's every move, they chose to leave him alone. He was now in his teens, almost close to becoming the new ruler of the nation. Due to that, everyone grew more and more cynical and anxious when it came to the life of Machiavelli’s heir. Despite all the worries, Hansel's monotony never faltered. It was the same regardless of any occasion.

  The sun rises. Hansel makes his way up the hill to practice his techniques in swordfighting. Everyone watches in awe as the silhouette swiftly manipulates the sword and performs a display of strength and agility. He never failed, but he always crumbled in front of his father.

  The clouds pass by. Everyone watches as Nihilo rises up the hill with a sword on his left hand. He assesses Hansel's skills through a match again, expecting his son to fail inevitably. It is always the same. The boy eventually fails and receives a certain punishment. Everyone fails to watch at the end, where the boy suffers from his own incompetence. In the end, more and more wounds just reside on his limbs.

  It is nighttime, and the moon has appeared in the sky. All of Ashbourne is asleep in their beds. Yet, the son of the tyrant sits in the library to study for the upcoming class. The hours fly by like days in the library. There is more reading than it is worth. Understanding does not exist to him anymore; only the pressure to be the best pushes him. Until the sun rises, nothing changes from the night. And once again, the sun continues to rise in the sky.

  Eventually, noon strikes. Hansel makes his way to class, choosing the empty seat at the back of the room. There is indistinct chatter around him, from unfamiliar faces and voices. Every once in a while, people strike up at his desk to ask how he's been. Hansel's response is always inaudible. Others guess that he's trying to say he's fine.

  His classmates think of him as a lonely person. His tired eyes say it all. Even the joy of several occasions doesn't change his expressionless face. It's as if the boy is never happy, like sadness is his only destination.

  It's true that a few people try to be his friends. Most often, he asks to be left alone. Perhaps he was just ambitious, and they respected that. When did ambition seem so empty though?

  One day, everyone wished they cared sooner. All they saw of him was a replacement for his father. On the day they saw the young boy hang himself from the tree did they only realize how much he had been suffering. All those days he was screaming in silence, nobody stepped forth to console him. They distanced him, afraid that he was just like Nihilo.

  As one of his classmates saw his silhouette dangling from the tree, they rushed in to pull him away from his decision. The others didn't dare to step forward and save him. The idea of salvation was dead.

  The following days, hell burned more intensely. Nihilo was mad towards his son's suicide attempt. It was the one thing where he seemed to lose control of his own son. To compensate for his bitter mood, he inflicted tighter laws towards everyone in Ashbourne. It was as though they were better off dead.

***

The night whispered of its tales. Being inhibited to his seat, Hansel couldn't hear them. He was more concerned with his rank. If he dared for opposition, it would enrage his father.

  The boy read tons of books about his syllabus. Sometimes, his eyes hurt. Still, he didn't want to be second. Enduring the tedious procedure only enlarged the hole inside him.

  It was hungry for success and validation. However, it was barely satisfied. Always, it wanted more from him, and he couldn't decline. He desired a pen and a piece of paper, not swords and a nation. The thing is, Hansel didn't have a choice. He was born to suffer and inflict suffering unto others, which was his father's motto. His life was already decided then, inescapable and inevitable.

  He desired for an exit from the pain. He tried to run from his reality. It did him and others more torment. His mind screamed for him to stop. His fear told him to keep on living. He could only see himself from afar, watching himself repeat a boring movie. He was alone most of the time, and he pushed others away when he got the chance to. The meaning of life to him was that it was nothing.

  He came from ash and will end in ashes. It did not take long for his thought to settle in. The tales the night had been telling him of were the perils of the flames engulfing Ashbourne. He did not heed because he desired to satisfy the fear in his soul.

  Eventually, the heat settled in, but he didn't feel the fear of it. The sound of screaming emanated from the outside, much like the screaming in his mind. Only when the bookshelves began to be eaten away one by one did Hansel truly quit and abandon his position.

  From across the shelves, he took a few works and hugged them tightly. He was certain that death was inevitable, and that he would soon be devoured by the flames. He didn't want to fight it. What would he even fight for? He hated his life.

  Everything burned that night, even Hansel's most loved Osamu pieces. It all turned back to ash, just as it had once been ashes.