Victims of Fate

Chapter 1 : Epilogue

I can still recall the day my eyes met his. Those blood‑red eyes that seemed to peer straight into the deepest pit of my soul, as though they were determined to catalog every secret, every unspoken thought i had ever buried. That cold stare pinned me in place, turned my limbs to stone, stole the air from my lungs until even breathing felt like a risk I couldn't afford to take.

Strangely, i wasn't afraid. Not then. That was the day my life split cleanly in two, before and after, order and ruin. But fear hadn't caught up with me yet. I was foolish enough to believe i could walk away untouched, that i could escape the gravity of those black paired eyes once they released me.
I was wrong.

Even now, i can feel him, the chill of his touch against my skin, impossibly cold and yet disturbingly gentle, as though he already knew how fragile i was. His hair brushed against me, a fleeting sensation that lingered far longer than it should have. He leaned close, close enough that i could feel his presence more than see it, and whispered promises into my ear, sweet, intoxicating nothings crafted to sound like salvation.

And i believed him. Every word.

I clung to those whispered lies like a lifeline, wrapping myself around them for a handful of stolen minutes, pretending they were enough to keep me afloat. In those moments, i forgot who he was.

On nights like this-cold, breathless nights where silence presses in and i can feel death's breath creeping slowly up my spine, i find myself wondering how my life might have unfolded if i had refused that offer. If i had turned my head away. If i had chosen ignorance over temptation, safety over truth.

I imagine quieter endings sometimes. A life that moved forward in ordinary ways, marked by forgettable mornings and predictable tomorrows. A life where my name was never whispered in fear, where my hands never learned the weight of consequence, where sleep came easily and stayed. But those thoughts never last long. They dissolve the moment I remember how carefully the offer was made how it sounded less like a bargain and more like mercy.

Now, wondering feels pointless. The choice was made. There are no alternate paths left to measure against this one, no doors still unopened. Only the road i walk, and the shadow that walks it with me.

So i lie awake and let death breathe where it wants, close enough to remind me of its patience. It isn't here for me yet. Not tonight. But it knows my name now. And when it finally calls it, i won't pretend i didn't see it coming.

As for my childhood? Growing up in a clan ruled by unspoken, ruthless rules is not for the weak. I thought, maybe, my father would make it bearable. I was wrong.
He was clever, charismatic even, but all of it twisted into control. He didn't need to strike to hurt me, his words cut deeper than any blade. Every mistake i made was a reflection of my worthlessness, every hesitation proof that i would never be strong enough. He ridiculed my fears, laughed at my doubts, and made me question every thought, every instinct i had. I learned to doubt myself long before i even understood what fear really was.

He demanded perfection, but not in the way a parent teaches. His expectations weren't guidance, they were traps, tests i could never pass. Success never earned praise, only higher standards. Failure earned not only punishment, but endless, silent judgment, the kind that lingers in your chest long after the words are spoken. I was only seven or eight years old. I didn't know better, i didn't know how the world worked, or that what he demanded of me was impossible. But i wanted to be perfect for my father. I would try harder, push myself further, always believing that if i could just be flawless, maybe -maybe- he would smile at me, maybe he would say something kind, maybe he would let me feel that i mattered.

He alwas claimed he wanted me to get strong, but all he taught me was caution, suspicion, and the endless anxiety of never being enough. Love, warmth, encouragement, those were luxuries i would never know. The only lessons were survival, obedience, and the crushing weight of self-doubt. I could say he might make a perfect leader for a clan built on fear and submission, a clan where minds are broken more surely than bodies, but for anyone with a soul, anyone who dares to hope for kindness, he was a storm you couldn't outrun. And i learned early, sometimes the most dangerous wounds are the ones that live inside your head.
I didn't understand then that perfection was never the goal for him. It was a chain, a way to keep me under his control. But in my small, earnest heart, i thought love and approval could be earned. I thought i could outgrow his wrath with enough effort, enough obedience, enough... everything.