C2 - The beginning

Before we proceed, you may find yourself perplexed by unfolding events and my role in them. Let's rewind a few years—to the beginning. 

A modest home, nestled amidst the quiet sprawl of farmland, stood against the horizon, its presence neither grand nor insignificant. Within its walls, a family of five gathered around a well-worn wooden table built for six, sharing their morning meal.

Alistair Aiyaret, the family patriarch, sat in his usual place, his attention fixed on the soft murmur of a vintage radio. The etchings of hardship lined his face, yet his handsomeness endured, refined by time rather than diminished by it. His light grey hair, streaked with white, framed eyes of icy, piercing blue, their intensity only accentuated by the full, imperious brows that shadowed them. Beneath his beard, the angles of his strong cheekbones remained resolute.

Beside him sat his wife, Lien Aiyaret, their twins flanking her. A striking woman, Lien possessed a complexion of delicate pallor, lips the color of ripened cherries, and a slender nose that sharpened her already refined features. But it was her eyes that truly commanded attention—a mismatched pair of blue, the left darker than the right. Framed by the stark contrast of her short white hair, she was a beauty that unsettled as much as it captivated.

And then there was me.

I sat in contemplative silence, thoughts orbiting an unspoken concern. With no clear answers, I finished my meal in haste and rose to leave.

"What's bothering Lei?" Yara, the younger twin, inquired. She was five, but bedtime stories had armed her with enough words to voice her concerns. Though she insisted she was the elder twin, her pouting lips and wounded expression betrayed her claim—particularly when I left without our usual parting kiss.

"Nothing," my mother answered with a touch of amusement. "Just navigating the turbulence of puberty."

"...?"

Perplexed by this explanation, Yara turned her attention elsewhere, deciding against further inquiry.

I walked to school at a measured pace, neither hurried nor idle, my steps falling into rhythm with the quiet murmur of the riverside. Then—a pause.

The peach blossoms were in bloom.

Without much thought, I altered course. The school could wait.

A few turns later, I found myself before a small lottery outlet. I purchased a ticket, then stood, staring at it vacantly, watching the way the numbers lay against the paper.

Seventy million.

The sun was beginning its descent when I finally exhaled.

"May Lady Luck favor me still," I murmured.

That night, I did not sleep. I sat before the television, waiting—watching—until exhaustion finally seized me.

I awoke in a hospital bed. An IV drip, the unmistakable scent of antiseptic, and—

"MY LOVE! MY PRECIOUS! MY LUCKY CHARM!"

Tear-stricken eyes bore into mine. My mother's grip was suffocating.

It seemed Lady Luck had not forsaken me after all.

With the prize secured, an audacious notion took root in my mind.

"Allocate seventy percent of the funds to me."

Seventy percent. Of seventy million dollars. An absurd request from a soon-to-be eleven-year-old.

My father's gaze remained unreadable. Unmoved. The weight of his scrutiny pressed down on me—silent, calculating.

"And why?"

I answered. Not hastily, not impulsively. I told him of my intent. My reasons. My purpose.

My mother—for once, speechless—stared at me as though I were a stranger.

My father, however, understood.

"Do you know what you're asking?"

"Yes."

A long, quiet moment passed. A test of truthfulness.

My father, stern and exacting, had never been a man to entertain frivolity. Yet, he had always valued his children's growth. And now, I saw it in his eyes—the wariness, the uncertainty… but also the possibility.

"Your age?" he asked at last, voice weighted with deliberation.

There were many obstacles ahead, but this—this was the first.

"Open an account for me," I said.

His sigh was soft, nearly imperceptible. And then, the decision was made.

The account was created. My next request was simple.

"A laptop and a phone."

It was an era where most adults found computers daunting, where technology was regarded with wariness rather than curiosity. But for me, it was instinctive.

And with that, the first move had been played.