The Weight of Guilt

Tom had been released from the hospital a week later. His body was healing, but the wounds inside were festering, rotting him from within. The bruises on his ribs and face would fade, but the pain in his chest—the pain of his father's words—would never disappear.

He hadn't gone back to the gym. He wasn't sure he'd ever step into a ring again. What was the point? No matter how much he fought, he'd never be like his siblings, never live up to the Crowley name. They were knights—awakened, powerful. They could crush him without a thought, and they had done so countless times, even before they gained their abilities.

Tom dragged his feet across the dusty streets of the city. The tall buildings loomed over him, casting long shadows that stretched like claws. People passed him by, barely sparing him a glance. To them, he was nobody. Just another face in the crowd. Just another failure.

His heart ached as he thought about his mother. The only one who had ever believed in him, who had stood by him when everyone else had turned away. She was the reason he kept going. But he could feel her slipping away, her health deteriorating with every passing day. She didn't say it, but Tom knew. He could see it in her eyes, in the way she moved—slow, tired, like the weight of the world was pulling her down.

And it was all his fault.

He trudged up the worn stone steps of their small home, a crumbling relic compared to the grand estates his siblings lived in. The door creaked open, and the familiar scent of home—of his mother's cooking, of old wood and dust—greeted him.

Inside, Ellen Crowley was sitting at the kitchen table, her hands trembling as she tried to sew a patch onto one of Tom's shirts. She smiled as he entered, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Tom," she said softly, her voice frail but warm. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Mom," he lied, forcing a smile. "Just... taking it easy."

She nodded, her hands still shaking as she continued her work. Tom clenched his fists, guilt gnawing at him. She shouldn't be working like this, not in her condition. He should be the one supporting her, not the other way around.

"Let me help you with that," he offered, stepping forward to take the shirt from her.

She hesitated, her hands faltering. "No, no, dear. You've been through enough. You need to rest."

But Tom wouldn't take no for an answer. Gently, he took the shirt from her and began stitching the patch in place. His mother watched him, her eyes filled with pride, but also with something else: worry.

"You're a good son, Tom," she whispered. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

He paused, the needle slipping through his fingers. Those words—so simple, so kind—were like a knife twisting in his gut. He didn't deserve them. Not after everything. Not when he couldn't even protect her from their father's harshness, from the world's cruelty.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, casting an orange glow through the small windows of their home.

Suddenly, Ellen stood, her frail body wobbling as she gathered her strength. "Tom, I want you to come with me tomorrow," she said, her voice firm despite her weakness.

"Where?"

"To the knights' ceremony. Your siblings will be giving speeches."

Tom's heart dropped. "Mom, I don't think that's a good idea...."

She cut him off with a look, her eyes sharp. "Please, Tom. I want to see them. I want you to see them, don't be hard on them! They are you siblings too."

He opened his mouth to protest, but the words died on his lips. There was no arguing with her when she had that look in her eyes. The look that said she was trying to hold their fractured family together with her bare hands.

Tom sighed, defeated. "Alright. I'll go with you."

The next day came far too quickly.

---

The streets were crowded with people heading toward the grand stadium where the knights' ceremony was being held. Tom walked beside his mother, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, his eyes on the ground. The atmosphere was festive, the air thick with anticipation. People talked excitedly about the knights, about the strength and protection they offered the city.

Tom didn't share their enthusiasm.

As they neared the stadium, the massive stone walls rose above them, intimidating and oppressive. Banners bearing the insignia of the knights flapped in the wind, and armored guards stood at the gates, ushering the civilians inside. Tom swallowed hard as they passed through the gates, the weight of his failure pressing down on him like a boulder.

The stadium was packed. Rows upon rows of people sat in the stands, their eyes glued to the stage at the center where the knights were gathered. Tom's siblings were there—standing tall and proud in their gleaming armor. They looked every bit the heroes the city believed them to be.

Tom's jaw clenched.

His mother smiled, her eyes misting with pride as she looked at her children. But Tom saw through it. She was happy for them, yes, but there was sadness there, too. A sadness that came from seeing her family fractured, from knowing that her eldest son would never stand on that stage beside his siblings.

The ceremony began, speeches echoing through the vast space as the knights spoke of honor, duty, and protection. But Tom barely heard them. His eyes were on his siblings, on their smug faces as they basked in the adoration of the crowd.

And then, it all went wrong.

It started as a murmur, a ripple of unease that spread through the audience. Tom looked around, confused. The knights on stage shifted, their hands reaching for their weapons. And then, without warning, chaos erupted.

A fight broke out among the knights—Tom's siblings included. Blades flashed, magic crackled in the air, and the sound of metal clashing against metal filled the stadium. People screamed, scrambling to escape as the battle raged, tearing through the stage, through the stands.

Tom's heart raced as he grabbed his mother's hand, pulling her away from the chaos. "Mom, we have to go!"

But she didn't move. Her eyes were locked on the stage, on her children as they fought, their powers tearing through the crowd, killing civilians in their wake.

And then, it happened.

A blast of energy tore through the stadium, ripping apart the stone and sending people flying. Tom felt the force of it slam into him, knocking him to the ground. Pain shot through his body as he scrambled to his feet, disoriented.

"Mom?" he called, panic rising in his chest.

He turned, his eyes scanning the debris-strewn ground, the bodies that lay scattered like broken dolls. And then he saw her.

She was lying in the rubble, her body broken, her blood staining the ground.

Tom's heart stopped.

"No..." He stumbled toward her, falling to his knees at her side. "Mom, no, please—"

Her eyes fluttered open, her breath shallow. She smiled weakly, reaching up to touch his face. "Tom..."

Tears blurred his vision as he gripped her hand, his whole body trembling. "I'm sorry," he choked. "I'm so sorry..."

Her hand fell limp in his grasp.

The world went silent.

For a long moment, Tom just sat there, holding his mother's lifeless hand, staring down at her broken body. The chaos around him faded into nothing. There was only the crushing weight of his guilt, the suffocating realization that he had failed her. Again.

His heart was shattered at that moment, he was filled with despair. At that moment he was not thinking about anything, except for the possibility of him saving his mom if only he was strong.

Something inside him snapped.

---

That night, after despaired Tom came back home. To avoid having any conversation with his siblings and father, he quickly went to bed, as Tom lay in bed, the dream returned.

The dark void, the endless blackness. And there, standing in the center of it all, was the man from before—the figure draped in ancient armor, his eyes burning with cold fury.

"You are weak," the man said, his voice echoing in the emptiness.

Tom's fists clenched. "I don't care." he grind his teeths and continue, "I just lost the most precious thing in my lifel, so I have nothing else to lose so I don't care about it even if I die in the process!"

The man's lips curled into a smile. "But you will. Soon enough."

And with that, the orb appeared again, pulsing with that same eerie, otherworldly light.

This time, Tom didn't hesitate. He reached for it, his hand closing around the glowing sphere, and grabbed it. At first he felt nothing.

But, after a few seconds Pain exploded through his body, but this time, he welcomed it.