The Birth of Hatred

The morning after the funeral, the house felt emptier than ever before. The scent of freshly baked bread, the quiet humming of his mother as she went about her day—all of it was gone, snuffed out like a candle's flame.

Tom sat alone at the small dining table, staring at the cold plate of food in front of him. He hadn't eaten since the night before, but he didn't feel hungry. He felt… nothing. Numb. Hollow.

His siblings hadn't even bothered to come back to the house after the ceremony. He had heard their speeches, their tear-filled apologies to the citizens for the chaotic event that happened, but not one of them had spoken to him about the incident. They hadn't even looked at him. They didn't care. Not about their mother, and certainly not about him.

Tom's hand tightened around the fork, his knuckles white with anger. How could they stand on that stage, spouting empty words of regret, when they were the reason she was dead?

A small sound broke through his thoughts, the soft shuffle of feet. Tom glanced up to see his youngest brother, Sam, standing in the doorway. The boy's eyes were red from crying, his face pale and exhausted.

"Tom…" Sam's voice wavered, his eyes filled with guilt. "I'm… I am so sorry, I know all this will affect you the most, because mom was the only person you feel comfortable around, we all love her, she as always been great, as our mother."

Tom wanted to be angry, to lash out at him, on that last line of his words. But when he saw the pain in Sam's eyes, the same pain that mirrored his own, his anger crumbled. Sam wasn't like the others. He was still a child. He hadn't been part of the battle that had killed their mother, he was not even present there.

"It's not your fault," Tom muttered, pushing his plate aside. "It's theirs."

Sam's lip quivered, but he didn't say anything. He shuffled over to the table and sat beside Tom, his small hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"What are we going to do?" Sam asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Without Mom… without her…"

Tom didn't have an answer. All he could think about was the void his mother had left behind, the gaping wound in his chest that refused to heal. He had failed her. And now, he was failing Sam too.

But deep down, in the darkest corners of his mind, a new feeling was growing; rage. It simmered beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. The memory of his siblings, their indifferent faces, their callous words—it gnawed at him, feeding the fire in his soul.

They would pay. Every single one of them.

Before they knew it the day has quickly gone down, and still yet no sight of his remaining three siblings who where involved in the incident that cause their mother's death.

---

That night Tom quickly bed in other to speak with the elder knight, as Tom lay in bed, the dreams returned as he predicted.

The void was the same as before, vast and unending, swallowing everything in darkness. The man was there too, standing at the center of it all, his eyes burning with the same cold fury.

But this time, something was different.

The man's gaze was fixed on Tom, his lips curled into a knowing smile. "You've finally begun to understand, haven't you?"

Tom frowned, stepping forward. "Understand what?"

"That the world is cruel. That it takes from you without hesitation, without mercy. And the only way to survive in such a world is to take back what is yours. To seize power, no matter the cost."

Tom clenched his fists. "I don't care about power. I just want justice for my mother."

The man chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that echoed through the void. "Justice? Is that what you think this is? No, boy. There is no justice in this world. Didn't you witness it all?! The people worship them. They only gave out an apology to the society and they foolishly accepted it. Only strength. And the strong take what they want."

Tom's heart pounded in his chest, the man's words striking a chord deep within him. He had spent his whole life being weak, being trampled on by the powerful. He had lost everything—his dignity, his mother, his hope.

Tom was also surprised at the same time, "how are you able to know, all that as been happening in the outside world."

The man took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. "through you of course! I can give you the strength you need, Tom. The strength to take your revenge. To make them pay for what they've done."

Tom's breath hitched. He knew he shouldn't trust this man, shouldn't listen to him. But the words, the promise of power—they were too tempting to resist.

"What do you want from me?" Tom asked, his voice barely audible.

"Only your will. Accept the gift I've already given you. Embrace it, and you will have the power to change your fate."

Tom hesitated, his mind racing. He didn't want to be like his siblings, like the knights who had caused so much destruction. But what choice did he have? He was nothing without strength, without power. And with it… he could make them pay. He could finally take control of his life.

"I accept," Tom whispered, the words slipping from his lips before he could stop them.

The man's smile widened, and the void around them seemed to tremble, the air growing thick with tension. "Good. Now… awaken."

The orb appeared again like before but this time the orb was already with Tom, so it appears from his body, pulsing with that same eerie light generating more power. But this time, Tom didn't hesitate. He reached for it, his hand closing around the glowing sphere.

And this time the pain was immediate and overwhelming, but it wasn't the searing agony he had felt before. It was something deeper, something primal. The power surged through him, flooding every cell in his body, rewriting him from the inside out.

He could feel it—the strength, the knowledge, the terrifying potential. It was like a dam had broken inside him, unleashing a torrent of energy that he could barely control.

But he welcomed it.

When Tom awoke, the room was silent, the darkness pressing in around him. He sat up in bed, his heart pounding in his chest, his skin slick with sweat. The remnants of the dream clung to him, the man's voice echoing in his mind.

He could still feel the power, thrumming beneath his skin like a live wire. It was real. This wasn't just some nightmare—this was the beginning of something far greater.

Tom stood, his legs shaking as he made his way to the small mirror hanging on the wall. He stared at his reflection, at the dark circles under his eyes, the gauntness of his face. He looked the same, but he wasn't. Not anymore.

There was a new fire burning inside him, one that would never go out. The man in the dream had been right—there was no justice in this world. Only strength. And now, Tom had that strength.

He clenched his fists, watching as a faint glow flickered beneath his skin, like embers ready to ignite.

This was just the beginning.

---

The next morning, Tom went about his day in a haze. The funeral was still fresh in his mind, the image of his mother's broken body burned into his memory. But now, there was something else. Something darker.

As he walked through the streets of the city, he could feel the weight of the power inside him, the potential it held. He had always been invisible, always overlooked. But now, he had the means to change that.

People passed him by, their faces indifferent, their lives unaffected by the grief that consumed him. They didn't know him, didn't care about his pain. But they would.

Tom's jaw tightened as he approached the grand building that housed the knights. He had never wanted to come here, never wanted to be part of their world. But now, things were different.

As he stepped through the doors, his heart pounded in his chest, the power thrumming beneath his skin. He wasn't here to join them. He was here to learn. To understand his enemies. And to destroy them from within.

A knight approached him, a sneer on his face as he looked Tom up and down. "What's a nobody like you doing here?"

Tom smiled, a cold, empty smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm here for a job."

The knight laughed, shaking his head. "Cleaning, huh? Seems about right for someone like you."

Tom didn't respond. He didn't need to. He had already begun marking his enemies, one by one immediately as he got in. Soon, they would all pay for their transgressions. He will make sure of that.