Scars of Obedience

"Zareth! Zareth!" Solomon stormed through the halls, kicking open doors and scanning every room with growing fury. His pulse pounded harder with every empty space. "Zareth, you bastard! Where are you!?"

His jaw tightened, and his grip on the dagger turned his knuckles white. "I swear, when I find him—"

He froze.

A sound—faint, broken—whispered through his mind, prickling the edges of his temples.

"Solo-...hic...help me...brother..."

That voice—Zareth?

Solomon's blood ran cold. His brother's voice trembled, laced with fear and desperation. But why... why did it seem to be coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once? The sound floated on the air, distant, barely more than a ghost of a whisper.

His heart thudded painfully against his ribs. When was the last time I heard him cry?

Memories flickered and flashed—shadows of a time long past—and Solomon's breath hitched.

A group of little girls played, their laughter ringing across a vast green field. They wore simple, ragged white dresses, their blonde hair glinting under the sun, blue eyes sparkling with joy. Nearby, a woman with similar features sat on a small stool, a wide-brimmed white cartwheel hat with a yellow ribbon shading her face. She flipped through the pages of a novel, seemingly oblivious to the world around her.

Among the children, one girl stood apart — Yona. She clutched the hem of her frock tightly, her head bowed, shoulders trembling as she fought back tears.

A gentle hand suddenly reached out.

"What are you doing here all alone?" Little Zareth smiled brightly, his hand extended toward her. "We've got lessons soon, so let's hurry and play while we can!"

Sniffling, Yona glanced up at him, her eyes wide and watery. Slowly, a soft, hesitant smile broke across her face. She reached for his hand, and Zareth grasped her wrist gently, tugging her toward the playground.

The moment her feet started moving, the wind brushing past them, her sadness faded. Before she knew it, laughter spilled from her lips.

They played without pause—Zareth pushing Yona on the swing, both of them taking turns sliding down the slide and scrambling back up again. He taught her every game he knew: passing the ball, a bit of football, even climbing trees. Yona struggled with some of them, her determination fierce despite the tumbles and stumbles.

She gripped the tree trunk, breath ragged as she climbed halfway up.

Just a little more...

But her foot slipped.

With a sharp cry, she fell.

"Yona!" Zareth was at her side in seconds, his face tight with panic. "Are you hurt? Where? We need to see the nurse—"

A small, gentle hand pressed against his cheek.

"I'm fine," Yona whispered, her smile soft and warm. "Thank you."

Zareth's chest tightened with guilt. It was his idea to teach her climbing, and he hadn't paid enough attention. She fell because of him.

From a distance, the woman with the hat remained seated, but beside her, a young boy with tousled blonde hair sat on the grass. He watched Zareth and Yona, his toy forgotten in his hands.

"Did you had a fight with Zareth?" the woman mused, a smile curving her lips as she turned another page. Her eyes never left the book. "Looks like he found a new toy."

The boy—Solomon—glanced up at her, suspicion flickering in his gaze. "Mother, isn't it time for our lessons already?"

"Oh?" She sighed, snapping the book shut and glancing at her watch. "You're right." Rising gracefully, she clapped her hands. "Children! Time for lessons! Head to the classroom now!"

"So soon?"

"No way..."

The girls groaned, dragging their feet toward a strange, looming wall. A single moss-covered door broke its surface, surrounded by twisting vines. The field was vast, but eerie stone boundaries trapped it on all sides.

One by one, the children crossed the threshold into dim corridors lined with doors.

Their footsteps echoed as they filed into a classroom with a blackboard and rows of seats.

"Alright, I've gotta go," Zareth whispered, waving goodbye to Yona.

She smiled back, nodding. But before he could leave, a firm hand landed on his shoulder.

"Not this time," the woman's voice chimed, pleasant yet firm. "You and Solomon will join today's class."

Zareth's face fell, but he nodded obediently, slipping inside. Solomon followed with a scowl, his sharp eyes sweeping over the classroom.

When the blonde woman finally entered, her smile stretched a little too wide. "Yona, I believe this is your first class, isn't it?" Her voice was honey-sweet... but something in it made the air feel colder.

The grin on her face didn't quite reach her eyes.

Yona stood up, her face flushing as her small hands twisted the hem of her frock. She took a shaky breath. "Y-Yes, Mother!" she blurted out, her voice cracking.

Beside her, Zareth leaned in, his voice a soft murmur. "You did great."

Yona's eyes flicked toward him, and when he gave her a thumbs up, her heart swelled with pride. She felt warmth in his encouragement, a rare joy in an unfamiliar place.

But it didn't last.

"Who gave you permission to call me Mother?" The woman's smile didn't waver, but the air turned ice-cold.

Yona froze, her pride replaced by something heavier—something darker. Fear. Her breath hitched as her knuckles whitened against the fabric of her dress.

"I-I…" The words fumbled and fell apart. The atmosphere grew thicker, pressing down on her.

"Stop holding your frock and stop shaking!"

The command cracked like a whip, loud and merciless. Yona flinched, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.

No, no, I shouldn't cry. Don't cry.

But the woman's face twisted from irritation to sheer disgust as the first tear slipped free.

"I-I a…m…" Yona tried, but the words wouldn't come. The weight of every gaze in the room bore down on her.

A gentle hand brushed against hers. Zareth. Despite his own trembling, his touch tried to steady her. But the moment of comfort only drew the woman's attention.

"Yona, you do need some punishment."

"Huh?" Yona's stomach dropped.

"Zareth." The woman's eyes gleamed. "Stand up."

Zareth rose instantly, his legs shaking. He knew that tone. Knew the storm it carried.

"Slap her."

"What?" His voice cracked, eyes wide with disbelief.

"I said slap her. So hard that she bleeds."

The room held its breath.

Yona stared at Zareth as he raised his hand—and then felt the softest touch against her cheek. She opened her eyes slowly, finding Zareth crying harder than she was.

"I-I can't… hic… please… no…"

From his seat, Solomon's eyes widened. He'd never seen his brother cry before.

The woman moved forward, her shadow falling over them both. "Looks like you're the one who needs punishment," she hissed. "Is this what I taught you? To defy me?"

"Mother, I—"

The slap came without warning, snapping his head to the side. He crumpled to the floor, and before he could recover, a vicious kick slammed into his stomach. He curled up with a choked cry, but there was no mercy.

She grabbed his hair, dragging him across the cold stone floor as his sobs filled the room. No one moved. No one dared.

"Please… please stop!" Yona's voice broke as she clung to the woman's skirt. "Please, leave him alone—"

The next kick sent her flying into the wall. She crumpled on impact, the room spinning before everything faded to black.

Zareth's body scraped against the ground as she pulled him toward the door. Through his blurry vision, his eyes found Solomon.

"Solo-…hic… stop her! Please…" he begged, his voice cracking.

The woman paused, her head snapping toward her older son. "Solomon," she purred, eyes glittering with malice. "Are you going to stop me now? Does he not deserve punishment?"

Solomon's face paled. He shook, but when he finally spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Y-Yes… he… needs punishment…"

Zareth's heart shattered.

The last thing they heard before the door slammed shut was the woman's parting words.

"Class dismissed."

From that day on, Zareth endured an unexplainable amount of punishments. Solomon didn't see his brother for months. Meanwhile, Yona was locked away in a small, dim room by their mother—not even as part of her punishment, but as if she were waiting her turn. Waiting for the moment when their mother was finished with Zareth.

Solomon could only hear her muffled cries through the walls. "I-I… hic… I'm sorry…" Her voice cracked and broke, words that were spoken more to herself than anyone else. But Solomon felt nothing for her—nothing but hate. Hate because his brother suffered because of her. Hate because she had brought out a side of their mother he never wanted to see. He had always known their mother was cruel, but he believed that as long as he was good, he would never encounter her wickedness. Yona destroyed that illusion.

And Zareth… Zareth paid the price.

In the room where Zareth was kept, his screams became a constant backdrop. Every day, the air was filled with his cries—raw and broken—and the savage roars of animals. The sound of something tearing. Something inhuman. Even the girls playing in the courtyard would pause when the noises echoed through the walls. But when their eyes flicked toward their mother, they said nothing. They never protested.

Months passed, and the screams began to fade—not because the torture stopped, but because Zareth no longer had the strength to make a sound. The silence was far worse.

A slow, suffocating guilt wrapped itself around Solomon. He waited, helpless, hoping for an end that never came.

It was eight months before it was finally over.

When Solomon was finally allowed to see his brother again, dread pooled in his stomach. And when he did… horror.

Zareth stood—or what was left of him. His skin was pale and stretched tight over his bones, his frame reduced to little more than a skeleton. His eyes were empty, lifeless. It was hard to tell if he was even still breathing.

It took nearly twenty years for Solomon to bring his brother back from that place—if he ever truly did.

As for Yona, her punishment stretched on for almost a year before she finally escaped. And by then, it was far too late.