Life of a guard.

Echoes Of Ossian

I walk up the stone path leading to the main house, my heart pounding in my chest. The air is thick with the scent of burning incense, and the torches lining the way flicker in the early evening light. The main house looms ahead, a grand structure of dark wood and sweeping tiled roofs, its carved pillars bearing the stories of our ancestors. It stands atop the hill, watching over the entire estate like a silent guardian.

The guards at the entrance give me a brief glance but say nothing as I step inside. The hall is vast, its wooden floor polished smooth by generations of footsteps. Hanging lanterns cast a warm glow, illuminating the towering walls lined with tapestries depicting past glories of the clan. At the far end, seated on elevated cushions around a low table, are the elders.

There are five of them, each wrapped in heavy robes, their faces lined with the weight of age and wisdom. Elder Kasu, the oldest, has a thin, wiry frame, his white beard reaching his chest as he strokes it in thought. Beside him, Lady Sumi, the only female elder, watches everything with sharp, calculating eyes. Master Jiro, broad-shouldered and stern, taps his fingers rhythmically against the wood, while Elder Ren, the quietest, merely listens, his hands folded in his lap. Finally, there is Elder Masaru, the one who speaks the most, his deep voice carrying the authority of someone who has seen too much.

They are discussing me.

"The master's illegitimate son cannot remain idle forever," Elder Masaru says, his voice even but firm. "He has strength in him, and loyalty too. These should not be wasted."

Lady Sumi raises an eyebrow. "You mean to say we should mold him into something useful?"

Master Jiro grunts. "More than that. He should serve. Protect the heir. Let him stand as a guard to the rightful son of the clan."

There is a murmur of agreement, and I feel my breath catch in my throat. My fate is being decided right here, right now. I am not a son of the main family. I will never sit where they do, never bear the weight of the clan's name. But I will serve. I will protect the boy who has everything that was denied to me.

I stand straighter, waiting for them to turn to me, to confirm what I already know in my heart—I have no choice.

I will be the shield of the rightful heir.

I will become his shadow.

At twelve years old, I was stripped of childhood and thrown into the brutal world of warriors. My training began immediately, without hesitation, without mercy. I wasn't seen as a boy, nor as a student—I was a tool being sharpened for a singular purpose. From the moment I stepped into the barracks, my name ceased to matter. I wasn't the illegitimate son of the master. I wasn't a person. I was a guard, even if I was still just a child.

The soldiers I once admired from afar, the men I had imagined as heroes, treated me no differently than the dirt beneath their boots. Their words were sharp, their blows sharper. "A tool doesn't need kindness," they would say. "A guard doesn't need to think of himself."

I had no right to complain. No right to be weak. If I faltered, they struck harder. If I failed, I suffered. Not to learn from my mistakes—but because failure was unacceptable. I was expected to endure, to withstand pain that no child should have known. A true guard does not train to protect himself, they reminded me, but to protect his master. My life was not my own. It never had been.

But no matter how harsh my training was, one thing never changed—I was still assigned chores in my spare time. Sweeping the training grounds, scrubbing blood from the floors, hauling water for the soldiers who beat me down just hours before. At first, I hated it. I wanted to be strong, not a servant. But over time, I found comfort in the mindless tasks. In a world where my body was battered and broken, where I had no control over my fate, at least I could control this. I could make something clean. I could finish something.

Training, however, was a different story. They didn't teach me the way they taught others. I was not an apprentice to be nurtured—I was a tool to be tested. They used me to practice their strikes, their throws, their newly developed techniques. If they needed a target, I was there. If they needed a human opponent to test endurance, I was the one left bleeding. I was nothing but a training dummy that screamed and bled and yet always stood up again, because I had no other choice.

The days blurred together, one endless cycle of suffering. I ate when they allowed it. I slept when exhaustion claimed me. My hands grew calloused, my body covered in bruises that never had time to fade before new ones took their place. I learned not to hesitate, not to flinch, not to question. Because my life had no meaning beyond one purpose.

To serve. To protect.

Without that, I was nothing.

Every day, they pushed me further, testing my limits, trying to break me. The elders still didn't interfere. They only watched, silent and observant, waiting to see if I would crumble or grow stronger. To them, this was necessary. To them, I was nothing more than a tool, meant to serve and protect the heir.

I learned quickly. I had to. I memorized every movement, every stance, every weakness in those who beat me down. I tried to use my knowledge against them, but no matter how well I fought, I was still at a disadvantage. My small frame, my young age, the sheer number of opponents—I couldn't win. So I endured. I trained, I sharpened my skills, I watched. If I couldn't surpass them in strength yet, I would outlast them.

I was training to improve my swordplay during a sparring session, a fellow soldier sneered, "Look at the kid, thinking he's better than the rest of us now." His words were laced with bitterness, and a few others echoed his sentiments.

The more I progressed, the more resentment festered among my peers. During a particularly grueling obstacle course, a disgruntled soldier muttered, "Just because the commanders favor the kid, doesn't mean he's anything special." It wasn't true, in fact they only knew who I was, an illegitimate child. They couldn't go against the order and couldn't do anything about it but obey. 

Despite the hostility, my determination only grew. The harder I worked, the harsher the comments became. In the barracks, whispers of discontent circulated like a toxic undercurrent. One evening, as I polished my armor, a resentful voice sliced through the air, "We've been here longer, and yet he's the one getting all the attention. It's not fair!"

During training drills, dialogues turned into confrontations. "Think you're better than us, do you?" spat a particularly envious soldier. "You'll always be just a kid playing soldier." He spat at my face before going away. I knew that no one was standing on my side so any confrontation would have end up with me beaten up. I knew it very well; my body was still sore from the last time it happens.

I was prepared, I knew that it wasn't over yet, I wouldn't be fooled like last time. A group decided to take matters into their own hands. As I walked through the dimly lit barracks, the atmosphere grew tense.

"You think you're untouchable, don't you?" sneered one of the ringleaders, a scowl etched across his face. The others closed in, their expressions a mix of anger and envy. 

Attempting to diffuse the situation, I replied, "I'm just here to do my duty. No need for trouble."

But trouble was exactly what they wanted. Without warning, one of the soldiers lunged at me, aiming to catch me off guard. Reacting quickly, I sidestepped the attack, causing the assailant to stumble forward.

Laughter erupted from the group as they regrouped, their jeers growing louder. "Look at him dance around like a scared rabbit!" mocked another.

Remaining composed, I assessed the situation. As the next attack came, I deftly dodged, using the confined space to my advantage. The once-confident group now wore expressions of frustration.

"You're not as tough as they say," I quipped, my words stoking the flames of their anger.

In their desperation to prove me wrong, they attacked in unison. However, I was smaller and faster than them. I anticipated their moves, exploiting their lack of coordination. As they collided with each other, the room fell silent. 

In a moment of mayhem amongst them, I singled out the leader of the group, swiftly pressing the cold steel of my sword against his neck. The veins on his neck pulsed rapidly, and his eyes widened in a mix of shock and fear.

"Move, and it's over for you," I declared calmly, the blade hovering menacingly over him.

The room fell into a hushed silence as the gravity of the situation settled. The other soldiers, once boisterous and confident, now stood frozen, their bravado replaced by an uneasy tension.

The leader, feeling the sharp edge against his skin, swallowed hard, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. The air thickened with the weight of the standoff; my blade poised to react to any sudden movement.

Despite the intensity of the moment, I maintained a controlled demeanor, the resolve in my eyes unwavering. The seconds stretched, each one amplifying the pressure in the room.

Finally, realizing the futility of resistance, the leader nodded subtly, a gesture of surrender. With a deliberate step back, I withdrew the sword, allowing him to retreat from the tense confrontation.

The room exhaled collectively as the immediate threat diffused. The leader, now humbled, exchanged glances with his fellow soldiers, a newfound understanding settling in. The dynamics had shifted, and the barracks, once a breeding ground for animosity, now held a tenuous peace.

I seized the opportunity to address them calmly, "We're all here for the same reason – to protect and serve. Let's focus on that instead of tearing each other down."

The failed attempt at intimidation left the soldiers with a newfound understanding. The dynamics within the barracks shifted, and though a subtle tension remained, the realization that cooperation was more beneficial than rivalry began to take root. I continued my training. 

Revolt was never an option. I knew that from the beginning. The moment I dared to go against my father's orders, I would be discarded without hesitation. I had to survive. I didn't know why, but something in me refused to give up, refused to be erased. Maybe it was foolish, but a small part of me still clung to the idea that one day, he would see me. One day, he would acknowledge me. One day, he would call me son.

The training was harsh, but my body adapted. I had no choice. The physical labor I endured from childhood had already strengthened me—running across the massive estate, carrying heavy loads, scrubbing floors until my hands bled. It had prepared me without me realizing it. The guards ran for hours at dawn, sparred until the sun reached its peak, and drilled techniques into their bodies until exhaustion. It was brutal, but it wasn't beyond what I could withstand.

For the first time in my life, I didn't have to worry about food. Two meals a day. It was more than I had ever received before. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep me moving, enough to keep me growing stronger.

Two years passed.

By then, I had surpassed many of the older guards. I was still young, still small compared to them, but I was faster. My movements were precise, my reflexes sharp. And most of all, I wanted to stay alive.

But no one wanted to admit it.

They refused to acknowledge that a boy, barely fourteen, had reached and even surpassed their level. They resented me for it. They hated that I refused to break. So they made me suffer for it.

But no matter how many times they knocked me down, I got back up.

I had no other choice.

I had to learn how to get stronger the hard way. There was no other choice. Every moment of my existence had been spent struggling so that no one could stand in my way, so that I could survive.

As expected, I was appointed as the heir's protector—a silent shadow, never to be acknowledged, never to be seen. I wasn't allowed to speak to him or even face him. Not that I wanted to. I held no resentment toward him, but I felt no attachment either. He was simply another part of my duty, just like the training, just like the pain.

In truth, I wasn't even sure if he knew I existed.

Watching over him wasn't difficult. His frail body kept him confined to his room most days, buried in books and ink, scribbling away a life of comfort and knowledge. Meanwhile, I remained perched in the branches of a tree just outside his window, concealed by thick leaves—far enough that he'd never notice, yet close enough to intervene if needed.

And as I watched, I wondered.

What was it like to live so peacefully?

A devoted mother who showered him with affection. A father who would move the heavens to grant his every wish. A family that loved him unconditionally.

Every time I saw them together, I looked away.

He was so full of life, bursting with laughter that danced through the clear skies, while I stood beneath a storm with no end.

We were nothing alike.

And I… I didn't want to exist anymore.

Spring arrived, painting the world in gentle hues of green and gold. It was the perfect season for wandering, and it seemed the little heir thought so too. He often slipped away from the suffocating lectures that filled his days, sneaking behind the house to steal moments of peace. I listened to those lessons from a distance, never truly hearing, only watching.

As always, I followed him, ensuring his safety from the shadows. But the more time I spent near him, the more I felt something unfamiliar stir within me—an urge to protect him, not out of duty, but out of something deeper. He was so pure, so untouched by the cruelty of the world. The more I watched, the more I realized… he was the most precious thing I had ever seen.

I didn't want him to become like me.

Over time, I learned more about the world through his eyes. He saw everything with kindness, moving through life with a quiet gentleness that I couldn't comprehend. He roamed the forest behind the mansion with ease, his presence so warm that even the wild animals accepted him. The foxes he had cared for through the winter now circled him without fear, nuzzling into his hands, trusting him.

Was it really that simple?

Would they accept me too?

No… it was impossible. He had a heart full of warmth, while I was hollow. I wasn't even sure if I had a heart at all.

But still… maybe he would accept me.

Before I could think, I stepped forward, abandoning my cover. I wanted to be closer to him, to stand beside him, even for just a moment.

He turned—our eyes met.

And then, I realized what I had done.

Foolish.

Without a second thought, I vanished from sight, retreating into the trees, cursing myself for my weakness.

What had I expected?

As the days passed, the emptiness inside me deepened. I spent my nights staring at the sky, searching for answers in the endless void above. Why was I even born? Would this loneliness ever end?

I didn't need salvation. I wasn't foolish enough to hope for that.

I just wanted warmth.

But nobody would ever give it to me.

The little heir shone in a way I could never have imagined—like a star too bright for the sky to hold. He was not bound by the shadows, not the way I was. His light didn't flicker with hesitation, didn't fade with doubt. He was a beacon of hope and innocence in a world that had forgotten both. His laughter echoed like the first light of dawn, a warmth that could pierce through the darkest clouds. His eyes—those eyes—were pools of endless possibility, so pure, so untainted by the harshness of the world around him.

I watched from the distance, hidden in the corners of his life, as he moved through the world like he belonged to it. He didn't see the looming shadows, didn't feel the weight of every unspoken rule that I had to carry. He was untouched by the burdens that I had borne for so long.

But then came the day when I noticed it too late—the little heir, once so full of light, had wandered to the edge of the forest, to the highest point where the trees kissed the sky. It was dangerous, too dangerous for someone as fragile as him. And yet, there he was, climbing higher and higher, unaware of the risks he was taking.

The wind shifted, and the branch beneath his feet creaked in warning. My heart seized in my chest. The moment I saw the branch crack, I acted without thinking. My body moved faster than my mind could catch up, and I reached him just in time.

Before I could think, my body moved on its own.

I lunged forward, wrapping my arms around him just as he fell, holding him tight against my chest. I twisted midair, landing hard on my back, shielding him from the impact. Pain shot through me, but I barely noticed. The only thing that mattered was that he was safe. Not because it was my mission—no, it was something more than that. I couldn't bear the thought of him being hurt, not while I was here, standing between him and the world.

He was too close. His small frame trembled against me, his head tucked into the crook of my neck. He was warm… so warm. His breath was shaky, his eyes squeezed shut in fear. I stayed still for a moment, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against mine.

I needed to move.

Slowly, I loosened my hold, preparing to disappear before he could see me. But before I could even shift, small hands clutched at my arm, holding tight. I froze.

He was smiling. A soft, radiant smile that made my breath catch.

No one told me how this would end…

Then my world stopped.

He laughed—bright, carefree, until tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, making them shine like scattered stars. I had never seen anything so beautiful.

" I wanted to see the world outside the walls…" he wispered shyly.

I stared at him, my voice caught in my throat.

"You could have been hurt, Little Heir," I murmured, barely recognizing the softness in my own voice.

But he wasn't even listening.

"I knew it!" he beamed. "I knew someone was watching over me!"

I looked at him—really looked at him.

His eyes… they were the same. A mirror of my own.

We were brothers. Born from the same father.

But I could never tell him that. I didn't even have the right to stand beside him. I was only meant to exist in his shadow.

Reality crashed down on me like a tidal wave. I moved to stand, but his grip tightened. His wide eyes searched mine, filled with something unspoken, something fragile.

Then, suddenly—he began to sob.

His smile crumbled, his tears spilling over, silencing me more than any words could.

"Are you hurt?" My voice was quiet, uncertain. "Talk to me… please."

He hiccupped between his sobs, his fingers gripping my sleeve like a lifeline.

"I… I looked for you," he choked out. "I looked everywhere…"

My breath stilled.

He knew?

I couldn't understand. What did he mean? Had he always known I existed?

He clung to me, his body shaking with quiet cries. I didn't know what to say, what to do—so I did the only thing that felt right. I reached for his face, wiping away his tears with unsteady fingers.

I didn't want to let go.

For the first time in my life, I felt warmth—not the kind that burned, but the kind that made my heart waver.

He looked up at me, about to speak—

"Young Master!" A voice cut through the air.

The guards. They were calling for him. The sky had darkened while we sat here. It was time for him to go back.

His eyes widened, startled.

I stood quickly, knowing I had to leave before they saw me. He stared at me, still holding on, unwilling to let go.

With great reluctance, I gently pried his fingers from mine, setting him back on his feet.

He didn't want me to go.

And for the first time… I didn't want to leave either.

But I had to.

I gave him one last look before stepping back, slipping into the shadows.

As he walked away, he kept glancing up, scanning the treetops, searching for me in the darkness. But I was already gone.

And yet, for some reason, he still looked back.