Regression As Ugly Hero Chapter 6:Goldenrod

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Morning came to the sunflower field.

Sunlight reflected off the yellow petals that stretched as far as the eye could see, spreading a warm, calming fragrance. Amid the golden expanse, a young boy ran after a butterfly, his steps light and full of laughter.

At the edge of the field, a girl sat on a large fallen log. She was humming a soft tune—gentle, almost like a whisper carried by the wind.

The boy stopped. His ears caught the melody, and his body froze. He turned and met the girl's gaze. She looked back, causing the boy to feel both nervous and amazed.

"Your voice is beautiful," he said as he walked closer, his eyes sparkling.

"Of course it is!" the girl replied, playfully boastful.

He sat beside her, their legs dangling off the log.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"My name's Margaret," she said, fiddling with her fingers on her lap.

"And yours?" she asked in return.

"Jason." The boy smiled, his eyes locked on Margaret.

"Want to hear me sing again?"

"Definitely."

They sat together. Margaret kept singing, and Jason listened as if her voice was washing away the wounds in his heart. When she paused, Jason would pick a sunflower and hand it to her with a shy smile.

"Why do you like sunflowers?" Margaret asked, smelling the flower in her hand.

Jason looked down. His voice was soft and deep.

"My mom said before she died, sunflowers were symbols of happiness and hope. So... I love them because she did."

Margaret went silent, then stood up and ran playfully among the flowers. She picked a tall stalk, turned around, and raised it high with a bright smile.

"In that case, you can come here every day!"

Margaret's smile—pure and warm—filled the void in Jason's heart.

Time passed unnoticed. The sun began to sink toward the western horizon, leaving behind a glowing orange sky that bathed the flower tips in gold. Margaret and Jason were still sitting together—laughing at times, at other times sharing quiet, gentle glances.

Soon, a tall, broad man came to fetch Margaret. His face was kind, full of smiles—a stark contrast to the image of Jason's father—small, silent, and distant.

Before leaving, Margaret looked at Jason and said,

"Come again tomorrow, okay?"

Jason nodded quietly. Margaret waved with a soft smile, then walked away hand in hand with her father.

Jason turned around and began walking home, through a field now dimming with the coming dusk. Along the way, his eyes caught a scene on someone's porch—a small family sitting together. A boy nestled between his father and mother, all of them laughing as they sipped hot chocolate.

Jason stopped. The smile that had just graced his face vanished, replaced by a sharp, unfamiliar ache. Something clutched his throat; his chest felt tight.

He ran—without knowing why.

Breath ragged, his steps faltered. He stared down at the ground, lips trembling. He walked until he reached the edge of the village. There stood an old house made of rotting wood, with a fence nearly falling apart.

His home.

Jason paused, took a deep breath, then stepped inside. The old door creaked open, but the sound didn't cause the adult man sitting by the fireplace to turn his head.

"I'm home, Dad," Jason said flatly.

Ted, his father, said nothing. He just sat in silence, staring at the firelight reflecting in his empty eyes.

Jason knew there would be no response. He walked straight to his room. The door was open—inside were only a worn-out mattress, a small table, and a photo frame standing next to a dried sunflower stem.

The photo showed a time long gone—Jason, his mother, and Ted, standing together, smiling.

Jason picked up the frame and sat on the bed. Tears welled up in his eyes. His lips quivered, holding back sobs that never made it into sound. In his heart, he heard his mother's voice—gentle and full of love:

"Never stop smiling, sweetheart. The world will always be beautiful... as long as you believe."

Jason lay down. He was tired. Not just his body, but his mind too. He closed his eyes, hoping for a peaceful night's sleep.

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Meanwhile, in the front room, Ted was still sitting by the fire.

His face dark. His gaze blank. His hands clenched tightly, as memories of the past crept in—he and his wife, laughing, holding hands.

Those were the best days of Ted's life. Days when love still felt warm.

Now… all that remained was cold and silence.

The following days passed like a beautiful dream for Jason.

Every morning, he returned to the sunflower field, and there Margaret would be, waiting for him. They played, sang, laughed, and sometimes even fell asleep under the warm sunlight. Occasionally, they'd get scolded by Margaret's father for playing too long and losing track of time.

But to Jason, time with Margaret was when life felt whole again.

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One night, as the village lay in slumber beneath a bright moon, Ted still hadn't fallen asleep.

He stepped outside with a glass of beer and stood silently in front of the house.

Silence.

Ted looked up at the moon. Gulp after gulp, the beer washed his mind in memories that could no longer be touched.

> "Please take care of Jason…"

"Be a good father, will you…"

"If anything happens to Jason, I won't forgive you…"

His late wife's voice echoed in his mind—more painful than anything. The glass was now empty. Ted sat beneath the post of the house, his hands covering his face. The night's cold pierced him, but it was nothing compared to the chill of loss he carried inside.

With blurry eyes, he reached toward the moon.

But it was never something he could grasp.

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Dawn had not yet arrived when screams and the smell of smoke shattered the silence.

Ted jolted awake. Flames licked buildings. Villagers ran in panic. Smoke and blood filled the air.

Ted stumbled out of the house and grabbed a young man sprinting past.

"What's going on?!"

"Undead! They're attacking the village!" the man gasped.

"Where are you going?!"

"South! There's a shelter!" he shouted before running off again.

Ted stood frozen—then he, too, began to run. Survival instincts took over.

In an open field, the villagers gathered in panic. Some cried, others fainted. An old man had lost an arm.

Among the chaos, Ted saw Margaret and her father trying to calm the crowd.

Ted approached them.

"Will help arrive?"

"Soldiers from Alexandria are on their way," Margaret's father replied, trying to stay strong.

Margaret looked around—her eyes searching for someone. Then she asked,

"Where's Jason?"

Ted was silent. His face went pale.

He had forgotten.

Forgotten his only child.

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Margaret didn't wait for an answer. She dashed back toward the village, through smoke and fire. Ted stood still, body stiff like stone.

SMACK!

A hard slap landed on Ted's cheek. Margaret's father grabbed him by the collar.

"What have you done to your son?!"

"I-I... I don't know..." Ted's voice was barely a whisper.

"I thought Jason was just another child… but after getting to know him, I realized he only needed one thing—love."

Those words pierced Ted's heart like arrows.

But Ted shouted back, "What do you know about me?!"

SLAP!

Another, harder strike. Then, Margaret's father lowered his voice, full of pain.

"You... are a terrible father."

Ted froze. That sentence cut deeper than any slap.

Margaret's father let go of his collar and said softly,

"Go after them... for my daughter, and for your son."

Ted's steps were heavy. He picked up a sword from a wounded guard. His legs moved—slowly—like a body forced back to life.

But voices in his head wouldn't stop echoing:

> "If anything happens to Jason… I won't forgive you…"

"A terrible father…"

"Go after him…"

Ted gritted his teeth. His chest ached. He bowed his head—then started running.

The sky began to cry.

Rain poured heavily, mixing with the tears streaming down Ted's face. Every step carried guilt, self-loathing, and one burning desire:

To make things right.

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By the time he reached the village ruins, the fire had already consumed several buildings. Amid the smoke and glowing embers, Ted saw two small figures surrounded by two undead.

Jason and Margaret.

Without hesitation, Ted lunged at the first undead and drove his sword through its chest. He pulled it free and turned—the second undead's head flew cleanly off with one slash.

Ted's body was drenched in blood. His breathing was labored. But he kept moving.

In front of him, Jason held a trembling Margaret in his arms.

Jason looked up. His eyes widened when he saw his father. But it wasn't fear. He looked... confused. In his right hand, he clutched a small dusty photo frame—their family photo.

Ted stood still. Tears welled in his eyes.

He stepped forward and dropped to his knees. His arms wrapped around Jason in a tight embrace.

> "Forgive me, son…" he whispered, full of sorrow.

For the first time in years, that hug felt warm. Like a father who had finally found his purpose again.

But the moment was cut short by a harsh cough—followed by blood.

Jason turned quickly. Margaret collapsed, her hands shaking.

Ted immediately checked her body.

"What's wrong with her?!"

Jason replied in a trembling voice.

"She was struck by an undead… and… she's cursed..."

Ted looked at Margaret, then at Jason. In the boy's eyes, there was fear, loss, and overwhelming worry.

Ted clenched his fists.

That night, in the middle of the pouring rain, Ted made a vow:

> I will protect you, son… with everything I have.

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To Be Continued