Chapter 8

 The Hidden Burden

Six years later

"Carsel, wake up! Sword practice starts in ten minutes!"

Gareth's loud voice jolted Carsel from his deep sleep. The seven-year-old groaned softly, pulling the blanket over his head. His dark, deep-set eyes stared at the hut's ceiling with an expression too weary for a child his age.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled hoarsely.

"No more five minutes. You're already late again, just like yesterday and the day before. Come on, hurry up!"

With heavy steps, Carsel got out of bed. In his heart, he cursed with words inappropriate for a child his age – words he had unknowingly picked up from listening to adult conversations over the years.

Damn it. Why do I have to wake up at the crack of dawn for this stupid sword practice?

But as usual, he said nothing. His face remained innocent and obedient as he walked out to face another long day filled with lessons he detested.

Six years. He had endured the same daily routine for six years. Waking up early, physical training with Gareth, breakfast, maths lessons with Elena, lunch, history and moral lessons with Sage, basic magic practice, dinner, reading and writing lessons, sleep. Then the next day, it all started again.

There was no time to play. No time to be a normal child. Every time he tried to play with a wooden doll or draw in the dirt, someone would always call him to learn something.

"You're late again," Gareth said, tossing a small wooden sword to Carsel. "Yesterday I told you, discipline is the foundation of everything."

Discipline, my arse, Carsel thought, lazily catching the sword. I just want to sleep in like other kids.

"Sorry, Uncle Gareth," Carsel said in a forced sweet voice. "I'll be more disciplined tomorrow."

Sword practice lasted for two hours. Carsel swung his wooden sword with technically correct movements, but without enthusiasm. His mind wandered, imagining what it would be like to run freely in the forest or swim in the lake without anyone telling him what to do.

"Focus, Carsel!" Gareth barked, seeing the boy's movements becoming increasingly sloppy. "How can you protect yourself if you practise half-heartedly like this?"

Protect myself from what? From whom? We live in a secluded forest where even monsters rarely come, Carsel grumbled inwardly. But his mouth said, "Yes, Uncle. I'll focus more."

After the exhausting physical training, it was Elena's turn to teach him maths. Carsel sat at the wooden table with thick books in front of him, staring at numbers that made no sense to him whatsoever.

"If a merchant buys 47 apples for 2 coins each, then sells them for 3 coins each, how much profit does he make?" Elena asked patiently.

Carsel stared at the problem with a blank expression. Who cares about some stupid merchant and his apples? Why do I have to learn this?

"I... I don't know, Auntie Elena," he answered in a small voice.

Elena sighed. "Carsel, we've gone over problems like this many times. Try to think slowly."

I have thought slowly, and the conclusion is that this is boring! Carsel thought, trying to count on his small fingers. After five minutes that felt like an eternity, he gave the wrong answer.

"Wrong again," Elena said, her tone beginning to lose patience. "You weren't paying attention to my explanation earlier, were you?"

"Sorry, Auntie. I'll pay more attention."

But inside, Carsel felt annoyed. Why do I have to keep apologising? Why am I in the wrong if I can't do this stupid maths problem?

Afternoon arrived with Carsel's most hated lesson: history and morals with Sage. The old man always spoke seriously about things that sounded like boring fairy tales to Carsel.

"Today we'll learn about the Celestial War that happened five hundred years ago," Sage said, opening a thick book with battle scene illustrations that were actually interesting, but Carsel was too tired to appreciate them.

Five hundred years ago? Why should I care about something that happened five hundred years ago? It's over!

"This war happened because of the arrogance and greed of leaders who refused to compromise," Sage continued. "From this, we learn that a leader must always prioritise the welfare of their people above personal interests."

Leader? People? I don't even know anything about the world outside this hut. Why do I have to learn to be a leader?

"Carsel, what can you learn from this story?" Sage asked.

Carsel, who was daydreaming about birds flying freely outside the window, startled. "Um... that... war is bad?"

Sage frowned. "Is that all? No other lessons to be drawn?"

No! I don't care about your stupid war! Carsel screamed inwardly. But his mouth said, "Sorry, Grandpa Sage. I didn't quite understand the story."

"You weren't paying attention again, were you?" Sage sighed deeply. "Carsel, these lessons are important for your future. One day you will understand why I teach you all of this."

What future? I don't even know what I want to do tomorrow, let alone the future!

That night, as usual, Carsel lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He could hear Elena, Gareth, and Sage whispering in the next room, discussing his progress.

"He's getting lazier lately," Gareth said worriedly. "His physical training is half-hearted, and he seems utterly uninterested."

"His maths is getting worse too," Elena added. "It's as if he's deliberately refusing to learn."

"Perhaps we're pushing him too hard," Sage said in a tired voice. "But we have no choice. Time is ticking, and he needs to be ready when he enters the academy later."

Carsel clenched his hands under the blanket. Do you think I don't hear? Do you think I don't know you're disappointed in me?

But the most painful thing was the fact that he didn't dare express his feelings. These three people were the only family he had. He was afraid that if he complained or protested, they would get angry and leave him alone.

So he continued to keep all his annoyance, boredom, and anger buried inside. Every day he had to wear the mask of a good, obedient child, while within his chest, a fire of rebellion burned, growing larger with each passing day.

One day, he thought, closing his eyes, I'll be free from all of this. One day, I'll do whatever I want, and no one will be able to control me anymore.

Unbeknownst to him, such thoughts – repeated every night for years – were slowly changing something within him. Changing an innocent child into one filled with hidden resentment towards a world that forced him to grow up too quickly.

In the next room, Sage suddenly felt a strange chill run down his spine. As an Oracle, he could sometimes sense subtle shifts in destiny. And that night, he felt something dark beginning to grow.

But he didn't know what it was, and he didn't know its source. All he knew was that the future, once blurred, was now becoming increasingly dark, and he could do nothing but hope that they still had enough time to fix whatever was beginning to go wrong.

Meanwhile, in his bed, Carsel slept, dreaming of the freedom to come. Dreaming of the day when he wouldn't have to listen to anyone anymore, and could avenge all the years of silent suffering he had endured.