Through The Fractured Lens

Lucian

I shot my fist forward, connecting my blow with the thick log in front of me. The impact resonated through the clearing, a dull thud that sent ripples through the air.

Swing after swing, impacting the hard wood as pieces fly off after every hit.

Each strike was calculated with perfect precision. My movements, while a bit shaky, were fluid and quite controlled. The log creaked as it was hit by an array of consecutive swings. 

Every hit struck a different chord in the back of my head, triggering a different memory to appear.

Dante's death kept flashing in my head after almost every hit—flashes of his face, his lifeless body… the blood trickling down to my feet.

Swing after swing, nothing changes. Nothing makes me feel better.

Everything around me was null. There was nothing except me and this pathetic, broken log that I kept swinging at mercilessly. 

Swing. Impact. Swing. Impact.

Another swing—I heard the sound of shattering glass, when I had hit my mirror in my past life, not able to bear my own reflection… the shattered pieces being a testament to my broken life.

I kept swinging until blood rushed from my raw knuckles, shaking as a breeze rolled in, the air being a sharp cold.

Even alive, I never lived—I only survived.

No amount of punches or fights could numb the pain inside.

How many times will I tell myself that it could always be worse, when… I don't think it really can get much worse than this.

Life is full of hard choices that I couldn't bare. Staying alive is hard enough.

I dreamt of a future where I was finally at peace with myself, enjoying the little things in life. Blending in with others around me, being… normal.

However it seems nothing wants to go my way. No mater how much people 'care' for me in this second life of mine, everything I think of always ties me back to my first, and my first is painful enough already.

I tried to be sad, to be anything—any emotion, at all. However nothing came out.

Finally, I heard my mother call me in.

"Come on over, Lucian, or you'll miss your own 15th birthday."

Another decade of useless life has been wasted away, training. While I've been able to slightly manipulate spirit energy, I haven't fully unlocked my potential yet.

Despite that, I felt very close. It would only be a matter of days, or even hours… before I had fully awakened. I knew it.

I rushed inside, not eager to party, but eager to run away from my thoughts. Always running, never facing. The harsh reality.

"Happy birthday champ," my uncle shouted, clearly drunk.

"Seems like everybody is partying without me!" I said, trying to sound happy.

My mother let out a laugh. "Nobody parties like your Uncle Hayes, regardless of what event it is. Anyway, let's go greet the rest of the guests—they're here for you, after all."

I entered the dining room where at least a dozen people congregated. They all stopped to face me like a symphony, each giving me their own sorry excuses of 'Happy Birthday' that I've ever seen as they pass by, likely to get food, or another drink.

So many drunk people wasting away their own lives at a kids birthday party. Sure, that seemed like a natural thing in this world, but it filled me with nothing but filth to watch.

"Thank you very much." I said to the last guest that passed by me, thankful for the formalities to end.

No matter how eager I was to get back out in the dirt, I couldn't shy away from this event—too many questions or concerns would flood my parents. I guess I'll just have to force myself to party the day away, wasting precious hours.

***

The party was a blur. More people came, and others went. What seemed like an endless, fleeting cycle of rotating guests, as they wished me a happy birthday before taking another swig of alcohol.

'Such a waste of precious time—loathing around with these people.' I told myself.

Despite the many years I've already spent on this life, I felt like I haven't done enough. Nothing I ever did was enough.

Nothing will ever be enough until I'm at the top—that's where I'll truly be satisfied, I'm sure of it.

Finally, as the last guest left, I let out a sigh of relief, like I had just burnt years off my life. While it may not have been years—it had been hours, very important and fragile hours.

My parents attempt at a party was quite futile, but I appreciated their attempts.

I shot back up and ran outside, grabbing a thin coat on the way out and shooting a thanks to my parents. Finally, I could get back to doing something actually productive and worth my time.

The cool night air hit my face as I stepped outside, a surprise and unusual feeling in comparison to the stuffy warmth from the hours inside.

The moon hung itself with pride in the sky, gleaming down on the grass in front.

I made it back up to the log post I had used for training. Finally, I closed my eyes, focusing on that energy within me.

Ever since the first time manipulating spirit energy, which was embarrassingly an accident, I've always felt the presence of my spirit thrown deep inside me.

So close… almost like you can grab it, but you can never reach it, no matter how hard you try.

However, I was done pushing this off—saving it for a better day. Tonight, it had to be done. Tonight I will be an official spirit user.

My parents had noticed my efforts throughout the years, but I doubt they'd ever think I'd come to anything like this. They'd assume it was just general training, maybe out of boredom.

No, this was far from it. This was serious. A small, but crucial step in the winding staircase of what's to come, and it was a step that had to be taken. Now.

I focused all my energy and focus into one point of my body—my spirit.

After making sure I was successful, I quickly opened my eyes, rushing my fists at the log post, slamming against it with my fists over and over again.

Streams of energy flowed out of my wrists as it carved through the air, before bursting like a bubble upon impact and fizzling away.

Hit after hit, energy streamed inside and around me. I had felt it, mentally and physically.

The energy surged through me, like a living force that seemed to only amplify with each strike. My fists, once raw and bleeding, now glowed with a transparent light.

No amount of hit drew blood, or even a tinge of pain now. The log post began crumbling up into pieces, as each hit now seemed to crack a devastating blow.

I felt a rush of exhilaration, a feeling I hadn't experienced in either of my lives.

Finally, the moment I had been waiting for, training for, existing for. This was it.

The spirit energy seeped out of my body, creating a natural, thin layer of protection around me, as I directed it all into my fists as I continued to pound the log over and over again.

Finally, I whipped my fist back, pushing all my available spirit energy into one strike.

I swing the fist around and into the heart of the log, creating an impact of wind that was sent around us, rushing my hair back with its force. The log cracked and crumbled as the velocity shrouded through what remained of it, blowing all of it away into pieces.

Each piece seemed to freeze in time as it was knocked back, as it slowly molded into shattered glass. I moved closer, inspecting them. Every individual piece of glass had an image plastered over it, a representation of a broken memory from my past life, scattered around.

As time itself seemed frozen, I controlled these pieces, swaying them around, as one seemed to draw closer to me.

The piece of shattered glass flew up in front of me, slowly flying by my eyes as I catch a glimpse of what it contained. A faint visual of Veyra, as she stood afar, her hair carried by the gentle breeze.

After a moment, her body began to deteriorate. Frightened, I threw the piece away, and began to rapidly blink, rubbing my eyes—anything to get out of this state of mine.

It wasn't real, none if it was real. It couldn't be. Finally, I came to my senses as I stood before the shattered log, the pieces of wood painting the grass around me. 

I held my fist up high, refusing to think about what had happened, as a slight smile covered my face.

After many painful years in this forsaken life of mine, I had finally done something remarkable.

I was now officially a spirit user.

Closing my eyes, I focused on my spirit. While sensing it was always something quite easy to do, I was never able to reach it. Now I was.

Calling on the little spirit energy I had around me after the impact, I shrouded it around my body, creating a defensive aura around me—capable of blocking projectiles and hindering, or even canceling out strikes.

This was the first of many steps, but one that I felt proud to take.

I was no more than an ordinary soldier at this point, outside of my clearly above average skill in swordsmanship and movement.

Nothing about me was all that special. However, that will change. People will know and fear the name of Lucian, and they won't dare stand up to me.