#earned trust

Prologue - BIRTH | 1

❝Every time I die, this is the vision that greets my eyes, and every time I think, “How lovely that sunlight which I forsook so many centuries ago…”❞

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Do you truly believe immortality is a gift? How naive. Let me tell you about the sentiments that will haunt you for centuries, that will devour your soul.

1. Disorientation.

To begin with, you never had the choice to be like this. Why was this your reality? You'd ask, and without answers, it feels like punishment, a curse, or a twisted game from the deities above. Sometimes, you’re not even sure what’s real anymore.

Did you hear that voice calling your name? You know you’re alone here, so why are you searching?

2. Misery.

Longing for the familiarity of their touch, you embrace your loved one in your arms as their final breath escapes. Their faces fade from your memory and their laughter was a distant echo. Countless lives all slip away while you remain, time continues, and the ache never fades.

Wait—didn’t you see them last time? In your house? No, you didn’t. You only dreamt of it. Right? 

Then who is that dead man buried outside?

3. Anguish.

Each battle claims another comrade, another soul who fought by your side. The cycle repeats, leaving you grappling with the aftermath. You’ve sacrificed everything—your heart broken by loss and your mind tormented by horrors. The blood on your hands never fades. It stains not just your skin, but your soul.

How many times have you died? How many times have you woken up next to a corpse? Did you slaughter those innocents for your sick satisfaction?

Answer me.

I don't know.

4. Fear.

You fear closeness because loss is inevitable. No matter the people that come and go, you'd be alone again. You fear betrayal because that trust has been shattered. Most of all, you fear yourself of what you might become if you lose the last shred of your humanity. Humans are capable of ruining their own kind when consumed by their nature.

What would you do if you lost control? What if you already have? What if the thing you fear most isn’t what you might become—but what you already are?

That's not me. You're wrong.

5. Bitterness.

It's a wonder how the good withers while the bad lingers, just like when you find someone to share this burden, they are taken. As evolution grows, it becomes difficult to disappear just to yearn for that peace. You envy the life others take for granted; the chance to grow old, to rest, to let go. However, there is no reprieve for you.

How much longer can you endure this existence? How long until you try to end it all? You’ve tried before, haven’t you? And yet here you are.

Why is that?

My story has no ending.

6. Resentment.

You are furious—at the world, at destiny, at yourself. You rage at the cruelty of being alive without purpose, enduring endless suffering without answers.

Why were you born into this nightmare? Was it to protect? To suffer? To wander endlessly?

Or maybe to end humankind?

No, it couldn't be it. 

Then, there’s no one to understand you but yourself.

You are truly alone in this world.

The world was a tapestry of raw, untamed beauty, painted with earthy hues, rugged landscapes, and wilderness. Trees, giants of a bygone era, stretched their gnarled limbs towards the heavens, their bark adorned with moss and lichen. The air held a heady mixture of damp soil and the fragrance of wild flora that danced upon the breeze.

Nearby, the sound of babbling streams wove through the area. Their crystal-clear waters wound their way around mossy rocks and pebbles, the rustling of leaves, and the distant calls of critters. The sun descended behind the horizon, painting the sky with fiery hues before gradually giving way to the unfolding blanket of night.

Above, the celestial tapestry is adorned with countless stars. The crackling of a distant fire and the rhythmic click of stone against stone reverberated through the tranquil stillness of the night. A woman sat upon the grassy floor, silhouetted by the flickering flames. Her tattered clothing bore streaks of soil and splotches of blood. She did not flinch at the filth, nor the faint sting of sweat and smoke that clung to her skin.

Instead, she sat cross-legged, shoulders drawn inward. With deliberate, patient movements, she chipped the edge of a crude spearhead, each strike sending a sharp note ringing into the stillness. The noise punctuated the silence like a metronome, a heartbeat against the hush until the bushes shifted.

The rustling was faint yet deliberate, the low scrape of branches bending under something heavier than wind. Her hand tightened around the spear, knuckles whitening as she rose slowly to her feet. The fire painted her in shades of bronze and shadow as she raised the weapon, her muscles in her arm taut and ready to strike. 

Her keen eyes narrowed with intent, sweeping the treeline where the darkness yawned wide. Something moved there. She advanced by crouching down to soften her footsteps, silent as a hunting cat, spear raised for the throw.

And froze.

The being stepped into the warm embrace of the firelight, and a pair of crimson eyes caught in the fire’s glow—a man stood there. His dark, wavy hair was somewhat messy from the twigs stuck there, and framed his face.

From the gloom emerged a figure whose presence alone shifted the air. Crimson eyes glimmered first, catching the firelight like embers fanned to life. The rest of him followed—broad-shouldered, his dark, wavy hair was somewhat messy from the twigs stuck here and framed his face, as though he had crossed half the wilderness to stand here.

The woman lowered the weapon slowly, the tension draining from her limbs, though not from her face. “Took you long enough,” she said, her voice soft, even, but with an edge beneath it—a quiet accusation wrapped in the folds of worry.

The man stepped into the circle of firelight, its glow cutting against the pallor of his skin. His dark, wavy hair was disheveled, stray twigs caught in its strands.

“It couldn’t be helped,” he said at last, the words low, controlled, as if he were weighing each before he spoke it. Her brow creased faintly at his tone—something in it carried more than absence, though he offered nothing further.

“You’ve been gone… for how long now?” she asked. The question came softer than she intended, her lips pressed thin, as though speaking it aloud made the waiting heavier in her chest.

“Too long,” he admitted, his gaze sliding briefly toward the treeline as if the forest itself might be listening. He sat across from her, the fire between them sputtering and cracking, throwing shifting light across his face. For a while, neither spoke.

“Too long is right… longest since I waited. You’ve been distant,” the woman murmured then, her voice quieter still. “Even for you.”

The man huffed—not quite amusement, not quite denial. His mouth curved in a faint smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “And you’ve been restless.”

She almost smiled at that, though it faded quickly. Her hand, moving of its own accord, drifted toward her abdomen, smoothing the worn fabric there. He noticed. Said nothing. Instead, he reached across the firelight and took her hand. His calloused thumb traced the back of it, slow and steady, the silence between them stretching, deepening, filled only by the crackle of wood collapsing in the flames.

Finally, she spoke again, her voice low. “Someone’s watching you.”

The man’s hand stilled. For a moment, his eyes flicked toward the sky as though weighing a truth too large to name. “Not… exactly,” he said at length. “There’s an Angel. Name’s Whis. Beerus’s attendant.” 

The name carried no meaning for her, but the way he said it—careful, deliberate—made her store it away like something sharp that might cut later. “He’s looking for you?” she asked, pressing her lips together, “does he…?”

The man shook his head, eyes shifting toward the darkness beyond the fire. “Not yet. But he’s paying attention.” A pause then—“A curious one.”

The woman said nothing to that. Slowly, her eyes rose to the stars above. It should have been beautiful, scattered like handfuls of diamonds across velvet darkness. Yet the longer she stared, the more they stopped looking like distant lights and more like a thousand unblinking eyes. She wondered if the stars had always stared this way, or if she was only now beginning to notice, watching through the branches.

She swore one of them blinked — or she was imagining things.

Maybe the stars carried more danger than she initially thought...

The man’s voice cut softly through her thoughts, low enough that she almost missed it. “Whis notices everything,” he murmured, as though the name itself was something dangerous. His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the firelight, but the weight behind them was sharper than flame. “And when an Angel notices, it never ends well for those being in their sight.”

The fire popped between them. He didn’t look at her at first, his attention lingering on the darkness as if he expected something to emerge from it at any moment. Then his gaze finally shifted back to her, the smallest hesitation ghosting across his features.

“[Mother's Name].” The woman looked at him after the sound of her name spilled from his lips, the firelight casting her face in restless shadows.

“If you ever see one of them,” he said, voice deliberate, “the tall, blue ones… hide. Don’t speak. Don’t give them more than you have to.”

Something in his tone — not fear exactly, but the kind of respect born from knowing exactly how dangerous someone was — sank into her chest like a stone.

She leaned back slightly and glanced at the man in front of her, searching his face as if he had the answers she sought. “Do you think,” she asked, voice hushed, “that I’ll ever see you again?”

He didn’t answer, not because he hadn’t heard — it was a decision and it was heavier than any words. He does not lie, nor does he speak if there is a possibility. The fire cracked and sizzled between them, and for a while, neither spoke.

When the man finally reached for her hand, his calloused palm was warm, an anchor. His grip silently said what his mouth could not: I am here for as long as I can be. 

Neither of them looked away.

They couldn’t.

They didn’t want to.

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4 YEARS LATER | AGE: 4

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The haunting cries echoed through the dense woods, disrupting the serene harmony of nature. Startled birds took flight, their wings flapping urgently as they disappeared into the sky. My mother’s face, once radiant, was now streaked with tears.

Her [Eye Color] eyes, once so warm and comforting, were now swollen and red, her tears traced their path down her warm, reddened cheeks. She held me tightly, her arms a trembling shield against the cold weight of her grief. She struggled to speak through choked sobs, her voice quivering with each uttered word.

“I’m sorry, darling. I don’t want to cry in front of you,” she whispered. “But I have you…” Her words trailed off, swallowed by her sobs, as her embrace tightened.

I didn’t understand why she was crying, though I wanted to help. My small hands reached for hers, and for a moment, something flickered in her eyes—hope, maybe. Her trembling fingers wrapped around mine, rough and warm, as she gently caressed my hand. 

“I still have you… [First Name],” she murmured, her voice barely audible through hiccups and sobs. Her gaze, full of sadness and something else I couldn’t name, locked onto mine.

“Don’t be like your father. Don’t be like me,” she pleaded softly. “Be strong, but kind. Don’t let emotions cloud your judgment. Be clever, but compassionate.”

Her touch moved to my hair, her fingers tenderly stroking my locks as her voice softened into a fragile murmur. “I wish your father could see you now… I wish fate hadn’t taken him away.” 

I frowned, confused and I stumbled on my words.

“Fa-th-er?”

“Yes, your father,” she confirmed, her voice softening as she looked at me with watery eyes. Her hand lingered on my hair as if holding on to something she couldn’t bear to lose.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t understand. I was just a child. So, I stayed in her arms, letting her hold me as she cried.

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7 YEARS LATER | AGE: 11

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"For this is how you hunt," my mother's firm voice guided me as I stood by her side, eyes fixed on the fallen animal at our feet. The deer lay still, my mother's makeshift spear protruding from its side, blood seeping slowly from the deep wound. Her hands carefully gripped the spear, extracting it from the deer's body, crimson blood seeping from the deep wound.

"Use everything, down to its bones and skin. A hunter uses everything; this is how we respect the dead."

Her touch upon the deer's neck spoke volumes, a quiet acknowledgment of its life slipping away.

"We share goals, the animals and us. Survival is our common thread. As much as I cherish them, we must feed ourselves. We respect their sacrifice by ensuring it's swift and painless."

With a swift motion, she ended the deer's suffering, a snap that echoed through the woods, the fading light in its eyes; its once rhythmic breaths gave way to silence as death claimed it. "Come, help me carry this," she beckoned, and my heart surged with eagerness and hunger.

We had secured food for the day, and my eyes flickered with a mix of joy and anticipation, hungry not only for the meal but for the warmth of my mother's cooking. Together, we dragged the deer, its blood painting a trail on the grass, marking our path back to our den.

Our steps echoed as we made our way to our den, the cave's cool embrace enveloping us. The trickling sound of water inside greeted us as the sunlight, filtered through the cave's mouth, illuminated our path. The scent of damp earth mingled with the tang of blood, an earthy yet strong aroma that lingered in the air.

The weight of the dead animal strained against my grasp, letting out grunts that echoed within the cavern. Without my mother's help, carrying this load would have been difficult. We ventured deeper into the cave, finally setting our prized bounty upon the cold, stony ground.

"[First Name], could you gather fish from the lake? I'll prepare the food," my mother spoke, her words a gentle directive. She handed me her makeshift spear, a tool crafted for the hunt. As our eyes met, a sense of pride sparked within her gaze, her lips curving into a soft smile. With a nod, I accepted the spear, returning her smile with one of my own.

Snatching up the makeshift basket woven from leaves and twigs, I dashed out of our den, my bare feet navigating the terrain with ease. As my bare feet pounded against the ground, the crunch of leaves and the sensation of soft grass, soil, and scattered pebbles underfoot greeted my senses. 

I felt the softness of the grass and soil between my toes, punctuated by the occasional touch of the gravel. Though accustomed to walking barefoot, I had grown numb to the pain. The melody of the flowing river and the rush of the nearby waterfall reached my ears, their soothing sounds interweaving with the rustling of leaves overhead.

Venturing deeper into the woods, the sounds intensified, guiding my journey toward the river. With each step, my pace slowed, my breaths steadying. I approached the bright, glistening river, sunlight dancing upon its surface. With a tightening grip on my mother's spear, I maneuvered onto the scattered boulders, inching closer to the deeper section of the river.

Carefully, I positioned myself, scanning the crystal-clear water for signs of movement. A flicker of movement caught my eye, and in a swift motion, I plunged the spear into the water. The sound of splashing and flopping resonated, signaling I had caught it. As I withdrew the spear, a cacophony of splashes and thrashes echoed as the fish wriggled at the end of my spear. 

With nimble fingers, I plucked the catch from the spear, adding it to the woven basket beside me. Again and again, I pierced the water, each successful strike the basket steadily filling with the day's sustenance; I couldn't resist the temptation for one more catch.

My senses attuned to the river's rhythm, searching for more prey amidst the gentle currents. Then, a stroke of luck—or fate. My gaze locked onto a salmon, which they were infrequent in this river. However, it was just out of reach of my spear.

Pulsating with excitement and determination, I took a risk, inching closer to the edge of the boulder that provided me safety from the deeper currents below.

So close, but just out of reach.

With a hopeful breath, I extended the spear, but in my eagerness, my fingers lost their grip, and a gasp escaped my lips. Swiftly followed by a resounding splash as I descended into the river's icy embrace. The chill water hit me like a slap, stealing the air from my lungs. The current dragged me under, spinning me in its relentless grasp. My lungs screamed for air, my limbs thrashing in the abyss of the river.

I failed to swim for the surface as my limbs felt sluggish and my strength slipped away with each frantic motion. Each moment intensified the burning sensation in my chest and despite my efforts, I sank deeper into the dark abyss.

It hurts! It hurts so much! Mom! Mama! Please!

Water filled my lungs, and darkness crept at the edges of my vision, a numbing sensation spreading through my weakening body. I felt myself slipping away, renouncing the icy embrace of death. Then, an inexplicable light pierced the darkness, and with a sudden surge of awareness, my eyes shot open, startled by the sudden influx of air into my lungs.

Before I could comprehend the situation, water was flooding back into my lungs after my gasp as the burning sensation returned. Frantic, I thrashed and struggled against the relentless tide, but it was futile.

My lungs screamed for air, my vision faded, and my body weakened as the cycle repeated mercilessly, trapping me in a loop of drowning and reviving. Every time, the agony intensified, and despair took root. I lost count of the times I woke up, only to be pulled back into the watery abyss.

My body, weakened by the relentless assaults of the sea, had succumbed to darkness countless times, but as light pierced the veil of my consciousness once more, I awoke on solid ground with a desperate gasp, taking in a precious lungful of air. The burning sunlight assaulted my vision, accompanied by the symphony of splashes, the rushing river, and the distant roar of a nearby waterfall.

"Wake up! [First Name]! Please!"

The desperate plea reverberated in my ears as my chest heaved, wracked by a fit of coughs, each one a reminder of the recent ordeal. The memory of the ordeal left me trembling, a knot of anguish tightening in my throat, raw with the acrid taste of seawater.

Was that real?

I couldn't bring myself to believe it. The mere thought left my hands quivering uncontrollably, as I grappled with the terrifying uncertainty of what I had experienced. Tears began to prickle my eyes and warm hands cupped my face, drawing my attention amidst the chaos of my thoughts. Those familiar [Eye Color] eyes met mine—my mother's gaze—a mixture of dread and hope swirling within their depths.

"You're alive!"

Her voice, tinged with relief and disbelief, seeped into my consciousness, stirring emotions I struggled to comprehend; my body trembled, still shaken by the ordeal. Drenched and disoriented, I found solace in my mother's warm embrace, her attempt to soothe and comfort me amidst the storm raging within.

My heart raced against my ribcage, each breath felt heavier, a desperate attempt to grasp onto existence. The fear lingered as the tears streamed down my cheeks and the rest of the day I pondered. I couldn't comprehend it then, couldn't fathom if what I experienced was normal or a haunting aberration until I would figure it out.

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When my mother passed peacefully in her sleep, I laid her to rest beneath the same tree where my father found his final slumber. Wildflowers were left at their graves, a silent tribute to lives well-lived, marking their passage into the afterlife. Grief settled on my heart like an unyielding weight.

At eighty, I stood by their burial, grappling with the feeling of their absence and the questions of my own existence pressing harder than ever. Witnessing my mother's gradual decline had been hurtful. Her once-strong frame grew frail, her sight fading, and her strength waning until she could no longer join me in the hunt or walk beside me. With each passing day, I prepared myself for the inevitable; however, nothing could soften the blow of her final breath.

Why hadn't I aged as she had? Why hadn't I suffered the same fate?

Was it even normal?

These questions circled endlessly in my thoughts and a pang of heartache pierced me. My mother never questioned my perpetual youthfulness nor did she offer any explanation. It left me to grapple with the uncertainty of my existence.

In the weeks after her passing, the tasks she had taught me became a lifeline—gathering food, sharpening tools, preparing for winter. But as the seasons shifted, so did the ache of loneliness. The den we had shared felt hollow, its walls echoing with memories that now brought more pain than comfort.

The urge to explore beyond the boundaries gnawed at me, a longing to find others like me. The boundaries of our territory became suffocating, and the familiar landscapes were oppressive. Yet the uncertainty of what lay beyond the horizon held me captive.

Would I ever return if I go? Would I get killed out there? What if I’m the only one here?

When my feet met the soft, damp grass on the far bank, a strange mix of emotions coursed through me. The thrill of stepping into the unknown was tempered by uncertainty. I paused, turning back for a glance at the familiar lands behind me: the den and the trees that had shaped my existence.

It was a world I had known all my life, but it felt smaller now. My eyes shifted to the riverbank where I stood; ahead of me lay a vast, untamed expanse. Fresh air filled my lungs as I took a deep breath, my gaze tracing the currents and the uncharted land on the opposite bank.

Don’t fall.

I told myself. Adjusting the strap on my shoulder, with my provisions secure, I took a step onto scattered boulders. Then another. My heart raced with each careful stride, cautious not to lose my footing. Finally, my bare feet touched the soft, damp grass on the other side.

I didn’t know what awaited me in the lands ahead, maybe more company, answers, or even more questions. But for the first time, I allowed myself to hope that perhaps something was out there worth finding.

The path stretched endlessly before me, and though my heart trembled with excitement and fear, I stepped forward as the wilderness swallowed me whole.

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Finished: December 28, 2023 Published: December 31, 2023

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Edited: January 18, 2025 2ND Edited: September 20, 2025

⌈ 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑼𝑬..? ⌋ ☆ Next Chapter: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑺𝑨𝑳𝑽𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 | 2

📖 Link to Book - Wattpad: [𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢]