Zar: The Last Umbraxian

Slight echoes of quarrelling drifted through the air around a house in a bankrupt, desolate village in Velandor. The evening winter air was biting, the breeze carrying dry leaves across the empty streets. Inside the modest home, two teenagers sat on the sofa. Jorik, the older of the two, stared at the elderly woman across from him with intense, frustrated eyes. His forehead rested in his palm, his elbow propped against the armrest, his posture tense. His younger brother, Kain, sat beside him, clearly irritated but not speaking.

"Try to understand, Jorik, it's difficult for me to..." the old lady began, but was quickly interrupted.

"What? Answer a doorbell?!" Kain snapped, his voice sharp. "This is the second time it's happened, you old hag!" He paused, staring at her for a moment before continuing, "That delivery guy has a life too. He can't spend hours ringing your doorbell while you struggle to even open the door. Listen, Granny, this is the last time we're convincing him to deliver this month's food. If you miss it again, it's not our responsibility, even if you starve to death."

The old lady flinched, her face a mixture of fear and hesitation. "Is it really necessary for both of you to leave this city?" she asked softly, her voice trembling. "Why can't one of you stay and help me through these tough times? Have you forgotten how I took care of you when you were small?"

Jorik sighed, his voice laced with frustration. "Be grateful that we're at least doing the bare minimum, providing you with food and the essentials every month. The rest of the family doesn't even remember you exist!"

The old lady was left speechless, her gaze falling to the ground in sadness. Her heart ached, but she didn't have the strength to argue.

Kain, glancing at his watch, snapped, "Alright, time to go. It's getting late..." He paused before adding coldly, "We won't be visiting again. We're too busy with our studies. Just take care of yourself and stop being so irresponsible."

The old lady only nodded in response, her hands trembling slightly as she watched them gather their bags and leave her behind in the silence of the house.

As they walked down the narrow pathway, Jorik turned to his brother. "Do we really have to go back there again? I've got interns, and honestly, I don't have time for these visits."

Kain's expression was detached. "To be honest, let's just leave her to figure it out on her own. If she dies, the neighbors will eventually notice and handle her funeral. For now, we should focus on our own work."

The old lady, feeling the weight of her stress, decided to rest and sleep, hoping for a moment of relief. The next morning, she woke with the nagging reminder that she needed to take her clothes to the laundry. With slow, labored steps, she hurriedly gathered the basket of dirty clothes and set off. As she crossed a bridge over a quiet river, her attention was on the clothes, searching through the basket to see if she had mistakenly thrown something important in. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice the hooded figure standing silently at the river's edge. In her distraction, she accidentally bumped into him.

It was Zar. All of her clothes spilled out of the basket, and the old lady panicked. "I-I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention—" she stammered, flustered. Zar quickly responded, trying to ease her embarrassment. "Oh no, it's okay. No need to apologize." He began helping her gather the clothes and place them back into the basket.

As they worked together, the old lady hesitated for a moment before asking, "Do you mind if I ask you something?" Zar nodded. "Yeah, sure."

"Why do you have that weird mask on?" she asked, curious.

Zar stiffened, a wave of insecurity washing over him. He stammered, "For some personal reasons."

The granny raised an eyebrow playfully, "Are you that bad-looking?"

Zar quickly dismissed it, nervously brushing it off. "No, it's nothing like that."

After they finished gathering the clothes, Zar said, "Let me help you get to the laundry. Give me the basket."

A fragile smile spread across the old lady's face as she handed the basket to Zar without hesitation. "Thank you very much, young man... What's your name?"

"Oh, I'm Zar. And you?" Zar asked, curious.

"My name is Vrenoria," she replied. "But you can just call me Granny."

Zar grinned, shaking his head. "Nah, you don't look that old to be called Granny, at least not for my age. I'll just call you Aunt Vren."

The old lady chuckled softly. "Whatever you wish, young man."

The two of them walked side by side towards the laundry, engaging in light conversation. Zar broke the silence, asking, "Do you have to manage all these household tasks by yourself?"

Aunt Vren nodded, her voice soft but steady. "Yes, I live alone, so I have to take care of most things myself."

Zar's expression softened. "That's... sad," he murmured.

Aunt Vren glanced at him curiously. "What about you? Where do you live?"

At her question, Zar's face fell, and a heavy silence hung in the air. The memory of his current situation hit him hard. He looked down, his voice quiet and hesitant. "I don't have a house."

Aunt Vren stopped in her tracks, eyes widening in surprise. "What do you mean you don't have a house?"

Zar didn't respond, his gaze drifting off as he kept walking in silence. Aunt Vren, sensing his discomfort, paused, thinking for a moment before offering, "Hey, you're welcome to stay at my place. Just help me with the chores, and it'll be fine."

Zar gave a small, genuine smile. "Thanks for the offer, Aunt Vren, but I'm fine."

Aunt Vren sighed dramatically. "Okay, okay, not all the chores. Just the laundry and dishes, then."

Zar shook his head, a light chuckle escaping him. "You can't just trust a stranger like me this much. What if I end up robbing everything in your house?"

Aunt Vren smiled knowingly. "I've been around long enough to recognize a person's intentions. And something about you... tells me you're just helpless, looking for some comfort."

Zar sighed deeply, his voice growing heavier with concern. "Aunt, you're not understanding... I can't live with you. It could put your life in danger."

Aunt Vren blinked in confusion, her expression softening. "What do you mean? I don't understand."

Zar paused, wrestling with the vulnerability he had just exposed. "I'm an Umbraxian... Please, don't tell anyone. I beg you."

The weight of his confession hung between them. Zar immediately felt a pang of regret, fear tightening in his chest. Would she be frightened? Would she tell someone, or worse, turn him in?

Aunt Vren tilted her head slightly, her voice gentle and unperturbed. "What's an Umbraxian?"

Zar let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh of relief. Her calmness made him feel a little less trapped. "Umbraxis... it's a type of magic. Magic that can cause harm, even to innocents." He paused. "It's dangerous."

Aunt Vren waved her hand dismissively. "It won't harm me if I don't even understand what it is."

Zar chuckled softly, relieved by her lack of fear. They walked in comfortable silence until they reached the laundry. Zar stopped outside, letting Aunt Vren go in alone with the basket of clothes. She quickly handed them over, and as she turned to exit, she found Zar still standing there, waiting.

"See?" Aunt Vren said with a sly grin. "I knew you wouldn't leave. Deep down, you do want to stay at my luxurious house."

Zar chuckled in return. "It's not like that. I'm just here to make sure you get home safely so you don't bump into anyone again."

They both laughed, the warmth between them growing as they walked back toward her home. But after a moment, Aunt Vren's tone shifted. She spoke more seriously, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Zar," she began, her voice steady but soft, "I'd really like you to stay with me. My sons died years ago in an accident, and since then, I've been alone. There's no one to care for me anymore, no one to look after me like a mother... But it's your choice. I won't force you."

Zar listened quietly, his gaze focused on the ground, weighing her words. She wasn't asking him out of obligation, but out of a genuine desire for companionship. After a moment, Aunt Vren continued.

"If it's about the danger of your magic... I'm old, Zar. I'm going to die soon enough. What's the point of worrying? I just want to live the last of my days with someone I can call my son."

Her words sank into him, heavy with the weight of loneliness and an acceptance of her mortality. Zar remained silent, lost in thought, the internal struggle visible on his face. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally sighed, looking up at Aunt Vren with a mixture of resolve and vulnerability.

"Okay," he said softly, "I'll live with you."

Before he could say more, Aunt Vren swiftly handed the laundry basket back into his hands, her voice filled with newfound purpose. "Good. Now, hurry up. There's still so much to do. Can you cook?"

Zar gave her a confused look, the corners of his mouth twitching into an uncertain smile. "Uh..."

Aunt Vren laughed lightly. "I'll teach you. Now, no more delays."

Zar helps Aunt Vren with the chores, feeling a strange sense of comfort as they finish each task. Once everything is done, Zar prepares breakfast for them both. They sit at the dining table, eating together. Aunt Vren takes the first bite of her sandwich and looks up, surprised.

"So, you do know how to cook..." she comments.

Zar, slightly embarrassed, replies, "Yeah, I learned a little from my mother and wife."

Aunt Vren raises an eyebrow. "You have a wife and a mother?"

Zar hesitates for a moment, his tone faltering. "No... I mean, my wife is alive, but my parents died in the chaos that the Dreadthorn Kin caused in my region."

Aunt Vren gasps, her expression softening. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Is the chaos over now?"

Zar nods, though his eyes remain distant. "Yeah, probably. The Hero Association handled it."

Aunt Vren looks relieved and continues eating, but after a few bites, her curiosity gets the best of her. "If your wife is alive, where is she? Why isn't she with you?"

Zar chokes slightly on his food, startled by the question. Aunt Vren immediately slides a glass of water toward him. He takes a quick sip, trying to steady himself, before responding in a quiet voice.

"It's a long story..."

His expression gradually shifts to one of sadness as memories flood his mind. Aunt Vren watches him closely, sensing his discomfort.

A few seconds pass before Zar's eyes begin to fill with tears. He tries his best to hold them back, but the emotion is overwhelming. Aunt Vren notices immediately.

"Are you crying!?" she exclaims.

Zar panics, desperately trying to cover it up. "No, no—I'm just... This sandwich is too spicy. Got me teary."

Despite his efforts, the tears continue to spill. Aunt Vren, ever the pragmatist, says nonchalantly, "I'd wipe your tears, but I'm too busy eating. Sorry."

Zar mutters under his breath, his voice shaking. "How could Nyssa do that to me?"

Aunt Vren frowns. "What?"

Zar immediately shuts down, tears streaming as he cries harder. "No, no, nothing! Forget I said anything!"

Aunt Vren slams the table, her tone firm yet caring. "Enough! You're going to tell me everything that happened. Stop crying like a baby."

Zar nods, his face red with embarrassment, but he knows she won't let it go. He finishes his sandwich in silence, then excuses himself to wash his face.

When he returns, they sit together in the living room, and Zar finally opens up. He tells Aunt Vren everything—who he truly is, the power of Umbraxis, and how it all ruined his life. As he speaks, his voice wavers with emotion, the weight of his burdens spilling out in words he's never been able to share before.

Aunt Vren let out a long breath after Zar finished explaining. "So that's the case…"

Zar leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Aelrithar was right that time. Umbraxis leads to nothing but downfall. I wonder if he went through the same kind of trauma… He did mention that Umbraxis had already ruined his life enough."

Aunt Vren hummed thoughtfully. "Mhmm…" She stayed silent for a moment, lost in thought, then suddenly asked, "Sorry, how old are you again?"

Zar sighed. "Forty… This curse is gonna eat me soon enough."

Aunt Vren chuckled. "You know… when I was fifty, my doctor told me I had stage three cancer and only two to three years left to live." She spread her arms dramatically. "But look at me now—seventy-five, alive and kicking."

Zar raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. "Wait, really?"

Aunt Vren nodded. "What I'm trying to say is, no one decides your fate but you. It's your will to live that matters. Don't lose hope just because others have filled your mind with 'facts.' Adapt to your weaknesses. Prove to the world that you're no different from anyone else."

Her words struck deep. For the first time in a long while, Zar felt a shift within himself. The weight of his impending death, the curse he had resigned himself to—it didn't feel as heavy anymore. The suicidal thoughts that had been gnawing at him began to fade.

He exhaled sharply and grinned. "Damn, Granny. You actually managed to motivate me."

Aunt Vren waved him off with a laugh. "Hah! Not a big deal."

A small smile appeared on Zar's face as his thoughts took a more positive turn. His gaze shifted slightly toward the window. "It's snowing… It's been a while."

Aunt Vren followed his gaze and nodded. "Yeah, it has… I have some beautiful memories connected to snow. I used to play in it with my grandsons—snowball fights, building forts… Those were the good days."

Zar looked down, smiling as he reminisced. His eyes then landed on a packet of cookies sitting on the couch. "Wait… are those strawberry cookies!?"

Aunt Vren glanced over and shrugged. "Yeah, but I don't really like them. No idea why my grandsons keep adding them to my delivery orders."

Zar's eyes lit up. "Are you kidding? These are my favorites!"

Aunt Vren scoffed playfully. "You're forty and still obsessed with cookies? How immature."

Zar chuckled. "Can I have them, please?"

"Of course. You're the only one here who actually eats them."

Without hesitation, Zar grabbed the packet and started eating eagerly. As he savored the taste, a nostalgic smile crossed his lips. "This reminds me of my little gaslighter."

Aunt Vren raised a brow. "Who?"

"Arion—my student. I told you about him, remember? He used to steal these cookies from me all the time."

"Ohhh, I see. So these cookies are pretty popular, huh? But why do you call him a gaslighter?"

Zar smirked. "That's the nickname I gave him. He's an expert at twisting words to get what he wants. A real troublemaker." His voice softened as he added, "He probably thinks I'm dead now…"

A brief silence followed. Zar stared at the half-eaten cookie in his hand, his thoughts drifting. "I still don't understand why he was so against me. Why he saw me as the bad guy. I treated him like a son."

Aunt Vren waved a dismissive hand. "Don't overthink it. It's natural. Students have always had their share of resentment toward their teachers—it's nothing new."

Zar exhaled, nodding silently in agreement.

Zar stood up, put on his mask and hood, and said, "I'm going out to check the weather."

Aunt Vren responded, "Alright, just be cautious... And if you're secretly planning to assassinate that bastard, Kael, the wife-stealer, count me in too."

Zar chuckled and replied, "Hah, not today. We'll save that for another time."

He left the house, gazing at the surroundings as the land and her garden slowly began to be covered in snow. The cold, white winds swirled visibly in the air. In the midst of the snowy landscape, something caught his eye—a rock moving unnaturally.

He sprinted toward it, picked it up, and felt it continue to shift in his hand. Zar paused, realizing something. He muttered under his breath, "Is this... part of Gorath's body?"