Today marks the anniversary of when I woke up from my coma. Hard to believe, really. I didn’t even notice until the day was nearly over. I guess I was too caught up getting Julius ready for tomorrow. Maria wasn’t thrilled over the phone. She made that pretty clear. I can’t say I blame her—she’s protective, always has been—but the kid needs this. She’s too soft on him, though. I miss that about her, honestly. That softness was one of the things I admired most. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it.
Julius seems to be adjusting to the program, bit by bit. I think it’s helping him manage his grief, even if he’s still carrying it. He’s a little more willing to let himself enjoy life again. I’ve noticed he’s taken a shine to Dalia, though I’d call it nothing more than a harmless crush. The kid’s still mourning the past. Not that Dalia would be a good fit for him, anyway. She’s... a lot. Almost gave him a heart attack when she showed off her ability. You’d think an army of rats doing the cha-cha slide would be funny, but Julius just about jumped out of his skin…
If I had died the way I was supposed to, I would have missed today. Missed the chance to smile at something as simple as a budding friendship, a harmless crush. That small, quiet joy would’ve slipped through my fingers forever. I thank God every day for giving me this second chance.
It’s strange, though. I should be angry. Furious, even. I should be consumed by depression, or drowning in wrath over everything that was taken from me. I never had the chance to live a normal life. No school dances, no idle friendships with people untouched by violence. Instead, I was thrust into a world where every companion had blood on their hands. I was forced into the military, into operations that tore apart terrorist cells. I gave up so much. Half my mobility. The color of my hair. The smoothness of my skin. The love of my life.
Looking back, it’s easy to see the pain, but at the time, I hardly felt anything. I was so numb. Every victory, every fleeting moment of joy or love—it was hollow. It wasn’t allowed to last. I found happiness in brief, fragile flashes, but they always slipped away. And yet, I kept going. I pursued my goal relentlessly, and I achieved it. I killed her.
I ended her, and with that act, I brought peace. Not just to the world but, in some strange way, to myself. At that moment, I thought my story was over. I was supposed to die. I had resigned myself to that end, even welcomed it. Allowed my very soul to burn out. But death didn’t come.
I lived.
And now, as much as I’ve lost, as much as I should be consumed by everything I’ve endured, I find myself clinging to these moments. Watching Julius navigate his own struggles, seeing him stumble his way toward hope—it reminds me that there’s something left for me too. Something worth holding onto.
I’ve endured more than most. I’ve paid a price few could imagine. But I kept my name true. I’m still here.
This rebirth was different. This time, I was actually given life. A real chance to do what I wanted. Crippled, yes, but for the first time, I had a name, a history, and a place in the world. I wasn’t just a weapon or a tool. I was allowed to simply exist. To live. To be free.
I didn’t get to experience my younger years the way most people do, but I realized it didn’t matter. I still had years ahead of me, years that were mine to shape. I might have lost true love somewhere along the way, but I still managed to find love in a different form. I found friends who stayed by my side. I found companions who gave me their loyalty and trust.
For the first time, I wasn’t alone. I was able to laugh with family, not just in fleeting moments between missions, but in true, uninterrupted joy. It wasn’t the kind of family you’re born into, but the kind you build for yourself– and the normal blood kind as well.
No longer was my life consumed by endless travel, moving from one corner of the world to the next in pursuit of criminals. I wasn’t defined by the fight anymore. Instead, I could revel in the simplicity of shared meals, quiet conversations, and the comfort of knowing someone cared about me without conditions.
This new life wasn’t perfect. My body bore the scars of everything I’d endured, and my mind carried the weight of every loss. But it was still mine. For the first time, I wasn’t living for someone else’s agenda. I was living for me.
I was so caught up in that joy that I didn’t even realize what I was doing. I was forcing Julius down the same path I once walked. It wasn’t intentional, but that doesn’t make it any less true. This process is delicate. Every decision feels like walking a tightrope. On one hand, I truly believe he needs this. Ooshiba is right about that. Julius needs structure, a purpose, and a way to channel everything he’s feeling.
But I don’t want him to become like me. I’ve seen where that path leads, and it’s not where he belongs. I want more for him. I want him to take what he needs from this world, to face the darkness, to express his anger at the evil he’s witnessed. But when it’s all over, I want him to be able to walk away. To lay down the burden and build something of his own.
He deserves that chance. To become an artist, or a teacher, or anything else he dreams of. That’s the only reason I’m still here, still teaching. I’m not here to train the next generation of soldiers. I’m here to make sure kids like Julius have the option to become something more.
It's why I made them amend the curriculum to allow dual studying. Julius, and every other kid here, needs the chance to develop beyond the battlefield. They need to know that they can be more than what the world tries to make them.
The kid’s talented—Ciaran says so, and his dad does too. That’s not something you hear often from either of them, so it really means something. But even with all that talent, he wasn’t on the right path to realize it. If he’d gone to NYU, he would’ve just been another cog in the machine, swallowed up by expectations and routines. That’s not where he belongs. Right?
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
He needs this. He needs a chance to express himself in a way that books and lectures can’t teach. To learn from the world directly, to feel it, experience it. Right now, his feelings are raw, unprocessed. Putting them on paper too soon wouldn’t help. It might even set him back. I know he won’t process them—not fully, not yet. That’s not how he’s wired.
I get it, though. Hell, I even tried writing for a while. I dabbled with the pen, thinking maybe I could work through my own mess. When I look back at what I wrote, I can’t help but laugh. It was a chaotic jumble of emotions I barely understood at the time.
The funny thing is, my writing only got better after I’d lived through it. After the emotions settled, after I’d faced them head-on. Not that I’m some great poet or anything—far from it. But I think that’s the point. Some things you can’t rush. You’ve got to live through them before you can make sense of them.
Who knows, though? Maybe Julius will surprise me. Maybe he’ll find his own way to turn this pain into something meaningful.
I think the kid’s going to love the first week. Ooshiba and I already have plans lined up. We’re taking them to London. Maybe he won’t love it as much as I think. It might throw him off, getting him all settled into Kyoto just to whisk him halfway across the world right after. It’ll be his first time on a private jet, so he might think that's cool. So, who knows? It might be just the thing to spark something in him. Or he might hate every second of it…
He’ll get to explore the London sewer system for antizoi! What boy wouldn’t love that? And, of course, there are the London girls. I wonder if the kid likes accents as much as I do. I should ask him… Would that be weird… Probably… Could make for an amusing conversation… Nah.
What else? I haven’t been to London in ages. The thought of going back is… complicated. As much as I’d like to avoid her, I’ll probably have to see Sara. It’s unavoidable. But at least that means I’ll get to see the rugrats. They’ve probably grown a ton since I last saw them. What do kids even play with these days? Are Nerf guns still a thing? Did Beyblades make a comeback? I sure as hell don’t want to give them Legos—though, maybe I should, just to piss Sara off.
Look at me rambling. Ooshiba’s probably right. Maybe I do have ADHD. Then again, it’s not like War would let me take medication for it even if I did. God forbid I ingest anything that could “weaken” me. Typical.
Alright, focus. Back to what really matters.
That Lankan kid has been weighing on my mind. This whole plan feels ridiculous. When she told me about it, I thought she was lying. I even said so. But the fire in her eyes told me otherwise. She was dead serious. And that confession of hers? It was all part of the bigger picture, I’m sure of it.
There are powerful players waiting for me in Colombo. They know I’ll have to return there eventually. That storm raging isn’t just a fluke—it’s a beacon. A warning. Eventually, every agency will exhaust their resources, and when they do, they’ll call me. I’ll have no choice but to answer.
I never wanted to go back. Not there. But now, I don’t have a choice. They know it. I know it. And knowing there are thugs lying in wait, biding their time, doesn’t make it easier. I have two options: deal with them now while I still can, or wait until I’m weaker, older, and less capable.
I need to train the kids. I know they’ll get dragged into this whether I want them to or not. That’s how these things work. I also need to start prepping myself. I have to call every active contact I have—and maybe even a few inactive ones. Then again, if I could pull that off, they wouldn’t have revealed their plan to me. They’re banking on catching me off guard. They’ll try to drag me there suddenly, without warning, when I’m least prepared.
I’ll have to fly people out here in advance. But even that’s complicated. The storm makes travel a gamble. And as much as I hate to admit it, I can feel my nerves kicking in.
Alright, time to break this down. Let’s count the details.
What They Told Me
- About a dozen heavy hitters are waiting for me in Colombo.
- They’re disorganized but dangerous.
- They’re being led by a lich—because of course they are.
- Supposedly, they’re all in this for separate reasons, but the one thing they agree on is wanting me gone.
- Death is wishywashy.
What I Know
- There’s a Horseman and a Djinn who’ve both wanted me dead at some point and know how to find me.
- A clear pneumatic storm is raging in Colombo.
- If the storm isn’t resolved soon, someone will tap me to investigate it, probably around New Year’s.
- Wherever I go, I’ve got the following with me: Ooshiba, Two graduate students, Two second-years, One first-year. That makes four competent fighters, two semi-competent ones, and one who needs an incredible amount of work.
- They were confident enough to share their plan with me directly.
- Mind games are at play—always are.
- Lastly, I am the strongest (and the sexiest).
Possible Course of Action
- Go there now, knowing nothing.
- Bold, reckless, and extremely likely to get me killed.
- Go there with a massive team on my dime, knowing nothing.
- Expensive, chaotic, and almost guaranteed to attract attention I don’t need.
- Take time to study them, knowing my only lead is “Trust me, man.”
- I have no authority, no concrete evidence, and only loose connections who are under no obligation to help.
- Go on with my life until I am inevitably dragged to Colombo.
- By far my favorite option.