Crimson & Light: Starting Over In A World Isn't As Easy As It Seems

Changra knelt in front of the trembling child, his hand hovering just above her shoulder. The shadows around them hissed, whispering venomous words meant to keep him at bay, but he ignored them. His gaze softened as he looked at her small, fragile frame, curled in on itself as though she could disappear entirely.

"Berethia," he said softly, his voice steady despite the oppressive darkness pressing in. "I know you're scared. I know you feel like no one sees you. But I see you. I'm here for you."

The child stilled, her trembling slowing. Slowly, she raised her head, her tear-streaked face coming into view. Her wide, innocent eyes shimmered with a faint light, as though a piece of her hope still clung to life. For a moment, she simply stared at him, her expression unreadable.

Then, to his surprise, her lips curved into a small, warm smile.

It wasn't a smile of joy or triumph—it was the smile of someone grateful just to be noticed, even for a fleeting moment. The kind of smile that carried years of loneliness behind it, fragile and fleeting.

Changra's chest tightened at the sight. "It's okay," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You're not alone anymore."

But before he could say more, the world around them began to shift. The shadows melted away, replaced by muted colors and faint outlines. The cold, empty void gave way to a small, modest village surrounded by rolling hills and fields of tall grass. The air was heavy with the scent of earth and wood smoke.

Changra blinked, disoriented as the scene solidified. He realized he was no longer in the void—he was standing in a memory, Berethia's memory.

The village was simple, its houses made of weathered wood and stone. Children ran through the dirt paths, their laughter ringing out as they played games under the watchful eyes of their parents. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the scene.

Amid the lively activity, a young girl sat alone on the steps of a small house. It was Berethia, no older than seven, her dark hair falling in messy waves around her face. She clutched a book to her chest, its cover worn and scuffed. Her eyes followed the children as they played, but she made no move to join them.

Changra watched her from a distance, his heart aching. Even in this memory, she seemed so small, so separate from the world around her.

"Berethia!" A sharp voice called out, and the girl flinched. A woman, her mother, stepped out of the house, her expression impatient. "What are you doing sitting around? Go fetch the water before your father comes back."

"Yes, Mother," Berethia replied quickly, her voice quiet and obedient. She scrambled to her feet, setting the book aside, and grabbed a wooden bucket from beside the door.

Her mother's gaze lingered on her, a frown tugging at her lips. "And try not to dawdle. You're always so slow with everything."

"Yes, Mother," Berethia murmured again, clutching the bucket tightly.

Changra felt anger rise in his chest, but he knew he couldn't intervene. This wasn't real—it was a memory. He followed as Berethia made her way through the village, her small figure weaving between the bustling townsfolk.

As Berethia reached the well in the center of the village, she found a group of children gathered around it, chatting animatedly. They barely glanced at her as she approached, their laughter and conversation continuing as though she weren't there.

One of the boys, tall and confident, gestured dramatically as he recounted a story about his latest fishing trip. "And then I pulled the net in all by myself! Father said I was the strongest boy he's ever seen!"

The other children cheered and clapped, their faces alight with admiration. Berethia stood on the edge of the group, her bucket dangling from her hands. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then hesitated, her gaze dropping to the ground.

"Berethia, are you just going to stand there?" one of the girls asked, her tone dismissive. "You're blocking the way."

"S-sorry," Berethia stammered, stepping aside quickly. The children barely noticed her as she moved to the well and began to lower the bucket.

Changra felt a pang of sympathy as he watched. He could see the effort it took for her to hold back tears, the way she kept her head down to avoid their eyes.

As she pulled the bucket back up, one of the boys snickered. "Why do you always carry that old book around, anyway? You think it makes you smarter or something?"

Berethia froze, her hands gripping the bucket tightly. "N-no, I just… I like reading."

"Well, maybe you should read a book about how not to be so weird," the boy retorted, laughing. The others joined in, their laughter echoing cruelly.

Berethia said nothing, her face burning with shame. She turned and walked away, the bucket of water sloshing as she hurried back toward her house. Changra followed, his fists clenched.

As Berethia stepped inside her house, her father's booming voice greeted her. He sat at the table, laughing with her older brother and sister, who were recounting their achievements from the day.

"Father, I helped mend the fence today!" her sister declared proudly.

"And I caught a rabbit for dinner!" her brother added, puffing out his chest.

Their father beamed, his eyes full of pride. "That's my boy, that's my girl! You two are going to make this family proud."

Berethia hesitated in the doorway, the bucket of water in her hands. "I… I brought the water," she said quietly.

Her father barely glanced at her. "Good. Set it down and go help your mother."

She did as she was told, her movements careful and deliberate. No one said a word of thanks or acknowledgment. She was invisible again, just as she always was.

Changra's heart ached as the memory began to dissolve, the edges of the scene blurring once more. He looked at the young Berethia, her small figure fading into the void.

"You were always trying," he murmured. "Even when no one else saw it… I see it now."

The memory shimmered, twisting and reforming. The soft golden light of the village turned colder, tinged with muted grays. Changra stood in the middle of a small, cramped home, the air thick with the scent of freshly baked bread and the faint smoke of a cooking fire. Berethia's family sat around a rough-hewn wooden table, her father at the head with a broad smile on his face.

"This stew is delicious!" he declared, his booming voice filling the room. He reached over to ruffle the hair of Berethia's older brother, who grinned with pride. "I knew you'd make a great hunter one day, boy. Bringing home that rabbit was no small feat!"

Berethia stood to the side, a bowl of the same stew balanced carefully in her small hands. She glanced between her father and her brother, her lips parting as though to speak, but her father's laughter cut through the air again.

"And you!" he said, turning to Berethia's sister, who was showing off a small wooden carving. "Your mother told me you carved this all on your own? It's beautiful. You've got real talent."

Her sister's cheeks flushed with pride as their father beamed. "I'll bet one day you'll make carvings so fine, people will come from other villages just to see them."

Berethia took a hesitant step forward, clutching the bowl tightly. "I-I finished the book you gave me," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I even—"

"That's nice, dear," her mother interrupted, not looking up as she cleared plates from the table. "Now, go and put that stew in the pantry before it gets cold."

Berethia froze for a moment, her face falling. "Yes, Mother," she murmured, retreating toward the small pantry in the corner.

Changra followed her, his heart heavy as he watched her carefully place the bowl on a wooden shelf. She lingered there, her small hands gripping the edge of the shelf as her shoulders sagged. The muffled sounds of her family's laughter and praise drifted toward her, each word a reminder of her own invisibility.

The memory shifted again, the walls of the house dissolving into the open air of the village square. The children were gathered once more, their lively chatter filling the space. Berethia stood on the edge of the group, her book clutched tightly to her chest. Her eyes were fixed on a girl with bright blonde hair and a radiant smile—her only friend, Lina.

"Are you sure about this?" Berethia asked hesitantly, her voice tinged with excitement. "I've been practicing all week. I think I'm ready to show them."

Lina smiled, her expression warm and encouraging. "Of course! They're going to love it. Just follow my lead, okay?"

Berethia nodded, her heart racing as Lina turned to the group. "Hey, everyone!" Lina called out, her voice cutting through the chatter. "Berethia has something she wants to show you!"

The other children turned, their expressions ranging from curiosity to boredom. Berethia stepped forward, her hands trembling slightly as she opened her book. "I-I wrote a story," she said, her voice wavering. "It's about a hero who saves the village from a terrible monster."

"Let's hear it, then," one of the boys said with a smirk, crossing his arms.

Berethia hesitated, but Lina gave her a reassuring nod. Taking a deep breath, she began to read, her voice growing stronger with each word. The story was simple but heartfelt, filled with vivid descriptions and moments of bravery. For a moment, she forgot about the crowd, lost in the world she had created.

When she finished, she looked up, her chest heaving with anticipation. For the first time, she felt like she might belong.

Silence hung in the air.

"That's it?" one of the boys finally said, his voice dripping with disdain. "That's the dumbest story I've ever heard."

Berethia's stomach dropped as the other children burst into laughter. "Yeah," another girl chimed in. "A hero fighting a monster? How original. Did you steal that from another book?"

Tears pricked at Berethia's eyes as she looked to Lina, hoping for support. But Lina avoided her gaze, a nervous smile playing on her lips. "Well," Lina said hesitantly, "I guess it was… okay. But maybe next time you could write something a little more exciting?"

The laughter grew louder, and Berethia felt like the world was closing in around her. She clutched her book tightly, her knuckles white, as Lina turned to the group with a laugh. "Let's go to the lake. This is boring."

The group followed Lina, their attention already shifting. Berethia stood frozen, her heart shattering as her only friend walked away without so much as a glance back.

Changra watched as Berethia sank to the ground, the book slipping from her hands. Her shoulders shook as silent sobs wracked her small frame. The cheerful voices of the other children faded into the distance, leaving her alone in the square.

"You trusted her," Changra said softly, though he knew she couldn't hear him. "And she betrayed you."

The scene blurred, the colors dulling as the memory dissolved around him. Changra felt the weight of her pain pressing down on him, her loneliness and heartache so palpable it was like his own.

As the void returned, he saw her again—the child version of Berethia, curled up in the darkness. She didn't look at him this time, her small form trembling as the whispers of the shadows grew louder.

"You'll never be enough," they hissed. "No one will ever care about you."

Changra knelt beside her, his voice firm despite the ache in his chest. "That's not true," he said. "You were enough. You've always been enough."

The child didn't respond, but the faint glow around her flickered, as if struggling to stay alive. Changra reached out, his hand hovering just above her shoulder. "I'm not giving up on you," he whispered. "Not now. Not ever."

The void shifted again, the cold darkness giving way to a scene of chaos. Smoke filled the air, thick and suffocating, blotting out the sun. The village was in ruins—houses reduced to smoldering piles of rubble, the ground scorched and littered with debris. Screams echoed through the air, mingling with the roar of flames and the clash of steel.

Changra found himself standing at the edge of the destruction, the acrid scent of burning wood and flesh stinging his nose. He scanned the scene until he spotted her—young Berethia, no older than ten now, standing in the middle of the chaos.

Her small frame trembled, her hands outstretched as tendrils of green magic spiraled around her. The glow of her power was faint, unrefined, but it was enough to form a protective barrier around a small group of villagers huddled behind her.

"Stay back!" she cried, her voice shaking but resolute. Her wide, tear-filled eyes darted between the attackers—raiders clad in ragged armor, their weapons gleaming in the firelight. They sneered at her, their movements predatory as they advanced.

"Get away from them!" Berethia shouted again, her magic flaring brighter. The green energy pulsed outward, forcing the raiders to stagger back.

One of the men laughed, his voice cruel and mocking. "Look at the little girl, trying to play hero," he jeered. "You think your little tricks are enough to stop us?"

Berethia's jaw tightened, and she stepped forward, placing herself firmly between the raiders and the terrified villagers. "I won't let you hurt them!" she declared, her voice steadier now. She raised her hands, and the green energy surged, forming a shimmering wall that pushed the raiders farther back.

Changra watched with a mix of admiration and dread. She was so young, so determined to protect those around her, even as fear and doubt flickered in her eyes. She's just a kid, he thought, his fists clenching. Why does it always have to be the ones who deserve better?

The raiders exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence wavering as the barrier pulsed brighter. But before they could act, a deafening roar tore through the air. Changra turned toward the source of the sound, his eyes widening as a massive, otherworldly creature emerged from the flames.

The beast was unlike anything he'd ever seen—a hulking, shadowy figure with glowing red eyes and jagged, spiked limbs. Its presence was suffocating, radiating an aura of pure malice. The raiders froze, their bravado evaporating as the creature turned its gaze toward them.

"No!" Berethia gasped, her barrier flickering as her concentration faltered. She stumbled back, her small hands trembling as she tried to maintain her magic.

The creature let out another roar, its massive form crashing through the village with reckless abandon. The ground shook beneath its weight, and the air filled with the sounds of destruction as it tore through what little remained of the village.

"Run!" Berethia screamed, her voice breaking. She turned to the villagers behind her, desperation in her eyes. "Go! I'll hold it off!"

The villagers hesitated, their fear rooting them in place. But as the creature drew closer, they scrambled to their feet and fled, their cries of terror echoing through the ruins.

Berethia turned back to the beast, her heart pounding in her chest. The green energy around her wavered, her inexperience and exhaustion taking their toll. "Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Please let me stop this…"

She raised her hands one final time, pouring every ounce of her magic into a desperate attack. The green energy erupted in a brilliant flash, colliding with the creature and sending it stumbling back. For a brief, fleeting moment, it seemed like she had succeeded.

But the victory was short-lived. The creature roared again, its form dissolving into black smoke that enveloped the village. The air grew thick and suffocating, and when the smoke cleared, the beast was gone—but so was everything else.

The scene shifted, the chaos and flames replaced by an eerie, oppressive silence. The ruins of the village were cold now, the air heavy with ash and despair. A handful of survivors huddled together, their faces etched with fear and grief.

Berethia stood a short distance away, her small frame hunched as she stared at her hands. The green glow of her magic was gone, replaced by faint wisps of smoke rising from her palms. Tears streamed down her face as she looked around at the devastation, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"You!" A harsh voice cut through the silence, and Berethia flinched. One of the survivors, an older man with a deep scowl, pointed a trembling finger at her. "This is your fault!"

Berethia's eyes widened in shock. "W-what? No! I was trying to help—"

"Don't lie!" another voice shouted, this one a woman's. "That… that magic of yours! You brought that creature here!"

"No, I didn't!" Berethia pleaded, her voice breaking. "I was trying to save you!"

The villagers began to close in, their fear and grief twisting into anger. "You're a curse," one of them spat. "We should never have let you stay here."

"You should have died with the others," another hissed.

Changra's breath caught in his throat as he watched. "No," he whispered, his hands clenching into fists. "She saved you. How can you blame her for this?"

But the villagers' accusations grew louder, their voices filled with venom. Berethia's parents stood at the edge of the group, their expressions cold and unreadable.

"Mother," Berethia sobbed, turning toward the woman who had always dismissed her. "Father, please… I didn't—"

Her father's eyes hardened, and he turned away without a word. Her mother shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You've brought enough pain to this family," she said quietly. "It's time for you to go."

Berethia froze, her breath catching in her throat. "What…?"

"You're not welcome here anymore," her father said, his tone final.

The words hit her like a physical blow, and for a moment, she couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Then, without another word, she turned and ran, her small figure disappearing into the distance as the villagers watched in stony silence.

The scene dissolved into darkness once more, leaving Changra standing in the void. His chest felt heavy, his breath uneven as the weight of what he had seen settled over him.

"She was just a child," he whispered, his voice trembling. "She tried to save them, and they… they threw her away."

Ahead of him, the child Berethia remained curled in on herself, her glow dimmer than before. The whispers around her grew louder, more venomous, but Changra knelt beside her, his presence unwavering.

"I see you," he said softly. "I see the pain they put you through. But I'm not like them. I won't abandon you."

Her small body trembled, but she didn't look up. The void around them seemed to darken further, the next memory beginning to stir.

The void shifted once more, the darkness growing colder, heavier. Changra felt the weight of it pressing down on him, as if the air itself sought to crush him. He braced himself as the scene began to form.

Berethia trudged through a desolate wasteland, her small figure barely visible against the endless expanse of ash and jagged rocks. Her clothes were torn and filthy, her feet blistered and bloody. The wind howled around her, carrying with it the scent of decay and the faint echo of distant whispers.

Changra followed her, his heart breaking with every step she took. She was so young, so alone, her head bowed as though the weight of the world rested on her fragile shoulders.

Her voice was hoarse when she finally spoke, her words barely audible over the wind. "Why… why wasn't I enough?" she whispered. "I tried. I really tried…"

The whispers grew louder, surrounding her, their tones insidious and seductive.

"They never saw you."

"They never cared."

"You were nothing to them."

Berethia froze, her body trembling. She glanced around, her wide eyes searching the emptiness. "Who's there?" she demanded, her voice cracking. "Show yourself!"

The wind shifted, carrying with it a deep, resonant laugh. It was cold and cruel, reverberating through the air like the toll of a distant bell. Shadows began to gather in front of her, coalescing into a massive, imposing figure.

Changra's breath caught as the Crimson King emerged, his form cloaked in darkness. This wasn't the young, tormented version Changra had faced before—this was something far more terrifying. His eyes burned like twin emerald flames, piercing and unrelenting. His form was jagged, his edges shifting like a living nightmare. The sheer presence of him made Changra's skin crawl, even though he knew this was only a memory.

Berethia stumbled back, her small hands trembling. "W-who are you?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

The figure loomed over her, his voice smooth and chilling. "I am what you've been searching for," he said. "I am the answer to your pain, your sorrow… your rage."

Berethia's brow furrowed, tears streaming down her face. "You don't know anything about me."

The Crimson King laughed, a low, mocking sound. "Oh, but I do, child. I know the way they looked through you, the way they dismissed your every effort. I know how they cast you aside, how they blamed you for their own failures." His voice softened, almost tender. "I know how much it hurt… and how much you want to make them see you now."

Berethia hesitated, her expression flickering between fear and longing. "I just… I just wanted to be enough," she admitted, her voice breaking.

"And you can be," the Crimson King said, his tone soothing now. He crouched, bringing his blazing eyes level with hers. "I can give you the power to show them all. To make them regret ever doubting you. All you have to do is accept my gift."

Changra wanted to shout, to warn her, but his voice caught in his throat. He could only watch as the young girl stared up at the shadowy figure, her tears glistening in the faint light.

Berethia's hands clenched into fists, her small frame trembling with the weight of her emotions. "I don't want to be forgotten," she whispered. "I don't want to be nothing."

The Crimson King extended a clawed hand, his voice a whisper that seemed to echo in her very soul. "Then take my hand, and I will make sure they never forget you."

Berethia hesitated for only a moment before reaching out. As her small hand touched his, the shadows surged forward, engulfing her in a wave of dark energy. She screamed, her voice filled with both pain and defiance, as the power coursed through her, reshaping her magic, her mind, her very being.

Changra shielded his eyes as the darkness exploded outward, the force of it shaking the very ground beneath them. When the light finally dimmed, Berethia was no longer a child.

She stood taller now, her form shrouded in a faint green glow. Her eyes burned with the same emerald fire as the Crimson King's, and her expression was hard, cold, and unrecognizable. The innocence, the warmth, the hope—it was all gone, replaced by an overwhelming aura of resentment and power.

The Crimson King smiled, his voice triumphant. "You see, child? You are no longer nothing. You are envy incarnate."

Berethia—or what she had become—nodded slowly, her lips curling into a bitter smile. "They'll regret everything," she said, her voice low and venomous. "Every slight, every word, every look. They'll all pay."

The memory began to dissolve, the darkness pulling Changra back into the void. He turned, desperate to catch one last glimpse of her, but all he saw was the faint silhouette of the child she had once been, her glow almost extinguished.

"I'll bring you back," he whispered into the void. "I swear I will."

The void slowly solidified once more, and Changra found himself kneeling beside the small, trembling form of child Berethia. Her fragile glow flickered faintly, as though clinging to its last moments of existence. The oppressive whispers still surrounded them, their venomous words pressing against Changra's mind, but he forced himself to focus on her.

"Berethia," he said softly, his voice carrying a weight of sorrow and desperation. "I'm here. You don't have to do this. I can help you."

The girl shifted slightly, her small frame shivering as though she'd heard him. Slowly, she raised her head, her wide eyes meeting his. For a moment, the innocence of the child she once was seemed to shine through. But then her expression changed, her lips curling into a bitter smile that sent a chill down Changra's spine.

"Why are you so special?" she asked, her voice soft but laced with venom. Her gaze bore into him, unblinking, filled with a mix of curiosity and resentment. "Why does everyone look at you like you're better than the rest of us? Why does everyone… love you?"

Changra opened his mouth to respond but faltered. He didn't know. He didn't feel special. He didn't feel like someone worth looking up to. "I don't… I don't know," he admitted, his voice cracking. "I'm not special. I don't even know why people believe in me. Half the time, I feel like I'm just—" He stopped himself, the words too heavy to finish.

Berethia's smile twisted further, growing darker, tinged with something unhinged. "Liar," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You don't get to say that. You don't get to stand there, pretending you don't know. You have everything, and I have nothing."

Changra shook his head, his chest tightening. "No, I don't. I'm just… trying to survive, like everyone else. I never wanted to be special. I didn't ask for any of this."

She stared at him for a long moment, her small frame eerily still. Then, slowly, she rose to her feet, her childlike form shimmering as shadows began to swirl around her. Her smile widened, stretching unnaturally, and her eyes glowed faintly green.

"Of course, you didn't ask for it," she said, her voice growing deeper, layered. "It just came to you, didn't it? Without effort, without pain. They just handed it to you, while the rest of us had to bleed for every scrap."

"That's not true!" Changra shouted, his voice echoing in the void. "You don't know what I've been through! You don't know anything about me!"

But Berethia only laughed, the sound high-pitched and unnerving. "It doesn't matter. You can say whatever you want, but I know the truth. I see it now."

She stepped closer to him, her small figure twisting as the shadows grew thicker around her. Her smile, once warm and innocent, was now a cruel mockery of what it had been. "You'll never save me," she said, her voice dripping with madness. "Because you don't know how."

Changra reached out desperately, his hand trembling. "Please, Berethia—"

She tilted her head, her eyes blazing with emerald fire. "Goodbye, Changra."

Her form shifted violently, the shadows consuming her as she morphed into the towering, monstrous figure of Envy. The creature loomed over him, its eyes glowing with pure malice. "You will never save her," it hissed, its voice echoing like thunder.

Then everything went black.

Changra gasped as his eyes snapped open. Pain exploded through his chest, and the cold, hard stone beneath him sent a shock through his body. His vision blurred for a moment before focusing on the chaos around him.

Jane was still fighting, her magic forming a flickering shield as Berethia advanced, her staff glowing with ominous green energy. Merrick was on his feet, his sword drawn as he tried to push forward, but Berethia's magic sent him staggering back again.

Changra groaned, forcing himself to sit up. His body ached, and his mind felt like it had been torn apart and stitched back together. But the memory of what he'd seen—the child Berethia, her transformation into Envy—burned brightly in his mind.

"Changra!" Jane's voice broke through the haze, filled with relief and desperation. "You're awake!"

Berethia turned toward him, her expression twisted with fury and madness. The glow of her magic flared brighter, casting eerie shadows across the corridor.

"You're too late," she snarled, her voice a mixture of her own and Envy's. "You can't stop this."

Changra gritted his teeth, his hands pressing against the cold stone as he pushed himself to his feet. "I don't care what you say," he said, his voice hoarse but steady. "I'm not giving up on you."

Berethia's laughter filled the corridor, echoing like shattering glass. "Then come and try, Changra," she sneered, raising her staff. "Let's see how far your hope will take you."