The Legion: Heartson

Mason found himself adrift in the white room once more, but this time, he could hardly bear to lift his gaze. He knew what this was: judgment, consequence, failure in its rawest form. He must have broken the contract with the Astral, his soul forfeit for his incompetence. 

He lowered his head. He was alone, standing on a single plank of wood, floating in the vast, endless sea of silence, surrounded by the crushing emptiness.

He feared falling, though he couldn't grasp why. What difference would it make? He was already dead. Nothing mattered anymore.

But just as he sank further into despair, a sudden, sharp pain burst through his jaw. A fist—solid and merciless—connected with his face, knocking him off the fragile plank. 

He plunged deep into the freezing water, his limbs flailing as he struggled against the pull of the depths. He kicked, desperate to claw his way back up, but he couldn't swim. The knowledge struck him with bitter clarity. He had had 8 years to learn, but he'd never bothered.

Down he sank, further and further, the darkness swallowing him whole. Panic throbbed in his chest as he opened his mouth to scream, to beg for help—but only cold water filled his lungs. He choked, the reality of his helplessness tightening around him. There was no one to save him this time. He didn't deserve help, didn't earn the right to rely on others. 

His descent slowed as he hit the cold bottom, his body heavy, his mind numbing, his vision fading. He couldn't breathe. He would die, alone and forgotten. 

And then, from within the depths, a figure materialized before him—an old woman, her face twisted into a scowl. 

Old Woman: Now what's all this, then? 

The shock of her presence jarred him from his despair, even as he felt the water pressing in around him. He tried to respond, to understand her sudden appearance, but only more water filled his mouth. The old woman seemed unperturbed, even amused, her laugh bubbling through the water as if mocking his situation. Her voice echoed in his mind.

Old Woman: Why are you acting so pathetic? After everything you've been through with that Astral, and here you are, self-sabotaging every step of the way. Do you want your soul to be terminated? The way you're going, it's like you're begging for it.

Mason's chest tightened, not just from the water but from the sheer humiliation of her words. She eyed him with scorn, her gaze piercing.

Old Woman: Ought to embarrass yourself a little less, don't you think? Stop bringing shame to the Heartson name.

Those words burned him like a searing flame. All the shame, all the anger that had been simmering within him boiled over. His pride flared, the indignation eclipsing his despair.

Mason: I— There's… nothing I can do about that. 

He gritted his teeth, the bitterness spilling over. 

Mason: It doesn't matter whether I choose to stand up now or sink to the bottom. Nothing changes either way! That's just the kind of man I am. The type to fail, over and over, but still keep charging in!

He looked up, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and despair. 

Mason: I tell myself that I'm some noble guy who wants to protect people like some hero. But it's a lie. I ignored Rachel's words, pushed her warnings aside—because I wanted this. I wanted to get what I wanted, to satisfy my own needs.

He was shouting now, his voice rising in the vast emptiness of his head, the truth spilling from him in waves of rage and agony.

Mason: I ruin everything. Everything I touch falls apart. The people I care about, the ones who believed in me—I let them down. Again and again. 

The old woman simply watched him, her expression unreadable, as if she were weighing his words, judging every crack in his facade. 

Mason: I thought I could change. I thought I could… be something, but all I've done is drag others down with me. I'm nothing. Just a failure.

The old woman's voice softened, though her words retained their sharp edge.

Old Woman: Yeah we know all that already boy. Blah blah blah, you're a failure we get it.

She muttered, watching him as he pressed his hands to his head, grappling with the truth.

Old Woman: But that's the Heartson legacy. 

Mason's mind reeled, the weight of her words pressing down on him, and he felt like he was sinking deeper, even as he struggled to make sense of it all. 

She continued, a cold smile crossing her face. 

Old Woman: Oh, we Heartsons were never saints. But we did our duty, didn't we? All of us, doing what we thought was best, pushing humanity forward… or so we told ourselves. And now here you are, my grandson, our so-called masterpiece. The last in a line of sacrifices. Makes you proud, doesn't it?

Mason stared at the woman, his mind struggling to piece together the reality before him. The weight of her words sank in slowly, unsettling him further with each passing second.

Mason: You're my…

The old woman's mouth twisted into a faint, sardonic smile. 

Old Woman: Yeah, that's right, I'm your granny, and all that. Not exactly how you expected to meet me, huh?

Her voice held a dry amusement, though her eyes remained sharp and piercing.

Mason's mind raced. He didn't have any memories of his grandparents—they'd passed before he was old enough to know them, and he'd never heard much about them. Yet, standing here, face-to-face with her in this strange, surreal place, he could feel it. Something deep inside him knew this woman was, indeed, his family.

Mason: But... how?

She let out a short, humorless laugh.

Granny: Stop asking stupid questions, boy. You're not a fool anymore; not after everything you've been through. You know about the Astral inside you, so start putting it together. That's step one for you—stop playing the helpless fool. You're here, I'm here, and whether you understand it or not, this isn't some little dream. This is a part of you. Now, if you want answers, it's time you face the truth.

Her words were like a slap, snapping him into focus. 

The woman's gaze hardened as she continued. 

Granny: The next step for you is coming to terms with the sins of the Heartson family. The ones your parents, Samuel and Gabrielle, made. The ones that dragged you into all of this.

Mason felt his stomach twist at the mention of his parents' names, and yet, a strange feeling washed over him—a mix of anger, betrayal, and an odd sense of clarity. His grandmother gave him a knowing look, her voice a bitter mixture of frustration and regret.

Granny: You think you're here by accident? Think again. The Heartson family has been tied to Obsidian's work for generations. Samuel and Gabrielle didn't just fall in with them. They actively worked with them, every step of the way.

She nodded grimly. 

Granny: I, too, was involved. As were your ancestors. It was all planned—each of us, carrying out our part of this twisted plan. All to create you.

Granny: Obsidian had a purpose for you, from the start, selective breeding. Manipulating choices, directing lives, all to create someone compatible with the Astral of Death. You're not just any Heartson. You're our prize. Our little masterpiece. 

A shiver ran down Mason's spine. He could hardly process it, the weight of what she was saying, the realization of what he was. 

Granny: And you think I had no guilt about it? I knew it was wrong, but I convinced myself it wasn't my problem. That it wouldn't be my children who paid for it. We all did. We thought we were preserving humanity. Being all noble and whatnot. Samuel, Gabrielle—they followed in the same path, convinced that they were doing the right thing. But they forgot their own humanity the moment they handed over their only son. That's the kind of people we all became.

Mason lowered his head, pulling his hands to his face, a cold, hollow feeling settling deep in his chest. His parents… they hadn't just abandoned him. They'd sacrificed him. And the weight of that knowledge hit him like a crushing wave.

Granny sighed, crossing her arms and giving him a hard, almost disappointed look, the kind that seemed to pierce through his every excuse, every ounce of self-pity he was clinging to.

Granny: Poor little Mason, sitting here, mourning himself like he's already dead, listen to yourself, wallowing in all that tragedy. 

She leaned closer, her gaze unyielding. 

Granny: You think you're the only one burdened by this? The only one expected to move on despite it all? We all had our sins. I've told you what we did. But do you think any of us got to lie down and give up, to drown ourselves in our self-pity?

Mason: That's so damn easy for you to say!

Mason's voice cracked, half a growl and half a sob. 

Mason: You didn't grow up in it—you didn't have to feel it!

His chest burned, his fists clenched so hard he could feel his nails biting into his palms

Mason: You really expect me to keep going, to reach the surface, and then what? Be some broken, second-rate version of everyone around me? That's all that I am. A second rate piece of shit. So why can't you just let me drown here. I'm owed at least that.

Granny let out a cold laugh, but there was no malice in it—only a weary, brutal honesty. 

Granny: You think you're owed something for your suffering? Like some reward is waiting for you if you cry loud enough? It's true, Mason. You'll always be fifteen steps behind if you keep measuring yourself against everyone else. But that's just more of your greed, isn't it? Wanting the life they denied you, wanting it without the struggle to earn it.

Mason felt himself recoil. His lips trembled, his fists shaking, but he had nothing left to shout back. 

Granny: So go on, drown here if you want. Give in and let it take you. But understand, Mason, that you are no victim. You have a choice now, even if you think it's too late. You can sink here. But if you choose to stay down here and wallow in your self-pity, then know that's on you. 

Mason: Just stop.

He spat the words out, trying to keep his voice steady, but each syllable quivered with unbearable melancholy.

Mason: Do you have any idea how hard I've tried? How many nights I've spent working, pushing myself further than I even thought I could go? Just to get some kind of life that isn't… this?

Mason: Everyone else—everyone else gets to live a life. Just live. They get people to lean on, family who actually cares, friends who are there no matter what. But me?

A harsh laugh escaped him, raw and jagged, scraping against the silence.

Mason: I don't have that. I thought if I just worked hard enough, if I put in everything I had, that maybe I'd be able to break free of it. To finally have something real.

He paused, his gaze shifting downward, a shadow passing over his expression.

Mason: But it's bullshit. There's no amount of work that's going to fix this. No amount of effort can change what I am. I am who I am, and nothing's going to change that. That foundation of failure—that's as much a part of me as my own skin. It's… it's who I am.

He took a shaky breath, his voice barely more than a whisper now, raw and vulnerable in a way he rarely let himself be.

Granny: You're so damn blind, Mason. You don't get it, do you? That right there—that's your damn problem. You're an idiot if you think you're going to get anywhere on your own. A damn fool.

She shook her head, a look of disappointment mixed with frustration.

Granny: You treat everything like it's some individual assignment. You're so wrapped up in your own head, in your own failure, you haven't even thought about what it actually takes to get what you want.

Her eyes bore into him, fierce and unrelenting.

Granny: Let me tell you something. Nobody—nobody—learns to swim on their own. It's impossible. And it's damn sure impossible for someone like you. You've convinced yourself you're alone in all this, that it's just you against the world, and you're too proud or too damn stubborn to ask for help.

Granny paused, letting the words settle, but before Mason could respond, she pressed on, her tone unwavering.

Granny: That's the Heartson way, isn't it? Always thinking you can do everything yourself, that it's weak to need anyone else. And where has that gotten you? Nowhere. Not a single damn step forward. That's because the Heartson family… they can't get shit done on their own.

Her voice softened, but it was still laced with a certain fierceness, a fierce love that refused to let him off the hook.

Granny: It's the people around you who make you strong. They're the ones who do the heavy lifting when you can't. 

She leaned in closer, her gaze locked onto his.

Granny: If you ever want to make it, Mason, you're going to have to learn that. You're going to have to learn to lean on people, to trust them, to let them carry some of that weight you're dragging around.

Granny stepped back, her expression still stern.

Granny: You want to come out on top? Then stop pretending you can do it alone.

Mason sank down onto the ocean floor, the weight of Granny's words pressing down on him until he couldn't hold himself up any longer. He pressed a trembling hand to his forehead, the overwhelming ache radiating from his chest, spilling out in silent tears.

Could he… could he truly believe that there were people he could rely on? People who'd be there for him, despite all he'd done, despite all he'd failed to become?

The thoughts churned within him. To let himself lean on someone else, to admit he couldn't do it alone… wasn't that pathetic? Wouldn't that make him weak? Relying on others to achieve his goal, his purpose—it felt greedy.

Granny: There's nothing wrong with being a little greedy every now and then.

He looked up at her, confused, a flicker of defiance mingling with the tears in his eyes.

Granny: When it's for something like this, something that matters, there's no shame in wanting a little help. That so-called greed? Relying on others to get what you want? It's something your parents could never do. That greed, it's the only thing that can save you from their fate.

The final wall he'd been clinging to crumbled, and for the first time, he let it all go. The pain, the shame, the anger—it flowed out, raw and unrestrained, and he didn't fight it. His tears came harder, shoulders shaking, his breaths ragged and uneven.

Mason's sobs tore through the dark waters, deeper than even he realized. His voice broke, desperate and aching as he cried out.

Mason: Why… why did they have to do this to me? Why did they… why did they sacrifice me like this? I didn't ask for this! I never wanted any of it! All I wanted… all I wanted was a normal life.

His hands clutched at the ground, his knuckles white as he forced the words out, each one cutting through the air with a painful finality.

Mason: Why couldn't they just love me? Why couldn't they just… just be there? Why did they have to leave me, again and again, like none of it mattered? Like I didn't matter? Why me?

He looked up, his face twisted in anguish, and saw Granny watching him. Her gaze softened, filled with a pity she didn't try to hide. She knelt beside him, reaching out her hand with a quiet patience, waiting for him to meet her gaze.

Granny: It's alright, you can let it all out. But you'll have to save those questions for them. I can't answer them now, not in the way you need.

Mason's tears slowed as he searched her eyes, clinging to her words. He hesitated, his voice small and vulnerable.

Mason: Granny… is it… is it really okay to rely on others for something like this?

Granny's lips curved into a warm smile, and a chuckle slipped past her lips, low and knowing.

Granny: I wouldn't expect any less from you boy.

He took a shuddering breath, his fists clenched, his jaw set. With a grit that held all the pain and strength he'd gathered, Mason reached out, grasping Granny's hand, feeling the warmth and strength in her grip.

And with that, he pulled himself to his feet.

With a surge of resolve, Mason kicked off the ocean floor, still gripping Granny's hand as they began to float upward. Their ascent was slow at first, like moving through molasses, the water dense and unyielding around him. 

His legs strained with each kick, his strokes awkward and stiff, as if he were relearning every movement. But he held on to Granny's hand, watching her as she moved effortlessly beside him.

Mason's gaze followed her every motion—the graceful sweep of her hands, the measured kicks of her legs. The water seemed to respond to her, parting with each stroke, guiding her upward. He tried to copy her movements, letting his body mimic her motions as he felt the current shifting around him. 

His strokes became more fluid, more natural. For the first time, he sensed the rhythm of the water, the way it slid across his skin, not as an obstacle but as something to work with. He matched Granny's pace.

As they rose, their movements became faster, smoother. The water seemed to pull them upward, as though it, too, wanted them to break free from the depths. Together, they swam in sync, rising with increasing speed, cutting through the dark water with purpose. 

Mason felt the rush of exhilaration, the fierce satisfaction of breaking through his own limits, his own fears. He looked over at Granny, and for the first time, he felt like he wasn't just following—he was truly swimming.

Then, finally, they broke through the surface, the water parting around them in a shimmering cascade. They were back at the top, their heads emerging into the blinding white light that surrounded them. 

Mason squinted as he looked around, seeing the familiar, pristine walls of the white room stretching out in every direction. But he hardly cared about the room. All he could think about was Granny, standing beside him, her hand still clasped in his.

A smile spread across his face, filled with relief and gratitude. He looked at her, about to say something, but just as he let go of her hand, a sudden, hollow ache tore through his heart. It felt like a piece of him was being ripped away, an emptiness blooming where her presence had just been.

Mason: Granny!

He shouted, his voice thick with desperation, reaching out to her. But she was already fading, her form becoming transparent, her outline blurring as she drifted further and further away. The light swallowed her, and Mason's chest tightened, panic clawing at him as he tried to hold onto her image.

I won't forget you. I swear… I'll remember everything. Right here, right now… I promise, I'll start over. I'll do it better this time. I'll get it right. 

He clenched his fists, his resolve hardening as the last traces of Granny's form disappeared into the light. The ache in his chest deepened, but along with it, there was a flicker of strength, a renewed sense of purpose. 

And with that vow still echoing in his heart, Mason's eyes slowly opened, bringing him back to the present, back to the cold, stark room where he was to bleed out.