After Ikumi's death, she was replaced the very next day by a faceless man, a bureaucrat from the Gu Clan. His first decision was to expel me. There was no drama, no anger. I was simply told that my presence was no longer necessary.

  I was free.

  But freedom was just another word for hunger. For two whole days, I wandered the cold streets of Chang'an. The winter was harsh, and the wind cut through my ragged clothes like knives. I looked for work everywhere, in kitchens, at the docks, in any filthy hole. But no one wanted to hire a devil with red hair.

  At the end of the second day, I collapsed in a dirty alley in the poor district, the pale snow beginning to fall around me. I was hungry, cold, and completely alone.

  "Boy."

  I lifted my head with difficulty. An old man was standing before me, short, in his fifties, leaning on a wooden cane. His eyes were kind, but they held an old, deep sadness. "Come into my hut. You'll freeze to death out here."

  I had no strength to refuse. I followed him to a small, dilapidated hut, but it was warm inside. He lit a stove and began to heat some soup. The smell alone was enough to bring life back to my frozen limbs. He fed me in silence, and I ate like a wild animal.

  "Thank you," I finally said in a hoarse voice. "What's your name?" He looked at me for a long time. "You don't need to know my name, son of Hana."

  The spoon froze halfway to my mouth. "Who... who is Hana?" "Your mother, you son of a damned Prometheus."

  I burst out laughing. A dry, bitter, and empty laugh. The old man was surprised. "Why are you laughing? Did you bring me here to kill me? What's the point of the world choosing for me to live?" "I don't understand," I said, shaking my head. "And I don't know either. But you are her son, and that's enough."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "Enough for what?" I said sarcastically. "Maybe even she didn't want me to be born." The old man sighed and sat down in front of me. "Yes, that's true. She didn't want you to be born. She wished you would die at birth."

  He began to tell the story. "I was Hana's husband. When she told me she was pregnant, I was happy. But she was crying. She said the Prometheus had come to her in a dream, and she was afraid it was his son. Still, she insisted on not having an abortion. She didn't want you, that's for sure, but if you were born, who was she to oppose the world's choice? It was my fault. I should have forced her to have an abortion, but I supported her. And she died right after you were born, for the Prometheus takes his mother's soul when he is born alive."

  "So?" I said coldly. "After all this time, you come to tell me this story? Why should I care? Even I didn't want to be born." "When I saw you in the alley," he said in a quiet voice. "When I saw your hazel eyes, I saw Hana. And when I saw your red hair, I saw the nightmare that stole her from me. In that moment, I knew everything. You are her son, and you are her curse. I think the world brought you here for a reason. Why else would it bring you here the day before I die?"

  He stood up. "Take this hut. I'll put it in your name. Come with me." I followed him in silence. "You have nothing to give me but a dilapidated hut?" I muttered sarcastically. He looked at me. "You don't want it?" "No, no, I'm kidding."

  We went to the city's records office. Within an hour, the hut was mine. We returned, and the way was silent. As we entered, he pointed to a dilapidated plank on the floor and said there was a short, rusty sword inside. "This was my sword when I was young," he said. "I don't need it anymore. It's yours now. Every man needs a sword... even if it's rusty."

  I sat down, and he sat in his old chair. "What was she like... my mother?" I asked, the word feeling strange on my tongue. He smiled a genuine smile. "The most beautiful woman in the world. And the kindest. She was the complete embodiment..."

  I laughed. "I think you're exaggerating, old man." "Maybe," he said. "He began to tell me. How she was afraid of spiders but didn't hesitate to face two guards for a stray cat... how she would cry at sad stories but would laugh her head off at silly jokes. She wasn't an angel; she was human, and that's what made her perfect in my eyes."

  He continued to talk, his voice gradually weakening, as he told a story about her stubbornness as a child... until he closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

  His last sleep.

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