Arisia

Perhaps it was because I died doing a good deed that I reincarnated.

The moment I was born again, crying out loud like a normal baby would, I was shedding real tears of joy. My short life ended, and it brought a new one; A new one that I will ensure will be a long one.

But still, the moment of my death, I remember it so vividly and clearly. It often haunts me.

The pain of my bones being crushed under heavy cement, the feeling of my skin burning in pain as the fire devoured me.

Not only was I buried alive, but I was also burned alive. The sound of my flesh being burned and its burnt smell was revolting. And I was awake the whole time until I was...dead.

Though the memories haunt me like this, I never felt the fear it once afflicted me. After all, it already passed. The fear was no more.

But now, I might be facing such a situation again. A situation where fear is flooding my brain like never before.

In front of me, the house I have been living in for more than 24 years, is burning. Inside was my father. The omega that had given birth to me. He was being burned, by me.

But my father was no longer the person he was. He was craving flesh, fresh meat. His eyes bear no semblance to the once wisdom-filled one. 

My father has been afflicted by an incurable disease, something that even the best of the race of healers, the angels, can't heal. 

And I, his child, can't do anything but watch his figure burn. 

Tears blurred my sight. I was in denial. 

The symptoms were there: The undeniable greed for food, and then for lust, a long week of restlessness of trying to find something, and then the incurable madness of craving flesh, eating people. 

I turned a blind eye to those symptoms, hoping that my eyes were just playing a trick on me. Oh, how despicable of me. 

I am clinging to the vain hope that maybe, it wasn't that disease. Maybe...

Fuck. Who am I kidding?

I sobbed, kneeling on the ground, hearing my once father's animalistic shrieks. How I wish it was someone else who got afflicted by that disease.

How I wish it was that scumbag mother who left us that got it. How I wish...my father isn't the one suffering that goddamn Groran disease.

---

Through dry eyes, I stared at the burning house. I looked at my father's figure slowly decimating to the ground.

My father, an omega so gentle and full of love, is now dead. Truly, as even his ashes scattered around. 

And I have been watching my home burn for more than a week. 

The damned Groran disease can make anyone's body resilient to many things after the infection, including fire; and that is why it is hard to kill those who are afflicted. 

I have been continuing to use my magic to burn our house until his figure became ashes. 

In this place, I am alone now.

My body stilled, feeling the emptiness inside. On this lonely island, in this vast forest, who can accompany me? This place's inhabitants were only me and my father. 

What should I do now? I pondered, staring at the dying flames.

I then looked at the entrance of the forest with blank eyes. Right. Father said that once he's gone, it will become my duty to protect that spring inside. 

I snapped my fingers, extinguishing the flames of my magic. The scorched ground, black as it can be, won't be able to grow grasses and flowers anytime now. And I don't intend to have that. 

That scorched ground will be the mark, the mark that will remind me of him. 

I slowly stood up, my knees shaking from kneeling on the ground for more than a week straight. I tightly grasped the spear he had given me, his beloved weapon, and aided myself to stand with it. 

I grabbed the two bags lying near me: One was mine, and another was full of my father's belongings; one he had packed himself. 

I slowly tread upon the familiar path, and this time, my father was no longer here to accompany me.