Chapter 11: UNEXPECTED Failure

Once upon a time, a beautiful girl was born into a budding, powerful family.

With her birth, hope was once again established in the eyes of the powerful couple that began on a path to create a perfect, formidable household.

The girl was born into a family where names were decided only when one awakened their Utility. The shame that came with taking too long to awaken one, was immensely scarring.

The man the young girl would soon dread to call Father aimed to turn her into a weapon that would elevate the family's prowess and standing.

Thus, at the age of five, she was taken to one of the three doors deep within the Original Mansion, the home of the Ryduun Family.

Of these three were the white door, the red and the black door.

The white door was reserved for unnatural physical attuning.

The red one was reserved for niche skill training.

The black and oldest one was reserved for tribulation.

The girl remembered her father saying the white door stripped away ALL weakness, the red door stripped ALL inadequacy and the red door stripped ALL light.

The girl could never forget the view of the shiny white door which was pleasant to look at. It made a lot of tantalizing promises while one was on its other end.

On its other side, however, was nothing but unimaginable agony.

The girl would never soon forget it. There was memory in the flesh, and it never quite forgot what it had to endure at that tender age.

The girl only lasted ten minutes before her body collapsed.

She was bedridden for three weeks afterward. She screamed her lungs out each time she managed to wrestle her way to consciousness.

Her tortured mind and swollen flesh worked against her, never truly healing whether she was lucid or not.

No one comforted the girl.

Her mother could only look at her with a mash of pity and shame from afar while her Father called her:

An Expected Failure.

The girl's older brother, who was to be dubbed 'The First Brother' by all his younger siblings from then on, would always ridicule her.

He was the first child.

He was powerful, with the doctrine of the Ryduun Family so deeply engrained into his mind that he was the splitting image of the man they called Father.

However, even he was not sufficient for what their Father had in mind, after all, his limit was the red door.

When the girl recovered enough, she was dragged by her older brother back to the white room despite her screams. The door which had once made her smile, was now a sturdy pedestal for her fears.

The girl had screamed and scraped against the walls with her nails until she bled, pleading not to be sent back into that room again.

But it was all for naught.

She was exposed to the unspeakable agony once again.

A day within that space felt like a week and her mind began to collapse after a meager – as her Father called it – five days.

As a result, the girl was only limited to the white door.

Going on further at this age would only leave her shattered, incapable of being pieced together.

Even though her Father hated the pathetic sight of her laying on the floor drooling, tears and mucus issuing from her eyes and nose, he couldn't tear her from the family.

It was called family for a reason, after all. Even the weak had to be embraced… as much as they deserved.

Years passed.

The girl still dreaded the white door and remained nameless as she took longer to awaken her Utility despite her continued torturous training.

It was a dark stretch of time.

However, something managed to ward away this sombreness completely.

Another child was born to the Ryduun Family.

It was a sweet boy with a radiance about him that made the girl want to embrace him every chance she got.

He was energetic and loved to play in the expansive estate around the Original Mansion.

He loved plucking flowers to decorate his room and under the watch of his guardian, he would always run around the house, giving his blissful attention to everyone around.

Free hugs, free smiles, and free cheer.

The boy lit up the household.

The girl soon became obsessed with the little boy.

Every time she came from the white door, almost collapsing to the floor, the boy was always there to help pull her up despite being barely two years old.

He would bring the girl some water and wait for her to come to her senses before giving her a big hug to try and comfort her.

It always worked.

He might have been ignorant as to what was happening to his older sibling, but that didn't stop him from caring.

The girl would always feel better with him around. She would embrace the little boy with curly hair and sweet violet eyes as if her life depended on it. If she really needed it, she would even sneak into his room and sleep on the floor just to be close to him.

Just so she could partake of his light.

The girl swore to always take care of him for as long as she lived. It might have been a duty she imposed on herself for selfish reasons, but there was no doubt that she loved her brother.

Sadly, the girl was forced to break her promise soon after she made it.

When the boy turned three and a half years old, his Father came and took him away from the girl's arms.

"He is the one," he said in an unnerving tone.

The girl had tried with all her might to stop the boy from being pulled into the same darkness she had drowned in.

She had even fought her older brother only to be beaten half to death.

In his eyes, the girl was going against Father's will, and it was only right that she be punished for it.

In the end, the girl could only claw from afar at the figure of the boy with an ignorant look on his face as he was led through the white door.

She had waited at the end of the narrow corridor that led to the white door. She would not leave, not even to have her grievous wounds taken care of.

Six hours later, the deceiving door opened.

The girl's Father walked out with a nasty grin that could only have belonged to the devil plastered on his face.

He passed where she laid without so much as glancing at her, a sense of twisted joy radiating from him.

The girl could care less about her father too.

She awaited the figure of her little brother with dread, the fear of going in to draw him out keeping her rooted onto the tiled floor.

After ten minutes, a small figure crawled slowly out of the room. He only managed to pull his lank body forward with his right arm, which was the least damaged.

The look of him ripped the girl's heart to shreds.

Before she knew it, she was racing forth.

In that one moment, she didn't care for fears.

She held onto the boy, but couldn't bear to look at him.

She sobbed and hurried with him to her room to clean off the disgusting crimson mess that stained his entirety.

She stayed awake to help the boy who spent the night seizing, but the next day, he was ripped from her once again.

Despite his unsightly appearance and his condition, he was forced awake and dragged to the white door once again.

The girl waited again at the end of the corridor. This time, the white door only opened after a full day.

Without hesitation, the girl had dived into the white room to secure her brother.

However, she couldn't help but scream when she saw him. She almost backed away at the sight of him. She couldn't even tell if he was alive.

Why was this happening?

What was this family?

How much more of this did he have to endure?

Time slowly passed.

A week later, the boy was taken to the red door under the stunned gazes of everyone in the mansion.

It was too soon.

Yet the man who headed the Ryduun Family bore down his fiery violet eyes on all and simply said:

"He's the one. He'll be fine."

A week passed.

The red door never opened.

The girl was distressed, thinking that the worst may have happened. She couldn't imagine what was beyond the red door if the white one was so treacherous.

Her own trials in the white door didn't torture her as much that week, as she could only be bothered by what was happening with her younger brother.

When the red door finally opened, she saw the figure of the boy with curly hair amble on his own.

His eyes barely showed any semblance of diverse color because of the blood lathering over them.

He dragged his feet weakly as he walked on.

The girl had wanted to embrace him as soon as she saw him, but the tall frame of her Father blocked her path.

"Do not dare touch my prize," he said to her. "Prove yourself to be something more than a nameless wench and maybe you shall be worthy of standing by his side."

The girl could only comply.

She tried to catch a glimpse of her younger brother's light. Maybe it still burned bright after all this time.

The girl didn't see it.

She never even managed to see or interact with the boy again, not until a few months later, when she saw him adorn a cold, emotionless face as he was taken to an ancient door wrapped in rusted chains.

A door that was the embodiment of tribulation.

A door painted in black.

After the boy walked through it, both he and his sister were never the same again.