I'm Not The Protagonist

Life on Earth had always been an uphill battle for me. I didn't even have a name, not really. The one I went by, Caiden, wasn't mine to begin with. It was something a social worker scribbled down on paperwork years ago. The name stuck, but I never felt like it belonged to me. Not like I belonged to anyone—or anywhere.

I bounced between families, each new place promising to be my forever home. But forever never lasted.

"Caiden, it's not that we don't care about you, it's just… we're not the right fit," they'd say, their voices dripping with practiced sympathy.

Right fit. What a joke. The door would close, and I'd be back at square one.

By the time I hit my teens, I stopped trying to fit anywhere. The system had nothing left to offer me, and I had nothing left to give it. I ran.

The streets were cold, unforgiving, but they were honest. That's where I met them.

"Oi, kid!" a voice called out one night as I huddled in an alley, trying to stay warm.

I looked up, ready to bolt, but the boy standing there didn't look like a threat. He couldn't have been much older than me, with wild hair and a crooked grin that didn't quite match the knife tucked into his belt.

"You look like you could use a meal," he said, tossing me a half-eaten sandwich. "And maybe some company. We're like a family, you know?"

A family. The word made something in my chest ache.

"Why would you help me?" I asked cautiously.

He shrugged. "Because someone helped me once. Pay it forward, right?"

That's how it started.

They weren't perfect—far from it—but for the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged.

"We're more than just a gang," their leader, Marcus, would say. "We look out for each other. Ride or die."

"Ride or die," we'd echo back, our voices filled with the kind of reckless loyalty only desperate kids could muster.

But nothing good ever lasts. Not for me.

One of us—someone I trusted, someone I called family—betrayed us. I'll never forget the look on Marcus's face when the cops and the rival gang ambushed us.

"Run!" he shouted, shoving me down an alley.

I didn't want to leave him, but the look in his eyes left no room for argument.

One by one, they fell.

"Caiden, go!" someone yelled as they pushed me forward.

"I'm not leaving you!" I screamed back, but it was too late.

The sound of sirens and gunfire was deafening.

When they finally caught me, I fought like hell. I wouldn't go down without a fight, but I was just a kid with no name, no future, and no chance.

The knife came out of nowhere, sliding into my side with sickening ease.

I collapsed, my vision blurring as I stared up at the sky.

"Why?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

The world grew darker, colder, and for a moment, I thought it was all over.

But when I opened my eyes again, everything had changed.

The air felt… alive, humming with something I couldn't explain. The sky was brighter, the colors sharper.

"What the hell…" I muttered, sitting up and clutching my side. The wound was gone, but the memory of it burned in my mind.

This wasn't Earth. This was somewhere else.

I took a shaky breath, the faces of my gang flashing before my eyes.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to them, to myself, to the universe.

This world might have been a second chance, but the scars of my past weren't going anywhere. And as I took my first steps into Gaia, one thing consumed me:

Rage... Immense Rage.

I sat at the table, my fist clenched around the spoon. The food, now probably cold, went untouched. My mind was still reeling from everything I had just said. My 'mother'—the woman who somehow managed to see through every wall I put up—was sitting there, silently processing it all.

I hadn't planned on telling anyone this, let alone her. But here I was, confessing my life to a stranger in my mind, someone who was now playing the role of my mother. The only person I'd ever met who treated me with some semblance of kindness.

"Well, that's my heart-throbbing sad story," I muttered, trying to make light of the situation. I forced a small smile, but it felt like I was holding up a broken mirror, one that barely reflected me anymore.

Sniff Sniff

I froze.

"Are you crying?!" I couldn't help myself. The shock in my voice was real.

"No…" She wiped her eyes quickly, glancing up at me through her lashes. Her face flushed red from the effort. She cleared her throat, switching back to a more serious tone.

I could only look at her, incredulous. "Right. Whatever you say."

"I don't expect any sympathy from you," I muttered, avoiding her gaze. My fingers were starting to cramp around the spoon, but I couldn't bring myself to let it go.

I pushed myself up to leave, but she stopped me with a simple question that landed like a heavy weight in the air.

"I find it hard to believe the story you've told me. Gangs, Earth, police, words I've never heard, but..." She paused, leaning forward slightly, her gaze sharp yet gentle. "If everything you say is true, then I have one question."

I turned back, curiosity mixing with a little apprehension.

"What will you do?" she asked, her voice steady, but something flickered in her eyes. "What will you do with my son's body?"

It hit me harder than I expected. I thought I'd had everything figured out, but now? Now, facing her, I had no easy answers. I opened my mouth, searching for something to say.

"I'll try my best to live," I said, the words coming out a little more firm than I thought they would. "I'll try to live a good life. I'll try to be someone better."

She smiled, just a little, but there was a softness in it that made my heart twist.

She sighed, her voice quiet but firm. "I'm glad. My son's body hasn't fallen into the hands of a demon, or a soul seeking revenge. If that was your aim... I would have been conflicted."

Her words hit harder than they should've. I could feel a wave of guilt creeping over me, the sense of responsibility weighing heavily on me. But she gestured for me to sit back down.

"My only dream," she continued, her tone softening, "has always been to watch my son grow up. To see him live the life he deserved. The pain I felt, watching him slowly die... it was unbearable. But when I saw you standing in the square, I thought... 'Is that him? My Caiden?' Of course, you're nothing like him, but I saw something in your eyes. The desire to live. The same one my Caiden lost."

She stopped, her voice breaking, and for a second, I saw a flicker of hope in her eyes. It was as if she was holding onto something fragile, something that might slip through her fingers at any moment.

"Would you grant me just one wish?" She looked up at me, her gaze pleading. "I would love to watch you grow up. I would love to see you live."

I was taken aback. There was so much going on in my head—confusion, guilt, excitement. But my heart started racing, and I didn't know why. I couldn't make sense of the feeling.

"Me?" I said, almost laughing in disbelief. "As your son?"

She nodded, her smile small but genuine. "Only you, can fulfill this wish."

"But I understand if you're unwilling," she added, her voice softer now. "I know I'm not much—this house, my struggles. But if you are, if you'll be my son..." She trailed off, her words hanging in the air between us.

The silence stretched out, thick and heavy. I was filled with so many emotions, I wasn't sure what to do with them. But then, I knew. I knew exactly what to say, what to do. I stood there, facing her, trying to shake off the overwhelming feelings.

"If you're willing to have a child like me," I started, my voice shaking slightly, "then... maybe I can be your son."

She smiled at that. It was the most radiant smile I'd ever seen. And suddenly, it felt like everything had shifted, like something had finally clicked into place.

Without warning, she pulled me into an embrace.

The warmth of her hug was unexpected, yet it felt real, comforting, like I had a home again. And for the first time, maybe in my whole life, I let myself fully feel what it was like to be loved. I closed my eyes, letting it all wash over me, and the tears came—slow, but steady

But even as I stood there in her arms, something gnawed at the back of my mind. A thought, dark and persistent, reverberated through my skull like an echo I couldn't escape:

This woman dies. My mother...