THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

There, tucked in the shadows, a young boy sat perched on a pile of crates, his posture relaxed yet strangely alert, as if he were waiting for something—or someone. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, a few unruly strands casting shadows across his face, giving him a look that was both boyish and mysteriously mature.

The faint glow from the streetlamp caught his eyes, reflecting a gleam that was curious and sharp, as if he saw more in the shadows than most would. His gaze flicked over the pages of a well-worn book he held, fingers turning each page with practised, unhurried motion. There was a quiet focus about him, an intensity that seemed at odds with his age and his location.

Clad in a simple, slightly loose shirt, he seemed entirely unbothered by the chill in the air. The soft, understated fabric hung on him in gentle folds, framing a face that wore a faint, enigmatic smile—one that suggested he found some secret amusement in the world around him. His dark eyes occasionally lifted from the book, scanning the alley with a mixture of curiosity and patience, as if he knew that something would happen soon, but was content to wait.

Just before the clock struck midnight, the door to the restaurant creaked open, spilling a sliver of warm light into the dark alleyway where the boy waited. "Thanks boss, for the extra shift!" A woman\'s voice cut through the quiet, mingling with the distant hum of city traffic.

The woman stepped into the alley, looking tired but content, her dark hair neatly tied back, and her bangs framing her face with a slight softness that hinted at a gentler side. She wore a crisp white shirt under a black apron, and her stance was casual yet confident, a small name tag pinned to her chest. Her slim figure and no-nonsense demeanor gave her an air of quiet strength, but her eyes carried a subtle warmth, softened under the dim glow of the streetlight.

As she fished around in the pocket of her apron, she pulled out a cigarette and a lighter, poised to indulge in a moment of relief, savoring her hard-earned break. Just as she raised the cigarette to her lips, a small hand darted in, snatching it away.

"What\'s the big idea?" she protested, her gaze darting down—only to meet the familiar, serious expression of her son.

"Mum, would it kill you to quit smoking?" he asked, his voice steady, his dark eyes holding a look far older than his years.

For a brief moment, surprise flickered across her face. Then, with a sigh and a soft smile, Mekala dropped down, pulling her son into a tight embrace.

"Mark!" Mekala\'s voice was warm, almost pleading, as she tightened her embrace around her son.

"Mum… can\'t… breathe…" Mark protested, squirming free from his mother\'s affectionate grip. Her hugs, though loving, sometimes bordered on being nearly bone-crushing.

A surprised laugh escaped her as she loosened her hold, brushing his messy hair with her fingers. "When did you get here? Shouldn\'t you be at home, sleeping?" she asked, her voice tinged with both surprise and motherly concern.

Mark held out a worn brown jacket, the one she always forgot on her late shifts. "You forgot this. Again." He offered it with a deadpan expression, eyebrows raised as if chastising her.

Mekala flushed a little, realizing how often her son had to step in to take care of her. She gave a playful grin and pinched his cheeks gently, her tone teasing as she replied, "Hey, don\'t start parenting me, kid. I\'m the grown-up here, remember?"

Mark crossed his arms, giving her an unimpressed look. "Then don\'t forget your jacket. At least try not to get a cold," he scolded, sounding every bit like the responsible adult she often claimed to be.

Feigning a look of utter defeat, Mekala held a hand to her chest, her eyes mockingly teary. "Oh no, how will I survive such a stern lecture? My heart!" she teased, making Mark roll his eyes, though he couldn\'t help the small smile that tugged at his lips.

As they shared a laugh, Mekala hoisted him off the garbage bin he\'d been sitting on, noticing the book he quickly stuffed into his bag. She glanced at him, eyebrows raised in silent question.

Mark cleared his throat, trying to hide his excitement. Today was special, even if his mom seemed blissfully unaware—her birthday. He had a surprise for her back home, something he\'d saved up for weeks to buy, hoping to make her day unforgettable.

"Wanna grab a pizza before we head back?" Mekala offered, hands already digging into her apron pocket for loose change.

But Mark stifled a yawn, making her chuckle. "Oh, right," she teased, ruffling his hair. "I forgot you\'re still a kid."

Mark huffed, used to her playful jabs, though secretly thrilled that his mom was in high spirits. It made his plan all the more meaningful, and he could hardly contain the anticipation bubbling up inside him. Mekala was his world, his entire reason for being, and he wanted to give back in any way he could. Despite the hardships they faced, she\'d always managed to raise him with warmth and love, even in their modest circumstances.

Turning towards her moped, a bulky but trusty vehicle she had kept running despite its many quirks, Mekala pulled the cover off and folded it neatly before tucking it into the compartment. She grabbed a helmet from the back and handed it to Mark.

"Here, put this on," she said, watching him with a smile as he adjusted the helmet over his head. It was slightly too big, wobbling a bit with each adjustment.

Seeing him struggle, she chuckled and knelt down to help him. "Hold still," she murmured, fastening the helmet strap under his chin.

"Mum," he mumbled, half-complaining, but there was a warmth in his eyes she hadn\'t noticed.

"Quit whining," she replied, laughing softly. She stood up, giving him a thumbs-up when he looked at her through the visor. Mark\'s face was partially hidden, but she could tell from his sparkling eyes that he was hiding a grin. He couldn\'t wait to see the look on her face when they got home. He had everything set up perfectly—a small cake, a simple card, and a little gift he had spent days picking out.

But then… something changed. His smile began to fade as a strange shadow loomed at the far edge of the alley. Mark\'s heart skipped a beat. A figure stepped forward from the darkness, moving with menacing deliberation.

In an instant, there was a sickening sound—a dull

thud

that echoed off the alley walls. Mekala collapsed to the ground, her body folding like a marionette with cut strings.

"MUM!" Mark\'s voice shattered the silence, raw and terrified.

Standing over her, a man in a heavy coat with a bandana covering his nose sneered, swinging a blood-stained bat as if it were a toy. He turned his gaze to Mark, his eyes narrowed in cruel satisfaction.

"Damn brat," he muttered, swinging the bat toward him. Before Mark could react, the blow struck his chin, and he felt himself lifted off the ground, his body twisting in the air before landing roughly a few inches away. Pain exploded through his face, but the shock dulled everything else. He could hardly process what was happening. The entire world seemed to tilt, blurring at the edges.

"Score," the man muttered, eyeing Mekala\'s moped with greedy satisfaction. He moved toward it, hands running over its handlebars like it was his prize, not even sparing a glance at the two crumpled bodies behind him.

Through the haze of pain, Mark clung to consciousness, his vision tunneling. All he could think of was his mother—her laughter, her gentle teasing, her unwavering strength despite everything. Now, she lay silent and unmoving, her face partially obscured by shadows. The sight stabbed through his heart, splintering his soul with each passing second.

Just as he felt himself slipping away, a warm hand touched his, pulling him back. He blinked, his vision clearing just enough to see Mekala, her eyes barely open, her face pale yet determined. She was battered and weak, but somehow, she was still holding on.

"Mark…" she whispered, her voice faint but filled with an unmistakable strength, a desperate resolve to keep him safe.

Her fingers curled around his, their grip trembling yet steadfast, as if willing him to find strength through her own. Mark felt something stir deep within him—a raw, fierce determination fueled by his love for her.

"I\'m here, Mum," he croaked, his voice barely a whisper, fighting back the darkness creeping over him. He wanted to scream, to chase the attacker away, to shield her from everything that had hurt her. But his body wouldn\'t obey, and every breath felt like dragging himself up from an abyss. Experience new stories with m v|-NovelBin.net

The man returned, bat resting casually on his shoulder as he laughed under his breath, savoring their helplessness. He moved towards them, eyes glinting with malice, completely unbothered by the pain he had inflicted.

Mark\'s vision began to blur again, but he forced himself to stay present, to hold onto the last bit of consciousness that his mother\'s touch had reignited. In his mind, he screamed for help, for someone, anyone, to come and save them. But the alley remained cold and indifferent, a silent witness to their suffering.

Mekala\'s lips moved, forming words he couldn\'t quite hear, but her gaze was locked onto his, fierce and unyielding. Even on the brink of collapse, she was still there for him, still giving him her strength.

With his final bit of awareness, Mark squeezed her hand back, a silent promise that he\'d hold on, that he wouldn\'t let go. For her, he would fight the

darkness

, would cling to the

light

, even as everything else faded away.

As the man laughed and moved closer, Mark\'s world began to darken again, the alley spinning into oblivion. But in that final moment, he felt the warmth of his mother\'s love, and it anchored him, filling him with a resilience that even the depths of despair couldn\'t extinguish.