When morning broke and Charlie’s followers realized Bruno had escaped, men were dispatched in every direction to hunt him down.
Charlie cast a sharp, predatory glare at the young man standing before him, his voice booming through the room: "This is the third time! The third time our prey has slipped through our fingers. If you don't bring him back this time, I will execute all of you!"
The hunt for the runaway ended at one name: Jake.
"You’re saying Jake is responsible? My own son!"
"I am sorry to say this, Leader, but a man confessed he saw Jake helping that fugitive—the former 'Forest Monster'—escape. He was even injured in the process."
"Injured? I did see his cheek wounded. I will verify your claim. If you are lying, if you dare cast accusations upon my heir... you will meet a painful end."
Charlie stormed into his home. Jake was tending to his elderly grandmother—Charlie’s mother—a frail woman whose legs had long since failed her, leaving her confined to a wooden chair. This grandmother was the only one who had nurtured Jake, shaping his speech, his mannerisms, and his morals. He was nothing like his father.
When Charlie entered, Jake approached him dutifully. Charlie, usually pleased by his son’s obedience, spoke in a deceptively calm tone. "You’ve heard about the beast’s escape?"
"Yes, I have. Everyone in the forest is talking about it."
"That man was dangerous. He abducted children and killed them. I only wanted to rid our people of that vermin."
"Father... perhaps you’re wrong. Maybe he’s a good person. We... we don't have proof of those crimes."
"Proof? Where did you learn such things? From the fairy tales that senile old woman tells you?"
"Father... she is your mother. It isn't appropriate to call her senile."
"She doesn't even remember who I am! How else would you describe her?"
From the corner, the old woman rasped in a voice exhausted by years of sorrow, "You are certainly not my son." She repeated the phrase, a haunting mantra.
Charlie looked at Jake. "You hear that?"
"Perhaps it is because you have changed, Father. Since you took over the forest, you’ve become someone else."
"Jake, I’ve had enough. Let me be blunt: Did you help that man escape?"
Tension etched itself onto Jake’s face. He lowered his gaze, his voice firm. "That’s impossible. I would never do such a thing!"
"Then why do you look so terrified?"
Charlie lunged, his hand clamping around Jake’s throat. Jake gasped in agony. "You’re... choking me!"
"Confess, then!"
The old woman shrieked with sudden, piercing clarity: "You are a murderer! You are not my son! Get your hands off Jake! Do you want to kill him just like you killed his mother?!"
Jake’s eyes widened in shock. Charlie’s grip faltered. He turned toward his mother, his face twisting into a mask of fury. "So, you’re not senile after all! You still remember that, don't you?"
He lunged toward her, intent on silencing her forever. "Die!"
But he was stopped by a sharp blade plunging into his arm. It was Jake. He pressed the knife deeper, his eyes burning with pure, unadulterated hatred. He had suspected it. His mother had died a horrific death last year, a tragedy no one dared to whisper about.
Jake twisted the blade, blood spraying across his hands. "You killed my mother... you want to kill my grandmother, you keep killing the innocent..." Jake sobbed, his voice cracking. "Yes! I helped them escape! Do whatever you want to me, but I will never let you kill another innocent person!"
Charlie smiled, then broke into a hysterical, manic laugh. He grabbed the knife, tore it from his own arm, and tossed it aside. Silence stretched through the room for a heartbeat before he whispered, "You will be executed today, my son."
The news rippled through the forest until it reached Bruno. The words struck him like a thunderbolt: The father is executing his own son for treason.
It was the boy who had saved his life.
The execution was to be public and unjust, as Charlie’s brand of justice always was. He gave no weight to the fact that Jake was just a child—a boy who had dared to pursue justice with such raw courage.
As the sun hit its zenith, the time for the execution arrived. A firing squad for a ten-year-old boy. Where was the government? Where were the "human rights" organizations, those institutions built on the backs of the suffering, siphoning money while doing nothing? It felt as if the forest were ruled by starved beasts, not men.
Jake appeared, wearing tattered clothes, and was forced to stand atop a table in the center of the clearing. Charlie loomed nearby. "I have an important announcement before I execute this traitor, this—"
Suddenly, smoke bombs detonated. The area vanished into a thick, choking fog. Bruno’s men opened fire, and chaos consumed the crowd. When the mist finally cleared, the table was empty. Jake was gone.
Jake opened his eyes to find himself cradled in Bruno’s arms. Bruno smiled faintly. "We’re even now, Jake."
Bruno smuggled Jake to the capital, far from Charlie’s reach. There, Jake was taken in by Clarity’s mother, becoming a brother to Clarity himself.
Back to the Present:
The memories played out before Bruno’s eyes as he walked toward Clarity’s house. He had been so blind, making terrible decisions regarding Jake, the boy who had remained by his side like a shadow all these years. He had to fix this before it was too late.
Clarity followed, watching Bruno with growing unease. The Leader knew the truth about Jake and Charlie, but he was acting erratically. Is it dangerous? Or does he just care that much for him?
Clarity stopped at his doorway. Bruno was already there, staring inside. The door was wide open.
"Jake?" Clarity bolted inside.
His heart shattered. The house was a wreck. Furniture splintered, his mother’s clothes scattered, his books torn.
"Where is Jake?" Clarity whispered. Bruno roared Jake’s name, but there was only silence.
Clarity’s heart began to hammer—not just from panic, but from an agonizing pain. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his stomach. Bruno rushed to his side, his voice uncharacteristically frantic. "Get up! We have to find him! This is no time for tears!"
Clarity groaned, sweat beading on his forehead. "What’s wrong? Are you okay?" Bruno pressed, his voice rising in alarm.
Clarity’s breath hitched. "The pain will pass. Go... find Jake."
"What is this pain? Answer me, or I’ll leave you to die here!"
Clarity looked up, his eyes glassy. "Have you always been this... caring, Leader?"
"Stop the evasive games!"
Clarity took a labored breath and leaned back on the sofa. "A tumor in my stomach. That’s the cause."
Bruno froze. The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. He stared at Clarity, then looked away, his expression unreadable. After a long silence, he stood up, his voice brittle. "You seem fine now. I’m going to find Jake."
As he turned to leave, his foot caught on some discarded clothing. He looked down, his gaze landing on a small, shattered photo frame near his boot. He picked it up and wiped the broken glass away.
It was a picture of a tall, handsome man holding a small boy—maybe five years old. It was Clarity, with his long, curly blonde hair.
But Bruno saw something else.
He stared at the image, his voice barely a breath.
"Johan?"
From the shadows behind them, a familiar voice whispered: "Leader?"
Bruno and Clarity spun around in terror. It was Jake.