[center][h2][b]Reflections[/b][/h2][/center]

[hr]

It played out in his head again and again.  Every time he drew the arrow, every time he lined up his shot, and every time he froze.  The pain he’d experienced after that was long gone, and he didn't even bear a scratch to tell of it, but each time he relived the experience in his mind he felt it.  The searing heat, the force of the blast, the crash into the water.  His body tensed and his breath grew laboured as he remembered.

It was a horrid experience.  In some ways it reminded him of the memories Mother had imparted to him, but in others it was new.  New, and harrowing.  To remember an injury was one thing, but to know that injury was something that happened to him and not another?  To know it was his fault.  The winged man grit his teeth and held his face in his hands.

Each time he revisited the memory he tried to discern what had stayed his hand, and each time he realized he already knew.  The endless repetition was little more than desperate masochism.  He didn’t shoot because he, even after seeing all the destruction it had wrought, simply didn’t want to shoot.  He didn’t want to kill.

It was a sentiment at odds with his very purpose, his reason for being.  He relieved the memories not in a quest to understand his action, but in the hope he’d recall some detail that would absolve him.  He failed to act, and people died.  He nearly died.  Surely there was some other reason, some mitigating factor.

Of course, on some level, Akam knew there wasn’t.  He had made a choice, and both he and others had paid for it.  He had been unable to do the one thing he existed to do.  He was a failure.  Perhaps that was the real reason why he had stayed in the little room, remembering.  The mere physical pain he’d ensured was insufficient punishment for what he’d done, what he’d failed to do.

A knock at the door distracted him from his dour musings.  He didn’t reply, but it made no difference.  The knock was merely a warning, and a moment later Mother stepped into the room.  She wore an expression of worry, but she didn’t waste time asking him how he was.  She knew.

Akam sighed, and greeted her, “Mother.”

“Akam,” She sat on the bed beside him and half heartedly embraced him with one arm.  He didn’t shy away, but he didn’t lean in either.  After all, who was he to deserve affection?  He’d failed Mother, and more besides.

The two sat there for a time, and Akam began to wonder why Mother, a [i]Goddess[/i], was so content to waste time in her effort to comfort him.  She had responsibilities, and yet she was here.  With him.  He almost felt worse for it.  His failure was so absolute it was occupying her time, and between the two of them she was undoubtedly the one whose time mattered.

Eventually that train of thought reached a head and he blurted, “Why?”

Asceal eyed him, and for a moment he wondered if she’d bothered to read his mind.  If she did, it didn't show when she asked, “Why what Akam?”

The wing man shrugged off her arm and stood.  He looked down at his mother and very nearly yelled, “Why are you here!?  I failed.  You made us to serve a purpose and I couldn’t, I can’t.  Why are you wasting your time on me?”

For a moment the glowing Goddess was silent, the only indication of her understanding presenting as a slight widening of her eyes.  She opened her mouth and hesitated before speaking, “Because you’re my son, Akam.  No time I spend with you is wasted, ever.”

Akam wanted to scream at her for that, but his words turned to ash in his mouth when he looked at her.  There was no pity in her eyes, only concern.  Even now, even when he was shouting at her because of the things [i]he’d[/i] done, she didn’t think he was worthless.  When he managed to speak again it was barely a whisper, “I failed you, I failed them.  They’re burning in the pyres because of me Mother, how can I be your son?”

She held out a hand and gently pulled him back to sit on the bed when he took it.  She looked into his eyes and spoke with a somber conviction, “We all fail Akam.  You’ve seen my failures, but you don’t wonder how I can be your mother do you?  You’re my son because I made you, I love you, and nothing can change that.  As for purpose…”  The Goddess pursed her lips, “I once told someone that we’re more than what we’re meant to do Akam.  Failure to fulfill your purpose doesn’t imply that [i]you[/i] are a failure.”

The winged man took his time, letting the words sink in.  Eventually he slumped and leaned into his mother, who pulled him in with both arms.  Tears began to fall from his eyes, “But what if it happens again Mother?  I couldn’t do it this time and people died.  What if I can’t shoot next time?  Will Eline die?  What about Makab?  I didn’t want to kill, and people died because of it.”

Asceal held him and spoke softly, “Nobody should want to kill, Akam.  That you were there, that you had the choice and didn’t, that isn’t failure.  It’s proof you’re good.”  She sighed, “But you’re not wrong.  Your siblings will need to rely on you Akam.  I won’t force you to fight, nobody will [i]make[/i] you to do that, but if you want my opinion?  If you choose to rejoin your brother and sister you won't hesitate again.  I didn’t.”

Akam wiped the tears from his face and straightened his back before returning the embrace.  He eventually let go and nodded, “I.. I’ll trust you, then.”

The Goddess smiled weakly, “You value life Akam, perhaps more than most gods.  That will always be a good thing, I think.  Your siblings will need you for that as much as for your bow.  You’ve learned all you need to about the consequences of killing, and choosing not to.”  

“Thank you,” Akam spoke with a mote of new confidence.  His insides still felt tangled, his throat swollen, but in his mother's words he found some stability.  Solid ground, an island in a stormy sea.  It wasn’t much.

But it was enough.

[hr]

[hider=Summary]
Akam struggles with feelings of guilt and failure.
Asceal helps him out.
He feels better by the end.[/hider]