"One day my father, he told me:
Son, don't let it slip away
When I was just a kid I heard him say
When you get older
Your wild heart will live for younger days
Think of me if ever you're afraid."—The Nights; Avicii.
Gongaga, [ μ ] – εуλ 1997
The atrium of Gongaga was sheltered with a chorus of green. Wild souls singing the hymn of their own, each in different chords that were as tangible to the heart than the eyes. A young dark-haired boy rubbed the dirt on his face with the hem of his shirt. A small squirrel wiggled its bushy tail with widened eyes as if it was concerned with how the little boy seemed to be so high up the tree, hesitantly pushing its hind legs to crawl along the branches.
The boy beamed as if the squirrel was yet another friend he happened to meet twenty feet off the ground. "Superhero Zack Fair on the job! Look! The reactor is right over there!"
The squirrel squeaked, its tail wagging furiously in excitement pretending to understand what the boy was saying. But it clearly didn't when it made no effort to look at the direction he was pointing.
The boy blinked, noticing the lack of growling and teeth chattering he was accustomed to upon meeting new squirrels. "Hey! We've met before!" he reached out to the squirrel to give it a small stroke on the head. "That's the reactor! We're getting there! Let's go and save the town!"
The boy vaulted to another branch followed by the noises from the squirrel, which was drowned amongst the chirping of the birds across the jungle. But upon the next leap, the chirping of the squirrel got shriller—maybe out of worry, maybe to call for help from the nearby villagers—as the boy's grip slipped off sending him tumbling down the layers of canopies before hitting the cold hard ground.
When the villagers complained about how the electricity was cut off and the machines were not working, which was probably caused by the malfunction of the mako reactor, Zack had decided to help investigate the said energy source. He saw it in superhero movies—the hero would find a switch and the reactor will work again and save the town. Zack thought it was finally his time to make his dream come true. He wanted to be like those heroes in the stories. Even if it was just as simple as making their life easier—like making the reactor operate again. Or at least he thought it was simple.
Clearly, nursing his wounds after the fall twenty feet above the ground—scratches, bruises, and open wounds—, the mission was not that simple. And as if the physical wounds weren't enough, once the villagers brought him back for some patches, his mother had come hounding him for his imprudent nature.
So here he was, snuffling his sobs late into the night as he curled up on his bed, staring out the window. His arms, legs, and cheeks were freshly bandaged with the help of the village doctor—luckily, the canopies cushioned him quite well preventing anything from being broken. His teary eyes dried up long ago. Yet he realized it wasn't the pain he was crying about. It was probably because of his mother's scolding that he bawled himself out. The pain of being reprimanded. The pain of being a disappointment. The pain of being useless.
His eyes dropped down to the newspaper cut he kept from a few weeks ago. A young man probably in his early twenties dressed in an immaculate black suit adorned the black-and-white photo, a gun in his hand. The scribbles around the photo were singing praises of the man upon discovering a group of smugglers at the black market, as well as connecting shreds of evidence that lead to the case of kidnapped soldiers. That man was a hero.
Zack, himself, was nothing.
A soft knock on the door of his bedroom pulled his attention back to reality. He rubbed his pajama sleeves across his face in a futile effort to dry up his remaining tears, just to have his snot smear his cheek instead. His father appeared the moment the door pushed open, and the crinkles on his face seemed to crack into prominence with his smile.
"Figured you're awake," his father said, approaching his bed before sitting across him, facing the newspaper cut. "You always have your adrenaline rush after injuring yourself."
"I'm not weak," he almost pouted at the apprehensive tone of his father.
"I never said you are," his father shrugged.
Zack sniffled once, letting a short moment of silence enveloped the both of them. "I just wanted to help. It would help mom a great deal too."
"I know you had good intentions. I never once doubted that," his father nodded firmly. "You're a good son, Zack. You always try your best to do good and curtailed the bad. I can never be prouder of you."
The cajolery seemed to make the thirteen-year-old boy even glummer. "Mom doesn't seem to feel the same. She probably thinks I'm a burden."
"Now, son, I can vouch for her that's not true," his father gave him a reproachful look. "Your mother may nag, but she only does that out of love for you."
Zack didn't reply to that. Because despite his rebellious fit against his mother's earful lecture, he still acknowledged the fact that she was always the one who would make sure he was loved—safe, warm, heard. She always listened to him. Whenever he had something in his mind, it was his mother who would come to him and prompted him with "tell me what happened". Except at these situations when his own mother was the root cause, in which his usually quiet father would step in.
And yet, there was a certain limit to freedom that Zack had noticed to be more perceptible with his mother lately. Mainly in the form of dangerous activities. Which was his biggest problem because superheroes were supposed to fight for justice.
"She wants you to grow up healthy, Zack," his father continued after some moments passed by. "We tried to have you for eight years. It wasn't easy for us. The both of us were happy beyond possible when the doctor confirmed to us that you were conceived. You were perfect—still are. Energetic. Full of smiles. You weren't a difficult baby to take care of either."
That was news to him. He knew his parents were married long before he was born. But he was only thirteen. He never had such serious talk about his own existence up until now.
"She can be overwhelming, but please forgive her for loving you too severely," his father finished with a small warm smile.
Zack softened at the story. He never hated his parents in the first place. He just hoped they could understand his dream.
So he decided to confide. "But I'm not a baby anymore, dad. I'm thirteen years old. I have a dream. I want to be a hero. The one that can help the villagers."
"That's why you went to the reactor?"
He nodded tentatively.
"I don't doubt your judgment had you chosen your path, son. But do you even know how the reactor works?" his father asked skeptically.
Zack blinked in his innocence. "A switch?"
His father laughed. "And you think Shinra built such a big thing with only a switch? I'd bet my money there was a whole lot of security system inside."
Zack pondered on that statement for a minute before looking back on the newspaper cut laid forgotten on his bed. "What if I join Shinra? That way I'll be able to reach more reactors around the world! And I can be a hero and save more people!"
"That's your dream?"
"To be a hero!" Zack nodded, this time more firmly.
His father hummed, not affirming his decision. And Zack felt slightly deflated at what was whirling around his father's mind. "Mom wouldn't allow it?"
"She wouldn't. It's too dangerous," his father agreed. "But hey, you have a dream, Zack. And my point still stands; I am proud of you. I'm confident you'll be fine with whichever path you'll choose."
Zack's expression beamed noticeably through the dark moonlit room. "You allow me to go?"
"We will all die someday. I want you to live a life you wouldn't regret. There are so many things we don't know in life. If you're firm with what you believe is right, then you're set to discover something great. Someday, when you get older, you'll look back and be thankful for your younger self for setting off on that adventure. And if, by any chance, you failed—" his father's hand gripped his shoulder in reassurance. "Then you're welcome back home any time."
He didn't want to fail. Even if he did, he'll try again. He could feel his spirit burning at the prospect of both, the freedom, and the safety net his parents provided. He could try—again and again. And if for whatever reasons he didn't feel like continuing, he could return—anytime.
The following morning, his mother discovered an empty bedroom with two pieces of paper on her son's bed—a newspaper cut and a paper with messy handwriting saying "sorry, mom, I want to join Soldier and be a hero. Don't worry about me".
Gongaga, [ ν ] – εуλ 0007
The party who left their house was quirky if Mr. Fair had to describe them. Particularly the green-eyed beauty dressed in pink. It was as if they knew who Zack was. And yet, none of them could provide them any answer. The blonde guy, in particular, didn't seem to know anything about their only son despite being in Soldier. Had they been indifferent, Mr. Fair would've believed that Zack never made it to Soldier, and probably never gave up. Because he made it clear to Zack that he can return had he failed. And he didn't want to entertain the idea that Zack decided not to turn to them when he was at rock bottom.
But the travelers weren't acting indifferent. They were acting strange, in a way he couldn't exactly put his hand into. In fact, the pink-clad girl looked more broken than impassive.
"They didn't know him," Mrs. Fair's voice faltered. His wife had always hoped, always waited.
"Do you remember a few months ago when a red-haired Turk came to our house? The one you thought was his girlfriend?" he mulled over. "I just don't think our house was warranted a visit by a Turk if Zack had nothing to do with it. Especially since the mako reactor was broken and abandoned over five years ago."
His wife's face mashed into confusion. "What are you saying?"
Mr. Fair was quiet for a while, before reaching out to a cupboard by the dining area and opened it to reveal an old newspaper cut and a messy handwritten note. The same ones Zack had left for them ten years ago—still well kept. His old fingers were slightly shaky, but he picked the old photo anyway. The image of a dark long-haired guy donned in an identical black suit with the red-haired lady stared back at him gloriously, a birthmark was seen on his forehead.
His puzzle pieces weren't even comprised of half the image. But he could see the silhouette nonetheless—the Turks visit, the pink-clad lady, the ex-Soldier, and his parties. He wasn't sure what exactly happened to his son. But he was damn sure Zack made it to Soldier, and probably did discover the truth after all.
Mr. Fair's lips carved into a small melancholic smile. "You did come back, right, son?"
He probably wouldn't find out what happened—especially with Shinra's tendency to keep their affairs private. But he took solace in the fact that his son still believed in them enough to seek after them. They were still one of his safety nets, still one of those he trusted. Even if his wife might not find out.
He couldn't tell her anyway.
Not because of guilt—he was still proud of his son. But out of uncertainty.
Perhaps one day, they would find out about it. Perhaps one day, he would return.
Even if neither happened, he trusted his son enough to know Zack had done his best. And for such, he was proud.