Chapter 44: Finding Yourself
Lars stood in the middle of the Coral Peacocks' training grounds, his chest heaving with a barely contained frustration. The recent revelations about his Mind Magic weighed heavily on him, twisting and darkening his thoughts. He clenched his fists, trying to steady himself, but the pent-up anger demanded release.
"Everyone here," Lars ordered, his voice harsher than he intended. "Outside. I want you all to face me in battle. Now."
Russell, standing with arms crossed, arched a brow, a sceptical smirk on his face. "So, the brilliant newbie wants to go up against his squad?" he said with a hint of mockery. "Sure you're ready for this, Lars? Don't get upset when we don't go easy on you."
Lars' gaze was intense. "I don't want easy. I need real."
Without waiting for further protests, he activated his magic. A wave of shimmering energy pulsed outward, gripping his squadmates in a brief moment of disorientation. The magical interference hit their senses with precision, rattling their focus just enough for Lars to take control of the battle from the very beginning.
Elijah, his fiery spirit now ignited, was the first to react. "Wildfire Magic: Scorching Crescent!" He sent an arc of flames hurtling toward Lars, who sidestepped with practiced ease. But before he could counter, Yul lunged from the other side, his Steel Magic flaring to life.
"Steel Magic: Iron Fist!" Yul's massive steel fist came crashing down, aiming to pin Lars in place.
Lars narrowed his eyes, casting a spell in a cold, calculated tone. "Mind Magic: Infinite Thought Shield." A shimmering barrier appeared, deflecting Yul's strike with a pulse of mental energy that sent him and Elijah reeling backward.
"Is that all?" Lars challenged, his voice low, a dangerous edge to it that none of them had heard before.
Russell, grimacing at the sight, gritted his teeth. "Dust Magic: Dust Veil!" A thick cloud of dust erupted around Lars, intending to block his vision and stifle his breathing. But Lars didn't hesitate.
"Mind Magic: Infinite Thought Shield." A protective barrier flared to life around him, deflecting the dust as it surged forward. Lars pushed through the veil, stepping toward Russell. He raised a hand, and with a steely look, activated his next spell. "Mind Magic: Kraftvoller Gedankenstoß!" A torrent of concentrated mental energy erupted from his hand, sweeping across the ground and slamming into Russell. The impact sent him tumbling backward, his entire body seized by the powerful blow. He hit the ground, dazed, his body throbbing with pain as he gasped for breath, struggling to pull himself up.
A loud ringing filled the air as Ezequiel stepped up, his hands glowing with the power of his spell. "Sound Magic: Sonic Surge!" Vibrations tore through the training grounds, the sound assaulting Lars' ears and threatening to disrupt his focus.
But Lars kept his composure, allowing his magic to surge through his mind. He forced his thoughts to remain steady despite the noise. With a flick of his wrist, he retaliated. "Mind Magic: Resonant Concussion." A mental wave burst out, targeting Ezequiel's ears with precision. The force of the mental attack sent Ezequiel staggering, clutching his head in pain, his own magic wavering as the sound turned against him, disorienting him and sending him stumbling backward.
Sharya attempted to capitalise on Lars' focus being diverted. "Clone Magic: Doppelganger Blitz!" she called, creating several identical copies of herself that surrounded Lars from all sides, each one preparing to attack.
Lars narrowed his eyes, evaluating each clone. With a sharp intake of breath, he activated another spell. "Mind Magic: Telekinetic Sweep!" A circular, sweeping burst of mental energy cascaded outward from his naginata, tearing through the clones as if sensing their lack of real presence. They shattered one by one, each copy dissipating in a flash. In an instant, Lars was in front of the real Sharya. His eyes flashed with intensity as he raised a hand. "You're done." A quick mental pulse stunned her, leaving her disoriented as she fell to her knees, breathing heavily, her gaze dazed.
Yul stepped forward once more. He tightened his fist, his eyes steeling. "Steel Magic: Iron Clad!" His entire body hardened, his muscles transforming into iron, creating a nearly impenetrable defence.
Lars met Yul's challenge without hesitation. "Mind Magic: Kraftvoller Gedankenstoß!" A surge of concentrated mental power struck Yul with a force that shattered his steely defence, sending tremors through his hardened form. Yul staggered, forced to one knee as the impact left him weakened, his own magic faltering as he struggled to stay upright.
With every member of his team beaten, Lars took a step back, his breathing heavy, his eyes dark and clouded with emotion. His squadmates lay around him, bruised and beaten, struggling to get up after his ruthless onslaught.
Russell, clutching his side and still winded, stared up at Lars, his expression filled with a mix of confusion and anger. "What the hell was that, Lars?" he demanded. "You… you've never fought like that before. Why did you even call us out here?"
Lars looked down, his face tense, his emotions raw. "There's something you all need to know. About my magic." He swallowed, his voice wavering with a mixture of bitterness and vulnerability. "My Mind Magic… it was modified. Changed by someone… not for my own benefit, but for theirs. It was my own father!"
His squadmates, still catching their breath, looked at him in stunned silence.
Lars continued, his voice thick with frustration and uncertainty. "I can do things with it that are… different. Dangerous. I've spent years wondering what this magic makes me. For years, I thought I was unique. I thought I was…special. And I still am, just not in the way I thought it was.
Lars took a deep breath, facing his squadmates. "But now I wonder if it changes who I am, if it makes me less of a person."
He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze steady but his voice betraying the weight of the question hanging over him. "Does it?"
He sank to his knees, his once-confident facade shattered. The fierce determination he had shown in battle was gone, replaced by raw vulnerability as he broke down. Yul stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and one by one, the rest of the Coral Peacocks joined him. Even the spectators—those members of the Coral Peacocks who hadn't been fighting—gathered around in quiet support. Even Ximena, who he hadn't gotten off to the best start with, and Amaryllis, who usually looked down on him, stood in solidarity with him, watching as his tears fell freely onto the ground.
Lars finally spoke, his voice raw and cracking with emotion. "I'm sorry… I'm being ridiculous. You must all think I'm being silly."
"You don't get to dictate what I think about you, Mertens." It was Ximena's voice, and she stood there with a look of quiet fury, like she was sharing Lars's burden. More articulate than usual, she began her speech again, her fist vibrating with barely contained anger. "No one should ever have to have gone through what you did. Magic is not something for us humans to play God with. It's sacred and… ARGH!"
She punched the ground, making it shake. Lars stood up.
"You don't have to be so angry for my sake, Ximena," he said, his eyes still red-rimmed with crying.
"On the contrary, I do," the earth magic user fiercely interjected. "What your father did to you… that's horrible!"
"Agreed," Sharya said, her deep blue eyes blazing with a righteous anger. "It's like you were living a lie. That's borderline manipulation!"
"Not borderline, it is!" Yul yelled. "And a bunch of other criminal charges as well! We should incarcerate him for that."
"I prefer to incinerate," Elijah said, his knuckles crackling with sparks.
Lars, seeing the support that his teammates were giving him, had his spirits lifted. He smiled for the first time in what had felt like ages, all weight the question he'd been asking himself had on him lifted…
…or so he thought.
…
That night, Lars began to dream.
In the depths of sleep, he found himself standing in a familiar yet twisted version of his childhood home. The grand halls of the Mertens estate loomed around him, but they were shrouded in darkness, with tendrils of shadow clinging to the ornate walls, twisting and writhing like sentient smoke. His footsteps echoed in the silence, each step amplifying his unease as he moved through the distorted corridors.
Ahead, a faint glow pulsed, drawing him deeper into the shadows. Lars walked toward it, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and curiosity. When he reached the source of the light, he froze.
Before him stood a version of himself—a younger Lars, perhaps around ten years old. But the child's eyes were vacant, his face devoid of emotion. Instead, there was something eerie and hollow about him, like he was more a doll than a person. This younger Lars raised a hand and spoke, his voice cold and monotone, echoing through the darkness.
"Is this who you wanted to be, Lars? A puppet for someone else's ambitions?"
The question lingered in the air, and as it did, the shadows seemed to deepen, creeping closer around them. Lars opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, a heavy silence settled over him, as if something unseen was smothering his voice.
From the darkness, his father's voice emerged, smooth and commanding. "My son, you were always destined for greatness. I gave you the power you needed. Aren't you grateful?"
The words felt like a chill settling into his bones. Lars tried to back away, but the shadows latched onto him, binding him in place. His father's silhouette materialised in front of him, towering, his face obscured by darkness, save for piercing, watchful eyes.
"You wouldn't be here without me," his father said, his voice low and dangerous, each word twisting into Lars' mind like a knife. "Every spell, every victory—it's all because of what I gave you. Your Mind Magic… it's mine. Don't ever forget it."
Lars felt an anger boiling inside him, a defiance that he could barely contain. He forced himself to meet his father's gaze, struggling against the weight of the words pressing down on him. "No. My magic… my life… It belongs to me. Not to you."
The shadows began to tremble, as though Lars' resistance had sent a ripple through the darkness. But his father only laughed, his voice dark and condescending. "Does it? Do you truly believe that?" His father reached out a hand, and Lars felt something cold coil around his mind, twisting, probing deeper. "Everything you are is my design. Every thought, every feeling… all the power you wield, it's mine."
The grip around Lars' mind tightened, and suddenly he felt his own spells slipping out of his control, as if they had minds of their own. Grand Catharsis erupted without his command, sending shockwaves through the dark hall, yet the shadows only laughed, absorbing the spell and growing stronger.
"You can't control your own power," his father taunted, his form now towering over Lars. "You're nothing more than a tool—a weapon forged in my image. Nothing more."
Lars fell to his knees, feeling small, powerless, as though the very essence of who he was was slipping away. But just as he was about to give in to despair, a voice—strong and resolute—cut through the darkness.
"Dream Magic: Dreamweaver," the voice whispered softly.
In an instant, everything - the Mertens estate, the doll like Lars, his father's overwhelming intensity - disappeared, and there was calm inside Lars's mind, or rather, inside Dorothy's dreamscape. They were in Glamour World now, and she sat perched on a floating armchair.
"I would have never thought that Mind Magic users could be susceptible to bad dreams," Dorothy Unsworth said, a slight twinkling quality to her voice, like wind chimes. "Welcome back to Glamour World, Lars. Actually, I've brought Glamour World to you."
She looked down, and her eyes darkened with worry as she saw Lars shaking violently on the ground. She leapt down from her perch as she rested a comforting hand on his back.
"I'm here for you, Lars," Dorothy said. The mind mage looked up, an expression of pure sadness on his face.
"Even in my dreams, I can't escape myself," Lars said, his hands shaking as he addressed his captain.
Dorothy knelt beside him, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. The ethereal glow of Glamour World bathed them both, casting a soft, dreamlike light over the scene. She watched him with eyes that held an understanding deeper than words.
"Lars," she began, her voice calm and steady, "you don't have to face this alone. Even here, in the darkest parts of yourself, you have allies. Your mind may feel like a prison right now, but remember, even walls can be broken down."
Lars looked away, his expression twisted with pain. "But this… this feeling—it's suffocating. The power I have, the magic I wield… it feels like it's not even mine. I can't tell where I end and my father's ambitions begin."
Dorothy's gaze softened. "Your magic is yours, Lars. No one else's. The path that brought you here may be shrouded in shadows, but every step you've taken has been your own. Your father may have shaped your beginnings, but he can't dictate who you become."
He clenched his fists, trying to anchor himself in her words. "It's hard to believe that, Captain. Every time I try to take control, to be my own person, it feels like he's there, whispering in my mind, twisting my thoughts. Even my spells… they feel like they're slipping away, like I'm just a puppet."
Dorothy leaned closer, her hand moving to his trembling fists, holding them steady. "Listen to me, Lars," she said, her tone firm yet gentle. "What you're feeling right now is fear. It's natural to be afraid. But fear doesn't own you—you own it. Your father's words may linger, his influence may loom over you, but he's not here. This is your dream, your mind. You can make it whatever you choose."
With a wave of her hand, Dorothy shifted the scene around them. The darkness faded, replaced by a warm, sunlit landscape. Fields of flowers stretched out in all directions, their petals glowing with an inner light that pulsed in time with Lars' heartbeat. He looked around, feeling a slight warmth creeping into his chest, melting away some of the cold dread.
"Here," Dorothy said, gesturing to the field around them. "This is a world born of your dreams, not your father's. His shadows have no place here, Lars. They only have power if you let them."
Lars took a shaky breath, feeling the warmth spreading, grounding him in this strange, comforting place. For a moment, he could almost believe her words. Almost. But a lingering doubt remained, gnawing at the edges of his mind.
"But what if he's right?" he whispered. "What if everything I am is because of him? The spells I cast, the strength I have—it all comes from a power he forced onto me. What if I really am just a weapon he designed?"
Dorothy's grip on his hands tightened. "Power doesn't define you, Lars. You define it. You've proven that over and over, with every mission, every challenge you've faced. You didn't let that power consume you; you used it to protect, to help others. That choice was yours, and it's what makes you who you are."
He looked up, meeting her steady gaze, and something in her words struck a chord deep within him. The flowers around them seemed to glow a little brighter, the warmth in his chest growing stronger.
Dorothy offered a soft, knowing smile. "You are more than the magic you inherited. You're more than your father's ambitions. And as long as you remember that, he has no power over you. You are Lars Mertens, and that is enough."
A wave of calm washed over him, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt… lighter. The weight of his father's voice, the suffocating grip of doubt—it all seemed to recede, fading into the background like distant echoes.
He managed a small, hesitant smile, gratitude shimmering in his eyes. "Thank you, Captain. I… I don't know what I'd do without you."
Dorothy patted his shoulder reassuringly. "I'll always be here when you need me, Lars. Remember that." She paused, then added, her voice carrying a playful lilt, "But I won't always be pulling you out of bad dreams. Next time, try to find your own way to peace, hmm?"
He chuckled softly, the sound lifting some of the remaining tension from his chest. "I'll try."
With a wave of her hand, Dorothy dispelled the dreamscape, and Lars felt himself slipping back into the quiet comfort of sleep, free from the weight of shadows, at least for tonight.
…
The Coral Peacocks' base was unusually quiet that morning. Lars sat alone in the common area, absentmindedly tracing circles on the table with his finger. Most of his squadmates had left for early missions, patrols or were enjoying days off, leaving the place practically empty. He was alone with his thoughts, the memories of last night's dream still lingering like wisps of smoke in his mind.
The sudden sound of footsteps pulled him from his reverie, and Lars looked up to see Kirsch Vermillion strolling into the room, humming a soft tune to himself. Kirsch paused when he noticed Lars' solemn expression, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow in surprise.
"Ah, Lars!" Kirsch greeted, his voice as flamboyant as ever, but with a hint of genuine curiosity. "Such a dreary look on that young face. This is no way for a Coral Peacock to carry himself! And such a lovely morning, too. Why, you're practically casting a shadow over the beauty of the day."
Lars gave a faint, half-hearted smile. "Sorry, Kirsch. I just… I have a lot on my mind."
Kirsch took a seat across from him, a thoughtful look crossing his face. For a moment, the Vice-Captain's usual flowery demeanour softened, replaced by something more observant, almost understanding. "It seems you're carrying more than the weight of simple worries, my dear friend. Come now, share your troubles with me. A heavy heart is like a cloud that obscures the beauty of one's soul."
Lars hesitated, his gaze drifting down to his hands. He hadn't shared this with anyone yet, and he wasn't sure how Kirsch would react. But something in Kirsch's uncharacteristically gentle tone urged him on.
"It's about my magic… and my father," Lars finally admitted. "My Mind Magic… it wasn't originally like this. My father modified it. He… he wanted to make me stronger, I think, but it's like… it's not really mine. Sometimes, I feel like it's an extension of him, his ambition, more than it is a part of me."
Kirsch's eyes narrowed slightly, though his expression remained poised. "Ah, the curse of family expectations. It's a familiar tale, Lars. But tell me—this magic of yours, this modified gift, does it bring you sorrow? Or perhaps, does it lend you strength?"
Lars took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. "Both, I think. It helps me do things I wouldn't be able to otherwise. But… it feels tainted. Like it's tainted me."
Kirsch leaned back, his gaze drifting to the open window where a gentle breeze carried the scent of cherry blossoms. With a soft gesture, he raised a hand, and a cascade of cherry blossom petals began to drift around them, forming a delicate swirl of pink and white.
"Do you see these cherry blossoms, Lars?" Kirsch asked, his voice soft yet laced with intensity. "Each petal is a unique work of art, fragile and beautiful in its own way. Yet, not a single one is perfect. Some are tinged with the colours of passing time, others carry scars from the wind or rain. But together, they create something exquisite, something breathtaking."
Lars watched as the petals swirled around them, the faint shimmer of Kirsch's magic lending them a gentle, ethereal glow. He could feel the weight of Kirsch's words sinking in, each one wrapping around his heart like a balm.
"Just because something has been altered, shaped by the hands of another, does not diminish its beauty," Kirsch continued, his voice growing softer, almost wistful. "The essence of one's soul is not marred by the touch of another's ambition, Lars. If anything, it only adds to the depth, the complexity of one's beauty. Your magic may have started as something influenced by your father, but every time you wield it, every choice you make—it becomes yours."
Lars swallowed, feeling an unexpected lump in his throat. "But what if it's tainted because of him? What if… what if it makes me tainted, too?"
Kirsch sighed, his gaze as gentle as the falling petals. "Lars, beauty lies in embracing both our strengths and our imperfections. You are not just a reflection of your father's ambitions. You are so much more. Your magic, like these petals, carries marks from the past, yes, but it also carries the beauty of your own spirit."
With a wave of his hand, Kirsch let the cherry blossoms drift down around them, some petals landing on Lars' hands, on his shoulders, as if enveloping him in a comforting embrace. "Each time you use your magic, you infuse it with your own intentions, your own heart. That is what makes it yours. Not its origin, but the way you wield it, the meaning you give it."
Lars felt a warmth spreading through him, like a flicker of light piercing through the shadows of his doubts. Kirsch's words, so uncharacteristically sincere, were beginning to shift something inside him. Maybe he'd been so focused on what his father had done to his magic that he hadn't noticed the ways he'd made it his own.
Kirsch reached out, brushing a stray petal from Lars' shoulder with an almost brotherly gentleness. "You are more than the ambitions of another, Lars. You are a masterpiece of your own making. So, do not waste time questioning whether your magic is pure or tainted. Instead, focus on the beauty of what you can create with it."
For the first time in what felt like days, Lars managed a genuine smile. "Thank you, Kirsch. I… I think I needed to hear that."
Kirsch's usual flamboyant grin returned, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "Of course, my friend! I wouldn't be your Vice-Captain if I couldn't help you see the beauty within yourself. After all, it is my god-given responsibility to cultivate the beauty of everything and everyone around me! Now, remember this: every cherry blossom petal, even the smallest and most fragile, contributes to the grandeur of the bloom. And so do you, Lars."
With one last flourish of petals, Kirsch rose to his feet, his usual haughty confidence back in place. "Now, carry that beauty with you today. And perhaps consider giving me a little praise for my wisdom, hm?" He winked, playfully.
Lars chuckled, the weight on his heart a little lighter. "Sure, Kirsch. I owe you one."
As Kirsch strode off, Lars sat in the quiet aftermath of their conversation, watching the last few petals drift around him. He could feel the numbness beginning to fade.
Lars Mertens was beginning to feel like Lars Mertens again.
A/N: I think it's funny how Lars and Frida reacted in almost EXACTLY the same way. Enjoy your Sunday/Monday evenings, afternoons or mornings, people!