If I'm being completely honest, his cooking was never that good. In fact, if I were to rate it on a scale of one to ten, I'd say his cooking was four out of ten at best. I had eaten better.
But still, there was something about his food that seemed to calm my heart whenever it felt turbulent. It made me feel at peace, and even brought a smile to my face.
A stupid thing to say? I know. What I'm saying sounds dumb? I also know that. But, no matter how dumb it sounded, it was still the truth. And sometimes, the truth was hard to put into words.
In the dining room, I sat on a creaking chair made of rusted metal. There were four chairs here, all surrounding the rectangular, metal dining table.
Old man Craffold sat directly opposite me. His eyes were focused on the plate of food placed on the table in front of him, and his mouth was full, his jaw moving slowly as he chewed.
I took my gaze off of him, staring down at my own food. It was boiled potato and a warm, white soup. The potato was one of the only twenty crops that grew here in the backlands.
The farmers in the farming section had worked hard, day and night, to grow these, along with the other crops that the soils of these rotten lands could grow.
I had once tried to work as a farmer, planting and harvesting crops, or maybe acting as a middleman agent, buying from the farmers and selling the harvested crops to the market men in the male section of the backlands.
But it was all to no avail. I had no backer, no name, and no connection.
Almost every job and everything in these backlands was acquired through connections, no matter how small said connections were.
The only job that did not require connection, backers or even a good reputation was the screwing job at the underground pipelines.
For that job, they paid us a minor sum of 1RI every day. A very meager amount of money. Couldn't even afford the potato I was eating.
Haa. Just thinking about the underground pipelines makes me wanna lose my appetite.
I put a spoonful of soup inside my mouth, swallowing it. It was warm.
This is the life that I have lived. It is what I'd done all my life. Ever since I was eight and in the slum area of the backlands, I'd been fighting to survive. I had fought, I had stolen from people, I had also robbed minor establishments. I had searched for jobs and eventually found one, and I worked.
All for survival. All to afford a daily meal.
And now, out of nowhere, I'm supposed to be a light? A star?
One that'll lead lost humans in the darkness?
Because that was exactly what that memory of my father was pointing to. I just know it. And it was the same thing Li-Song said, even without explicitly stating it.
To rebel. Against, not just the four major gangs of the backlands, but the Spiffs, those monstrous, disgusting alien bastards that have become our rulers.
To rebel against the Spiffian King, the one who regards himself as the King of Earth. An unparalleled being that they call a demi-god.
That's what Li-Song said, that's what the words of my father point to.
And that final name I heard him say amid the glitch? He mentioned Li-Song's name.
Is that it? Is that the connection? I'm right, aren't I?
But how? I can't do anything as grand as that. I have no innate abilities. I have no Til. I'm not a Sparrow, and not even high-ranking Sparrows can accomplish that feat.
Even Old Man Craffold has a Til, although it's a non-combative one, and he isn't at the rank of a sparrow, he still has something. Every other human on Earth does, no matter how small or useless it is.
But I have nothing! I've always had nothing, and I've been comfortable with that all my life.
The whole idea of this rebellion is terrifyingly absurd. Where am I even supposed to sta–
"Why aren't you eating, Stel?" The old man's calm, almost strained voice rang out. The sound of his voice was muffled by the food in his mouth.
My eyes widened, and I raised my head. My head and shoulders had been slumped unconsciously, my eyes had been focused on my plate of food, but I realized that my gaze wasn't there.
I quickly forced a faint smile. I had meant for it to be a bright smile as usual. But instead, it was a bitter smile.
My lips had betrayed me.
"It.. It's nothing. I was just caught up in my thoughts. Thinking about something." I spoke in a firm, reassuring tone. One that'd be sure to melt away the doubt in any man's heart.
"Really?" He asked, this time, his voice was a bit lower.
"Really," I replied, picking up my spoon again.
His eyes weren't on me, they were on his plate of food. He never raised his head high, but somehow, it felt like his brown gaze was still fixated on me.
"Care to share what you've been thinking about? One that's making you.." He paused, sipping a spoonful of soup. "Not to eat."
As he uttered those words, he raised his head. His warm, brown gaze found mine.
I froze at that moment. My smile faded, narrowed eyes remained focused on his, and I clenched my spoon tightly in my hands.
He just watched me, a soft smile present on his face.
Should I tell him?
I blinked.
Yeah, maybe I should…
My lips opened slightly, "I was just thinking… What could be the reason why you've been so kind to me, for the past two years, you've treated me like your own.. like your own son. I'm grateful, truly. But, it's uncharacteristic of the citizens of the backlands." I lied. It's not like I didn't think that. Of course, I did. But, it wasn't the source of my internal turmoil.
His eyes widened subtly. His soft smile slowly cracked as his wrinkled cheeks widened more, until the dimples on them became clearly visible. He began to chuckle softly. Bitterly.
"The reason, Stel, is because, you…"