Rise of the Underdogs: VALIK

II

My earliest memory was of my mom singing. Her voice was soft, a little shaky at times, but the way it curled through the air made even the smallest, coldest parts of our cabin feel less cruel. After that, everything changed. Fast.

I learned quick what hell felt like. The kind that bruised your body and cracked your soul in places you didn’t know existed yet. I hated my life. Hated my sire. Hated the way he treated my mother like she was less than dirt. And I hated knowing that my brother lived under warm light and good people while I stayed locked in a nightmare that threatened to shatter what little sanity I had left every time the wind shifted.

Then came the night that haunted me for the rest of my life. The night my mother was forever silenced.

It wasn’t stormy or dramatic. Just quiet. Too quiet. The kind that crawled down your spine and made the air feel thin. I remember watching shadows stretch along the cabin walls, watching the way Mama stared blankly into the space above the fireplace like she already knew she wouldn’t survive the next few hours.

Her humming had stopped. Her hands trembled when she touched mine, and for the first time, I saw a look in her eyes that scared me more than Austin’s threats. It wasn’t fear. It was goodbye. Just that. Wordless and steady.

When she screamed, it didn’t sound like her. When she stopped, everything else did too.

“Mom?” I whispered, watching as she tried to gather what few belongings we had. Her hands trembled over a faded jacket and cracked leather satchel, stuffing crumpled bills and old ID cards inside like it might somehow matter.

Austin had gone off with his friends, loud and smug, bragging about how Logan wouldn’t know what hit him. His plan to take out my brother was already in motion. But my mother and I had something else planned—freedom.

“We need to run now, Valik. While he’s gone,” she answered, voice low but urgent.

The air in the cabin held that stale weight again, like old smoke and sweat. Then the door slammed open in the next room—hard enough to make dust drop from the rafters. I scrambled to shove a rickety chair under the brass knob, the wood groaning like even it didn’t want to help.

It couldn’t be Austin. He liked being front and center when there was blood to spill. He wouldn’t miss the show.

A voice rang out—not loud, not playful. Just cold and sharp, and it died fast against the rotting wood of our walls. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

“Oh, Gods,” my mother breathed, her voice cracking like it’d run out of places to hide. “It’s one of his men. Valik, baby, I need you to run.”

I grabbed her arm, fingers digging into her thin coat. I searched her eyes for anything—anger, determination, strength. But all I saw was surrender. Deep-sea blue eyes, full of quiet storms, already preparing to drown.

She was ready to die for me. That truth clamped down on my ribs like a vice.

“Mama, no,” I begged, my voice breaking. “Please, Mama. Don’t leave me.”

Her hands found my face, calloused fingertips brushing away the tears as her lips pressed against my forehead. She held me like it was the last time—and we both knew it.

“Honey, listen to me, okay?” she said. Her breath trembled, but her eyes stayed locked on mine. “This is the only way I know to keep you alive, so I need you to run. Go west and keep running. Find him, Valik. Find Logan, trust your brother, and live for me. That’s what I want you to do. I want you to remember me, and live.”

I shook my head, panic clawing up my throat. “What if he kills me, Mama? What if he decides that I look too much like Austin to keep alive?”

Her hands tightened around my face, dirt caught beneath her fingernails from days spent scrubbing blood off the floorboards. “No! Don’t think that way,” she hissed. Her shoulders squared, chin lifting like she still had fight left to spare. “Mariana wouldn’t have raised him to do that, Valik. I promise you, he’s not the kind of person to kill without reason.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” I said. My voice was low, shaky. The fear sat heavy in my chest, thick as wet ash.

Then the cabin shifted.

The man leered through the doorway, his silhouette twisted by the broken frame. He reeked of stale alcohol and smoke, smile curled like he enjoyed watching things rot. “All mine now, bitch.”

“Valik, please, just run!” Her scream cracked through the air, louder than the splitting wood as the door shattered. Sharp splinters exploded across the room, catching the fading light like scattered teeth. He stormed through it like a wolf off its leash, boots heavy and cruel.

Mama didn’t hesitate.

She shoved me toward the window, breath jagged, hands shaking. Her face—mud smeared and etched with worry—was inches from mine as she pushed me through the frame. The wind outside rushed against my skin like it had been waiting for me.

Tears burned my eyes, blurring the world into vague outlines of trees and mud trails.

I ran.

Branches snapped beneath my feet. Leaves slapped my face. My heartbeat pounded so hard it echoed in my ears. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t.

Because she’d asked me to live.