He couldn't make them go away.
No matter how hard he willed it, no matter how much he wanted to forget, the shadow clung to him—a reminder of what he'd unleashed.
Outside, the sun was setting, casting long orange rays through the broken window. Dust floated in the air, catching the light. The faint sound of distant sirens echoed beyond the school grounds, mixing with the hushed murmurs of teachers and emergency responders.
But Ron heard none of it.
He only heard the sound of chains rattling softly in his mind.
He raised his shadowed hand higher, watching the way the darkness shifted across his skin. It didn't feel like his hand anymore. It felt like something else. Something that wasn't fully him.
A memory stirred.
A flicker of warmth in the cold.
A flashback.
He was younger. Maybe ten, maybe eleven. The summer air was humid, thick with the scent of earth after rain. Ron stood in the garden of an old countryside house, surrounded by rows of vegetables and fruit trees. Fireflies blinked lazily in the evening light.
"Ron, come over here," a voice called.
He turned.
His grandfather sat on the wooden porch, a cup of tea resting beside him, his cane propped against the railing. The old man's face was lined with age, but his eyes still held a sharp, stubborn gleam—a fire that hadn't dimmed despite the passing years.
Ron padded over, barefoot on the grass, and climbed up onto the porch steps. He sat beside his grandfather, hugging his knees.
"Did you have fun helping in the garden today?" his grandfather asked.
Ron nodded shyly. "Yeah."
The old man chuckled softly. He reached out, ruffling Ron's hair with a gnarled hand. "That's good. Hard work builds strong roots. Just like those trees out there."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the distant croak of frogs and the rustling of leaves in the warm breeze.
Then his grandfather spoke again, quieter this time.
"Ron, I want to tell you something important."
Ron turned to look up at him.
His grandfather's gaze was distant, watching the sun sink behind the hills.
"This world isn't always kind. It isn't always fair. People will hurt you. Life will knock you down more times than you can count. But…" He paused, his lips curling into a soft, wistful smile. "That's part of what makes it beautiful."
Ron frowned. "Beautiful?"
"Yes." The old man looked at him now, his eyes sharp and steady. "Because every time you fall, every time you struggle, you're given a chance. A chance to stand up again. To grow stronger. To change yourself into someone who can carry on, no matter what the world throws at you."
Ron hugged his knees tighter. "But what if I can't stand up?"
His grandfather chuckled again, a low, warm sound. "Then crawl. If you can't crawl, then reach. If you can't reach, then hold on. Do whatever it takes, Ron. Just don't let go."
The old man leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"One day," he said softly, "you're going to face things that scare you. Things that make you want to run and hide. But I want you to be brave. Even if you're shaking. Even if your heart's pounding in fear. Be brave, Ron. Face your troubles head-on."
He ruffled Ron's hair again, his touch gentle.
"Promise me that, okay?"
Ron hesitated.
Then nodded slowly.
"Okay, Grandpa."
The memory faded.
Ron's hand lowered back into his lap, still cloaked in shadow. He stared at it, his chest tight, his throat burning with unshed words.
"I… tried," he whispered.
The words tasted bitter.
"I really tried."
But he hadn't been brave.
Not when the bullies cornered him.
Not when the teachers turned a blind eye.
Not when his parents' voices rang with disappointment, telling him he wasn't enough.
He'd run.
He'd hidden.
He'd let the fear win.
And now… he'd unleashed something he couldn't control.
"I'm sorry, Grandpa," he murmured, his vision blurring. "I couldn't… I couldn't do it."
The chains rattled louder in his mind.
The shadows pulsed around his fingers.
Outside the broken window, the last rays of sunlight disappeared, leaving only deepening twilight.
The door creaked open behind him.
"Ron?"
A soft voice. Familiar.
He didn't turn around.
Footsteps approached slowly.
"They're saying you saved everyone," the girl said quietly. "That if you hadn't stepped in, more people would've gotten hurt."
Ron didn't answer.
He kept staring at his hand, as if he could peel the shadow off by sheer will.
"You were brave, Ron."
He laughed bitterly.
"Brave?" he echoed. "I wasn't brave. I snapped. I lost control. I didn't even know what I was doing."
"But you fought," she insisted. "You stood up. Even when you were scared."
He closed his eyes.
"I was terrified," he whispered. "I'm still terrified."
She sat down beside him, silent for a long moment.
"Maybe being brave doesn't mean you're not scared," she said softly. "Maybe it just means… you keep going, even when you are."
He opened his eyes, looking at her out of the corner of his gaze.
She smiled faintly. Tired, but sincere.
"Your grandpa would be proud," she said.
Ron swallowed hard.
He wasn't sure if that was true.
But for a fleeting moment, as the last light faded from the sky, he wanted to believe it.
The shadows on his hand dimmed slightly.
And the chains, deep in the recesses of his mind, rattled a little softer.
Then he knows that he's grandfather pass away ages ago then he snap that Ron really hates this world for giving it a second chance then the girl summon her Nent a chase type then Ron he was only standing waiting thinking looking at his shadow hands then he snap.
In madness then destroyed the cage.
---
End of Chapter 7