The Nameless

In Wraiths Academy, far from the embrace of the sun’s rays of warmth, shrouded in an impenetrable armor of bristling willows, there was a boy. A peculiar boy. The solitary confinement of the stone-cold building encapsulated a bustling of vibrant children that masked and ignored the boy’s existence. He had no name, no friends, and no known family. His complexion was as pale as a ghost, and he was as silent as one too. But there was one thing that completely distinguished him from the rest, causing him to become an outcast. From the center of his chest emerged his one and only arm. From head to toe he was like everybody else, but his arm abnormality shunned him from being perceived as ‘normal’. It functioned just as any other arm would, but its location on his body drew numerous looks of curiosity, and often times, turned to disgust. No matter what he did or how silent he became so as not to disturb anyone, he was repeatedly met with relentless taunts and cruelty from other students behind his back. Everywhere he walked a trail of discrete laughter and name-calling followed closely behind him. Quiet yet loud enough for him to hear. Fully aware of these harsh remarks with hurtful intent rather than pure jest, he learned to tune out this negative environment, as it slowly became a part of his daily routine. With each dim, candle-lit hallway he passed, every shadow clung to him while an eerie sense of being watched followed him.

One day, one of his classmates jeered, “I bet your parents left you because of how weird you look. Or maybe your doctor messed you up on purpose when you were born.”

The class, without a hint of hesitation, erupted into a surge of laughter which seemed to be never-ending, echoing through the stone corridors as if the very walls mocked him. The boy looked at the teacher, desperately hoping that she would put an end to the inescapable, derisive noise, but she was quick to look away, turning a blind eye to his suffering. He was hit with his isolated reality, with no one to turn to for comfort or solace. Not even the teachers, who were supposed to provide structure and discipline, cared enough to end the cruelty he was facing. Instead, they watched him with caution from a distance, a gaze that was indecipherable, as though his misery was to be expected.

This solitude developed an intense yearning in the boy to find out why he was the way he was. He traces back to how he came to Wraiths Academy and recalls that as a child, he grew up in the academy under the watchful care of the principal, Sir Dolion, who eventually became distant. With this memory in mind, the boy made his way to his office in the hopes that he would be given the answers he so intently desired. Upon his arrival, he noticed that the door to Sir Dolion’s office was intricately adorned with a macabre design of skulls, their eyes appearing as if they were looking down upon him as they wrapped around the door from top to bottom. Suddenly, foreboding, unsettling feelings swept through him, making him hesitant to enter the office. However, driven by his pursuit of the truth, he persisted past his uneasiness and went inside.

As he stepped inside, Sir Dolion looked up from his desk, a slight smile curling on his lips. He greeted, “Oh my, look who it is!” His voice carried a hint of amusement.

“Yeah, long time no see,” the boy replied, as he glanced around the dimly lit office, almost encased by a blanket of shadows.

Dolion leaned forward with curiosity, his hands clasped together on the desk. “So, what brings you to my humble office?”

The boy shifted uncomfortably as he gathered his thoughts. “Well... I’ve just been wondering. I wanted to know if you knew anything about me. For instance, why am I like this? Or rather, was I always like this? It feels as if I’m cursed. And why am I here? Do you know anything about my parents? Why does this all seem so... unfair?”

Dolion chuckled and waved his hand dismissively. “No, no, nothing of the sort, in fact I’d say you’re perfectly fine,” he assured. “Your parents actually sent you here themselves as they thought you’d be better taken care of at Wraiths Academy.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “You’re definitely not cursed. You’re simply... the way you are, nothing more, nothing less. It’s not as if someone made you that way.” He let out a dry, hollow laugh, his eyes glistening strangely. “There’s no mystery to it really, so don’t dwell on it too much.”

The boy nodded slowly though a twinge of dissatisfaction lingered. “Oh. Okay... thanks, Dolion. I’ll get going now.”

Dolion eagerly replied, “Of course! Off you go.”

The boy’s head drooped as he made his way out of the office, an ache of emptiness that Dolion’s words failed to fill followed him.

Sadness consumed him, and his chase for any reason of his misfortune slowly ceased from existence as he retreated to his dorm in silent defeat. Out of nowhere, a man cloaked in mystery, hidden from wandering eyes, came before him. Startled, the boy stepped back, afraid yet curious of his sudden appearance. 

“Who are you?” asked the boy.

The man replied:

“Who I am is not important, 
For what you seek is hidden deep!
Through the darkest corridor you shall seek,
A shiny red jewel to find the missing link.” 

“What are you talking about? Do you know what’s wrong with me?” the boy demanded.

“That you must find out on your own,” the man continued.

“But let this be known:
Those you know might not be true, 
As they have done dark things to you.
Seek the bright red gem in the darkest hall
To uncover everything, once and for all.

Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, the man vanished, as if he was swallowed by the shadows. The boy was left puzzled, struggling to comprehend what he had been told. Yet a spark of curiosity came once more, igniting a renewed determination to unveil the secrets his past held. He wandered around the academy that still night, where the halls were void of light, casting an unwelcoming atmosphere. With each turn, it seemed as if all the corridors were shying away from him, hiding in the darkness, unwilling to reveal what lay within. Remembering the man’s riddle, he searched for the ‘darkest hall,’ though every corner and crevice of the academy looked like they were untouched by the sun. Yet he clung to the man’s words of the ‘bright red gem,’ believing it would guide him to the truth he sought. Finally, he came upon the hallway past Sir Dolion’s office, somewhere he had never ventured off to. As soon as he stepped into the hallway’s entrance, he was enveloped in a dense, ominous abyss of darkness. This, he realized, was the darkest hall. Not because it appeared gloomier than the others, but because it emitted a chilling and immense sense of dread so eerie it made him long for the comfort of his bed. Pushing through his fear, he walked further and further into the hall’s sinister emptiness. At last, like a beacon of hope, a blinding red light caught his eye; it was the ‘bright red gem.’ Quickening his pace, he moved closer to the gem, and a door came into focus. The gem was situated at the center of the door, almost like a watchful eye. His instincts were yelling at him to turn back but he resisted. He had to know the truth. Now, or never. Trembling, he gripped the cold steel doorknob and cautiously opened it. The door creaked open, revealing a spiral stairway descending into the depths of the unknown. Without a moment to lose, he began his descent.  

Once at the bottom, he found himself in a forbidden underground chamber, housing the horrors of the academy from the world above. The chamber was illuminated by a pale blue light, casting shadows upon cluttered desks, scattered files, and specimen jars. The room was filled with an unmistakable air of secrecy, a laboratory crafted for dark, unethical experiments. His heart pounded, legs threatening to give in, but he forced himself forward to a nearby desk, unable to look away from the truth he was about to discover. He got hold of a file documenting a series of absurd experiments on unwitting subjects. Each subject was a toy in a twisted game. One subject had their head replaced with a dog’s, another had their legs and arms rearranged. Every experiment was conducted by the founders of Wraiths Academy, including Sir Dolion himself. As his gaze fell upon a file labeled, “One-Armed Boy,” his breathing stopped. His hand, shaking, reached for it. Inside, he found chilling documents: transactions and contracts exposing how his parents sold him to Dolion for their own wealth and greed, signing him off to a life of torment. He felt a surge of betrayal course through him as he realized that Dolion’s hospitality was all a facade. He’d never been more than a plaything, his existence merely used for someone’s cruel entertainment. As the truth sank down on him, his blood began to boil. His teeth clenched tight, enraged by his helplessness. Swiftly, he rushed over to a heap of gas canisters that were cast aside in the corner of the chamber. One by one, he carried the canisters up the stairs, spilling their contents over every inch of the academy, leaving a trail that led back to the undercover chamber below. It was time for him to repay the perpetrators of his suffering, their demise set by the very arm they had mocked. He restrained a laugh, careful not to wake the academy’s silence as he began searching for a match. Upon finding one, he brought its flame to life using a candle in the hall. Once he made his way to the academy’s exit, he let the match fall, which fiercely embraced the trail of gas. He watched in dark satisfaction as the fire violently bloomed, prancing away through the entire academy. His delight grew as horrified screams began to echo within the confines of the academy’s walls, until, one by one, they fell silent. As time passed, the academy started to crumble. Amidst the ruins he stood alone, a hollow victory boring a hole within his heart, still nameless and abandoned. Smoke billowed into the night sky, but as it settled down into mist, the mysterious man cloaked in secrecy appeared before him once more. Though his eyes were hidden beneath his hooded cloak, a thin, visible smile crept upon his face. Before the boy could call out to him, a gust of smoke swept between them, and when it cleared, the man was gone, leaving the boy in an endless, frigid solitude.