USELESS .

Instructions

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ┊ ┊ ┊ The Sun’s child weeps, and the sky does not ┊ ┊ ☀︎ ┊ ┊ look away. ┊ ┊ ┊ ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Sun’s child is crying. How pathetic. The sky watched — brilliant and blue and merciless — as Yellow'Paw cracked apart like frost-brittle glass beneath careless words. His ears rang, but not with the wind. Not with birdsong. Only that voice. “Useless kit.” Two words. Simple. Sharp. They carved through him like claws through silk. And suddenly… everything he was — all the clumsy joy, the endless chatter, the painted-on grin that always seemed to fill the air like birdsong — it all felt like paper. Paper left out in the rain. Wilting. Weak. Peeling apart under the weight of the simplest truth: He was right. Perfect'Kit’s eyes — bright, cold, victorious — bored into him, and El could only stand there, claws curling into the earth like he might anchor himself. But the ground was no anchor. The ground shifted and sank and slipped beneath his paws. He wanted to smile. That’s what he always did. When things hurt — when the thorns dug too deep — he smiled. That was the rule. That was how The Sun taught him to live. The Sun always watched. Always made sure he smiled. Because if The Sun saw him break, what then? What use was The Sun’s child if he couldn’t even carry that light? But his smile — it didn’t come this time. His lips trembled. His chest squeezed, breath catching like a rabbit in a snare. “You…” His voice caught. His throat burned. The words slipped from his tongue, honeyed with hurt, poisoned with shame. “You’re right.” It was quiet now. So quiet he could hear the trees breathing. The distant rustle of camp. The Sun, hanging heavy and gold above him, a great, uncaring eye. Watching. El’s eyes stung. His brothers — Tellin and Crab — they knew things. They were strong, clever, sharp like claws drawn under the moon. They were warriors in the making. El? El was sunshine and noise and empty words. Just a foolish thing chasing the warmth, like a kit still blinded by the dawn. And now… that dawn dimmed. “All I do is talk,” he whispered. The tears came, hot, blurring, unwelcome. “And smile. That’s all. That’s… that’s all I am.” Pathetic. The Sun's child crying over words. Words. He lifted his face — just a little — towards the sky, eyes shimmering, blurred. The Sun still shone. Brilliant. Bright. As if mocking him. “Are you watching?” he wanted to ask. His voice trembled in his throat. “Are you… proud of me now?” Tears streaked his cheeks like falling stars, quiet, endless, and unseen by all but the sky. The Sun's child stood there, unraveling at the seams. His heart felt hollow, scraped out, echoing with Perfect’s voice. The word useless rang louder than the songbirds, louder than his own weak pulse pounding behind his ribs. The golden light wrapped around him like a noose. The warmth was supposed to keep him whole. But right now? It just burned. Useless kit. The words carved themselves into his bones. And all El could do… was cry.