9 - The Truth About Failure No One Tells You

Arc 2: What’s Wrong With You?

They walked through the dry, cracked earth. The sun glared down, merciless. The wind stung, but offered no relief. Aurora thought about what Karl had said. Remembered his mother struck down, reminder of her error. She couldn’t imagine his loss or where he had gone.

“Jin.”

His name left her like a confession. The wind pressed past them. He didn’t. His stride dissolved into silence.

She stilled to a stop herself. “I have so many… feelings,” she confessed. “I thought I buried them in the Blade Kingdom. That I outgrew them under Selus. That in the Fire Kingdom, I was finally being strategic. Finally strong.” Her breath came out shaky. “But I still failed. I still broke everything I touched…I’ll always fail so, what’s the point of moving on?”

Milo didn’t answer right away. Just walked beside her, silent. Listening like the question deserved weight. He looked at her thoughtfully, then nodded to himself. “You still think the goal is to become someone who doesn’t make mistakes.”

She flinched, because yes.

“Do you remember our conversation yesterday?”

“That I just have to keep going?” Aurora exasperated. Everything still stung. Her steps felt wobbly, like she just wanted to fall over onto the hard dirt and quit.

Milo stopped and sighed. “You want to be clean,” he said. “Untouchable. Rational. You think if you do everything right, the pain will stop. The guilt will quiet. The people you love won’t suffer.”

Aurora’s eyes burned. “Are you saying that’s wrong?”

He looked at her gently. “It’s not wrong,” he said. “It’s… human. Beautiful, but misguided.”

She said nothing, but kicked at the cracked earth.

“You still believe there’s a version of you who doesn’t hurt anyone. Who makes the perfect choice. Who carries no blood on her hands.”He stepped in front of her now, his voice slow and measured. “But that version doesn’t exist.”

Her breath hitched.

“The point isn’t to stop failing,” Milo said. “The point is to fail. And then to learn which mistakes you’re willing to make. And which ones you’ll carry, even when they crush you.”

She looked down at her hands. At the scar forming on her shoulder. At the blood she felt she couldn’t wash off.

“I thought I’d grown,” she whispered.

“You did,” he said. “But not the way you hoped.”

She closed her eyes. “Karl said I’d always make the wrong choice.”

Milo studied her quietly then shrugged. “Maybe you will.”

That stung. She opened her mouth, but he tilted his head—not to silence her, but to offer something else.

“But maybe that’s not the point either,” he said. “Maybe the point is that you still choose the harder path—even knowing it might break you.”

Aurora said nothing. The wind stirred the dust. Her eyes burned, not from the sun, but from the truth that sat, now, unbearably close. That she would always feel too much. That she would always choose too late, or too painfully, or too wrong.

Milo looked out at the cracked horizon, his voice low again, measured. “There are two kinds of mindsets,” he said. “Two kinds of people.”

She glanced at him.

He continued. “Some believe their worth is fixed. That they’re so good, or smart, or talented—and that’s it. So they spend their lives chasing only the things they know they can win. Only the things that confirm the story they’ve told about themselves.”

His eyes narrowed, not with anger, but with understanding. “That’s the static kind. And the world rewards them. They rise quickly. They stay safe. They succeed.”

He paused, just long enough for her to feel the second part coming. “And then there’s the other kind,” he said. “The ones who don’t need to win. Who crave. They don’t cling to the illusion of being right or good. They choose the harder path. The one that ultimately reshapes them.”

He looked at her now, eyes sharp, certain. He stepped toward her. “They will fail. And fail again… But because of that, they learn. They get better. And they are the only ones who can see the true beauty of things.”

Aurora swallowed. Her whole body ached with the weight of it. Milo took one last step closer, close enough for her to study his face up close.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“You’re one of the rare ones, Aurora. I’m glad. I respect that. Love that. You fail because you choose what’s hard, but worth it. And that’s why while the others stay stagnant, you stay growing.”

Aurora’s throat was still tight as she pressed on, avoiding eye contact. Milo raised his eyebrows and followed, noting there was no quick comeback. They continued to walk into silence until she saw it – the top of a second dome. A metal one. Hundreds of times bigger than the first one at Blade.

Her eyes widened as they crested the hill. Milo smirked and watched as her head swiveled. “It never ends.” Aurora shook her head, but smiled. “So, what now. Charge in?”

To her delightful horror, Milo simply said yes.

—-----------

As they neared the border, something shifted. Aurora’s skin prickled—not from cold, but from something deeper, like the air itself had grown too still. A faint pressure settled in her chest. Her limbs felt heavier, her stride dulling with each step. The world didn’t look different, but her body moved like it was wading through syrup. She shook her head, trying to clear it, but the fog only thickened.

Why was she feeling this way?

She slowed and rubbed her arms. It wasn’t pain, but it was immense discomfort. If Milo felt it, he didn’t show. He turned back slightly. “Magic suppressor,” he said simply, squinting at the dome. Aurora followed suit and saw it – the gentle rippling.

“If it’s this uncomfortable for me…” She couldn’t imagine what Milo was feeling with his immense dark magic. She imagined it feeling like a thread pulling at his very being, threatening to unravel everything. He just gave her a slight smile, then stretched out his hand, as if to help her up and forward. Her heart skipped a beat, but she just rolled her eyes and shook her head. She slapped his hand away, continuing on. Milo withdrew his hand, his smile widening.

“Is the suppressor permanent?” She asked.

Milo paused. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Aurora looked straight ahead. “Well I guess if we both lost our powers we’d be on more equal footing.” She looked up thoughtfully. “Actually, no, maybe not between me and you…but between me and others. I’ve always struggled with being the weakest in the room because of magic anyway. I couldn’t even lift the earth properly, couldn’t shield, I couldn’t throw fire or water. So I guess for me it’s an improvement.”

As they approached, Aurora felt increasingly watched. Then, she saw it. Cameras built into the walls. Small, almost hidden. There were bright red, green, and blue lights that twinkled. Aurora tilted her head. She realized that she was about to enter a world she knew nothing at all. One that had “teck naw lo gee.” Even these lights seemed scattered at random, at least to her. She couldn’t imagine their function. Milo approached, hands in his pockets, footsteps measured, slow.

He stopped and reached into his coat, pulling out a slick I.D. A soft beep erupted as he showed it to the wall and text appeared – big, stark, white – seemingly magically: I.D. CONFIRMED. STATUS. MILO. FULL ACCESS GRANTED.

Aurora raised her eyebrow as she observed him. She didn’t know if she was impressed, jaded, or annoyed at this point by the influence of this man. It was patterned predictability. It was a cheat.

She shook the thought away and caught up to him. Without asking, she slipped her arm through his. He blinked and slowed just slightly. His brows rose, but not in protest. Something like a smirk tugged at his mouth, quiet and crooked. She didn’t explain. Just held on. And when she smiled, it was small, sly, and real.

The walls opened without a creak. Aurora wondered what opened it, but that was the least of her worries. She inhaled sharply, now having Milo’s arm to lean on as she took in everything. Artificial sunlight beamed from the top of the dome. Inside the sealed ceiling was a blue, artificial sky, with clouds and everything.

She squeezed closer to him, appreciating his warmth. She hadn’t expected how steadying his arm would feel. As if nothing could touch her. “Technology,” she whispered. The secret that the Stone Kingdom held closely. While the other kingdoms had magic, the Stone Kingdom came from ancestors who didn’t. Particularly, slaves who escaped the Crystal Empire at the very beginning.

Milo walked about confidently. They stepped on a platform, where he entered coordinates on a keypad. They zipped into the air and flew away. Aurora looked around. Despite the color of the artificial sun and sky, she noticed the lack of color and wonder below. All the buildings were the same stone gray. She saw some legendary Titans – soldiers so biologically modified that they were more machine than men. They were twice as tall and wide as regular humans.

As for the locals, they were of average height, but Aurora leaned closer. Something seemed different about them. Off. They stepped off the platform and Aurora got a better look. Each person looked similar to the others. Gray, stark uniform. Slicked back hair. Eyes permanently wide. How pleasant.

“It’s time to let go of me, for now,” Milo ribbed gently. Aurora stepped back suddenly feeling adrift, as if letting go of him suddenly made her unbalanced. She wobbled after him. As they entered the street, people stared at her. Their eyes wide in a constant state of surprise. She shuddered, tempted to latch onto Milo again. Other than the quick glances they gave her, she noticed that nobody looked around. Unlike the Crystal Kingdom, there were no shops. No bakeries. No libraries. And the doors seemed to open telepathically.

On closer inspection, there were tubes filled with a tan substance, hooked behind people’s shirts. “That’s how they eat,” Milo whispered, leaning toward her. Aurora watched as people stepped onto platforms. Unlike Milo, they didn’t type in anything on the consoles – the platform just flew away. “Controlled telepathically by their chips,” Milo explained.

“What the hell is this?” Aurora snapped back. “Should I jam technology in my brain too?”

“Control chip,” Milo corrected. “And not in your brain.”

“Not in my brain? How humane.”

Milo touched her arm, leading her around a corner.

“Mind telling me where we’re going?”

“To a friend,” Milo said, as if it were the easiest and most obvious thing in the world.

Aurora raised her eyebrow. “You have a friend? I’m delighted.”

“You’ll like him. Or you won’t. That part’s irrelevant.” They stepped onto another platform. Milo used the console skillfully.

“So…you’re not altered in any way?”

“Not externally.”

Aurora rolled her eyes. “Come on, what does that mean?”

They zoomed to their next location. Milo’s smile faded.

“When you step out, be more careful with your questions.” The platform hummed beneath them. “Where we’re going… asking the wrong question might cost more than you think.”

Aurora crossed her arms in a self hug. “Hmm… Love a place where curiosity gets you killed. Following you always leads to great places.”