Єℓєυтнєяσмαηια.
Noun.   An intense and irresistible desire for freedom.

• • •

Life is an interesting thing. Death is it's opposite, not many seem to enjoy the topic of it as much as they do the former. Everything that happens between birth and death are what define us as human beings. And the people in this narrative know that better than anyone else.

This story begins back in 1981, when a baby boy was born with dark brunet hair, and the most beautiful amber eyes that glowed up at his parents, who stared down at him in adoration. On that day, in late July, he was named Noah Elijah Marilynn, and he was the firstborn of a family doomed to fail. Some call that tragic, he called it destiny.

In 1987, a baby girl named Nikki, with blonde hair that matched her mother's was born, and in 1989, Richard was brought into the world.

For a decade, they were your average family, happy, loving, and close. They were tightknit and they had remained settled within a small town in Arkansas for the children's entire childhood.

However, it was one June day in 1993 where fate would take the reigns. And so, one domino fell...

• • •

Twelve-year-old Noah bounded into the hallway, a ball of energy as he practically bounced off the walls. It was a beautiful Saturday morning and the kids had been promised a day at the park and Lauralie always made pancakes on Saturday, so the oldest child was exited beyond belief.

He ran into his baby brother's room, seeing him laying in bed, still asleep. "Richie! C'mon, Mom's making pancakes, it's your favorite!" The twelve-year-old sat on his brother's bed, shaking his shoulder. "Richie, come on, wake up!"

"You're usually not such a heavy sleeper Rich, let's go! Up and at 'em!" he called to the young boy, who remained still. He shook his shoulder a little harder.

"Rich, wake up!" he raised his voice. He started bouncing where he was sitting, shaking the bed to try to add more movement.

"Okay, Rich, this isn't funny, I wanna eat breakfast!" The pre-teen complained.

"Okay, fine, I'll just go get Mom," he said and stood from his brothers bed, waltzing into the kitchen. "Mom, Richie won't get up," he told his mother. She sighed before placing the dishtowel she was drying her hands with on the counter, "Okay, I'll go get him up, put your sister and your father's plates on the table, I'll be right back."

Noah nodded, grabbing the plates with stack of pancakes and some bacon on them, setting them on the table he and Nikki had helped set.

Suddenly, a horrified shriek rang through the household, Noah's head snapped up, looking towards the hallway. "Nicholas! Nick, call 911! NOW!" his mother shouted from Richard's bedroom. Noah ran in, seeing his mother pressing her palms up and down on his little brother's chest, panicking. The young boy was now overturned where Noah could see his face, his lips were tinged with blue, he looked numb. Noah scrambled to get out of the room, his eyes glazed over a black mark on the floor boards, and he ran like hell to get down the hall and get his father.

Noah stood in the hall as his father called an ambulance, his mother cried as she tried to make his brother breathe, his little sister stood next to him with tears streaming her face, she clung to his hand as she panicked right along with him.

And he felt powerless for the first time in his life.

• • •

A thirteen-year-old Noah sat in his classroom, not paying attention to anything that was being said, instead choosing to doodle in his notebook.

Months now had passed since Richard's death. After he was taken to the hospital, he was placed in intensive care, on a ventilator to stabilize his breathing. His heart continued to beat, but he never woke up.

The doctor's had run every test imaginable on the unconcious child, tried everything they knew, and they couldn't explain it. He appeared to be the averagely healthy five-year-old child. And by some twisted and horrible version of a miracle, he was pronounced brain dead, and he never survived.

Everyone in the family coped differently. The family moved two towns over, Nikki tried to be cheerful and bring light to the dim household. Noah shut himself off from his family, Lauralie became a workaholic, more focused on her work than she was her children ninety percent of the time, and Nicholas buried himself in a bottle.

And after a month, the vodka and whiskey he threw down into his belly to try and numb the pain, made him grow violent. And his children watched him turn from a kind, loving, forgiving, and benevolent father into a cruel, inconsiderate, and very sad man.

Noah's wardrobe changed over those few months, from t-shirts and tank tops to hoodies and flannel shirts, whatever means necessary to cover the bruises he earned when he went home everyday to a drunken father.

When the boy found himself in the presence of the alcoholic, he always forced his baby sister to leave, to go down the road to a friends, just to escape. He never allowed Nicholas near her when he was drunk, he barely let him near her sober. Lauralie was hardly ever around and when she was, Nicholas became a light switch, and he would turn on the kind mask of a grieving father.

The young boy did all he could to be strong, but as he sat there in class, knowing as his eyes drifted to figure of the young male teacher and finding himself more attracted than he ever had been with the girls in his class, he felt trapped.

So when he got home, he pulled out a brown journal that had been gifted to him long before he knew what to do with it, he found it a good hiding spot, and he wrote in it everyday. Just to get his thoughts anywhere besides his head, just to cope in some way. And this worked out for two months.

Until Nikki saw him putting it back away, and like any seven-year-old, grew curious.

And that mistake would haunt her for the rest of her life. But even more so, it would haunt her brother's.

• • •

Opening the door to the house he lived in, Noah took his shoes off at the door and placed them along the wall with the rest of his and his family's everyday footwear. He slid his coat off, leaving him in a sweater that covered his bruises before he stepped to the hallway, towards his room.

He grew nervous as he saw his door open, recalling that his mother's vehicle was not in the driveway. But before he ever turned the corner, his sister barrelled into him. Nikki's arms latched around his waist, as she sobbed. He wrapped his arms protectively over her shoulder and his eyes lit with anger.

She cried out, "I'm sorry, Noah, I'm so so sorry," as she clung to him as tightly as possible.

Noah couldn't help but think that no seven-year-old girl should be sent into such a frenzy like the little girl before him was. He took a deep breath before looking down to the shaking blonde curls that were buried into his stomach, panting frantically as she sobbed.

"Listen, Nikki, it's okay, what I want you to do is go outside and get on your bike and go over to Gabbie's house for an hour or two, okay? They only live two houses over and we know everyone around here, stay on the sidewalk and make sure you don't go with anyone, just go over to Gabbie's house and big brother will come get you when Mom's home, okay?" he assured her, kneeling to her height. She nodded as she gasped for air, grasping her bearings.

Noah smiled at his little sister, though he knew she wouldn't see the bittersweetness nor the dread behind it. The little girl darted outside and when he heard the front door shut, he took another deep breath before completing his walk down the hall. Every step felt like he was a soldier, marching into a mine field.

Sat on his bed was Nicholas, a brown leather book in hand and a belt to match. A furious expression on his face told Noah everything he needed to know, and his eyes practically aflame with anger caused the young teen to shrink into himself. He looked up, meeting his son's eyes.

He held the journal up, as if to motion to it, "What's this about?"

"I-it's nothing, just where I write stuff down or doodle when I'm bored," he answered, his fear growing but the only thing displaying it being his slight tremble that couldn't be recognized with the normal eye, as well as the slight stammer to his speech.

"Really? Because it looks to me like it's a little fag's journal, are you a faggot, boy?!" his father raised his voice at him. Noah took a shuttering breath as the man raised to his feet, throwing the journal to his feet.

"No sir," he answered quietly. "What was that?" Nicholas questioned. "No sir!" Noah raised his voice, meeting Nicholas' eyes defiantly as he grew angry.

"I know you did not just raise your voice at me, you listen and listen good, no son of mine will be a little fairy boy? Understood? I'll beat it out of you if I have to!" Nicholas grasped his sons collar, pulling him up onto his tiptoes by his shirt, and getting into his face.

"Understood," Noah muttered. "What?" Nicholas pushed his buttons. "Understood," he spoke at normal volume this time, maintaning eye contact with Nicholas.

For the next six months, Noah suffered at the end of a metal belt buckle which would swing down onto his bag and create slashes like a horsewhip, the daily beatings were almost too much. The only thing keeping him going was his mother and Nikki.

But all things have a conclusion. Even life.

• • •

Fourteen-year-old Noah stared up at the ceiling in his bed, it was a week before he would turn fifteen. His back ached but he could never fall asleep on his side or his stomach, so there he lay, staring up numbly at the popcorning on the ceiling above him, counting every bump he could see in the darkness.

He glanced over at the analog clock on his bedside table, it was 1:47 AM. And all of a sudden, an alarming loud thud echoed through the cool night air. Noah jumped, bolting up in his bed as he looked towards his door in worry. That's not a good sign.

Hurriedly, he threw the covers off of his legs, and he ran to his sisters room, the socks on his feet, making him slip a bit on the hardwood as he went. His thoughts filled with the possibility that his father was back from the bar and reeking havoc while he thought Noah was asleep.

He threw her bedroom door open, seeing her convulsing and choking in her bed, seeming to be spitting up water. He ran to her, holding her body down so she would stop seizing, and he panicked, trying to find a way to hold her down and force the water from her body. He was confused as he glanced around, seeing her nowhere near water.

He shook his head, sitting her up and slapping her back to try to force the water up but then she stilled. He panicked again, growing more frantic by the second as he allowed her to slump to the bed, and his placed his hand on her neck, feeling for a pulse. He felt a faint beat but then nothing. He started chest compressions, untrained and probably not even in the right spot, but he went at it as best he could. This went on for minutes before the tiredness in his arms and the hopelessness soaking in caused him to stop the rhythmic motions, keeling over his little sister's body. His form shook in the dim moonlight filtered through cheap curtains as a sob ripped its way from his throat.

He moved to walk away, to get his mother as he began sobbing, his heart-shattering. But he tripped and when he looked down, he saw a small black bag, like a cheesecloth tied with twine to make a small bag. He picked it up and untied it. Animal bones, and an assortment of herbs sat in the small piece of cloth. He gagged as he stared at the sight before him, standing back up as he felt his stomach churn with nausea.

He ran to his mother's bedroom, slinging the door open. Nicholas was nowhere in sight, telling the boy that he was still at the bar down the street. He saw his mother's still form in bed.

He approached her, seeing markings, dark bruises and burns, like from rope, all over her neck. Her chest was completely still, no rise and fall to it. He sobbed out again, moving to kneel at her side, "No, no, no, please, M-Momma, no, you d-don't deserve this! N-Nikki doesn't d-deserve this! No, no, no!"

His body was shuddered with each sob, he gasped for air as his body trembled and shook violently. His stomach flipped and he ran to the master bathroom, dropping to his knees infront of the bowl before emptying the contents of his stomach into it. He flushed it, still dry heaving and convulsing as his body reacted in shock to what he had seen.

He felt his foot hit something again, seeing another bag just like the one from his sister's room. And he leaned back over the toilet and heaved once more.

• • •

An hour later in his bedroom, Noah chewed on his fingernail as he paced in his bedroom. He had since calmed down, only slightly, but enough to think straight. He took a deep breath before grabbing a pair of jeans, and his sneakers, tossing one of his father's watches onto his wrist as well. If it wasn't helpful enough as far as telling time, he could always pawn it for more cash. He threw some clothes and an extra pair of shoes into his bag alongside some toothpaste, a toothbrush, deodorant, a few bottles of water, and about sixty dollars worth of cash he had saved from his birthday, Christmas, and chores. He was planning to use it to buy his mother a birthday gift and get flowers for Richard.

He made a spur of the moment decision, and walked through his parents bedroom, where his mother lay covered with a sheet now, into the closet. He picked the lock on Nicholas' gun safe, taking two pistols, one was a glock 19, the other was a 9 MM Ruger. He grabbed an extra magazine for each, loading both magazines full of their respective ammuntion before clicking the safety on and placing them into his duffle bag. He was thankful that his mother grew up on a ranch and his grandmother had taught him to shoot when he was seven, he briefly recalled all of the hunting trips with their family when they visited them before he shook his head, exiting the closet.

He caught sight of his mother's jewelry stand out of the corner of his eye. He turned back to it, focusing in on the wire-forged cross necklace she always seemed to wear. A choked sob escaped his throat as he ripped it off of the stand, throwing it on.

He glanced down at the "bandanna" around his wrist, make-shifted from Nikki's old scarf. It had been around fifteen minutes since he had covered his lost loved ones with sheets and when he had last left Nikki's room, he had grabbed it and used it to wipe away the water splattered across her face. He decided to keep it on as well.

He jogged outside with duct tape and a bright flashlight, which he then taped onto his bike. He made sure he had extra batteries for it before strapping the bag onto himself tightly and taping the extra straps up and out of the way.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he hopped onto it and started pedaling, hoping to make it as far as possible by the time dawn would break.

• • •

As the sun rose over the horizon, Noah had grown extremely thankful that he had grabbed the pistols or he would not feel okay where he was, entering a clearly run down town. A sign caught his eyes as he rode further into some civilization, realizing he was on the outskirts of Little Rock.

He panted as he looked around, the heat starting to flare up given it was the middle of July. He knew taking his jacket off would make him look suspicious and he was trained in the art of long sleeves to hide bruises, so he persisted even in the heat. His throat felt dry enough to be sandpaper, and his body felt lke it was ready to shut down. His stomach growled and churned as he pedaled, but he knew he couldn't stop, not yet.

It was another thirty minutes before Noah found himself closer to the middle of town. He found a small diner and decided to stop for a glass of water and something quick to eat.

He stopped his bike, putting his bike lock on it and one of the signs before he entered the establishment. It was a quaint place, clearly locally owned and run. Styled straight out of the fifties, right down to a jukebox in the corner and the red, black, silver, and white theme that the establishment had.

It felt welcoming, which was something Noah was new to. He didn't know what it was like to be welcomed, his mother was too busy working herself to the bone and trying to keep herself sane, though he couldn't blame her, she had lost a child after all. His father was just an abusive asshole, so home was never good for him. School wasn't warm and welcoming either, he was only ever seen as a reclusive person with an unforgiving temper and a "take-no-shit" attitude.

He took a seat at one of the booths, looking down at his watch, it displayed 7:00 AM. He reached his hand up, finding the necklace that he hadn't even remembered he was wearing.

It was a piece of metal shaped like a cross, wrapped in colored wire with bits of metal on the end. His mother had always been a woman of faith, and for a long time, Nicholas was as well.

Until he lost all hope after every single prayer he sent up to God didn't help, and his little boy was put in the ground.

Noah was never sure in the existence of something up above, and right then, he was less sure than ever, but he knew that it would be the only tether he could keep to his mother. So, he bowed his head and prayed.

For a way out. For help. For something to come along and save him.

And for once in his life, Noah Marilynn got lucky. His wish did not go unheard.

• • •

A month. It had been a month, exactly, since his mother had died, his sister had died. He sat in that damned booth, in that diner on the corner of Smith and Wesson. And he stared at the necklace in his hand, wondering if this was how he would feel from now on. Like he was shattering into pieces.

He took a deep breath as he willed the tears in his eyes not to fall but, in spite of his feats, several fell onto his cheeks. They streamed down his face, dripping off of his chin and onto his hand.

He tried to calm himself, and find some composure, using a napkin to wipe his cheeks dry. He inhaled, the air shuttering in his throat as his muscles tensed and untensed.

He stood but he met the eyes of a man who looked at him with concern deepset in his expression. Noah went to exit, but the man stopped him.

"Are you okay, son?" he asked him. "I'm fine," Noah responded shortly.

"You don't seem fine, how old are you?" he questioned. "I just turned fifteen," Noah replied, crossing one of his arms over his chest. Not a lie, either, his birthday had just passed.

"What are you doing here by yourself?" the man asked. "I don't have anywhere else," Noah responded vaguely.

"What do you mean, son?" he asked. "I-... it's hard to explain,"the boy sighed. Truth be told, he still had no clue what happened. Even if he did, he would not go spouting it to a random stranger.

"Alright, kid, it's obvious you've been through something, and I'm not gonna send you back to where you came from cause it's not my place to make that decision, however, I do wanna know if you've got a place to stay?" the older man asked. Noah's eyes met the floor as he nodded.

"Are you lying to me?" he asked. Noah hesitantly nodded again. "Okay, so here's what I'm gonna do, I'm gonna buy you a lunch every day, here at this diner, okay?"

Noah didn't want to agree, he didn't know this man and he couldn't possibly understand why this random person would show him kindness by doing this. So, knowing full well that the cash he tried to stretch thin and the money he got from pawning his bike, his father's watch, and one of the gun's, was really getting low, he sighed and agreed.

And honestly, that decision probably saved his life.

• • •

Twenty-one-year-old Noah Elijah Marilynn stood in front of his powder blue Jeep as he sipped on his beer, leaning on the grill of the vehicle. He glanced down at the necklace that still laid on his best, hanging from the string around his neck. His lips titled up every so slightly.

The thought of his mother and sister's death was never pleasant, but he could bear the thought without breaking down anymore. He had learned to settle into his life, to find happness and appreciation in the small things.

He never knew going into a hunt if it would be his last. He didn't know when his life was gonna end, though he was sure he knew how. And it wouldn't be pretty.

The only thing that felt like it kept him sane at times was that he was keeping people safe. And that was all that mattered to him. If one less child had to witness what he had all those years ago, he wouldn't think twice. It was his job.

Of course, with a mentor like Brian, he had been taught well. The man had stopped hunting a year or so ago after he nearly lost his leg to a wendigo, said he would always be a liason if Noah needed it, he was one phone call away.

Noah could never thank Brian enough for what he had done for him when he was just a scared fifteen-year-old boy with no where to go and no one to turn to. He had gotten him to open up, explained the truth about his family, and Noah decided he wanted to become a hunter.

And so Brian taught him. After three years, Brian was confident enough in Noah to let him take simple salt and burns, all own his own. And Noah was proud of his skills, he felt like hunting was the only thing he could ever imagine doing.

Noah smiled over his beer bottle before he whistled, and a furry streak jumped out of the backseat's open door, running up to him.

About a year ago, Noah had found a Rugaru attacking a german shepherd, she was barely a year old at that point. She was being trained for the police force, but Noah took her and nursed her back to health.

And he befriended the dog, she came to like him. She was a very loyal animal and after he had trained her, she had become the ideal companion. He trained her, named her Delta and he took her with him everywhere.

And with another sip of alcohol, he finished his drink and grabbed Delta's tennis ball. Ready to run around and play with her.

At that point, after everything, he was just happy that he had anyone.

• • •

Authors Note: To explain what Noah's appearance will do throughout the book, just as Sam has the evolution of Jared, Noah has the evolution of Dylan. Right now and for the first little while, he'll be late seasons Teen Wolf Dylan. Then as we go, his hair'll start to grow out a bit more and he'll turn more into Maze Runner Dylan, and then a beard will start to grow in, and he'll start to look like the cover, more like Real Life Dylan, and then his hair will grow out and his beard will grow out even more and his final form shall be Mitch Rapp from American Assassin Dylan.