The sunlight streamed through the large arched windows, causing Gabriel to squint as he looked across the oak table at Tunklard's weathered face. Tunklard, though just in his fifties, bore the marks of a life well-lived. Gabriel couldn't help but draw parallels between his etched face and the maps of the continent. Each wrinkle led to a scar, branching out like the interconnected roads that united the four kingdoms. His dark brown eyes met Gabriel's.
Breaking the silence, Gabriel grinned and said, "Come on, Tunk, where's my present?" He had always disliked that nickname, but Gabriel's persistence had worn him down over time.
"With age comes patience," Tunklard huffed, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. "You're one year closer to being a man now. I would have thought your new age would have taught you the virtue of patience. Perhaps we should rectify that in our next lesson."
Gabriel's sheepish expression lasted only a moment before he changed course and asked, "So where is it?"
Tunklard chuckled. "Fine, I suppose you can have it now," he conceded, a smile playing on his lips. Gabriel's mind drifted back to when Tunklard had first arrived at the keep five years ago. Upon meeting his new tutor, he recalled how he had thought his features resembled that of a hawk—sharp and penetrating eyes; a shaved head; a tall, wiry frame. At first, Gabriel had resented being separated from his friends for lessons. Tunklard had been cold and strict, forcing him to learn. But as time passed, his thirst for knowledge grew, and every book he read felt like a few drops into a well that begged to be filled. He had come to look forward to their time together, appreciating Tunklard's intellect and unexpected care.
Tunklard pulled a parcel from his satchel, returning Gabriel to the present. "Happy Name Day, Gabriel," he said, passing it to him. Gabriel eagerly unwrapped it, revealing a weathered book, its edges tattered from age.
Gabriel peered up at Tunklard, his brows furrowed. The cover bore no title. "What is this book?" he inquired.
Tunklard's gaze turned distant as he replied, "When I was a little older than you, my master gave me this book. I have always wanted to pass it on to someone, I hadn't found the right person, until now. Each lesson was etched by my master's hand, shaping me into the man I am today."
Tunklard continued, "My childhood was difficult. Sometimes I questioned if the pain was worth it. But in this book, I found perspective. An understanding of what it means to dedicate oneself to a greater cause. It's not about religion, although individuals can find the same effect by having faith in religion and living its ideals. For me, it wasn't enough. I questioned everything, and that skepticism diminished my ability to have faith in the unknown. "But this book showed me that, even in difficult times, one small act of goodness can change someone's life and restore your own faith. It can help you find your place in the world. Perhaps that's why I find myself teaching a spoiled brat like you. I hope you can do some good where I couldn't."
Tunklard's expression transformed from nostalgic to sorrowful. He had never spoken so openly about his past, and Gabriel suddenly realized how little he knew about the man's story before arriving at the castle. He once asked Tunklard about the scars on his face, but his tutor simply replied, "My past is my own. I do not care to discuss it."
Tunklard wasn't a sentimental man—or so Gabriel had believed until now. They had grown closer over the years, yet Gabriel hadn't expected Tunklard to reveal so much in this conversation. This gesture showed that Tunklard wanted to pass something on to him, and how much he meant to his tutor. Gabriel felt overwhelmed by the weight of it all. "I can't. It's too much." Looking down at the book in his hands, he wondered at the lessons that lived within its pages.
Tunklard locked eyes with Gabriel, his voice filled with wild fervor. "Look at me, Gabriel. I have never seen a boy with your genius; your ability to consume knowledge and distill it astounds me. But that's not the reason why I'm giving you this. It's because there is goodness in you; a goodness that reflects on all those around you. You've even made me feel like I can be a good man again."
Gabriel felt a mix of embarrassment and unworthiness at Tunklard's impassioned belief in his potential, but he wouldn't dishonor his tutor's faith. With a calmness he didn't quite feel, he said, "Thank you, Tunklard. This will be my most prized possession, and I will live my life to honor the belief you have in me."
Tunklard's eyes were glossy for an instant before he blinked it away, cleared his throat, and said, "How about we find your mother and sister to see what gifts they've gotten you?" And with that, they set off together, leaving the weight of their conversation behind but carrying with them the profound new connection they had forged.
Standing in the chambers of the king's room, Gabriel felt a wave of insignificance wash over him. The piercing stare of the king bore into his soul, brimming with scrutiny and disdain, threatening to bring him to his knees. "Do you believe this kingdom is ours because of mere words?" the king demanded, his voice full of frustration. "Do you think I am king and you a worthless prince because I shirked my duty?"
Gabriel had just been summoned here while celebrating his name day with his sister and mother. He couldn't comprehend how the morning's happiness had been so swiftly destroyed. This had become an all-too-familiar scenario; he was a constant disappointment to his father, no matter what he did.
The truth was simple: he despised violence, which was deemed unacceptable for the son of a king. Tradition dictated that the first son would be the heir, the second son an advisor—skilled in all areas as a contingency, and the third son was meant to master the art of war and demonstrate the king's might by leading armies. Gabriel often wondered why he had to be born as the third son and carry that burden.
Summoning his courage, Gabriel raised his head to meet his father's gaze. Despite his aversion to violence, he possessed a strong will and refused to compromise his principles. "My king, while war, battle, and blood may have granted you power, we can offer the people more than violence. I refuse to be a part of the endless killing," he asserted, his voice resolute.
The king spluttered with disbelief. "You believe yourself worthy to tell your king what the people want? With your twelve sheltered years of life, you presume to counsel me on the needs of the people?" The tirade continued with his father dismissing the possibility of peace, arguing that relinquishing swords and shields would only invite revolt and attacks. "Those who are strong will always lead," the king bellowed, "and those who shy away from violence can never truly be strong."
Gabriel bowed his head slightly, he wasn't naive enough to think that avoiding violence would prevent others from using it against them. But he also knew that bloodshed was the sole reason his father had ascended the throne. It was through the elimination of contenders and the instillation of fear that he claimed the crown. Rumors even suggested his involvement in the death of the preceding king. Gabriel pushed these thoughts aside.
Gabriel spoke again, softer this time. "My king, I do not claim to understand our people's desires fully, but everyone hears their pleas for a stop to endless wars. We can strive to provide more than violence for our people."
In the Accamanian Kingdom, the inevitability of violence loomed over every citizen. Since he was born, the kingdom was always at war, in battles against enemies, real or perceived. Gabriel hadn't developed strong feelings against war and violence until three years prior. He vividly remembered the day his father ordered the public execution of his uncle for alleged treason. Despite his uncle's rough exterior, he had been a source of gifts and stories, entertaining Gabriel with tales of great battles. Gabriel cherished his time spent with his mother's family, particularly his uncle.
He had been forced to attend the execution in Kingdom Square amongst the sea of spectators. Guards led his uncle, shackled and terrified, to the execution block, where they mercilessly pushed his head against the stone. Before his uncle could cry out, the executioner's gleaming axe came down on his neck, a pool of red covering the stone. Gabriel felt like heart had been ripped out. As he looked around the crowd through welling tears, he was shocked to his core. Not one face mirrored his own. On the contrary, they displayed one of two reactions—those indifferent to the public murder, and those joyous to witness the bloodshed. Death and violence had been so deeply ingrained in the populace that it had become their norm.
Since that day, Gabriel had never been the same. He developed a profound aversion to violence; even the sight of blood made him feel ill. He couldn't fathom taking another person's life. He had remained upset for days after the execution, culminating in a summons to his father's chambers for a meeting not so different from today.
"By the time of your tenth winter, you were supposed to have learned how to fight," the king had said. "Yet, I yielded to your mother's pleas, her insistence that you were not yet ready, that the sight of blood would be too much for you. But we cannot delay the inevitable any longer. I won't heed her words anymore. You've grown too old, and the whispers of your weakness amongst the nobles have grown too loud to ignore. Be certain of this; I will not allow your weakness to spread to the throne."
Gabriel had simply gulped; he knew he couldn't do what the king demanded of him.
Little had changed in two years. "You will learn to fight, to lead men on the battlefield and kill. This is your purpose and duty," the king said, his temper rising.
Gabriel couldn't accept that. He shook his head and responded, "I refuse. Mother and Tunklard share my beliefs that we shouldn't perpetuate killing, that we should look to the future instead of dwelling on the past."
Contempt flickered across the king's face.
Gabriel silently pleaded to Victra, the goddess of light, for guidance. Unexpectedly, the king rose from his chair and strode toward Gabriel. The king looked down unflinchingly and delivered a backhanded slap that sent Gabriel reeling. Tears welled in his eyes as he instinctively reached up to his stinging cheek. Shame coursed through him, accompanied by an unbridled rage that he quickly suppressed. Challenging the king now would only result in more disappointment—he had already been a disappointment enough.
The king smiled as if satisfied. "Tell me, child, did your books and philosophies protect you from that sting? Did they prevent violence?" The king paused, then whispered, "You live inside books, understanding nothing of this world. You are a coward, fearing to wield a sword. A weakling who doesn't deserve to carry my name. You are my greatest disappointment."
Fear tightened Gabriel's throat, and his father's contempt pierced him more directly than ever before. Something was changing, shifting. "Your foolish mother has coddled you for too long, and Tunklard has filled your brain with utter nonsense," The tirade continued, even as the king seemed out of breath. "From tomorrow onwards, you will bid farewell to Tunklard. He will no longer be your tutor. Instead, you will bleed in the training yard, learning to wield a sword until you are worthy of being called a prince."
Gabriel couldn't believe what he was hearing. He couldn't bear to say goodbye to Tunklard, who was more than a tutor—he was an ally, a friend.
"No!" Gabriel started to scream, his voice trembling with fear.
Before he could react, his father hit him again, more forcefully this time. The king's malice had shaken Gabriel to his core. Fear rooted him to the spot, his legs unsteady and knees buckling, rendering him unable to utter a word. "Do not test me; I will punish you further, and it won't be as gentle as a slap," the king warned.
Gabriel should have been braver, but perhaps his father was right—maybe he was a coward. In a meek voice, he replied, "Yes, my king," and bowed his head low, relinquishing all defiance in the face of his father's commands.
Without another word, his father walked away, leaving Gabriel to slink out of the king's room with his shoulders slumped, burdened by the weight of the guards' scrutinizing eyes—a judgment echoing his father's disappointment.
He stumbled to his chambers. The oak door swung open, revealing a room with books strewn across the rich timber floor. The scattered trail led to a shelf laden with stacks of knowledge. The sight only deepened his sense of defeat. Gabriel had delved into the world and its people, reading more books than all his brothers and sister combined. Countless hours had been spent discussing each book with Tunklard, debating until the sun vanished beyond the horizon.
The reminder that he wouldn't be able to share these books with Tunklard was too painful. He turned away and gently closed the door, leaning his head against it. His mind raced as he desperately tried to forget. He focused on his breathing, just as Tunklard had taught him, finding momentary calm with each loud exhale.
The confrontation with his father had come at a cost. Gabriel understood that his life would never be the same again. He approached his bed, slid under the covers, and succumbed to self-pity.
He lost track of how long he had been in bed, consumed by his thoughts. Eventually, a knock on the door broke the silence. At first, it was gentle, but it grew insistent, leaving Gabriel with no choice but to open the door. His sister stood before him. Two years his junior, she had golden hair framing her delicate face, and her green eyes regarded him with concern. "You shouldn't be locked up in your room like this," she said.
Gabriel contemplated how much he should confide in her. "Father summoned me. It didn't go well," he admitted.
Sarah reached for his hand and gave it two quick squeezes. When they were small children, he used to comfort her with that same gesture. replaced by a sympathetic expression. "I'm sorry. I know how much Tunklard meant to you. He is a good and kind man." He didn't think word would have spread so quickly; he assumed the king would have Tunklard quietly escorted tomorrow.
Dejectedly, Gabriel replied, "Aye, he is my friend."
"He was really sad to leave," Sarah said.
Gabriel nodded in reply, momentarily silent, until a realization struck him.
"What do you mean, 'He was sad to leave'? Father said I would bid him farewell tomorrow."
Sarah hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Gabriel, he's gone. A guard took him outside the castle."
Gabriel stood there, dumbfounded, unable to find his voice. It couldn't be true—his father had said they would say goodbye tomorrow. His little sister approached, attempting to embrace him, but he shrugged her off and ran.
The castle's narrow corridors loomed before him as he sprinted, his presence startling those he passed. Greetings turned to shock, and muttered curses trailed in his wake. His breath grew ragged, but he didn't stop. His destination: the gates. He needed to see Tunklard—he had to catch one final glimpse of his friend. He nearly stumbled down the stairs but managed to steady himself, aware of the danger his unsteady footing posed. Still, he pressed on until he reached the castle gates.
The guards at the gate stared, astonished to see him in such a state. "My prince, are you well?" one of them asked.
Gathering his composure, Gabriel replied, "Yes, I am well. But I need you to open this gate."
The guards exchanged bewildered glances before one said firmly, "Prince, we cannot open the gate for you. We are sworn to protect the king's line, and you cannot venture outside."
Gabriel understood that these men were merely fulfilling their duty. They were bound to their post, and no amount of reasoning would sway them. Desperation took hold, and in a fleeting moment, he attempted to run past them and reach the gate's mechanism, hoping to escape their grasp. But he was just a child, and they were trained warriors.
The guards held Gabriel firmly, their grip unyielding as he continued to struggle against them. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with sweat and despair. His chest heaved with exertion, his body trembling from the intensity of his emotions. "Please," he pleaded, "just let me say goodbye. I need to see him one last time."
The guards exchanged a solemn glance, their hardened expressions softening for a brief moment.
"We are sorry, Prince," one of the guards spoke gently. "We understand your pain, but we cannot grant your request. It is for your safety and the security of the kingdom."
Gabriel slumped in defeat, his struggle subsiding as resignation washed over him. His muscles ached, and his breaths came in ragged gasps as he tried to regain control of himself. The guards slowly released their hold on him, giving him space.
With shaking hands, Gabriel wiped away his tears, his gaze fixed on the closed gates before him. Tunklard was gone, forced out of his life before he had the chance to bid him a proper farewell. His heart felt heavy with the weight of loss, mingling with the king's betrayal.
The truth settled into his core. He would never see his friend again and never have the chance to say goodbye.