"Then close your eyes. Calm the voices in your head, let it turn silent. Then there will come another voice, one from your heart. When the time comes, ask it, and believe it with your soul, for the heart never lies."
Aeneas sat there, holding his chin with his right hand, trying to break down and analyze our father's words while I sat there, scratching my head in confusion.
I understood nothing, not even a damn word, hell I didn't even know what a metaphor was.
"Now, it is time."
The last part of the rite had begun.
My brother walked up the stairs that led to the altar.
"And what am I supposed to do?"
"Kneel."
He slowly bent his knees before our father.
"Hands out."
His palms opened and his head bent down. The old man placed the spear down on my brother's hands as he started chanting while carving a symbol on the spear's handle with his heated finger.
"Forefathers, heed my words! From elders to youths, from father to son. The first blood had been shed and from now on, a child he no longer will be. With a will of iron, with his soul ablaze and this weapon, his testimony. Never, shall he break. Never, shall he bend. And may he face the cruelty of this world head-on."
Father then gripped on to the middle of the spear as Aeneas' hand sparked aflame as a black burnt trail slowly appeared on my brother's hand.
"May this weapon be true to its master. May it be wielded with wisdom and guided by virtue. May it serve its master until its very last duty. And only then, shall it be laid down to rest."
As he finished, the trails formed into a sigil on my brother's hand, identical to the one on the spear.
"And now, the last part of the Rite, a name you shall give it. But beware that names are sacred, they cannot be changed until it is passed down to someone else … or those who wield it die."
"Why is that?"
"Our ancestors believed that it would lessen its value."
"O—k? I guess?" Aeneas responded with doubt in his voice.
"A name? Hmm …" He paused and looked down, using his mind for a moment. He then flung his head right up, lighting our father's eyesup with curiosity.
"Amber Spear!"
Father's face suddenly turned blank with all his features still.
"Really?"
"Yes? What? If it's that bad then what's yours huh? Hmm?"
"Well, I threw it away long ago."
"You just said it will stick with us until we die!"
"That was … a special case. It was cursed."
"Cursed? What cursed—"
"Nereus, got any suggestions?"
Our father suddenly changed the subject. And with my naivety, I didn't notice the change and answered with my take on it.
"Huh? Name? How about uhhhm … Ember's Reach."
"Well, what do you think, Aeneas?"
"Damn. Ember's Reach …" He paused.
"I like that a lot. Didn't know our little guy is this creative. Ember's Reach it is."
Pa nodded. And so he carved another three symbols under the sigil with his fingers.
"What are those weird marks, pa?"
"Have you ever heard of the runic letters?"
"The one that we carved on weapons to empower it?"
"Yes, this is like that but our family's version, called Flam-ur means the voice of the flame. The one above is our family crest, the Eternal Flame and the one below is the weapon's name in Flam-ur."
"Does it help much?"
"Depends on one's belief … Any more questions?"
"I think not."
"Then I pronounce the Rite as finished. Let's head back to our home, shall we?"
I looked up to the sky above. It was a field of black, so dark yet so bright as thousands of glittering stars lighted it up and the pale-hued moon.
"Seems like the ritual took us that long huh?"
"Then we better hurry before your ma murder us all." Said our father as he rushed to open the forge's door.
At home
After we rushed off the forge, we finally got back home. The problem was every light in the house was turned on.
"We are too late, aren't we?"
Aeneas said with a worried voice.
Our old man approached the door and slightly opened it up. Suddenly, he came to a halt mid-action. Something felt off in the air, like an aura of someone full of anger mixed in it. And just their presence was enough to make me and my brother shake in fear. But our father was different. Unwavering as he was, he continued opening, without hesitation, and as the door was fully opened we saw a figure, the form of our doom. That figure was a woman with the height of around our father's neck, crossing her arms. Her long ponytail hair was red as copper. Her blue eyes lit up as if the light of the sun reflected water in the ocean. The one and only woman in our house, and also, the scariest, our mother. Her azure gaze pierced through our souls as we stood there, shivering, unable to take another step.
"We need to talk," said her.
Father sighed lightly before walking and stopped before us. His eyes locked on hers, unfazed.
"You two, upstairs."
He ordered and turned his head towards the stairs. Tension filled the air, and got denser with each second passed. I looked at my brother nodded. No words were needed to be said on this matter.
We went upstairs, heading to the door right in front of us. That door led to a room not too big or small, just enough space for me to play around. Its walls were old, so old its gray paint started to peel off. On my left was a bed for one person and at the end of the room stationed a little desk facing towards a window with the width a bit shorter than the wall and height around a meter starting from desk with a curtain attached. Through that window, I could see far to the south where the woods lie.
Sitting down on the bed, I asked my brother as he roamed around the room.
"So what do we do next?"
He then sat down on the chair behind the desk and looked outside, milling pointlessly.
"Wait I suppose."
Suddenly, we heard a loud indistinct voice of a woman shouted from downstairs. In a brief moment of panic, I turned to the direction where it came from and yet, my brother was still looking outside, unconcerned.
"So we're just gonna sit here and wait?"
He stood up from the chair and walked around the room, caressing the old wall gently. The old paint peeled off, sticking onto his hand.
"Hm, reminds me of when I was little."
He said, brushing them away.
"Huh?" I responded, thinking 'Did my he just ignore me?'
"This used to be my room."
"…"
I paused, confused of what he was trying to say.
"The ceiling—"
We both tilted our head up. Its paint was as old as the walls but of different colors, yale blue as a background with yellow dots scattered around, and a pale circular object on the top.
"Back then, I used to cry a lot when it's pitch black outside. So much so that I couldn't sleep. It was mother's idea to paint the ceiling in this … theme. She said the moon radiance will calm the child, and with her protection, there is nothing to fear."
"And did it work?"
"Yep, somehow."
"R—rright."
I paused, thinking 'How does all that relate to my question?'. And that curiosity manifested on my face.
"Pa never told you that?"
He responed to my reaction.
"No. Never."
"So you just stare at ceiling all night?"
"Yeah?"
"You don't play games?"
"Nah, we didn't have electricity back then."
"Huh? Really?"
"Well, we're in rural areas. The government couldn't care less."
"Then what did you do back then?"
"Stare at the ceiling."
"No, like, beyond staring at the ceiling."
"Oh."
He scratched his head, trying to recall his memory.
"Play with Ma and Pa. It was pretty fun. Father did a lot of crazy stuff back then, like summoning fireworks and shooting it into the sky for no damn reason. Most of the time, I just watched it and thought 'Gods, how gorgeous those sparks are.' "
"Because he knows you like it, no?" I asked as he sat down.
"Huh? Never really thought of it … you might be right."
After that was a long silence. We sat there, staring at either each other or the wall.
"And how those things you've told me relate to my question?"
"Nah, not really, just reminiscing about old times. What is even your question again?"
I face-palmed.
"So we're just gonna sit here and do nothing?"
"Yeah, sitting here is fine."
"So with all those memories, all those times you all had shared and still you can stand the fact that Pa and Ma are down there, screaming at each other at the top of their lung." I said in a sarcastic manner.
"…"
"Really? You can punch people real good but not help in this situation?"
He gritted his teeth and grunted as he look out through the window, clecnhing his fist.
"This is none of our business. Let the adults do their thing, we will only overcomplicate the situation."
"None of our business?! What are you talking about? This whole thing is about us!"
He
"And can we do anything, brother?"
"They will listen, trust me!"
"Listen? Brother, they've been through lots of shit. Don't you see the scar on our father's head? Our words have no weight."
"…"
It was true. We were just children afterall. We knew nothing. But still, my curiosity was not satisfied. I must know at least why Ma was that piss at us. What the Rite was truly about and why did she hate it so much?
"But aren't you curious what they are talking about?"
"What are you trying to say?"
"Well, shouldn't we just take a peek and like you know? Listen to them?" I slowly shrugged.
He held his chin, considering my offer.
"Then we must be quiet."