GAVIN WELDER
What does it mean to be a father? It's a question he asked me that day. It's as clear as it will always be.
"Papa,"
He calls out as soon as he sees me. His cute brown delicate naked body gives me joy when I see him.
Little Tristian's thumb is tucked between his lips as he giggles, his bare feet padding across the floor, the tiny underwear he insists on wearing clinging to his little body. Fresh out of his bath, his skin still glistens with droplets, but the boy is a whirlwind of energy, incapable of settling down. Who knew being a father would be this much? He's only two, but his refusal to let his old man rest is relentless. From Blacksmithing to chasing him around.
"Babammm!!!" he shouts, his voice a mix of joy and mischief, as he darts behind the table. I play along, pretending not to see him, hovering just close enough to keep his anticipation alive.
"Tristian..." I call out, letting my voice carry a teasing edge, walking past the table as his tiny giggles bubble up, filling the air. That sound—pure, unfiltered joy—it does something to me, something I can't quite explain.
"Baby, where are you?"
In one swift motion, I lunge, grabbing him before he can make a run for it. His body writhes in my grip, those infectious laughs breaking free, echoing through the living room. It's like trying to hold onto sunshine—warm, vibrant, and impossible to contain.
"Who's the big boy?" I ask, tossing him into the air with a grin. He squeals as I catch him, tossing him up once more, his tiny arms flailing in delight. "Nga'naganagagan..." I mimic the nonsense words he spouts, holding him still as his mouth begins to vibrate, lips trembling in the way toddlers do when they've discovered a new sound.
He's a ball of light, and in these moments, the world shrinks down to just this—his laughter, his warmth, his absolute trust that I'll always be there to catch him.
Too cute.
Huh!
Watching his eyes—those familiar brown eyes that are just like mine—it hits me again. Yeah, he got those from me. But those giggles? They're all Grace. He's still so small, just a toddler, but the way he laughs—it's like hearing her all over again, and damn, I love it. I smile at him, and he smiles right back, his chubby hands reaching up to grab my face, his giggles growing more intense, filling the room.
"Tristian..." Grace's voice calls out, soft but enough to make him whip his head toward her. And just like that, the little guy betrays me. He squirms, trying to break free, his tiny body pushing against mine, desperate to get to her.
"Seriously, son?" I tighten my grip slightly, playfully holding him back as he struggles. "I thought we had a bond."
But there's no use. Grace reaches for him, and the moment she takes him, he clings to her, his small hands gripping her shirt like he never wants to let go.
"Guess you're hungry," she says, her voice gentle, as he snuggles into her shoulder, his little face pressed against her.
And just like that, I'm forgotten. Again.
What a boomer…
I shot up at the sound of Jolt's scream—sharp, piercing, the kind that makes your chest tighten like something's broken. The dream? Gone. Doesn't matter. My legs moved before my mind did, barely thinking as I shoved open the door, barreling to her without bothering to grab a shirt. Who cares? She needs me.
I slammed into her room, breath coming hard, and there she was, crying her heart out, struggling to get to her feet the second she sees me. My heart just about broke. I scooped her up, cradling her tight, not thinking—just acting. I started swaying, spinning around the room in some frantic dance, my hand running circles on her back, but she didn't stop. Her tiny fists clenched tight to my skin like she was afraid to let go, her tear-streaked face looking at me with wide, desperate eyes.
"Tristian…" I tried to smile, tried to be calm for her, but she didn't care. She just kept crying, the sound wrenching right through me. I pulled her closer, moving a little slower, softer, "You miss your brother, huh?" My arms wrapped around her tighter—tight enough to let her know I was there, but gentle enough not to hurt. "He's always the one who comes running, isn't he? But he's off doing something important. He'll be back tomorrow."
Her sobs started to fade, just a little, but she was still clinging on like I was the only thing keeping her together.
Scoff.
That bond with her brother? Unbreakable. He's always there, always putting her to bed, always there when she wakes up, playing with her all day, only retreating to his books when she falls asleep. I even built a little baby cradle next to the Jacaranda tree, just for him, to rest her instead of rushing her back to the house. Tristian loves that spot.
"So, any guess on his power?" I asked, running my hand through her hair, trying to distract her from whatever was bothering her. Her cries had stopped, but her eyes were still glued to me, unblinking. "I'm betting he'll be a healer, just like his mom."
I let out a heavy breath, and everything suddenly felt too big and too heavy. She wasn't crying anymore, but those eyes—those big,brown silent eyes—they weren't done with me yet. She always was like this, different from how Tristian was when he was her size, her gaze always felt like she could understand and perceive att that was happening around her.
"If only I had given you both stronger blood, then maybe—"
My words die on my lips as the door bursts open, slamming against the wall. Grace stumbles in, clutching her chest, her breath ragged, her eyes wild with panic. Tears brimming, she manages to choke out between gasps, "I... I can't feel Tristian!"
The world tilts for a moment, my grip tightening instinctively around Jolt. I slowly rise, cradling her against my chest with my left arm as I cross the room towards Grace, who is already trembling, barely keeping herself upright. Her panic is infectious, and my heart thunders with a dread I can't name yet.
"What do you mean you can't feel him?" The words come out in a rush, fear clawing at my voice as I search her face, hoping for something less terrifying than what I see there.
She doesn't respond right away, just thrusts out her hand, casting a spell I've seen a hundred times before. Three faint blue dots manifest in the air, swirling slowly, representing the life-bonds she forged between us all. The life essence she could always track, no matter how far apart we were.
But this time—this time, there are only three.
Her eyes widen, her pupils shrinking to pinpricks. She doesn't need to say it, but the words escape me anyway, barely a whisper: "If it's just three… then…"
"Tristian's bond," she says, her voice breaking as her legs buckle, tears streaming down her cheeks. "It's gone. One second it was there and the next—gone, just like that!" She's sobbing now, her body convulsing as she tries to form coherent words. "Darling, what if he—"
"Grace!" I grip her shoulders firmly, shaking her just enough to bring her back to the present. "Don't jump to conclusions. We'll contact Raigdeel. He's supposed to be with them. They'll know something."
I lead her towards our room, Jolt's small hands gripping the fabric of my shirt, as if sensing the turmoil swirling in the air. I run my fingers through her hair, trying to soothe her, even as my own heart races. Grace fumbles for the communication orb, her fingers trembling as she places it on the table. The orb, a gift from the Magic Tower after the new King's rise, had become a lifeline for all families—rich or poor. Grace imbues it with magic, her breathing uneven as she tries to establish the link.
A faint light hums from the orb before a man's voice echoes from the other side. "This is Brilliant Academy, how may I assist you?"
Grace doesn't wait. "I'm sorry for the disturbance, but I need to know—did a boy named Tristian Welder arrive for the Awakener test today?"
There's a brief pause, the sound of shuffling paper filling the silence. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait, each second feeling like an eternity.
"Could you please hold for a moment while I check the attendance records?" The man's voice remains calm, a sharp contrast to the tension suffocating the room. "What was the name again?"
"Tristian Welder," Grace says, her voice barely above a whisper now. "He just turned sixteen. Dark hair, brown eyes... brown skin... and…" She stumbles over her words, the desperation in her tone thickening with every second of silence that follows.
The sounds of flipping pages continue, each one scraping against my nerves, until finally the man speaks again. "I'm terribly sorry, ma'am, but there is no record of anyone by that name or description that has attended today's test."
"What do you mean?" Grace's voice breaks, her grip tightening on the edge of the table. "They left for Raigdeel this morning. Are you sure? Please, check again!"
Another pause, another sigh from the man on the other side of the orb. "Am really sorry but I've checked, and there's no record. Perhaps you should—"
"I don't need you to be sorry!" Grace's voice cracks, her pain and frustration boiling over. "I need you to find my son!" Tears spill down her face, her fists trembling against the orb's glowing surface. She's losing control, and I can feel the weight of it crushing us both.
I gently place a hand on her back, calming her the best I can.
"We appreciate your help," I say, my voice steady, though the fear inside me is anything but. "We'll look into it further."
As I end the call, Grace collapses into my arms, clutching Jolt close to her. The room feels suffocating, the air thick with dread. I stare at the orb, feeling the weight of the unanswered question hanging over us.
"He's right," I mutter, more to myself than to her. "We need to speak with Alfred's traveling guild. If they didn't make it to Raigdeel, they might have taken a detour to Vaincus. They have a stop there."
Grace pulls away just enough to meet my eyes, her face a portrait of despair. "What if something happened to him? What if—"
"We don't know anything yet," I say firmly, though my own voice betrays me with a slight tremor. "But we will find out. No matter what it takes."
I bolted from the house, my heart pounding as I threw on my heavy trench coat, the fabric rustling with each hurried movement. The cold bite of the night air met me as I secured my brown winter boots and thick pants, the leather creaking slightly as I buttoned the hilt of my sword and strapped an axe onto the horse's saddle. The sky was a deep, star-strewn expanse, and the chill suggested it was well past midnight—probably around three in the morning.
Just as I was about to mount the horse, Grace emerged, her figure partially obscured by the heavy leather winter cloak she wore. The cloak, lined with thick cotton, was drawn tightly around her, and a scarf was wrapped snugly around her neck. Her silhouette was softened by the pronounced curve of her belly, where Jolt nestled securely.
"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice edged with concern.
"Don't tell me you expect me to sleep after that?" Grace's response was a mix of determination and exhaustion as she gracefully mounted the horse.
I knew better than to argue. With a resigned sigh, I helped her settle into place, then climbed up behind her. Without delay, we set off.
"I've already informed Benedict," Grace called over the wind as we rode, her voice resolute. "He'll meet us at the guild."
With a firm command, I urged the horse forward, its hooves pounding the dusty road as Grace cast a reinforcing spell, enveloping us in a shimmering barrier of protection. The spell crackled with arcane energy, intensifying our speed as we surged down the road toward Vaincus.
The cold night air whipped against my face, but I forced myself to focus, keeping my fears at bay. No matter what, I had to believe that Tristian was safe. The thought of him alone in the dark, without us, was a burden too heavy to bear, but I clung to the hope that we would find him in time.
"Wait a bit longer little man, your dad is coming for you,"