The low, labored moans of his mother filled the small cottage, the only sound that broke the stillness of the early morning. Damian sat outside on the worn wooden bench, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped under his chin, trying to maintain the calm, collected mask he had grown so used to. His father, Alistair Cade, was pacing in front of the cottage, the tension in his body palpable, though he, too, wore a mask of stoic concern.
Inside the cottage, the village midwife was busy assisting Liana Cade, Damian's mother. Her cries came in waves, but there was no mistaking the strength behind them. His mother was the strongest person he knew, even if he couldn't show her how much he appreciated it. As much as Damian kept himself distant, he knew his family was the only real anchor he had in this unfamiliar world. Still, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he was drifting, waiting for something to happen—something that would allow him to break free from the constant ache gnawing at his chest.
Suddenly, a sharp cry broke through the air—a newborn's cry.
The door to the cottage swung open as the midwife stepped out, smiling as she wiped her hands on her apron. "It's a boy," she said warmly.
Alistair let out a sigh of relief, rushing inside the cottage. Damian followed behind him slowly, the same hollow feeling lingering in his chest. When he stepped inside, he saw his mother lying in bed, cradling the newborn in her arms. Her face was pale but radiant, her brown eyes shimmering with joy despite the exhaustion. The baby was wrapped in a small, worn blanket, his tiny fists clenched as he squirmed in her arms.
"Damian," his mother called softly, her voice weak but full of love. "Come meet your brother."
Damian forced a smile as he approached the bedside. His father stood next to his mother, his blue eyes—a mirror of Damian's—shining with pride.
"His name is Ewan Cade," Alistair said, his voice thick with emotion. "Our family grows."
Family. The word felt heavy in Damian's mind. As he looked down at his newborn brother, a strange mix of emotions surged through him. He didn't feel the joy that filled the room. Instead, he felt… detached. It wasn't Ewan's fault, and Damian knew that. But still, it was as if the birth of his brother only deepened the divide between him and the world around him.
Later that evening, after the excitement of Ewan's arrival had settled, Alistair gathered the family together. He sat at the small wooden table, his hands resting heavily on the surface, and spoke with the authority of a man who had made up his mind.
"We're leaving Fuschia," Alistair announced, his gaze shifting from Liana to Damian. "I have been promoted as a city guad in the city. It's a good position, a secure one. We've saved enough over the years to buy a small house in Ilyara, the city at the heart of Duke Verdell's territory." My father is a 2nd rank aura practitioner something that I was interested but gave up on as I think of living a normal life.
Liana nodded, her expression tired but content. "It's a chance for a better life, Damian," she said softly. "Ewan will grow up in the city, and you'll have opportunities you wouldn't have here."
Damian kept his face neutral, though inside, he felt something twist. Leave Fuschia? The village had never felt like home, not really, but it was the only place he knew. He had his friends here—Corwin and Eli. And then there was the old man, Master Harwick, who had opened his personal library to Damian, letting him lose himself in books about magic, history, and lands beyond the village.
Still, he nodded. "I understand," he said simply, the words rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. This was the mask he wore—the dutiful son, the one who smiled when he was supposed to, nodded when expected, even though inside, it felt like none of it mattered.
*************************************
The next morning, Damian stood at the edge of the village, staring at the familiar sight of the towering tree where he and his friends had spent countless afternoons. Corwin, ever the boisterous one, was practicing his sword swings while Eli watched, his arms crossed, occasionally muttering something that would cause Corwin to shout in mock outrage.
When they noticed Damian approaching, Corwin sheathed his wooden sword and grinned. "You ready for another round of 'Knight's Challenge,' Damian?" he asked, his eyes bright.
Damian shook his head, giving them a small smile. "No more games, Corwin. I'm leaving."
Both of his friends blinked, stunned by his words.
"What do you mean, leaving?" Eli asked, his voice soft, a rare note of concern in his usually sarcastic tone.
"My father got a new job," Damian explained. "We're moving to the city. I don't know when I'll be back."
For a moment, there was silence. Then Corwin spoke, his voice defiant. "Well, you'll come back. You can't just leave us here."
Damian gave a quiet chuckle, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll try," he said, though deep down, he wasn't sure. His life in Fuschia felt distant, as if it had never truly belonged to him. He had played his role here, but now, the stage was shifting.
Before he left the village, Damian made one last stop. He stood in front of Master Harwick's cottage, the place that had become his sanctuary. The old man, with his graying hair and spectacles, greeted Damian at the door with a smile.
"So, you're off to the big city, eh?" Master Harwick said, his voice warm but tinged with a sadness that Damian hadn't expected.
Damian nodded, his hand brushing the doorframe. "Yeah. My father got promoted, so we're moving."
Master Harwick sighed and led Damian inside. The shelves of books that lined the cottage walls seemed even more precious now that he knew he might never see them again. "Take what you've learned with you. And remember, no matter where you go, knowledge is your greatest weapon."
Damian nodded, though inside, he felt the familiar emptiness gnawing at him. He had always tried to fill it with books, with knowledge, but it was never enough.
"Thank you," Damian said quietly. "For everything."
Harwick placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You'll make something of yourself, Damian. I know it."
*************************************
By the time the family was ready to leave, the village had gathered to see them off. Damian stood by the carriage, his brother Ewan bundled in his mother's arms, his father directing the loading of their belongings.
As they set off on the road to Ilyara, Damian looked back at Fuschia for the last time. The village grew smaller and smaller in the distance, until it was nothing more than a speck on the horizon.
"Goodbye," Damian whispered under his breath, though he wasn't sure who he was saying it to—the village, his friends, or the boy he had once been.