"Well, don't keep me in suspense. How did it go?"
Watching Rowan stir the wok over high flames, the mix of rice, meat, and vegetables vigorously bouncing up and down to the tune of his spatula's stirring, I picked a seat at one of the chairs at the kitchen table and answered him. A smug smile that I could not stop formed on my face.
"Was there ever any doubt? And what is this? Since when did you start being this considerate? Is it a woman? Does this brother of mine finally have someone in his life?"
"As if," Rowan replied with a chuckle, his head partially turning while his focus remained fully on the task at hand.
"I have learned more than fighting in these past months we have not seen each other. I have even had times where I needed to wrangle people myself. It made me realize just how much of a pain me and the boys were back at the orphanage. I would thank you for those times, but it will sound too cringey, so I won't."
"Eugh, sloppy. There is certainly someone influencing you at the very least. Although, if I were to guess…"
The yellow apron with frills, the practiced way he was cooking, as well as the sloppy dialogue.
"I am sure I will meet her soon enough."
I am not an investigator, but I am almost completely sure this case is solved and shut closed. Looking back, I probably acted something similar to this when I first started courting my then-wife, Prescilla. It is a wonderful feeling to be young and in love. *Sigh… what I would do to get back to those times.
Rowan snapped back, the irritation in his voice apparent. An unexpected reaction, one that was rather exaggerated, I felt.
"Like I said, you are reading it wrong!"
I could already imagine the fed-up expression marring his face, even as his back was turned to me. An obvious suggestion for me to end the topic there.
"Alright, if you say so."
And of course, the main character's love life would not be that simple now, would it? What Romeo and Juliet-like story shall I bear witness to? Being privy to his future hardships and accomplishments made me revel in what is to come. I do not mean to come off as sadistic or malevolent—it is just that I know that, in the end, Rowan will get his happy ending. A trait that all of Marcus's main characters are entitled to.
Throughout all his books, there are certain concepts that are a throughline for every story he writes. First, they all happen in a fantasy setting. Whether it is modern fantasy or a medieval one, a fantastical world is always the baseline of his creations—worlds that I now realize are, quite possibly, literal in every sense.
Second, the main character is always an orphan. Regardless of their origins or position in the social hierarchy, the main character has always been an orphan. It is an expression of appreciation for the first best friend my son made as a child—someone who happened to be an orphan. This decision persisted through all his books.
Third, they are all exceedingly talented.
This is a trait that Rowan fully exhibits and manifests.
Even the orphan part.
Holy fuck, I am a terrible human being. I guess I am an orphan in this world too, but I do not think that excuses me for entertaining such thoughts, even in jest.
…
Since when did I become so stuck up again?
I digress. Rowan and I met around two years ago at a local competition for scouting potential knight candidates. I came to watch at that time together with William. Among those who were participating, Rowan was the only orphan there, which was somewhat of a big deal—competing against clearly well-off children. He swept the competition so decisively that it was not even remotely close. I remember all the children who were very clearly destroyed by the unexpected outcome.
I decided to meet him after the competition upon hearing his name and piecing together what I had just witnessed. After learning of his existence and connecting the dots with the reality I was living in, I was able to come to the impossible conclusion that I was somehow in my son's novel.
Realizing what was at stake, I did not let go of the chance to at least acquaint myself with Rowan right then and there. It also helped that, outwardly, we were of the same age. Befriending him in the near future did not become an issue.
Had I been more attentive to my son's work, maybe I would have puzzled things out at an earlier timeline. But who could blame me? I was never the reading type.
It also helped that sometime after I met Rowan, I learned of the existence of Arcus—the god that non-humans worship for writing the world into creation. Coincidentally, the alias my son hides behind.
I remember when I first read this particular information back at William's villa. The visceral reaction I had caused me to spit and choke on the beer I was sneakily drinking late in the evening. It made me question whether I helped birth such a narcissistic child.
But upon trying to recollect deeply, I do not ever recall my son writing himself as the god of any world he has written. Which makes me think that not everything here is the same as in his novels. Once again, not being a fully attentive father is now coming back to bite me in the ass—the consequences of my actions.
As if sensing that I was being a little too quiet, Rowan took the initiative and spoke up.
"What's gotten you so quiet now? Afraid that I'm upset?"
"No, just remembered something. How is life as a knight in training?"
"Eventful. It turns out, even in an environment where we are knights in training, we are afforded a significant amount of time to ourselves."
"Isn't that good, then?"
"…It depends on how you look at it."
After turning the stove off and placing the wok down, Rowan started moving to set the table. I, myself, went for the fridge to look for beverages, finding water and nothing else.
"I didn't buy any beers, so there are none in this house. I don't drink anyway, and I sure as hell won't help feed your bad habits."
I would much prefer to have the ominous talk, thank you very much.
"I am sure it is something you can handle, right?"
Quickly inserting myself before he started a full rant about the dangers of consuming too much alcohol, I made my effort too obvious and forced, prompting Rowan to give me an "I know what you're doing" look.
"No, I'm fine for the most part. So, you don't really have to worry about me. I'm the top of the school year, after all. I have a few seniors and instructors looking after me."
Look at him casually showing off. That is my boy.
"I'm actually more worried about you, Rell."
"Oh yeah? Why is that?"
"Well, you're still using a gun, right?"
We paused and faced each other, each carrying something in our hands, looking as though we were primed for a kitchen commercial.
"It doesn't matter that you have a special Gift; they will surely pick on you for using a gun. Mercenaries are highly ridiculed in most knighthood circles, even more so in a space filled with juveniles. Not to mention, a little digging and anyone would find that you are from a side branch of the Harbinger blood. Why not use this moment as an opportunity to reinvent yourself and convert to a bow?"
"And purposely hamper my own development? No way." I waved the pitcher of water in my hand as I replied negatively.
"Are you sure I really can't change your mind? Then how about using the bow in public and secretly training with a gun? You get to avoid all the nasty things as well as have a hidden card up your sleeve. That's two birds with one stone, yeah?"
Waving his spatula left and right, the rice on it scattered all over the floor. Rowan, being completely clueless about the inconvenience he was creating for himself, continued.
"Are you even listening to yourself? Fat chance. Let us assume I would actually accept such a moronic suggestion. If so, then who will guide me with my gun practice? How much time will I have trying to juggle two professions? How much better will I perform with my focus torn between the gun and the bow?
I am already enrolling at a very inopportune time. Using a bow will not make their reception of me any better or my situation less precarious than it already is. Also, clean that up before we start eating. I am sure you will forget about it if you do not do it now."
I pointed down at the bits and pieces of food on the floor.
"I am not one to be pressured or intimidated into doing what others want me to. I will be more than happy to give them the rough and tough when it comes to it."
"I really am not sure which one of us was raised in an orphanage whenever I see you act like that."
Bending over to pick up the bits of food littering the floor, Rowan gave a resigned sigh, capitulating to my decision once again. He has had moments where he tried to convince me to change my preference for the weapon I wish to wield. Today has certainly been the most "aggressive," if you would call it, of his attempts—even suggesting that I mask my actual weapon.
I have been expecting a level of discrimination to come my way for using something unorthodox. I was trained by William, after all—an alumnus of Phalanx himself. However, he has never impressed upon me this issue as strongly as Rowan has.
I totally blundered this all for myself. Why could I not have just waited before picking my Gift? Then I could have avoided all this triviality. Of course, weapon racism exists here. How could I not have seen this coming?
After Rowan finished cleaning the floor and I finished setting up the table, we sat opposite one another and finally had our early dinner.
All the while, we had light conversations about my stay and training back at William's Villa after Rowan left to start training at Phalanx. I also tried to veer the topic toward Rowan's time at the academy, but his evasive stance on the topic hinted at his reluctance. So, for the time being, I let it slide.
Right around the time when Rowan started washing the dishes, he spoke up.
"Hey, Rell."
"What is it?"
"Listen, I don't want this to come off the wrong way."
Uh-oh. How foreboding.
"I think it would be better if we pretend not to know each other at the academy."