The Willhem house had fallen into a quiet routine over the years. Sunny, now old enough to read and eager to learn, spent most of his days in the study. The smell of old parchment and ink had become his constant companions. His father's books were a treasure trove, filled with diagrams, strange symbols, and intricate descriptions of alchemical principles that Sunny could barely grasp but desperately wanted to understand.
Alwin often found his son there, hunched over a table, his dark hair illuminated by the flickering light of a single lamp. He would smile softly, proud of Sunny's hunger for knowledge but cautious about how deeply his son might delve into the mysteries of alchemy.
But this morning was different. Sunny sat at the table as usual, his fingers tracing the lines of an ancient formula, when a sharp knock at the door broke the stillness of the house. Sunny looked up, startled. His father rose from his chair in the adjacent room and strode to the door.
Through the crack of the study's door, Sunny watched as his father opened it. The figure standing there was clad in a dark military uniform, a red sash slung across his chest. The man handed Alwin a sealed letter, the crimson wax glinting faintly in the pale morning light.
Alwin's face didn't change, but Sunny could sense the heaviness in his father's movements as he accepted the letter. The courier saluted and left without another word. Alwin closed the door slowly, staring at the envelope in his hand as though it carried a weight far greater than its size.
For a long moment, he didn't move. Then, with deliberate care, he broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.
"Papa?" Sunny's voice cut through the silence, soft and unsure.
Alwin glanced toward the study, his face unreadable. "It's nothing, Sunny," he said, but his voice lacked its usual warmth. He folded the letter and tucked it into his coat before crossing the room to his desk.
The rest of the morning passed in strained quiet. Alwin sat by the fire, staring into the flames, while Sunny tried to focus on his studies but found the silence too oppressive. He couldn't hold back his curiosity any longer.
"Was that a letter from the army?" Sunny asked hesitantly.
Alwin looked up, his eyes meeting Sunny's. For a moment, he seemed to weigh his response. "Yes," he said at last. "It was."
"What did it say?" Sunny pressed.
Alwin sighed, leaning back in his chair. "The monarch has requested my presence in the northern regions. There's trouble brewing on the borders, and they need experienced commanders to oversee the situation."
Sunny's heart sank. "Does that mean you have to leave?"
Alwin nodded slowly. "It does."
"For how long?"
"I don't know," Alwin admitted, his voice softer now. "It could be weeks. Maybe months. It depends on how things unfold."
Sunny looked down at his hands, his chest tightening. He had always known his father's duties to the military were important, but the thought of him leaving filled Sunny with a deep unease.
The rest of the day passed in preparation. Alwin moved through the house with purpose, gathering supplies and packing his things. Sunny followed him from room to room, a small shadow in his father's wake.
"Who will take care of me while you're gone?" Sunny asked as Alwin carefully folded a map and tucked it into his bag.
"Your Aunt Beatrix will be coming to stay with you," Alwin said. "She'll look after the house and make sure you're well-fed and safe."
"But she doesn't know anything about alchemy," Sunny protested.
Alwin paused, turning to face his son. "That's why I'm leaving my books with you," he said with a faint smile. "You've been learning quickly, Sunny. You'll manage just fine without me for a little while. And when I come back, we'll continue your studies together. I promise."
Sunny nodded, though the knot in his chest remained.
That evening, as the fire crackled softly in the hearth, Alwin sat down with Sunny by his side. In his hands, he held a small notebook—its leather cover worn, the edges frayed.
"This," Alwin said, holding it out to his son, "is for you."
Sunny took the notebook with wide eyes. He opened it carefully, revealing pages filled with his father's neat handwriting. There were notes, diagrams, and observations—lessons distilled into careful detail.
"I wrote this for you," Alwin said. "It's a guide, of sorts. Something to help you while I'm away. There's much more to learn than what's in this book, but it's a start."
Sunny's fingers brushed over the pages, his heart swelling with both gratitude and sorrow. "Thank you, Papa," he whispered.
Alwin placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're going to do great things, Sunny. I can see it in you already. But remember—alchemy isn't just about formulas and experiments. It's about understanding the world, about seeing the connections between things that others overlook."
Sunny nodded, his resolve hardening. He would study, he would learn, and he would make his father proud.
The next morning came too quickly. Sunny stood on the front steps of the house, shivering in the cold as he watched his father load his belongings into the waiting carriage. Beatrix had arrived earlier that morning, bustling through the house with an energy that felt jarring against the somber mood.
Alwin turned to face his son, his expression serious but kind. "Be good for your aunt," he said. "And don't stop practicing. Keep reading, keep experimenting—but be careful. Some things aren't meant to be rushed."
Sunny nodded, his throat too tight to speak.
Alwin crouched down, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "Sunny," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "There's so much I wish I could tell you—but some things, you'll have to discover on your own. Trust yourself. Trust the knowledge. And always remember who you are."
The words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning.
Before Sunny could respond, Alwin stood and climbed into the carriage. The door closed behind him with a finality that made Sunny's chest ache.
The horses began to move, their hooves crunching against the frozen ground. Sunny watched as the carriage rolled away, growing smaller and smaller until it disappeared into the distance.
He stood there for a long time, the cold biting at his cheeks, until Beatrix gently ushered him inside.
That night, after Beatrix had gone to bed, Sunny found himself in the study. The notebook his father had given him sat on the desk, its pages glowing faintly in the lamplight. He opened it, his eyes scanning the familiar handwriting, and felt a small flicker of determination spark within him.
He would keep his father's promise. He would study, he would learn, and he would carry the Willhem name with pride.
But as he turned the pages, a single thought lingered at the edges of his mind: how much of his father's world had he yet to uncover?