The letter had arrived weeks ago, and Alwin had left the very next morning, leaving the Willhem house in the care of his sister Beatrix. Ryder, ever the dutiful son, buried himself in his father's teachings—pouring over the alchemical texts and trying to follow the intricate steps his father had left behind. Every day, he felt the weight of his father's absence more keenly, but with each passing hour, the quiet house became a place of study, not sorrow.
The fire crackled quietly in the study, its orange glow casting dancing shadows across the walls. Ryder sat at the desk, his brow furrowed as he carefully traced the lines of an ancient alchemical formula. His fingers trembled slightly as they hovered over the delicate pages, but the thrill of discovery kept his attention focused. Alwin had always warned him not to rush—alchemy demanded patience, precision, and above all, respect for the unknown. Sunny was beginning to understand just how vast the world of alchemy truly was.
He could almost hear his father's voice as he read aloud the formula's instructions, each word echoing in Ryder's mind, though it lacked the usual warmth it once carried. "The transformation of matter is a dance between the known and the unknown. You will bend the rules, but you must never break them…"
Sunny paused, running his thumb over the inked lines. There were gaps in the formula, places where his father's notes stopped abruptly. As he squinted at the text, a single phrase caught his eye: "In the moments of darkness, truth is revealed through sacrifice…"
Sunny bit his lip, trying to make sense of the words. What did his father mean? And what truth, exactly, was he meant to uncover? There was a chill in the air, one that hadn't been there before. Ryder glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see his father standing in the doorway, but of course, he wasn't there.
A heavy sigh escaped Sunny's lips, and he returned to the text, his thoughts lingering on his father's words. Sacrifice—it was a word that haunted him in his father's absence. Alwin had always placed his duty to the military above all else, yet Sunny never questioned it. It was a matter of honor. But the more he thought about it, the more the weight of those sacrifices became clearer, and the more Sunny wondered about the cost of such devotion.
The snow had begun to fall heavily as Alwin's carriage rumbled through the thick forest roads. The world outside the window was a blur of white—trees standing like ghostly sentinels in the storm. Inside the carriage, the air was thick with tension. Alwin stared out the window, his thoughts heavy, though his expression remained impassive.
The monarch's letter had been clear: the war had escalated. Forces were gathering on the northern borders, threatening to overrun the region unless swift action was taken. The army needed men like him—commanders who understood the art of battle, who could read the terrain and lead soldiers through the chaos of war.
He had always known this day would come. The day when duty called, demanding everything in return. The war was not something he could ignore, not when the lives of so many depended on him. But as the carriage jostled along the icy path, a gnawing discomfort began to settle in his chest. Was it really the right choice to leave Sunny behind?
His thoughts flickered to his son, to the boy who was slowly becoming a man in his absence. Alwin couldn't help but feel that, in some way, his own absence would shape Ryder's path.
As a father, Alwin had always known that his world would not be a simple one for Ryder to navigate. But he had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that they would have more time together before the harsh realities of the world beyond their home swept him away.
The wind howled outside, sending a sharp draft through the cracks in the walls. Ryder's brow furrowed as he worked through his father's notes, deciphering the old diagrams, translating the scribbled markings in the margins. The more he uncovered, the more questions piled up, each one leading to more complex ideas. Some things his father had left intentionally vague, and Sunny couldn't help but wonder why. What had Alwin discovered that he hadn't shared?
The books were only part of the story. Sunny felt it in his bones—the call to venture deeper into the mysteries, to uncover what lay hidden beneath the surface of the alchemical world. But that feeling of curiosity, of being drawn toward the unknown, was tempered by something else—a cold emptiness where his father's presence used to be.
Sunny stood abruptly, shaking the thoughts from his head. He needed to move. Grabbing his coat from the rack, he threw open the door, the cold air biting at his skin. The small courtyard outside the house was silent, the snow untouched by any footprints save his own. He took a deep breath, the crisp air filling his lungs. It was a reminder that he was still tethered to the world, that life still moved forward, whether or not his father was there to witness it.
The carriage had arrived at the military encampment, a sprawling complex of tents and barracks set against the backdrop of snow-capped mountains. Alwin disembarked with a sense of grim purpose, the cold air slapping his face as he surveyed the camp before him. The soldiers, their faces hard and weary from months of conflict, saluted him as he passed, though there was little warmth in their eyes.
He didn't mind. He wasn't here for camaraderie; he was here to command.
The camp was a hive of activity, soldiers moving in all directions, preparing for the next battle. Alwin moved through it with practiced ease, his every step firm and deliberate. He found his quarters—a simple room, functional and sparse. As soon as he entered, a stack of reports was placed before him, detailing the current status of the forces at the border. His eyes scanned the pages quickly, taking in the numbers, the strategies, the information that would guide him in the days to come.
But once he finished, Alwin leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts wandered once more to Sunny. What was his son doing now? Was he learning, studying as Alwin had hoped? Or was he feeling the weight of his absence?
The house was quieter than ever, the silence thick in the air. Sunny walked slowly through the hallways, pausing to touch the familiar objects that had always been part of his life. His father's desk, the shelves filled with books, the old map on the wall—everything was unchanged, and yet it felt foreign to him now.
He came to a stop in front of the fireplace, the flames dancing with a familiar warmth. He thought about the way Alwin had always sat there, his hands resting on the back of the chair, his mind lost in thought. Sunny was growing into the man his father had always wanted him to be, but in these quiet moments, Sunny couldn't help but feel a sense of displacement. His father had always been there, a steady presence, a guide. Now, he was gone, and Sunny was left to fill the gaps—his father's legacy and his own future.
He closed his eyes, listening to the soft crackle of the fire, the sound almost like a whisper from the past.
Back in the camp, Alwin paced restlessly, his mind torn between the immediate demands of the battlefield and the distant worry over his son. Each report that came in made it clearer: the battle for the northern territories was approaching, and the forces were gathering for an assault that would leave few unscathed. But as he studied the map on his desk, his gaze drifted again to the small letter he had kept hidden in his jacket. It was from Sunny, written just days before he had left.
He unfolded it carefully, reading the familiar handwriting that felt so distant now. "I miss you, Papa. I hope you're safe. I've been studying your notes and trying to understand more of the alchemy you taught me. I know you'll be proud of me when you return."
A lump formed in Alwin's throat, and for a moment, he allowed himself the rare luxury of closing his eyes and holding onto the image of Sunny as he remembered him—the boy with the same eager curiosity and determination he had once seen in himself.
"I'll come back," he whispered, the words slipping from his lips like a promise he would do everything in his power to keep.