The morning sun broke over the village of Iskar, casting a golden light on the cobbled paths and bustling streets. Life had resumed its rhythm after the attack, but the scars were still fresh. Crumbled wards littered the outer edges of the village, scorch marks marred the square, and the air was heavy with the lingering tension of what could have been a far greater disaster.
Yet, amidst the quiet rebuilding, the villagers had something new to whisper about.
"They're here," someone said as the gates creaked open.
"Who?"
"Arthon and Celia," came the reply, hushed and reverent.
The names carried weight, and with them, questions. Eryon's parents had been gone for years, leaving little explanation for their absence. Now, they had returned, and the villagers gathered in clusters to watch as the pair strode into Iskar.
Arthon walked ahead, his posture upright and commanding. His dark hair, streaked with gray, swept back from a face as sharp as a blade, each line etched with purpose. Beside him, Celia moved with quiet grace, her pale blue eyes scanning the village. Her movements were softer than his but no less deliberate. Together, they cut an imposing figure, the kind that demanded respect and attention without asking for it.
"They don't look like they belong here," someone whispered.
"They never did," came the reply.
As the pair reached the square, Arthon stopped, his piercing gaze sweeping across the gathered crowd. "Where is he?"
---
The Unexpected Reunion
Eryon was on the hillside when a breathless villager found him. The man stumbled up the slope, sweat gleaming on his brow.
"Eryon," he panted. "Your parents… they're in the square."
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. "What?"
"They're asking for you."
Eryon stood frozen for a moment, his mind spinning. He hadn't seen his parents in years. They had left without warning, leaving him to fend for himself in a village where he was already an outsider. And now, just like that, they were back?
He set down the bucket of water he'd been carrying, his hands trembling slightly. "Did they say why?"
The man shook his head. "They didn't have to. Just go."
Eryon hesitated, then nodded. His heart pounded as he made his way down the hill, his thoughts a tangled mess of anger, confusion, and a faint, unwelcome hope.
---
The square was crowded by the time Eryon arrived. Villagers pressed in close, their curiosity palpable, but they parted as he approached, leaving a clear path to his parents.
Arthon was the first to notice him. His dark eyes locked onto Eryon, assessing him in a way that felt more clinical than paternal. Celia's expression softened, her lips curving into a faint smile.
"Eryon," she said, her voice steady but warm.
He stopped a few paces away, unsure what to say or do. "You're… back."
"For now," Arthon said. His voice was low and firm, each word carefully measured. "We heard about the attack."
Eryon bristled at the casual way his father mentioned it, as if years of absence could be swept aside by one sentence.
"And what?" he asked, his voice sharper than he intended. "You decided to check if I was still alive?"
Celia flinched, but Arthon's expression remained unreadable. Before either of them could respond, another voice cut through the tension.
"You should've seen him," Tarik said, stepping forward with his usual smirk. "He ran straight at the beast. No magic. No plan. Just blind luck that it didn't tear him apart."
Laughter rippled through the crowd, but Celia's expression darkened.
"Blind luck?" she asked, her voice cutting through the noise. "Or courage?"
Tarik faltered, his confidence wavering under her sharp gaze.
Arthon stepped forward, his focus still on Eryon. "Is it true?"
Eryon met his father's gaze, his chin lifting defiantly. "I did what I had to."
"You fought a beast without magic?" Arthon's voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it.
Eryon clenched his fists. "Someone had to. Nobody else was close enough to save her."
Arthon's eyes narrowed, but instead of the reprimand Eryon expected, his father nodded once, a gesture so subtle it was almost imperceptible.
"You acted," Arthon said. "That's more than most can say."
The words took a moment to register, and when they did, Eryon felt a flicker of something he hadn't expected: pride.
---
Old Wounds, New Questions
Back at their old house, the air was thick with unspoken tension. Arthon stood near the window, his hands clasped behind his back, while Celia moved about the room, tidying things that didn't need tidying.
Eryon sat at the table, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Why are you really here?"
Celia paused, her hand resting on the back of a chair. "We told you. We heard about the attack."
"And?"
"And," Arthon said, turning to face him, "we came because the forest is changing. The attack wasn't random."
Eryon frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Arthon said, his voice low, "that the beasts are being driven out. Something deeper in the woods is pushing them closer to the village."
"Something worse," Celia added.
The room fell silent as Eryon processed their words.
"What does that have to do with me?" he asked finally.
Arthon's gaze was sharp. "You fought the beast. Did you notice anything unusual about it?"
Eryon hesitated, the memory of the creature's glowing eyes flashing in his mind. "It… looked at me. Like it recognized me."
Celia and Arthon exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable.
"What aren't you telling me?" Eryon demanded.
"Not now," Arthon said. "Not yet."
Eryon's frustration boiled over. "You disappear for years, and now you want to play the mysterious parent? I deserve answers."
"You'll get them," Arthon said, his voice firm. "When the time is right."
Eryon stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "Then don't expect me to wait around."
---
Proving Grounds
The tension lingered the next day as Arthon joined the villagers in repairing the wards. His presence was both a blessing and a source of unease. Some saw him as a savior, others as a reminder of the power they lacked.
Eryon watched from a distance, his anger still simmering. But as the hours passed, he noticed something strange: his father wasn't just directing the work—he was doing it. Despite his commanding presence, Arthon was in the thick of it, carving glyphs into stone and weaving protective spells with precision.
By the time the sun set, the wards were nearly complete.
"You've been watching," Arthon said as he approached Eryon.
Eryon crossed his arms. "Didn't have much choice."
Arthon studied him for a moment. "You want to help?"
The question caught Eryon off guard. "What?"
"If you want to be useful," Arthon said, gesturing to a pile of tools, "start here."
Eryon hesitated, then picked up a chisel. The work was slow and frustrating, but as the hours passed, he felt something unexpected: purpose.
---
A Father's Approval
When the work was done, Arthon placed a hand on Eryon's shoulder. The gesture was small, but it carried a weight Eryon hadn't realized he was waiting for.
"You did well," Arthon said simply.
The words settled deep in Eryon's chest, a flicker of pride blooming amidst the anger and confusion.
For the first time in years, Eryon felt like he belonged—not just in the village, but in his father's shadow.
The night fell heavy over Iskar, casting the village in a quiet unease. The repairs on the wards had given everyone a fragile sense of security, but Eryon could still feel the tension in the air. Somewhere out there, in the dark expanse of the forest, the chaos that drove the magic beasts closer was still stirring.
Eryon sat on the steps of his house, chisel and stone dust still clinging to his hands. His father's words—You did well—echoed in his mind. It had been so long since Arthon had looked at him with anything but indifference, let alone approval. Yet, instead of relief, Eryon felt the weight of those words settle like a stone in his chest.
He wasn't sure if he wanted his father's pride.
"Still awake?" a voice broke through his thoughts.
Eryon looked up to see Celia standing in the doorway, a lantern in her hand. Her soft expression was a stark contrast to Arthon's unyielding presence.
"Couldn't sleep," Eryon admitted, shifting to make room as she came to sit beside him.
"Neither could I," she said. For a moment, they sat in silence, the soft glow of the lantern casting flickering shadows across the steps. Finally, Celia spoke. "You've grown so much, Eryon. I wasn't sure what to expect when we came back, but… I'm proud of you."
The words caught Eryon off guard. "Proud of what?" he asked, his tone sharper than he intended. "That I can haul buckets and carve stones while everyone else moves mountains with magic?"
Celia sighed, her hand brushing his shoulder. "I'm proud because you keep going. Even without magic, you've carved out a place for yourself here. That takes strength."
"Strength doesn't mean much when you can't defend the people you care about," Eryon muttered, his thoughts drifting to the attack, to the girl he'd barely managed to save.
"That's where you're wrong," Celia said softly. "Magic doesn't make someone strong, Eryon. It's what's in here." She tapped a hand against his chest.
Eryon looked away, her words doing little to ease the knot of frustration inside him.
"Your father… he doesn't always say it, but he sees that strength in you too," Celia continued.
Eryon let out a bitter laugh. "Sure. That's why he disappeared for years and left me to figure out everything on my own."
Celia's face tightened with guilt. "I won't make excuses for what we did. We thought we were protecting you, but I see now how much it cost you."
"Protecting me from what?"
Celia hesitated, her gaze flickering to the forest beyond the village. "From things you weren't ready to face."
---
The Trouble at the Edge
The following days passed in an uneasy calm. Arthon remained busy, his presence commanding as he worked with the villagers to strengthen the defenses. Eryon kept his distance, throwing himself into his own tasks to avoid his father's critical eye.
But it wasn't long before the peace shattered.
It began with whispers of strange sightings near the edge of the forest. Hunters returned with tales of twisted animals, their forms warped and unnatural. Crops near the treeline withered overnight, their leaves blackened as if by fire.
The final straw came when a scout stumbled back into the village at dawn, his face pale and his body trembling. "Something's out there," he stammered. "Something big."
The village erupted into chaos. Arthon and the elders gathered in the square, their voices low but urgent as they debated the next move. Eryon lingered at the edge of the crowd, straining to hear.
"We need to send someone to investigate," one elder said.
"It's too dangerous," another argued. "We can't risk more lives."
"We can't ignore it either," Arthon said, his tone cutting through the debate.
"And who do you suggest we send?"
Arthon's gaze swept the crowd before landing on Eryon. "I'll go," he said, his voice steady.
The elders exchanged uneasy glances. "You shouldn't go alone," one of them said finally.
"I won't be," Arthon replied. His eyes never left Eryon.
Eryon's stomach twisted.
---
Father and Son
The forest was eerily quiet as Eryon followed his father into its depths. Arthon moved with purpose, his steps confident as he navigated the dense underbrush. Eryon trailed behind, his nerves frayed with every creak of a branch or rustle of leaves.
"Why me?" he asked finally, breaking the silence.
Arthon didn't turn. "Because you need to see this."
"See what?"
Arthon stopped, his gaze scanning the shadows ahead. "The world isn't what you think it is, Eryon. This village, these people… they've sheltered you from the worst of it. But out here, beyond the wards, there's a different kind of power. A dangerous kind."
Eryon frowned. "And you think I need to see that?"
"I think you need to understand it," Arthon said, his voice low.
Before Eryon could reply, a low growl echoed through the trees. He froze, his heart hammering as a massive shadow stepped into view.
The creature was unlike anything he'd seen before—part wolf, part something else entirely. Its eyes glowed with an unnatural light, its body rippling with chaotic energy.
Arthon didn't hesitate. With a sharp gesture, he summoned a wall of fire, the flames roaring to life between them and the beast.
"Stay back," he ordered.
Eryon clenched his fists, frustration bubbling up inside him. He wanted to help, to prove he wasn't useless, but without magic, what could he do?
The beast snarled, its form shifting as it lunged through the flames. Arthon met it head-on, his movements precise and deliberate as he unleashed a barrage of spells. The air crackled with energy, the fight unfolding like a deadly dance.
Eryon could only watch, his helplessness a bitter reminder of his limitations.
---
A Small Victory
When the beast finally fell, its body dissolving into a pool of dark energy, Arthon turned to Eryon, his expression unreadable.
"Why did you bring me here?" Eryon demanded, his voice shaking with anger. "To show me how powerless I am?"
Arthon's gaze softened, just slightly. "To show you that power comes with a cost."
Eryon frowned. "What does that mean?"
"You'll understand in time," Arthon said.
Eryon's frustration boiled over. "Stop talking in riddles!"
Arthon sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "The world isn't fair, Eryon. Magic doesn't make someone a hero, and strength doesn't always mean victory. You'll face things far worse than this creature, and when you do, it won't be your magic—or lack of it—that defines you. It'll be your choices."
Eryon stared at his father, his anger slowly giving way to something else.
"Why do I feel like you're preparing me for something?" he asked quietly.
Arthon didn't answer. Instead, he placed a hand on Eryon's shoulder, his grip firm. "Come. We've seen enough for today."
---
The Weight of Expectations
As they made their way back to the village, Eryon couldn't shake the feeling that his father was right—that there was something looming on the horizon, something far worse than the magic beasts.
For the first time, he began to wonder if his parents' absence hadn't been abandonment after all.
And for the first time, he began to feel the weight of their legacy pressing down on him.