Benjamin's irritation flared. "Today was your son's Gene Awakening. Do you even understand how important that is? Other parents were there—both of them!"
"But you, as always, couldn't be bothered."
Charles ignored the accusation and turned to Arthur instead, his voice quieter now.
"Your Gene awakened? What is it?"
Arthur nodded and replied, "Crimson Fern."
For a split second, Charles froze. It was subtle, but Arthur noticed the change—the way his father's shoulders tensed, how his fingers curled ever so slightly, the fleeting shadow of sadness flickering in his eyes.
Benjamin, unwilling to let this moment slip away, cut in, his voice firm.
"It's Crimson Fern, yes, but Arthur also has Inborn Rune Force."
"That alone is worth everything."
"I've already decided. Arthur will attend Solgard Primary University and study Runic Training."
His voice was filled with unshakable conviction. "The village will cover the costs."
Charles stood frozen, his face unreadable. His eyes flicked toward Arthur, then back to Benjamin.
He muttered the words under his breath, almost as if they were foreign. "Crimson Fern… Inborn Rune Force…"
Arthur saw it then—a sudden, subtle change in his father's expression. A tightening of his jaw. An almost imperceptible wince.
Suddenly, Charles's expression hardened, and then——his head snapped up.
"No."
Benjamin blinked. "What?"
"No," Charles repeated, his voice like iron, unwavering.
Benjamin's chest heaved with frustration. "Do you even understand how valuable this opportunity is?"
Charles's gaze grew colder, more distant. "Opportunity for what?" His lips curled into a bitter smile.
"So he can train Crimson Fern? And do what with it? That gene is useless."
Arthur's breath hitched. He'd heard those words before, but to hear them from his father's lips… 'Useless.'
Benjamin clenched his fists. "But he has Inborn Rune Force!"
"If he can obtain even the lowest-quality Rune, he'll become a Runic! Do you understand what that means? Our village hasn't produced one in years."
Charles scoffed. "Now you're showing your true colors. You don't care about Arthur."
"You just want a Runic for the village."
"Damn right I do!" Benjamin shouted, fists trembling. "Because that's what's best for him too!"
"I don't know what's wrong with you, but I'm not about to let your son's future burn along with whatever's left of your life."
Charles met his glare with a dead stare. "I said no. Now leave."
Benjamin's fists clenched so hard his knuckles cracked. "Charles—Reid—"
"No need to yell," Charles said coolly.
"I'm not deaf. You can go."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Finally, Arthur spoke, his voice softer but firm.
"Grandpa Benjie, don't be mad."
"Dad is right—Crimson Fern is useless."
"But thank you for your kindness."
Benjamin turned to Arthur, his anger softening just a little. "Grandpa isn't mad."
He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as he turned toward the door.
Arthur followed, watching him go.
At the doorway, Benjamin stopped. He glanced back, his voice quiet but weighted with meaning.
"Charles… your life is what it is."
"But Arthur's just a child."
"Shouldn't you at least give him a chance at something better? Don't drag him down with you."
He paused. "If you change your mind, come find me."
With that, Benjamin stepped out into the fading light, leaving father and son alone in the dim, tattered house.
...
After Benjamin left, a quiet stillness descended upon the house.
His father sat in the chair, his back straight, eyes closed as if the weight of the world had crushed him into that position.
There was no movement—no sign of sleep. Just the soft, steady rise and fall of his chest.
"Dad, you should go back to sleep—I'll prepare the meals," Arthur said softly, stepping closer.
Charles's eyes opened slowly, his gaze piercing but tired. Then, in a voice softer than Arthur had ever heard before, he asked, "Do you want to become a Runic?"
Arthur paused, surprised by the question. "It's not that important, Dad."
"Becoming a toolmaker is fine—it supports us. You promised you'd teach me how to forge."
Inside, Arthur wrestled with the contradictions in his heart.
'Genetic enhancement might boost strength and speed, but technology can do the same.'
'I still don't understand enough about this world to decide.'
Charles opened his eyes fully, and Arthur saw the storm brewing behind them—a mix of sorrow, regret, and something deeper than just bitterness.
His father's left fist was clenched tightly, the tendons in his calloused hand standing out like twisted roots. His face, worn and weary, carried an icy resolve.
"Runic?" Charles scoffed, his voice edged with something deeper than anger—something broken.
"What's the point?" He looked down at his prosthetic limbs, his hand clenching into a fist.
"Even the fiercest Gene, even the greatest potential… it all amounts to nothing in the end." His fingers curled tighter as his gaze fell on his own prosthetic limbs.
"No matter how strong you are, power always takes more than it gives."
...
Arthur could feel the weight of those words settle like dust on his chest.
He had seen his father's limbs—the metal and iron that replaced what had been taken from him.
He understood now, in a way he never had before, that it wasn't just his father's bitterness.
It was fear.
Fear of losing his only son.
Finally, Charles exhaled slowly, a long, tired breath, and then his gaze fell upon Arthur again. "Show me your Gene."
Arthur barely hesitated.
Taking a deep breath, he lifted his right hand.
Deep within him, the Scarlet Eclipse Technique stirred, the warmth flowing through his consciousness. A pale red radiance shimmered across his palm, and in an instant, the delicate red orchid—the Crimson Fern—bloomed into existence.
Charles stared at it—not with anger, but with something deeper. Grief. Longing. Memory.
His lips parted, and in a voice barely more than a whisper, he murmured, "Crimson Fern… just like hers."
Arthur froze. His heart pounded in his chest.
"Hers?" he asked cautiously.
Charles didn't answer right away. His gaze drifted, lost in the past.
"Yes," he said, the words heavy with years of pain.
"Your mother…" His voice broke.
"The world is ruthless."
"If you're weak… it won't let you live."
Arthur stood still, unable to find words. He could see it now—the ghosts in his father's eyes, the wounds that never healed and the memories that chained him to the past.
"She was weak,"
"And the world took her." Charles's voice was soft, yet trembled with grief.
"I lost my limbs trying to stop it." His fingers dug into the armrest of his chair, the scrape of metal against wood echoing in the quiet room. His breath was shallow, uneven.
Arthur's throat tightened, his chest aching with the weight of his father's pain.
He didn't know what to say.
But then Charles's voice dropped to a near whisper. "Tell me, Arthur—knowing this, after seeing what this path has done to your parents—do you still want to be a Runic?"
The room felt suffocating, thick with a grief too heavy to carry.
The silence was deafening.
But Arthur's mind raced as his heart steadied.
He stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Charles's iron prosthetic.
"Dad."
Charles didn't move, but Arthur could feel the tension in his father's body, the silent war raging within his chest.
"Dad," he said quietly, "we can't let fear consume us."
Charles didn't answer at first. The silence stretched out, the only sound in the room the soft rustle of the wind outside.
Arthur stood a little taller. "I know you're afraid. You don't want to lose me the way you lost Mom. But I promise you, nothing will happen to me."
For a moment, Charles's gaze wavered, something fleeting passing through his eyes. Then Arthur spoke again, quieter this time. "If we don't face the danger, how can we ever change anything?"
Arthur paused, his words hanging in the air. He wasn't sure if they meant anything to his father, but they meant something to him.
Arthur's voice softened. "You lost something irreplaceable."
"And I know you carry that weight alone. But why do you think so many people still believe in you?"
For the first time, Charles hesitated.
"Grandpa Benjie always tells me about the Emperor of Runes our village had, centuries ago. He speaks of him with awe."
"Yet, he scolds you for your drinking, for wasting away." His words hit like a punch to the gut.
Charles's shoulders stiffened.
Arthur pressed on. "How can one person inspire two opposite emotions from the same man?"
The silence was deep, suffocating. But Arthur didn't back down.
"It's because they believe in you."
Charles's eyes flickered, as if a flicker of light had been struck in the dark.
Arthur leaned closer, his voice lower now. "Mom must have believed in you, too."
Charles's breath caught. For the first time, his iron fingers relaxed.
Arthur stepped back, then added softly, "If bringing her back was possible, you would've done it already."
"After all, you are the Emperor of Runes, Dad."
Then, the room brightened. The glyphs on Charles's prosthetic arm pulsed, awakening with a quiet hum.
The air felt electric as the runes flickered and hummed softly, like a forgotten power stirring back to life.
Charles sat frozen, eyes wide with shock, staring at Arthur as if seeing him for the first time.