As we arrived at the inn, the dim lighting of the foyer did little to mask the shock on the innkeeper’s face when she saw us. Her eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth in horror as she took in my bloodstained clothes. Her gaze quickly darted from to Chris, who stood beside Father, her usually bright eyes dulled with exhaustion.
"Oh my, what happened?" she gasped, stepping back as if the sight of us might sohow bring more chaos into her quiet establishnt. The weight of what we had been through lingered heavily around us, making the inn’s once-warm atmosphere feel distant and cold.
Father, his expression steely and unyielding, didn’t spare her more than a brief glance. "We don’t have ti for explanations right now," he said, his voice firm. "Just give us the room key and let us pass."
The innkeeper blinked, flustered by his tone, but hurriedly complied, handing over the key with trembling hands. We wasted no ti in heading upstairs. Father carried with ease, his arms steady as he ascended the narrow staircase. My limbs felt heavy, almost useless, and every movent sent sharp pain through my body. But I stayed silent. There were bigger things to worry about.
Once we reached the room, Father laid gently on the bed. The softness of the mattress was a stark contrast to the cold, hard ground where I’ve been on before for what felt like an eternity. I sank into it, my body aching in relief.
"You and Chris should rest," Father said, his voice softer now, though still carrying the weight of his authority. "I’m going to go out and buy bandages. When I get back, we’ll head to the church for healing treatnt."
I nodded, my eyes already growing heavy. Chris, on the other hand, had barely made it to her bed before she collapsed onto it, her small fra almost lost in the thick blankets. She fell asleep instantly, her breathing steady and calm. I watched her for a mont, and despite everything that had happened, I felt a sense of peace watching her sleep.
She really had done her best today. The mory of her standing up for and Father flashed in my mind. The look of determination in her eyes, the way she had refused to back down, even when fear was written all over her face—Chris had shown a strength I wasn’t sure I had in myself.
I wondered if I would’ve had the courage to do what she did if our roles had been reversed. Sohow, I doubted it. She thinks she’s weak. She’s always been hard on herself that way, always feeling like she doesn’t asure up. But today proved her wrong—at least in my eyes. She’s stronger than she realizes, and one day, I hope she’ll see that too.
As I continued to watch her, I felt a wave of drowsiness wash over . My eyelids grew heavier, and the pain that had been pulsing through my body seed to dull, if only for a mont. I guess seeing Chris sleep so peacefully reminded that, at least for now, we were safe. The warmth of the bed, the softness of the room—it was all so different from the horrors of earlier. I let out a deep breath, and before I knew it, sleep pulled under.
***
When I awoke, the room was bathed in the soft, warm light of the afternoon sun filtering through the curtains. I blinked groggily, montarily disoriented. My body still ached, though it was less intense now, and I could feel the stiffness in my muscles as I shifted under the covers. I glanced around the room and saw Father packing up our things, his movents swift and efficient. It seed like he had been busy while I slept.
"Are we leaving today?" I asked, my voice still thick with sleep as I sat up slowly, wincing from the lingering pain.
Father looked over his shoulder, offering a small smile when he saw that I was awake. "Ah, Will. You’re up," he said, his tone a bit lighter now.
"Yes, we’re leaving today. If we don’t get moving, we’ll miss the opening ceremony at the academy." He continued folding clothes into the bag, his hands working with practiced ease. "Once I finish packing, I’ll bandage you up, and then we’ll stop by the church for so healing before we leave the city."
I nodded, feeling a pang of disappointnt that our ti here would be cut short, but also relieved that we were finally moving forward. I didn’t want to stay in this city any longer than necessary. Too many mories, too many dark monts were tied to this place now.
After a few minutes, Father finished packing our things and ca over to . His hands were steady as he carefully bandaged my wounds, the soft fabric wrapping tightly around the worst of the cuts and bruises. Despite the pain, I felt a strange sense of comfort knowing that Father was here, taking care of everything as always.
Once he was done, he lifted into his arms again, carrying effortlessly as we made our way downstairs. I winced slightly as we moved, my body still protesting every step, but I kept quiet, not wanting to slow us down.
When we reached the main hall of the inn, the innkeeper was waiting nervously by the door, her eyes wide with fear as she watched us approach. Father’s presence seed to loom larger than life, and I could see the way she shrank back, clearly terrified after witnessing the bloodied state I was in earlier.
Before we exited the inn, Father turned to her, his voice cold and commanding. "If anything happens to Chris again while under your care," he said slowly, his tone filled with a quiet nace, "you will answer for it. Do you understand?"
The innkeeper’s face drained of color, and she imdiately fell to her knees, her voice shaking as she stamred, "I-I understand, sir. I swear nothing will happen to her. Please, forgive !"
Father didn’t reply. He simply turned and carried out of the inn.
The church was located just a few ters before the market, so we reached it in no ti. Unlike the towering grandeur of cathedrals, the church was a modest, unassuming building. The stone structure had weathered the years, its once bright walls now faded with ti, but it still stood firm, offering solace to those who sought it. Unlike cathedrals, which were governed by bishops and adorned with elaborate religious symbols, churches like this one were simpler, run solely by priests.
There were no grand halls or the talent-asuring tools like those found in cathedrals, tools that could assess one’s innate magical abilities. Only cathedrals were permitted to have such powerful relics. Instead, these smaller churches offered basic services: counseling, prayers to the gods, and—most importantly for us—healing potions. These potions were brewed by rare magicians in the capital, those who possessed the rare ability to use healing magic. However, nothing in this world ca free, and these potions were no exception.
As we stepped inside, the familiar scent of incense mixed with the dampness of old stone. The quiet atmosphere was comforting in a way, a stark contrast to the chaos of the city outside. A servant of the gods—a young man in simple robes—approached us, his footsteps barely audible on the stone floor.
"Good day," he greeted, bowing slightly. "What brings you to the church today?"
Father stepped forward, his voice steady and direct. "We’re in need of a healing potion."
The servant nodded and gestured for us to follow him deeper into the building. We were led through a narrow corridor that eventually opened into a small chamber. Inside, a priest sat at a simple wooden table, his head bent over a pile of parchnts, scribbling sothing in the low light.
When we entered, the priest looked up from his work. He was an older man with deep lines etched into his face, no doubt from years of service and the burdens that ca with it. His sharp eyes scanned us briefly before settling on , taking in my bandaged state and the exhaustion that hung over all of us.
"You’ve co for a healing potion, I see," the priest remarked, his voice soft but commanding. The servant who had led us here stepped forward and confird it for him, explaining our request.
The priest nodded and stood, walking over to a small cabinet tucked in the corner of the room. He opened it with a creak and retrieved a small, glass vial filled with a shimring, blue liquid. The healing potion glowed faintly, casting a soft light across the room. It was a sight that both intrigued and unnerved .
"The cost is ten gold coins," the priest said, holding the vial out carefully, as if it were more precious than any treasure.
Ten gold coins. I knew that was a hefty sum, more than many could afford without hesitation. It felt wrong to charge so much for sothing that could save lives, but I also knew that these potions were rare and took great effort to create. Still, it didn’t change the fact that it was a lot of money.
Without a word, Father reached into his coat and pulled out a small pouch. The coins clinked as he counted them, placing the exact amount into the priest’s hand. The priest weighed the coins in his palm before tucking them away, then handed the vial.
"Drink it slowly," the priest instructed, watching closely. "It will heal you, but the process can feel... strange."
I uncorked the vial and brought it to my lips. The liquid inside slled bitter, and as soon as it touched my tongue, I had to fight the urge to spit it out. It was worse than I’d expected—like drinking liquid tal mixed with sothing foul. I forced myself to swallow, though every instinct scread to stop. It wasn’t just the taste that was unbearable; it was knowing that this one little bottle had cost ten whole gold coins. That thought alone made push through the disgust.
As I finished the potion, a strange sensation spread through my body. It felt like ti itself was accelerating inside —my skin tingled, my muscles twitched, and I felt a faint heat rush through my veins. Then, like magic which it was, of course, my wounds began to close. The pain that had plagued all day slowly dulled and then disappeared entirely. I flexed my fingers and carefully moved my arms, surprised to find that I felt no pain. Not even a dull ache.
"I... I’m healed," I whispered, almost disbelieving. I stood up and took a few steps, testing my legs. They felt strong, as if I hadn’t been hurt at all. The healing potion had worked faster than I imagined.
Healing potions were truly amazing.
"Thank you," Father said to the priest, bowing his head slightly in respect. The priest returned the gesture, and with that, we left the church, stepping back into the bustling streets of the city. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the cobblestone paths.
"We should head back to the inn," Father said, adjusting his grip on my shoulder as we walked. "We’ll wake Chris and leave the city before nightfall."
I nodded, still marveling at the fact that I felt perfectly fine now, as if the events of earlier hadn’t even happened.
As we walked, I heard a familiar voice call out from behind us.
"Big brother!"
I turned to see a young girl running towards us—Rena, the girl from this morning. Her eyes lit up when she saw , and behind her, her mother walked more slowly, catching up.
"Good afternoon!" Rena’s mother greeted us warmly when she reached us. "Did you manage to find Mister Carson’s residence?"
Father smiled politely and nodded. "Yes, we did. Carson and I had quite a nostalgic conversation about the old days. I’m glad we ran into each other, thanks to you."
Rena’s mother bead. "I’m happy to have helped. It’s always nice to reconnect with old friends."
Rena tugged on my sleeve, her innocent face glowing with excitent. "Did you see Papa?" she asked.
"Papa?" I repeated, my mind briefly racing to figure out who she was talking about. Then, in a rush, I rembered the conversation from this morning. Her father was Conrad.
I froze.
For a mont, I couldn’t move, my body suddenly feeling heavy. My mouth went dry, and I glanced at Father, hoping for guidance. The look on his face told that he realized it too—Rena’s father wasn’t coming ho. Not ever.
"What’s wrong?" Rena’s mother asked, her voice tinged with worry. "Did sothing happen to my husband?"
Father’s face shifted, masking his mont of realization. He quickly regained his composure and spoke with practiced ease. "Oh, no, nothing like that. Your husband was sent on a mission. He won’t be back for a while."
"What? But why didn’t he tell us?" Rena’s mother’s brow furrowed, her concern deepening.
"It must have been an ergency mission," Father explained smoothly. "Sothing urgent that required his imdiate attention. He probably didn’t have ti to let you know."
If I hadn’t known better, I might have believed him too. Father was an excellent liar when he needed to be.
"I see..." Rena’s mother murmured, her shoulders slumping. "I suppose that makes sense."
"Papa won’t be coming ho tonight?" Rena asked, her eyes welling with tears.
Her mother knelt down and gently wiped her daughter’s cheek. "No, sweetheart, Papa’s on a mission. But he’ll be back soon. Let’s wait for him, okay?"
Rena sniffled, her lower lip trembling. "But I wanted to see Papa today."
And with that, she began to cry.
After Father and I exchanged a few more words with Rena’s mother, we both started to feel the weight of the mont pressing down on us. It beca increasingly difficult to watch the little girl cry, her soft sobs tugging at our hearts. We exchanged a glance, and with a shared, unspoken agreent, we realized we couldn’t bear to linger much longer.
"I think it’s ti we head back," Father said softly, trying not to disturb the fragile mont between Rena and her mother. His voice was gentle, but there was a trace of heaviness in it.
"Yeah," I nodded, my eyes still flickering toward the young girl. Rena’s mother had crouched down to console her, wiping the tears from her daughter’s flushed cheeks. Her voice was soothing, though tinged with sadness.
"Goodbye, and take care," Father said, raising his hand slightly as a gesture of farewell.
Rena’s mother looked up, her expression grateful but weighed down by concern. "Thank you again... both of you." She offered a sad smile before turning her full attention back to Rena.
As we walked away, their voices grew faint behind us. Rena was still sniffling, her soft cries tugging at my chest. The sight of her tears lingered in my mind, filling with an uneasy feeling that I couldn’t shake. Father and I continued in silence for a while, our footsteps steady but subdued. The weight of the truth we carried pressed heavily on my thoughts, making it harder to focus on anything else.
When they were finally out of sight, I couldn’t hold back my question any longer.
"Father... do you regret what you did?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. My words hung in the air like a thick cloud, filled with unspoken weight.
Father didn’t answer imdiately. His steps slowed slightly, and he looked ahead, eyes narrowed as if searching for sothing in the distance. The silence between us stretched, almost like he was debating whether or not to tell the truth.
Finally, he stopped walking altogether, letting out a deep breath. "No," he answered, his voice steady, but there was a quiet sadness in it. "I don’t regret it. Not for a mont."
I turned to look at him, searching his face for sothing more. He kept his gaze forward, almost as if he couldn’t et my eyes.
"I did it to protect you and Chris," he continued, his tone resolute. "No matter how many tis it happened, I would do the sa thing. Every. Single. Ti."
His words hit hard, and for a mont, I didn’t know what to say. There was no hesitation in his voice—no trace of doubt. Father’s loyalty to us, his family, was unwavering. Even if it ant carrying the burden of soone else’s pain, he would endure it.
I clenched my fists at my sides, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I don’t hate you, Father," I said, my voice cracking slightly. "I won’t ever hate you, no matter what you do. I know you only did what you had to... to protect the people you love."
Father turned to face at last, his expression softening, though there was still a shadow of guilt lingering in his eyes. He gave a slow nod, seeming to take comfort in my words. We stood there for a brief mont, just the two of us, sharing the weight of the secret we now both carried.
After that, we resud walking in silence. The cobbled streets felt colder now, as if the cheerful energy of the city earlier in the day had drained away with the evening sun. I glanced up at Father, watching his profile as he kept his eyes fixed on the path ahead. Sothing about his posture told he was still deep in thought.
There was sothing else I needed to know.
"Father," I began cautiously, "why did you deliver the ssage Conrad entrusted to Carson?"
He didn’t hesitate this ti, his answer coming smoothly, though still filled with a quiet sorrow. "Because Carson can’t deliver it anymore," he said, his voice firm. "And maybe, in so small way, I can make up for Conrad. It’s the least I can do for him."
His words lingered in the air, casting a somber tone over us. I understood what he ant, but I couldn’t help but feel conflicted. Conrad’s fate had been sealed, and nothing could change that. But maybe, just maybe, Father’s actions would bring so small peace to those left behind.
We walked in silence for the remainder of the journey, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The streets were growing quieter as the day drew to a close, with fewer people bustling about. The city of Craud, which had been so alive and vibrant earlier, now seed muted, as if it too was winding down for the night.
When we reached the inn, the familiar sight of the stone building brought a sense of relief. The soft glow of the lanterns outside cast long shadows on the ground, and the warm light spilling from the windows made it feel like a safe haven after such a heavy day.
"We’re here," Father said quietly as we approached the entrance. Without another word, we stepped inside, the comforting warmth of the inn’s interior wrapping around us. The noise of the other patrons was a welco distraction from the weight of our thoughts.
We made our way up the stairs to where Chris was still resting. The room was quiet except for the soft sound of her breathing. Father leaned down to wake her gently, his touch careful as he roused her from sleep.
"Chris, it’s ti to go," he said softly. She stirred, blinking a few tis before sitting up.
Once Chris was fully awake, Father went to check on Pride, our horse, and prepare the carriage. The stable was a short walk from the inn, and it didn’t take long before everything was ready. Chris and I climbed into the carriage while Father took his place at the front.
After making sure everything was in order, Father gave the reins a gentle tug, and with that, we began to leave the city of Craud behind. As the carriage rolled forward, I looked back at the fading lights of the city. We were leaving with both happy and sad mories, carrying with us the weight of what had transpired.
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