It was burning the fire in front of me and slowly eating my present up with it.
Throwing me back to the past.
The world around me twisted, reshaping itself into the familiar yet distant memories of my past. The weight of years fell away as I found myself standing in the grand halls of my childhood home. The war had lasted ten years—ten long years of bloodshed, waiting, and the silence of absence. And now, after all this time, it is finally over.
I was twelve years old again, yet the mind inside me remained unchanged, the soul weary from countless battles. My hands clenched involuntarily as I took in the sight of the estate, its towering walls untouched by war but carrying an emptiness I had grown used to.
Jasper stood beside me, as he always did, his sharp golden eyes watching me carefully. He had changed over the years, growing taller, his presence steadier than before. But he, too, carried the same silent weight that I did.
"The war is over," Jasper said, breaking the silence.
I nodded, my throat tight. "I know."
And with that war's end came the long-awaited return of Duke Armando Mubaz—my father.
The halls were busy today, an unusual sight for the estate. Servants hurried past, their arms laden with fresh linens, food, and preparations for a grand welcome. The entire household had been thrown into chaos with the announcement. No one had expected him to return so suddenly.
Millard stood at the entrance of the main hall, issuing orders in his usual calm yet firm demeanor. "The Duke will arrive within the hour. Make sure everything is in place."
I watched them move, but my feet remained rooted.
A hand on my shoulder drew my attention. Jasper.
"You should go get ready," he said quietly.
I exhaled. "It's been two years, Jas. He won't care what I'm wearing."
Jasper gave me a pointed look, his grip tightening slightly. "It's been two years, my lord. That's exactly why you should."
I sighed but relented, heading to my chambers.
***
Time slipped through my fingers faster than I expected. Before I knew it, I was standing in the great hall, my formal attire in place, yet my heart was uneasy. I had grown without him. The child he had left behind was not the one standing here today.
Then the doors opened.
The footsteps echoed first, heavy yet measured, steady as they always had been. And then, finally, I saw him.
Duke Armando Mubaz.
He looked almost the same—his presence an undeniable force, the air of command clinging to him like armor. His dark hair, streaked with strands of silver, was tied back neatly. His sharp gaze swept over the hall, his warriors behind him, their armor still dusted with remnants of war.
He took one step forward, his eyes landing on me. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then, his expression softened—just slightly, but enough that I caught it.
"Kaan."
My throat tightened. I had imagined this moment a thousand times—what I would say, how I would react. But now, standing in front of him, words failed me.
Before I could gather my thoughts, he crossed the space between us, resting a hand on my head, ruffling my hair as he used to when I was younger.
"Your hair's grown too long," he muttered, a quiet fondness in his voice. "Cut it. I always liked it short."
A sharp exhale left me, something between a laugh and a shaky breath.
The hall erupted in cheers, the soldiers behind him shouting in victory and joy. The weight in my chest didn't disappear, but it lessened. Just a little.
Jasper stood close, watching as if waiting for me to fall apart. But I didn't.
Instead, I turned to Millard, voice steady. "I need a haircut."
Millard nodded immediately. "I'll prepare the room."
Jasper exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly, but he followed as I moved away from the grand hall.
***
As I sat in the familiar chair, the scissors glinting under the light, I let out a long breath.
Jasper stood at my side, his arms crossed, watching me through the mirror's reflection.
"He really came back," I muttered.
Jasper hummed in agreement. "He did."
Millard combed through my hair, the first snip echoing too loudly in the quiet room.
"How do you feel?" Jasper asked.
I met my own reflection. The boy who stared back at me wasn't the same one my father had left behind. He was someone else now.
"I don't know yet."
The locks of hair fell to the ground, and as I watched them scatter, my mind drifted back to the moment Armando had placed his hand on my head. The warmth had been familiar, grounding, yet something in me still felt distant.
Jasper reached out, brushing some stray strands away from my face before they could fall into my eyes. "You don't have to know yet."
I glanced at him. His expression was unreadable, but his presence was steady, unwavering.
'Something is wrong with me. Never in my entire existence have I felt this feeling of comfort and relief as I did moments ago, when I saw him.'
My heart clenched inside my chest and my lungs expanded with much needed breath.
As Millard continued trimming, the rhythmic snipping of the scissors was oddly soothing. The room remained silent except for the occasional shift of fabric, the sound of my own breathing steadying.
And then, without meaning to, I spoke.
"I missed him."
Jasper stilled, his gaze flickering up to meet mine in the mirror. There was no judgment, no surprise—just quiet understanding.
"Of course you did," he said simply.
Millard didn't comment, but the pause in his movements told me he had heard too.
I closed my eyes briefly, inhaling deeply. When I opened them again, I no longer saw the hesitant boy in the mirror. The hair continued to fall, piece by piece, stripping away the remnants of the past.
For the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe.