Humiliation, that's all I can say. Father, in front of us, forcefully restrained by four men who appear to be knights by the armor they are wearing. The rage within me was too much to contain. My father, a noble man, being double-crossed by the same twisted people he had warned us about. Mother screamed and wailed, tears flowing from her eyes. It was a sight so humiliating—a husband, a father, belittled by men in front of his own family.
"I beg of you, let him go!" screamed Mother.
One of the knights scoffed with disgust, "This man has betrayed his nation by choosing to abandon his post and run off to start a family."
Father tried his best to put on a smile. "Annika, make sure to raise our boys well."
They picked Father up from his knees, the position they had him in, and prepared to head off. Before they could, my brother Darius shouted at one of the men, "Unhand my father now."
The men looked at him with such fury in their eyes, like they had been disrespected on scales we couldn't comprehend. One of the knights spat on the ground, and before we could do anything, Mother knelt down and whispered to both of us, "Go to your rooms now, boys," she said.
Without any hesitation, we stopped our attempt at defiance and ran up the stairs to our room, tears forming in our eyes. My father, the man I thought was invincible, one to be looked up to for decades to come, had just been taken from us.
A year had passed. In this world, we don't celebrate our birthdays. I had just turned eight, and my father hadn't been there to witness it. Mother tried to stay strong and put on a brave face, but often we would hear her crying in her room at night. Stuff like that really dug at our souls, but we knew deep down we couldn't do anything even if we wanted to. Heck, we were eight.
I thought about stopping training completely, but knowing that my dad is out there somewhere, contained, made me want to train even more. It gave me a reason to fight beyond personal desire. The day our father had been taken, my brother and I swore a pact that we would find him and rescue him. It's one hell of a task.
Oftentimes, I think about completely giving up. Seeing the state of our family really wears me down, and I don't like that feeling at all. Seeing Mother like this, and Darius—it hit him the worst. We barely speak because he's always training with Maeve, and if he's not, he's out doing secret practice. You should see the look in his eyes. It's not one of pure determination but one of someone who's willing to do just about anything to get back what they lost.
The sun had begun to set, and night approached swiftly. Just as I was about to sleep, Darius awoke me. "Let's have a duel."
Half asleep and confused, I laughed and replied, "Enough of the games, brother." But he wasn't kidding. It was the same look he wore every day, so without uttering a word, I put on my shoes and wooden leather robe and waited outside for him to get ready.
Anticipation brewed in the air, the tension could be felt a mile away, but his eyes didn't change once, while mine had a look of reluctance. But before I could gather my thoughts, he came charging at me with his wooden sword. Such speed—he was almost on par with Father. Woosh was what I made out in the air before I was knocked off my feet.
"You're far too weak. If you want to save Father like me, then stop slacking off in training," he said with a void look in his eyes and no emotion behind his tone.
It infuriated me. No longer did I remain my calm, cool, collected self. I felt a need to win his approval, so I got up, dusted myself off with my hands, and rushed in, charging like a bull. It was as if he had anticipated this, and he swiftly moved out of the way. Thud. I fell headfirst into the ground. I tried to grab my wooden sword, but just as I turned, his sword was at my throat.
"Just as I expected—no will in you at all."
Without a word, he walked off. I sat there feeling a sense of shame, like all my dignity had been lost. This past year, I had been acting like I was going to become stronger and liberate my father from his captors, but it was all talk and no bite. Pfft, he had seen something that I didn't. The truth is, it's natural for me to not feel that attached to my father. I lived a previous life, deluding myself into thinking everything would be perfect, that I'd return the parental love they gave me right back.
But truth be told, I don't. I feel like I don't fit in, an outsider always trying to stay in their good graces. The only person I could truly be myself around was my twin brother, and now he hates my guts because he thinks I don't care, that I've given up. Perhaps he's right. Perhaps I don't truly feel attached to them, but to be honest, it still hurts. It really, really hurts... I can't take this, I can't bear this. I'm sick of this act. All these years, I have just felt like I'm a diluted version of myself. This whole perfect family act is garbage!
It's time I stop pretending I'm somebody that I'm not, but then again, I'm still afraid of how others would think of me if I were to show my true self. Tears rolled down my eyes as I sat there in silence, the moonlight shining on my face.
"Is there something wrong, Lucius?" said a tender, forbearing voice.
There was my mother, with a distressed expression on her face. She must have been worried, seeing her son sitting outside at night all alone, crying in desperation and sorrow.
The words just came right out of my mouth, "Mother, I can't take this anymore."
She sat down right next to me. She placed my head on her chest, slowly rubbing her hand on my head, just like she used to when I was five. "Honey, tell me what's wrong."
"All this time, seeing you cry, seeing Darius so enraged, seeing Father be taken away by those men—it's just gotten too much. I can't, just can't bear it anymore. It's more than I can handle, it's just uhhh."
"Honey, calm down," she said with kindness and urgency in her voice. "We've all been feeling like that. I'm sorry that you have too. Your father will be fine, I promise. And about Darius, I'll speak to him. I can see those marks he gave you," she replied.
I sat up and immediately responded, "M-Mother, there's no need to do that. I'll be fine, I promise," I exclaimed while forcing a smile.
Mother calmly told me to go inside and sit down at the dinner table as she would be making me hot milk so I could go back to sleep. But just as I was about to enter, I noticed Darius sitting there quietly, with a blank expression. Something was plaguing his thoughts, and although I felt sympathy for him, there was still a hint of underlying anger inside me. I made my way in and sat down. Silence filled the room. Not a word was uttered, and no conversation was exchanged between us.
Mother began to heat up the cup of milk she promised. To be honest, I never really paid attention to how she heated things up, so when I noticed months ago that she had the blessing of fire, I was amazed and taken aback. I downed the milk with haste, wiping my mouth with my bare hands. Just as the room was about to be silent again, a loud knock came at the door. It startled us, and a part of me hoped that it was Dad. So did Darius, judging by how his eyes slightly lit up.
We rushed to the door, and there was a man with short silver hair and a rough patch on his chin that appeared to be a sort of beard. But what was most striking of all was his resemblance to my Father.