The door shut with a low thud, and Arthur's hand stayed on the wood a moment longer than needed. His shoulders were stiff, as if holding back words.
Fazer shifted in his chair, staring at his father's back.
"Who was that man, Father? What did he mean?"
Arthur turned slowly, his hood still shadowing part of his face.
His voice came steady, deep. "The message was from the capital. They've given us a choice—surrender… or be hunted."
Fazer's mouth went dry. "Hunted? By who?"
Arthur's eyes settled on him. "Bounty hunters. The kind who don't stop until the job is done."
The boy's stomach tightened, but before he could speak, Fazer's mother's chair scraped back. She rose sharply, her crimson eyes blazing.
"You kept this from us?" Her voice trembled with anger, but underneath it was fear. "Arthur, how long have you known?"
Arthur's jaw clenched. He looked at her, then down at the table, then back again. "I suspected for days, Abigail. Tonight only confirmed it."
Abigail's hand pressed flat to the table as though to steady herself. "And while you suspected, you still took him with you today?"
She crossed the room in quick steps, standing before Fazer.
Her fingers brushed his cheek, gentle but shaking. "My boy—out there, in danger, and I didn't even know."
She turned, her voice sharper now, cutting at Arthur. "How could you?"
Fazer glanced between them, caught in the storm.
His father's silence weighed heavy, but then Arthur stepped forward.
He placed a hand on Fazer's shoulder, firm, protective. "He needs to learn. If I shield him from everything, one day the world will break him."
"He's a child!" Abigail's voice cracked, the raw edge of a mother's fear breaking through.
"Not one of your men, not a soldier in your clan." Her eyes glistened as she looked back at Fazer, then at Arthur again. "You lied to me. You let me believe he was safe."
Arthur's lips pressed into a hard line.
His answer came low, deliberate. "One day, Abigail, he will face worse than this. Better he stands with me now than falls alone later."
Abigail's breath caught.
She looked down, her hand still resting on Fazer's face.
For a long moment she said nothing, torn between anger and grief.
When she finally spoke, her voice was softer, but no less pained. "And what if the world doesn't wait for him to grow? What if it swallows him before he's ready?"
Arthur's gaze dropped, then lifted again, steady and unflinching. "Then I'll be there to pull him out. That's why I'm still alive."
Silence fell.
The weight of his words lingered, heavy but real.
Fazer swallowed hard, caught between his mother's trembling touch and his father's unyielding hand.
At last, Abigail drew her hand back.
She wiped at the corner of her eye, turning slightly away so neither of them would see the tear. "If you're going to drag him into this life, then I won't be left behind. Wherever you take him, you take me."
Arthur studied her, the hardness in his eyes easing—just a little.
He gave a single, quiet nod. "Then we leave together."
Fazer's chest tightened with a mix of fear and something else he couldn't name.
Arthur didn't waste time.
He left the table and moved toward the chest by the wall.
The old hinges gave a dull groan as he lifted the lid.
Inside lay folded cloaks, worn leather belts, a few blades wrapped in cloth. He picked one up, testing the edge with his thumb.
"Fazer," he said without looking back, "pack your things. Only what you can carry."
Fazer blinked. "We're leaving now?"
Arthur turned, his face set in grim resolve. "At dawn. But there's work I must do before then."
Abigail crossed her arms, still standing by the table.
Her voice was steady now, but sharp. "And what work is so urgent you'd risk leaving us alone on a night like this?"
Arthur met her gaze. "The clan. They need to hear this before the sun rises."
Fazer hesitated by the stairs. His eyes flicked to his mother, then to his father. "Are they in danger too?"
Arthur tightened the belt around his waist, sliding the sheathed blade into place. "We're all in danger. That's why I warned them days ago. Tonight, we decide our path."
Abigail's lips pressed thin.
She walked over to Fazer and crouched slightly so she was level with him. Her hand rested on his arm. "Go on, pack your bag. Take your books too, not just weapons." Her eyes flicked at Arthur as she said it.
Arthur gave a faint smirk but said nothing.
Fazer nodded quickly and ran up the stairs, the thump of his feet echoing faintly above.
Abigail turned back to her husband.
Her voice lowered. "Arthur, tell me honestly. How far does this go? You speak of danger, of decisions… but what is it you're really planning?"
Arthur didn't answer right away. He pulled the hood from the chest and draped it over his shoulders, then finally met her eyes.
"No more running. No more hiding. The clan will either scatter and be hunted like dogs… or stand and reclaim what was once ours."
Abigail's eyes widened. "Reclaim? You mean—"
Arthur cut her off with a slight shake of his head. "Not here. Not yet. But the choice will be made tonight."
A quiet stretched between them. Then, from upstairs, Fazer's voice called, "Mother? Should I bring the scarf you made me?"
Abigail blinked, her throat tightening.
She called back, "Yes, dear! Bring it." Her voice softened, but her eyes stayed hard on Arthur. "He doesn't even understand what you're dragging him into."
Arthur's reply was low, almost a whisper. "Then I'll teach him, step by step. He won't walk blind."
The sound of hurried footsteps returned as Fazer came back down, a small pack slung over his shoulder. He grinned faintly, trying to look brave. "I'm ready."
Arthur studied him for a long moment, pride flickering across his face, though he didn't say it aloud.
Instead, he turned to Abigail. "Stay with him until I return. I'll send word when the meeting is done."
Fazer frowned. "Can't I come?"
Arthur crouched to his son's level, gripping his shoulder firmly. "Not tonight. The clan meeting is for me to face, not you. Your time will come."
Fazer's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Then… come back fast."
Arthur gave a short, quiet laugh. "Always." He rose, pulling the hood over his head. Without another word, he opened the door and stepped into the night, leaving mother and son in the silence of the house.