Father's POV – Number 99978
The King had already turned toward the door, his cloak brushing the floor, his soldiers shifting around him like shadows. My heart pounded—I thought it was over, that my son's courage had been rewarded enough for one lifetime.
But then it happened.
My boy, with no thought, no permission, no fear—ran forward.
"Wait!" he cried.
And before I could grab him, before I could stop him, his little arms wrapped around the King's leg.
I froze. My wife gasped. Even Soren's men stiffened, their hands twitching toward their weapons.
But the King… stopped.
Slowly, he turned. His mask of steel softened. With one hand, he bent low and lifted my son up into his arms. My boy clung to him like he was born for that place.
"Father," Chris said—not to his son, but to me. His voice carried the weight of command and something deeper.
"Your child has spirit."
I tried to speak but no words came. I only nodded, shaking.
Chris looked into my boy's eyes. "From today, you are no longer a child of the common road. Your education is to be transferred immediately to the Blackwood School of Loyals."
The room tilted. My knees almost gave out. That school was legend—only children of ministers, commanders, and the highest circles ever stepped foot inside its gates. My son—my son!—was chosen.
Chris held him firm, then lowered him gently back to the ground. He turned, cloak sweeping, his soldiers falling into formation.
"Raise him well," he said as he walked out.
"Or the Union will."
And with that, he left us—our poor home now filled with treasures, our hearts torn between pride and fear.
I dropped to my knees, holding my face in my hands. My boy had leapt into the arms of a god.
And gods… never touch without purpose.
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