Their mother is a beautiful woman, often seen in light clothing of ocean blue, occasionally dressed in soft, off-white tones. She is tall, much like their father, and carries herself with an elegant posture that only adds to her graceful presence. But beyond her beauty, what truly stands out is her long hair, the color of silver silk. She has always been there for all of them.
Every time they changed, even just a little, she could sense it and would always ask, "Are you alright? You look a bit sad, did something happen?" Or, if they didn't finish their meal, she'd ask, "Did you not like what the chefs prepared? Would you like me to ask them to change the menu?" Small things like that. But to them, it was her way of showing just how much she loved them. She never questioned what they did or how they spent their time, not even when one of them chose to read books instead of training for their future as a fulfilled man. This was their mother for the boys—the ones who would later become important figures in the nation.
As for their sisters, their mother was different. She would always tell them to stop playing outside or with the other nobles because they needed to learn to play a musical instrument, study ethics, or understand what other countries excelled at—preparing for the time when they would have to take on the role of a consul, envoy, or perhaps even a wife to a powerful nation. The idea of a "political marriage" was never something directly discussed, and their mother probably didn't try to make it feel like an obligation. After all, no daughter in their family was ever married into another noble family for political purposes. The family's wealth always came from the sons' side, as they served as guards to the most important figure in the world.
But their sisters were young and viewed it as an obligation they had to fulfill. The boy couldn't deny their mindset, as he had once thought the same way.
I've never seen her stay by my father's side, most likely because he had work to do and would only come home after weeks had passed. Something I couldn't question or pry into.
"So, do you think acting like this would sever your fate?" my father asked, his voice gentle but tinged with anger.
I never was able to stand his soft side, always colored with oppressive authority, his words carried the weight of a command that left no room for argument. It was the same when a maid made a mistake and accidentally dropped a vase on my younger sister Shi's head. The other day, the maid was nowhere to be found. But that wasn't my concern—what mattered was what I saw later that same day, after the accident took place. Before heading to my room to sleep, I saw the maid gathering her things and opening the door to leave the mansion. Since she had taken care of me for several years, I felt compelled to at least say goodbye, so I followed her, hoping to catch up and bid her farewell. When I left the mansion she was at the exit gate and in an attempt to close the gap between us, I saw my father with three guards standing by the gate. They grabbed her and shoved her into a carriage. I started running to say what I wanted to, but just as I was almost at the carriage, my father spoke:
"What do you think you're doing?"
"I wanted to tell her that I was thankful for everything she had done for me," I said, my voice trembling with fear.
"You should go now to sleep. You can send her a letter tomorrow"
Incapable of saying anything back, I moved toward the mansion.
But that's just a small glimpse of his attitude. There are many other moments that could be told. I stopped myself from thinking about all the reasons I disliked his way of speaking and simply responded to his question:
"I have never tried to sever my fate. I simply did what I believed would be best for me. Fate is uncertain, and it's not set in stone—it's something that can change based on the decisions we make and the people we encounter along the way" said Will, speaking with a respectful tone.
"So, do you believe that if you were in a life-threatening situation, facing a monster a dozen times stronger than you, and you chose to fight and die, that instead, if you chose to run, you would have a higher chance of surviving?" said the father in response.
Instead of continuing the conversation and explaining why he denied me the right to sit at the table, my father chose to start a psychological game with me—a game I could never win, solely due to the age difference. He had lived longer, and at fifty-three, his experience far outweighed mine. Since I didn't have the option to give up, doing so would only confirm his theory that fate couldn't be changed. I took the bait, and I said:
"That probably is not the best example of showing that fate cannot be changed, there can be different factors that influence the outcome. If I choose to run, I might encounter other monsters that could slow me down, and eventually, the original monster will surround me. If I choose to fight the monster, clearly superior to me, it will depend entirely on my combat and tactical skills to avoid or dodge the powerful enemy in front of me. So, there's no way to defeat the odds. If I may ask, what would you do in that situation, father?"
By saying this, I either forced him to accept that the example was a flawed one, or he would find the perfect answer to prove that fate cannot be changed.
"If it were me— "he started to give an answer to the question asked by the son.
There is no way that you can beat the odds of fighting a monster far superior to you, not even Heriaus was able to chase or defeat the twelve tails Sinx with his almighty power.
Before my father could respond, the sharp crackle of fireworks echoed from the city, easing the tense atmosphere in the room and drawing our attention. My sisters—Alicia, Miyria, and Chrise—rushed to the window to see what was happening. However, Chrise hesitated, unsure whether to follow them or remain seated, waiting for someone to tell her it was alright to move. Putting aside the response from my father, I moved toward Chrise and said:
"Chrise, let's watch the fireworks from veranda" I reached out my hand to her.
She mumbled a response, her words slurred and incomplete—'Mmm, mm, broth—'—as if struggling to form a proper sentence.
"Don't worry, let's go," I told her with a smile. Holding her hand, we slowly made our way toward the door leading to the veranda—where our sisters and brothers were.
It was expected for her to struggle with a response, but perhaps her shyness and lack of interaction with others made it difficult for her to speak up.
Lost in thought, I felt myself losing my composure as a sudden sensation of falling overtook me. I tripped on one of Alicia and Miyria's toys. Just before hitting the ground, I realized I was still holding Chrise's hand, and she was starting to fall as well. Without a second thought, I pulled Chrise into my embrace — carefully, ensuring I wouldn't hurt her. Upon impact, I hit my head on the desk, but thankfully, I saw that Chrise was safe—just before I started to lose consciousness.
"Heeeeeeiiiii, boy. How long will your sword stay in its sheath???"
The words echoed through the air, snapping me out of the haze that had lingered for so long.
"Haha, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" said the boy with a slight laugh on his face. The boy drew his sword from its sheath—a medium-length black sword.
As he drew his sword from its sheath, a soft, cracked sound echoed, and the atmosphere seemed to grow heavier.
"How does a little boy like you can create an intimidating atmosphere? How intriguing.", said the man in front of the boy.
"So, are you planning to play with that sword? I wouldn't recommend it," the man said, his words dripping with irony.
"You do realize this is a real fight, not a training session, right?"
"Fear not. The moment I stepped onto this ground, I knew I wasn't here to play" said the boy, a hint of mockery in his voice as he toyed with the man's words.
"Alright, boy, let's see what you've got" said the man, his voice nearly cracking with frustration at the boy's words.
But, before fully drawing the sword from its sheath, the boy began to put it back.
"Ha?? What the heck are you trying?" the words were clearly filled with anger as they came from the man.
"What do you mean by that?" said the boy, his words clearly filled with annoyance.
"Are you for real?" said the man, starting to move toward the boy—but after the first step, his upper body suddenly lurched toward the ground.
"Wha—" the man began to speak, but his words were cut off as his body collapsed, unable to finish his sentence.
Alright, the job's done here. Let's head toward the capital city, where they are.
"So, have you decided?" an unfamiliar voice asked, its tone cutting through the silence.
"Decided what?"
"To decide if you'll guard," another voice chimed in, echoing from a different direction.
"Guard?"
"Why are you avoiding the question?" a third voice snapped, sharp and insistent. "You know exactly what we're talking about."
The voices seemed to overlap, each one pressing harder, louder than the last. As I tried to process their words, the world around me began to crumble, the air thickening, and I felt the ground beneath me shift, as if this reality was coming to an end. The voices continued to swirl around me, their intentions unclear, their meaning elusive, until everything seemed to fade.
Perhaps, the end of the dream?
When I regained my senses, the first thing I noticed was a strand of blonde hair gently brushing my arm. It was Chrise, trying not to fall asleep as she watched me from the chair beside the bed. In that moment, Alicia and Miyria jumped onto my bed, excited to show their joy of being awake.
It hurt, but I couldn't bring myself to tell them. Could I?
"How much time has passed?" Will asked.
"Merely some hours" Chrise said.
As we were talking about the time that had passed, the door began to open, and a voice spoke:
"You should begin preparing for departure. Lord Atya is waiting for you, Master Will," the maid said.
"Alicia, Miyria, could you please get off the bed?" Will asked his sisters politely.
"Do you really have to go?" Chrise asked, her voice uncertain.
"I'll be back in a few days. Until then, you can play with your sisters and our mother—before you know it, the time will fly by."
"Why do you have to go? You never wanted to be a guard, or to take part in the ceremony," she said, her voice starting to tremble.
"You know I have to go. If I don't, our father will banish me from this family. And if that happens, I won't be able to play with you anymore," he replied, his voice thick with sadness.
"Even if you go, you won't be able to become a guard. You've never trained, never tried to excel with a sword, never bothered to learn how to fight, and you've never cared about becoming a guard. So why do you think that now, suddenly, you can change anything? If you know the outcome is the same, just stay here! At least that way we can spend some time together—something you've never done. You've always played with us on a whim," she said, her voice growing angrier.
I never thought that Chrise, of all people, would say this to me. I can't deny that I never intended to play with them, preferring instead to spend my time with books. But as time passed, I began to wonder what I would do after failing to become a guard. How would my sisters feel when I had to leave the family? Even though Chrise always stayed hidden in her room, avoiding interactions, whenever she did leave—whether it was to be with our mother or to sew with the maids—she sought us out, her brothers. She would always watch Abril and Abiguel train through the window until they were done, and whenever she saw me in the library, she would quietly slip into my arms, waiting for me to cuddle her. So, in an attempt to make the most of the time I had left, I chose to give more attention to my sisters and gave up on my books.
With nothing left to say, the boy chose silence. After a few seconds, her emerald eyes began to brighten—not with awe, but with tears. Alicia and Miyria, unable to find the right words to comfort her, tried to embrace her. But Chrise raised her hand in a way that stopped them from getting any closer. She then said:
"Even if you go, it will all be for nothing," Chrise said, her voice gradually losing its anger.
With that, Chrise began to move toward the door. Just before closing it, her lips formed a single word—silent, yet unmistakable.
"Liar."
The boy believed that, with time, their relationship would change and chose not to push the argument any further. Little did he know that time doesn't heal everything—and once something is lost, no amount of time can ever bring it back.