After hearing Rioran's story, Lord Rodel sat motionless in his grand chair, his weathered fingers clenching the ornate armrests until his knuckles whitened. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across his face, deepening the lines of grief that now etched themselves into his features. His throat tightened as the brutal details of his brother's death played vividly in his mind.
"So that's what happened," he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never imagined my brother's death would be so brutal." His eyes, glistening with unshed tears, searched Rioran's face. "Are you the lone survivor?"
Rioran shifted his weight, the metal of his artificial limb catching the light as he extended his left leg. "Yes, as you can see, my left leg is made of steel, crafted by me." His fingers absently traced the intricate metalwork, remembering countless hours of pain and determination spent forging not just the limb but a new identity from the ashes of war.
Lord Rodel observed the craftsmanship with genuine admiration, his gaze lingering on the mechanical joints that moved with surprising fluidity. Such skill born from such tragedy, he thought. He drew a deep breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of sixteen years of unanswered questions.
"I understand... sigh... It's been sixteen years since the war ended." He paused, carefully choosing his next words. "By the way, Rioran, I wanted to ask about your child."
Rioran's eyes darkened, and he looked away, staring into the dancing flames of the hearth. The confession had been building inside him for years, and now the moment had come. "Oh, sorry but... he was not my child," Rioran admitted, his voice heavy with the burden of his long-kept secret.
"What?!" Lord Rodel exclaimed, lurching forward in his chair, unable to mask his shock. His mind raced with new questions, each demanding immediate answers.
Rioran clasped his hands together, steadying himself. "His mother died while holding him in her arms," he explained, the painful memory still fresh despite the passing years. "I saw that the baby was in good condition. I didn't think much at the time—I just... I adopted him." His eyes revealed the depth of attachment that had grown over the years, despite the child not being his by blood.
Lord Rodel's expression softened as he began to understand. "Can you also tell me how you and Aelar survived?"
Rioran nodded, gathering his thoughts. The memories of those desperate days came flooding back—the smoke, the screams, the silence that followed.
"All right, I'll tell you," he began, his voice growing stronger as he spoke. "The place where the war ended was the only place where we lived. There was a destroyed house that was once a blacksmith's store. In that place, I made my foot of steel and fitted it to my leg." His hands gestured as he spoke, mimicking the painstaking work. "I trained until I immediately got used to it."
He continued, his eyes distant as he recalled the hardships. "If you want to know how Aelar could eat, the reason is also the destroyed store where we found food. The place was in ruins, so we needed to survive on our own."
Rioran's face brightened slightly as he remembered Aelar's childhood. "That kid adapted quickly. I allowed him to explore and find useful items for our survival. I taught him what little knowledge I had to prepare him for his own journey someday."
Lord Rodel leaned back, processing everything he'd heard. Such hardship, yet such resilience, he thought admiringly.
"What a long story, isn't it?" Rioran said with a weary smile, the lines around his eyes crinkling.
"Yeah," Lord Rodel agreed, shaking his head in wonder. "Those sixteen years... do you regret any of it?"
"Those sixteen years, I did not regret any of them," Rioran said firmly, conviction burning in his eyes. "All those years spent with him are precious. But now..." His voice trailed off, heavy with emotion. "It's time for Aelar to embark on a journey into the world, to confront potential dangers from lurking demons. I brought him here to prepare him." His words carried a profound sense of sorrow, each syllable weighted with the pain of imminent separation.
Lord Rodel chuckled softly, though his eyes remained serious. "So, that's where you reside, huh? Do you intend to disclose the truth to him?" he inquired, studying Rioran's face carefully.
Rioran rubbed his head, the gesture betraying his inner conflict. "Sorry, that's the only solution I can think of at the moment. And yes, I will tell him—but not immediately," he responded, avoiding Lord Rodel's gaze. In his mind, he pictured Aelar's face contorting with betrayal at learning the truth, and his heart constricted painfully.
"It's your decision," Lord Rodel said, his tone gentle yet firm. "But perhaps consider revealing it sooner rather than later." He had seen too many secrets fester over time, poisoning relationships beyond repair.
Rioran shifted uncomfortably, then met Lord Rodel's eyes with determination. "Can I entrust Aelar to you for guidance, to mold him into a skilled swordsman until he reaches maturity? I must journey to the Padayan country, my homeland," he implored, his voice carrying the weight of a parent's desperate hope for their child's future.
Lord Rodel didn't hesitate. "Of course, my friend, if it's you asking. I'll ensure Aelar receives the necessary guidance," he agreed, though his heart felt leaden in his chest. Another young life shaped by the echoes of war, he thought sadly.
Relief washed over Rioran's face. "Thank you sincerely, my friend. I already owe you so much; someday, I hope to repay you." His gratitude was palpable, hanging in the air between them.
"Indeed, I'll be counting on it," replied Lord Rodel, as silence enveloped the chamber. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and their measured breathing. After a moment of contemplation, he added, "Tomorrow, a ship will be ready to ferry you to your destination, Rioran."
"Thank you very much." Rioran rose to his feet, the mechanical leg whirring softly as it adjusted to bear his weight. "I bid farewell now. Please also bid farewell to my son, as I cannot face him while saying goodbye." His voice cracked slightly, betraying the turmoil raging within.
"I'll handle it," Lord Rodel assured him, rising as well and placing a comforting hand on Rioran's shoulder. "Prepare yourself for tomorrow."
"I am truly grateful," Rioran expressed, bowing his head in deference. As they concluded their conversation, his thoughts turned to Aelar, and a bittersweet smile crossed his face.
While Rioran and Lord Rodel finished their somber conversation, Aelar was diligently cleaning his room, unaware of the life-altering decisions being made on his behalf. The young man moved with purpose, spending the entire day tidying his dormitory with meticulous care.
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he scrubbed the wooden floors, his makeshift cleaning tools crafted from scrap wood he'd found scattered about the grounds. A clean space means a clear mind, he thought, recalling one of Rioran's many teachings. Every corner was attended to, every surface polished until it gleamed in the afternoon light filtering through the small window.
As he worked, Aelar's mind wandered to thoughts of his future. What will become of me in this new place? He wondered, excitement and apprehension mingling in his chest. The world beyond his small village was largely unknown to him, filled with possibilities both wondrous and terrifying.
With each stroke of his hand-carved broom, Aelar swept away not just dust but also his doubts. I will make Father proud, he resolved, straightening his back and surveying his handiwork with satisfaction. The dormitory, once barren and impersonal, now reflected his careful attention—a small achievement, but one that filled him with quiet pride.