The Unfolding Tale
In the pre-dawn hours, before the sun had even begun to paint the sky, a deep darkness still clung to the heavens. The air was bitingly cold, carrying the sharp, clean scent of dew that filled their lungs. Without a word spoken of the night's horrors, of Fulguran, or the terrible slaughter, they silently departed, their stomachs protesting the lack of sustenance.
"I'm hungry," Feran grumbled, his tone flat yet undeniably irritating. "Altair, find food. Now!"
Altair turned with reluctance, his eyes narrowed as if he'd just been roused from a deep sleep. "Are you serious, right now?" he muttered. "Couldn't you... just wait a little?"
Feran's gaze sharpened. "Do you want me to bite your head off?"
Altair glared at him for a moment before letting out a long, weary sigh. "I've slaughtered two kingdoms, fought with great valor... and yet I'm ordered to find food by my own little brother... Such an honor."
"Keep your spirits up," Feran replied casually, settling down to lean against a tree. "I'll wait here. Don't be long."
Altair snorted, but turned and strode into the woods, his lips moving silently as he muttered, "Future king of Aethran, and still having to forage for food..."
A short while later, Altair returned, a large cow slung effortlessly over his shoulder. Quartzis and Lazric stared at him, their eyes wide with disbelief.
"Good heavens..." Quartzis murmured, utterly taken aback.
"Are you serious, bringing back a whole cow?" Feran asked, pushing himself to his feet.
"Yes," Altair answered flatly. "You asked for food, here is food."
Feran patted the cow's flank. "Good. Now, can either of you cook?"
Lazric and Quartzis exchanged a quick glance. "No," they replied in unison.
Feran let out a long-suffering sigh. "Oh well... What else can we do? Here, I'll cook. But I need help." He turned to Lazric. "Can you make a fire with your magic?"
"I can."
"Good. You're in charge of the fire. Quartzis, skin and butcher the meat. After that, find water from the river. We need to drink."
"And you?" Quartzis asked, his brow furrowed.
"Me? Cooking. And Altair..." Feran turned to his elder brother. "You just sit there. You're tired from hunting, aren't you, Prince of the Forest?"
Altair merely shrugged and leaned back against the tree.
While Altair rested, his mind drifted back to the previous night. Veyron's words echoed with chilling clarity:
"Fulguran... He's the one who started this slaughter." His hands clenched into fists. "The Elementals... all butchered like animals." In his thoughts, Roniver's voice resonated, soft yet firm. "Your hatred is understandable, Altair. But don't let it consume you too quickly. We will retaliate, but not with emotion, but with calculation."
Altair closed his eyes. "I know... But every time I remember it, it feels like embers ready to explode."
"You have time. But don't be lulled by false peace. Even as you rest, your enemies could be watching."
Altair drew a deep breath and opened his eyes.
On the other side, Feran set to work. He fashioned a simple grill from the earth, reinforcing it with his iron strength. He used the cow's fat as oil. He cut thick steaks, seasoning them sparingly with wild herbs he recognized. Meanwhile, Quartzis boiled water in an iron pot Feran had conjured, and Lazric carefully controlled the fire's temperature with his magic, slowly and precisely. Soon, the mouthwatering aroma of roasting meat filled the air. Feran then shaped thin iron plates, knives, and forks.
"There you have it. Feran's style beef steak."
They ate with gusto. Quartzis praised the meat's tenderness and flavor, and even Lazric admitted he had never tasted anything so delicious. Feran smiled smugly, then raked his hair back with a flourish. "Of course. This is Feran." Altair chuckled softly, the first genuine sound of amusement that morning. Though the embers of vengeance still smoldered in his heart, small moments like these... made everything feel a little lighter.
After their meal, the savory scent of grilled meat still hung in the air. Bones lay scattered around the dying embers of the fire. Quartzis sat a little apart, clutching a shard of smooth crystal that shimmered faintly—a remnant of the power that had erupted from him the night before. His hands still trembled slightly.
"So, this is what it feels like... Awakening," he murmured softly, as if speaking to himself.
Feran, leaning against a stone outcrop, glanced over with one eye open. "You're just like Altair now," he remarked. "Just need to learn how to adjust."
Altair, who had been staring into the remnants of the fire, turned his head slowly. His gaze was calm but sharp. "Awakening isn't just an explosion of power," he said flatly. "It's an instinctual drive to survive. If you don't learn to control it... that power will consume you."
Quartzis lowered his head, nodding slowly, though his thoughts clearly remained turbulent. Lazric watched the three of them from a distance, his gaze unwavering, filled with an unspoken curiosity. He had never seen his brothers like this—so powerful, yet so fragile.
A short while later, the sun began its slow ascent, gradually chasing away the last vestiges of morning dew clinging to the grass. Altair stood, brushing off his trousers, then looked towards the east.
"We can't linger here. As soon as we reach that damned Alvred territory, we're heading straight for Professor Aldemar's."
Feran nodded, gathering their remaining belongings. "Right. We need to be sure about what exactly happened to Lazric and Quartzis. And... if we want to leave this region with them, we need answers."
Quartzis rose slowly, still clutching the crystal fragment. Lazric looked at them all, then offered a small, faint smile. "In that case... let's go home. At least to say goodbye."
Return to Professor Aldemar
After a brief rest, they returned to Duke Alvred's territory, utilizing Lazric's illusion magic for disguise. They moved cautiously, following deserted paths. Silence enveloped them, and the fresh morning air offered a slight sense of peace, though the shadows of the past continued to haunt them.
Upon reaching Professor Aldemar's house, they stopped before the old wooden door. Without much preamble, Altair knocked gently. The door creaked open, revealing an elderly man with white hair and a face etched with wrinkles. His eyes, though showing signs of weariness, still held a sharp intelligence as he regarded them with deep curiosity.
"Please come in, travelers," he said, his voice deep and neutral, yet with an underlying warmth. They entered the simple dwelling filled with antique objects. Dim candlelight illuminated the living room, thick with the lingering aroma of long-evaporated herbal concoctions. Professor Aldemar settled into his chair, his gaze serious as he looked at each of them.
"So, what brings you here? Potions? Medicine? Or is there something else you require?" he asked, his eyes shifting from one face to the next.
In the ensuing silence, Altair rose and took a step forward, drawing the Professor's attention. "Professor... it's us," Altair said, his voice slightly heavy. Lazric, already prepared, released his illusion magic. In an instant, their true faces were revealed.
Professor Aldemar's eyes widened in astonishment. His face paled momentarily as he recognized them one by one, but one figure immediately caught his attention—Lazric.
"Lazric...?" Professor Aldemar's voice trembled.
Lazric met the Professor's gaze, his expression difficult to read. There was a deep emotion behind his eyes—a feeling long buried. "It's been a long time, hasn't it... Professor," Lazric replied, his voice slightly choked but steady.
Professor Aldemar remained silent for several seconds, staring at him with a bewildered expression. "You... Lazric?" he asked again, softer this time, almost in disbelief.
A heavy silence filled the room, as if time itself had paused. Professor Aldemar slowly approached, and then, unexpectedly, he raised his hand and patted Lazric's head, just as he used to do when Lazric was a child.
"You've grown so tall... I thought I'd never see you again," Professor Aldemar said, his voice warm yet filled with weariness and longing.
Lazric gave a small, bittersweet laugh. "Me too, Professor... I thought it would be nearly impossible to see you again," he replied, his eyes slightly glistening.
In the corner of the room, Quartzis watched the scene with an unreadable expression. He didn't know what emotions he was supposed to feel. Only a profound silence lingered. Altair, observing everything, watched with a knowing gaze but chose to remain silent. The atmosphere felt intensely personal, as if they were in another world, separate from all the conflict.
Finally, Professor Aldemar took a deep breath, breaking the silence with a faint smile, though a hint of sadness still lingered in his eyes. "I'm sure you didn't come all this way just for a reunion," he said, his voice more serious now. "Tell me, what will you do next?"
Altair nodded. "We will leave here, return to the Rasyidian Empire. We will depart soon."
Professor Aldemar looked at them in silence for a moment, then a faint smile touched his lips. "Very well... All I can do is pray for you." The room fell silent once more. A warm yet tense atmosphere filled the space, as they all knew their time there was quickly running out.
Night slowly crept in, bringing a biting chill through the cracks in the old house's windows. The light from the few remaining candles flickered gently, illuminating their faces with a dim warmth. Professor Aldemar invited them to stay the night, and without much protest, they agreed. Their weary legs, minds filled with worry, and bodies still bearing the marks of battle needed a safe haven, even if only for a single night.
"You can use the room in the attic. It hasn't been used in a long time, but it's still quite comfortable," the Professor said, then added with a brief smile, "Consider this your home for a while."
They climbed the creaking wooden stairs to the attic. It was small and dusty, but there were old mattresses that still offered some comfort and warm wool blankets. Lazric sat near the small window overlooking the town—his blue eyes gazing far out at the night sky dotted with faint stars.
Altair leaned against the wall, his eyes half-closed. Quartzis busied himself examining a small device he carried, trying to calm his thoughts with a familiar routine.
"I never thought I'd come back to this place..." Lazric murmured softly, almost to himself.
Altair opened his eyes and turned his head. "Do you miss it?
Lazric nodded, then offered a small smile. "But not just the place... the person. Professor Aldemar—he's one of the few people who still cared, even when everyone else had abandoned us."
Quartzis stopped his tinkering, turning to them. "Do you think... Father knows we're still alive?"
Silence descended upon the attic. No one answered immediately. The question was too heavy, too complex to answer in a single breath.
Finally, Altair spoke, his voice low but firm. "We'll find out. Whatever happened, we'll find him. And we won't let the past separate us again."
Lazric lowered his head slightly, then murmured, "Yes... Our family, whatever's left of it, needs to be reunited."
A few moments later, the sound of the Professor's footsteps echoed on the stairs. He appeared carrying a tray with four steaming cups of herbal tea. "This will help you sleep. It's nothing special, just regular tea... but made with heart," he said, then offered a warm smile.
They accepted the tea with quiet words of thanks. The warmth of the brew seeped into them, and for the first time in days, their chests felt a little lighter.
Feran, his curiosity bubbling to the surface, finally dared to ask, "Professor, I wanted to ask... how did you first meet our father?"
That night, Professor Aldemar's long story began...