The cobblestone streets of Calaedria bustled with life. Vendors shouted to advertise their wares, children darted between market stalls, and the smell of baked bread mingled with the faint metallic tang of the city’s forges. Jonny walked through the chaos, his steps steady, his eyes scanning the tall stone buildings. The past few weeks had been a blur of change, but there was a calm determination in the way he carried himself now. Over his shoulder hung a small satchel stuffed with scrolls and books, a sign of his recent afternoons spent at the kingdom’s grand library. Slowly, Jonny acclimated to life within the city walls. The Barker household had become his temporary home, but his mind was always on the future.

Jonny approached the imposing gates of the Barker estate, the high walls and ornate ironwork a testament to the family's noble status within Calaedria. The guards stationed at the entrance straightened as they recognized him, their formal postures softening slightly with familiarity.

“Welcome back, Jonny,” one of the guards greeted with a nod. “Did you find everything alright?”

Jonny returned the greeting with a small smile. "Yeah, all settled," he replied, his voice carrying a quiet calm. He passed through the gates and walked along the gravel path that wound through well-manicured gardens and statues of Calaedria’s heroes. Despite the grandeur, the estate exuded a sense of warmth and simplicity, reflecting the values of its residents. Passing by the staff tending to the gardens, Jonny noticed their friendly exchanges and the genuine care they put into their work. The estate, though vast, felt like a place of genuine hospitality and modesty.

Reaching the familiar door of the main house, Jonny pushed it open, stepping into the warm, sunlit room. The warm aroma of roasting meat and simmering spices filled the air, and the sound of birds chirping outside added to the homely atmosphere. The walls were adorned with family portraits and mementos, showcasing the Barkers' history and the people they cherished. Jonny made his way through the hallways, passing rooms filled with books, comfortable furnishings, and the quiet hum of daily life. Each step through the home was a reminder of the Barkers' humble yet noble spirit. He finally reached a private room at the back of the house, a peaceful sanctuary for reflection.

By the window sat Dave, his frame upright though visibly altered. The arm and leg he had lost were stark reminders of the cost of their recent struggle, yet his appearance had improved—his skin no longer ashen, and his eyes brighter. He was gazing outside, lost in thought, perhaps reflecting on memories of a time before the loss. The long shadows of the afternoon sun painted a serene, almost melancholic picture. At the sound of Jonny’s arrival, Dave turned, offering a weak but genuine smile. There was a silent understanding between them, a shared history of pain and resilience. Jonny could see the strength in Dave’s eyes, despite everything he had endured.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time at the library,” Dave remarked, his tone laced with dry humor. “You’re starting to look like a scholar, Jonny.”

Jonny grinned slightly, setting down his satchel. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, pulling out one of the books and sitting across from Dave. He leaned back into his chair, more relaxed than he had felt in a long while. “I’m just trying to figure out what comes next.”

Dave’s gaze drifted back to the window, his expression heavy with grief but tinged with resolve. His remaining hand flexed unconsciously, the muscles stiff but responsive from weeks of therapy. “I miss her every day, Jonny.” He paused, his voice growing quieter. “But I can't let that stop me. Not with people like you and Coral around. I've got to keep going, for all of us.”

---

It had been weeks since their encounter with the Darkborn behind the eastern border, but the memories still lingered. The sound of clashing steel and guttural roars haunted Jonny’s quieter moments, yet the city of Calaedria had offered him something unexpected: stability. In that time, Jonny had learned more about Dave than he had anticipated.

Dave Powder had once belonged to a noble family renowned not for its warriors, like the Barkers nor its clerics like the Macys, but for its scholars and financiers. The Powder family’s name was spoken in reverent tones within Calaedria’s upper circles, their influence tied to trade routes, innovations in medicine, and their patronage of the arts. It was a life of privilege and duty, one that had demanded much from Dave as the youngest son of House Powder.

“Growing up, all they ever wanted was for me to follow in their footsteps,” Dave had confessed one evening, his gaze distant as he flexed the stiff fingers of his remaining hand. “Sit in a study, balance the books, attend endless galas and council meetings. My brothers excelled at it—flawless in every way. But me?” He had shaken his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “I wanted something… real.”

Jonny had sat in quiet fascination, the book he was reading at the time forgotten in his lap as Dave continued.

“I ran off when I was barely eighteen. Joined the guild with nothing but a head full of dreams and my father’s daggers—the same blades my family dismissed as ceremonial ornaments. I thought if I could return with tales of battles and Darkborn victories, they'd finally see me differently. Maybe I’d see myself differently too." He chuckled bitterly, the sound tinged with regret. "Along the way, I found something unexpected—acceptance. Not from my family, but from Jessie. We grew close, both in our adventures and outside them. She saw me for who I was, not who I was trying to be. That meant more than any approval I could have ever sought. And now... here I am. What do I have to show for it, other than this broken body."

Jonny could tell there was more to the story, something deeper Dave wasn’t yet ready to share, but even this glimpse into his past painted a clearer picture.

The Powder family had been close to the Barkers and the clerical Macy family for generations, their connections as much about politics as camaraderie. While the Barkers and Macys handled the kingdom’s physical and spiritual battles, the Powders ensured the kingdom’s coffers remained full and its infrastructure intact.

The Barker family’s dedication to Dave’s recovery went beyond mere duty or the preservation of family ties. André truly cared about the kingdom and her people, and he still recognized that the loss of Dave would mean more than just the end of an adventurer’s journey; it would be a personal tragedy that could impact the kingdom’s strength and unity.

Jonny had noticed something in Dave’s stories—something unspoken yet impossible to ignore. Despite his defiance, his thirst for adventure, and his desire to prove himself, Dave’s voice softened whenever he spoke of the Powder household. The sprawling estate, the quiet libraries, the way his mother would hum as she tended the greenhouse—there was a longing there, buried beneath years of rebellion and regret.

It was during one of these evenings, as Jonny sat across from him with a book in hand, that Dave had finally admitted what Jonny had suspected.

“I used to think I ran away because I hated that life,” Dave murmured, his gaze fixed on the flickering light of the lantern between them. “But now? Now I wonder if I ran away because I didn’t think I deserved it.”

Jonny had stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. He had his own complicated feelings about belonging, about family and home. Yet, in that moment, he understood Dave in a way he hadn’t before.

---

Now, sitting across from Dave in the sunlit room of the Barker household, Jonny saw how far they both had come. Dave’s recovery wasn’t just physical; it was a slow rebuilding of the person he had once been, shaped by the lessons he had learned in the years since leaving House Powder.

Jonny remained silent, listening as Dave adjusted the brace on his remaining leg. His movements were deliberate, his fingers steady as they worked. His lips pressed together before he finally sighed and leaned back into his seat.

“I’ve made up my mind, Jonny,” Dave said firmly. “It’s time for me to return to the Powder household. My family… they’re going to need me now, even if I’m not the same as I was.”

Jonny’s gaze softened. He could hear the finality in Dave’s words, but also a new sense of purpose. For the first time, he saw the man not as someone diminished by loss, but as someone determined to reclaim what he could of his life. Jonny rested his hands on his knees, nodding slowly in understanding.

“Then let’s make sure you’re ready for them,” he said quietly, his voice steady.

Jonny regarded Dave in silence, the moments stretching between them, his expression contemplative. “Your family… you really think they’ll accept you back after all this time?”

Dave let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as his gaze drifted back to the window, eyes distant. His lips curved into a wry smile, blending amusement and regret. "Probably not with open arms, no," he admitted, his voice carrying a hint of resignation. He paused, then added with a dry chuckle, "Well, at least not with both arms."

Jonny couldn't help but laugh softly at Dave's joke, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "You've still got your sense of humor, I see," he said, shaking his head in amusement. "That's one thing they can't take away from you."

Dave's smile widened, the humor lightening the mood in the room, if only for a moment.

Dave leaned back in his chair, the sunlight streaming through the window catching the faint lines of fatigue etched into his face. With a quiet sigh, he gestured toward a dresser against the far wall. A pair of daggers laid there. Despite their seemingly ordinary appearance, there was an undeniable aura of power about them, a subtle hint at their magical nature.

“When I was younger,” Dave began, his voice softening, “I found I had a knack for daggers and shadow work. A rogue, through and through. My family hated it, of course. They expected me to take up the quill, not the blade. But I didn’t care. I was too busy rebelling against every expectation they had for me.” He paused, his smile fading as his eyes flicked back to the daggers. “Back then, it felt like freedom. Now… it feels like a lifetime ago.”

Jonny followed his gaze, studying the daggers. There was something almost ceremonial about the way they were displayed, a relic of a past Dave was both proud of and haunted by.

“Take them,” Dave finally said after a long moment of silence.

Jonny’s gaze lingered on the daggers, his surprise evident. They were clearly more than just weapons—they were a part of Dave’s history, a symbol of the life he’d lived and the choices he’d made. Jonny hesitated, turning his gaze aside, uncertainty flickering in his eyes as he wrestled with accepting something so profoundly personal.

Dave noticed Jonny’s hesitation and slowly began to rise from his chair, reaching for the crutch leaning against it. The effort showed in the tight lines around his mouth, but determination shone in his eyes. With deliberate, steady movements, he made his way over to the dresser. Each step was measured, a testament to his resilience.

When he reached the dresser, he carefully picked up the daggers, the soft rasp of metal sliding against wood breaking the silence. Turning back, he walked back to Jonny, balancing the crutch and daggers with practiced ease. He held out the daggers in his one remaining hand, the runes on the hilts glimmering faintly in the light. This gesture, given his condition, carried a profound weight—a mixture of trust, legacy, and silent strength.

“Take them,” Dave said again, his voice calm but resolute. “They’ve served me well, but I won’t need them anymore. I’m done with adventuring, Jonny.”

Jonny looked at the daggers, his fingers twitching slightly before he finally took them. They were lighter than he expected, but the craftsmanship was exquisite. Fine engravings lined the hilts, and intricate runes were etched along the blades, glowing faintly with an otherworldly light. One blade appeared almost pristine, betraying none of the wear one might expect from years of use.

“These are… incredible,” Jonny murmured, running his thumb carefully along the edge of one blade.

Dave stepped closer, pointing to the runes on the first dagger. “This one,” he began, tapping the blade gently, “has a minor enchantment. It repairs itself over time. No matter how much wear and tear it sees, it’ll always be good as new.”

Jonny’s eyes widened slightly, his fingers brushing over the runes. The idea of a self-repairing weapon was almost unbelievable to him.

“And this one?” Jonny asked, lifting the second dagger, its runes glowing a faint blue.

Dave’s expression softened as he tapped the blade. “That one’s a bit more special,” he said. “The enchantment heightens the wielder’s reflexes. Makes you faster, more precise. It’s saved my life more times than I can count.”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Jonny studied the dagger in his hand, turning it over to see the light shimmer along its surface. The weight of the gift wasn’t lost on him. These weren’t just tools; they were a part of Dave’s identity, a fragment of the rogue he used to be.

Finally, Jonny looked up at Dave, his grip on the daggers firm but hesitant. “I appreciate this, Dave, but you know I have Noctisbane. These daggers... I wouldn’t have much use for them.”

Dave's gaze remained steady as he gave a knowing smile. “I’ve thought of that, Jonny. These aren’t for you—they’re for Gavin. He could make good use of them. Consider it my way of passing on what I can no longer wield.”

Jonny nodded slowly, understanding the depth of Dave’s gesture. "Thank you, Dave. I promise I'll make sure Gavin takes good care of them and uses them well."

Dave’s smile widened, the trust and camaraderie between them evident in the silent exchange.

Jonny waited for Dave to settle himself into his seat once more before picking up their conversation from earlier.

“You regret it?” Jonny asked quietly. "Leaving your family?"

Dave hesitated, his fingers tapping absently on the armrest of his chair. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “I chose the life of a rogue because it was easier to run than to stay and face what they wanted from me. I thought I could carve out my own path, prove that I didn’t need them. And for a while, I believed I was right.” His voice dropped, carrying a weight Jonny hadn’t heard before. “But running comes at a cost. It always does.”

Jonny shifted in his seat, leaning forward slightly. “So why go back now? If you’re not sure they’ll take you back, why even try?”

Dave turned to meet Jonny’s gaze, his expression steady but tired. “Because I don’t have the luxury of running anymore,” he said simply. “I’m not the same man who left. I’ve lost too much, and I’ve gained some hard truths in return. I can’t erase the past, but I can try to make amends for it.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of Dave’s words hung in the air, heavy but not oppressive. Jonny could see the resolve in his eyes—a quiet, unyielding determination that reminded him of his own struggles.

“You think they’ll forgive you?” Jonny asked finally.

Dave’s smile returned, faint but genuine. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But forgiveness isn’t the point. Doing what’s right—that’s what matters now.”

Jonny nodded slowly, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. Maybe Dave was right. Maybe it wasn’t about being forgiven but about doing the thing you couldn’t walk away from anymore.

“Well,” Jonny said, standing and brushing off his knees, “if you’re going back, you’d better be ready. The Powder family sounds like they don’t take kindly to excuses.”

Dave laughed, the sound lighter than Jonny had heard in weeks. “Oh, you have no idea.”

---

Jonny made his way through the grand halls of the Barker estate, his footsteps echoing softly on the polished stone floors. The flickering torches on the walls cast long shadows, their light dancing over the intricate tapestries that adorned the walls. He could feel the weight of the daggers in his hands, their cold metal a constant reminder of the promise he’d made to Dave. The runes etched into the hilts glimmered faintly in the dim light, a silent testament to the path they had walked together and the challenges that still lay ahead.

His thoughts wandered, as they often did, to Coral. In the weeks since their return from the eastern borders, Jonny had come to rely on Coral’s strength. Despite the house arrest that confined him to the Barker estate, Coral had remained a steadfast ally. His dedication to duty, even in the face of personal loss and disappointment, was something Jonny admired. Coral’s duties at the holy archives became a place where he could immerse himself in the weight of history and scripture, distancing himself from the painful present.

Jonny knew exactly where to find him. The holy archives of Calaedria were a place of refuge—an expansive, hallowed space where knowledge and reverence intertwined. It was here, among the ancient scrolls and delicate tomes, that Coral had spent most of his days since returning from their harrowing mission. Jonny wasn’t sure if Coral found solace in the dusty old texts or if it was simply a way to escape, but either way, it had become a part of him.

As Jonny approached the entrance, the familiar scent of aged parchment, incense, and the faint trace of candle wax filled the air, grounding him. The large wooden doors creaked open, revealing rows upon rows of shelves stacked high with scrolls and books, their pages worn and weathered with age. It was a place of reverence, the weight of centuries pressing down on the very walls.

He spotted Coral immediately, sitting at a wooden table in a secluded corner of the archives. The light from the nearby window cast a soft glow on his face as he bent over a tome, his eyes scanning the pages with intense focus. The silence of the room was almost reverential, broken only by the quiet turning of pages. Jonny hesitated for a moment, watching his friend lost in thought, before stepping forward.

“Coral,” Jonny called softly, not wanting to startle him. His voice seemed too loud in the stillness of the room, but Coral looked up nonetheless. A flicker of surprise crossed his features before a warm smile spread across his face.

“Jonny,” Coral greeted him, his voice steady but laced with the exhaustion of long hours spent in the archives. He set the tome aside and stood to greet him, his movements slow but graceful, a quiet resilience in his posture. Despite the house arrest, despite everything, Coral had managed to maintain a calm presence. It was something Jonny had come to admire deeply.

“What brings you here?” Coral asked, his voice carrying the same gentle warmth that Jonny had come to recognize as a sign of his genuine concern.

Jonny set the daggers down gently on the table between them, their presence now a tangible symbol of the conversation he needed to have. The runes etched into the weapons glimmered faintly in the dim light of the archives. “I wanted to talk to you about Dave,” Jonny began, his tone serious, his eyes meeting Coral’s. “He’s decided to return to his family. And we need to prepare him for that. I thought you might have some ideas.”

Coral’s expression shifted. His eyes studied the daggers for a moment, and the weight of his thoughts seemed to press down on him. “I see,” he murmured. “Dave’s a strong man, but this… this will be a difficult journey for him. Physically and emotionally. What do you have in mind?”

Jonny nodded, grateful for Coral’s understanding. He knew that Coral’s wisdom would be invaluable in this moment. “I was thinking we could assist with his physical recovery,” Jonny explained. “Make sure he’s ready to walk without too much strain. His body is healing, but there’s still a lot of work to be done. And emotionally… well, you know him better than anyone. Your insights could really help him, Coral. He trusts you.”

Coral paused, his gaze thoughtful as he glanced at Jonny. A hint of pride flickered in his eyes, but his face remained serious. “We’ve all been through a lot,” Coral said quietly, his voice thick with the weight of shared experience. “But I’ll do everything I can to help Dave. And for you—well, I’m grateful for your friendship. These past weeks have been tough, Jonny. But having you around… it’s made a world of difference.”

Jonny offered a small smile in return, the bond between them unspoken but deeply felt. “Same here, Coral,” Jonny said, his voice steady. “We’ve got each other’s backs, no matter what.”

Together, they settled into a rhythm, their conversation flowing with a natural ease. As Jonny outlined his thoughts on Dave’s physical recovery, Coral listened intently, offering suggestions, occasionally pulling a scroll or tome from the shelves to reference old texts on healing practices. Their discussion was methodical but filled with an underlying warmth, a shared understanding of the stakes. They weren’t just planning a rehabilitation; they were laying the foundation for Dave’s emotional healing too. The scars from battle ran deeper than what could be seen on his body.

Jonny’s words were measured as he spoke about Dave’s mental state, his eyes reflecting the weight of their shared history. “It’s not just the body that needs mending,” Jonny explained quietly. “It’s the soul. Dave lost something vital when we lost Jessie. He may seem as if he's come to terms with it, but… he’s still running from it, from the grief, and I’m worried he might collapse under it if he doesn’t confront it soon.”

Coral’s brow furrowed, and he placed his hands on the table, his gaze never wavering from Jonny’s. “Grief… it doesn’t work on a timeline. We can guide him, Jonny. But he has to be the one to take the first step.” His voice softened, a trace of weariness settling in his tone. “And that’s the hardest part.”

Jonny nodded, knowing all too well the difficulty of taking those first steps. He had witnessed it in Coral himself, who had been forced to confront his own demons after his own recent losses. That unspoken bond between them, built through shared battle and hardship, spoke volumes now. There was an understanding that went beyond words—an acknowledgment of their mutual struggles. And yet, it was that very understanding that gave them the strength to offer their help to Dave, even when the road ahead seemed uncertain.

As the afternoon wore on, their discussion evolved, moving beyond mere strategy. They began to talk about their own experiences, moments of vulnerability that they rarely voiced aloud. Coral spoke of the weight he still carried from his suspension, how every day felt like an invisible wound he had to keep hidden. Jonny, in turn, confessed the burden of responsibility that had come with his promise to Dave, a promise that now felt heavier with each passing hour.

But despite the heaviness of their words, there was something uplifting in the exchange—a sense of connection, of mutual understanding that allowed them to be open, to let their guard down, if only for a moment. Their plans for Dave’s recovery grew more detailed, but there was also a quiet sense of hope that had not been present before.

By the time the sun dipped low, casting golden light across the stone floors of the archives, the air had shifted. The holy archives, once a solemn place of study and reverence, had become something more—a safe haven of shared burdens and renewed hope. The scrolls and tomes, once symbols of distant knowledge, now felt like part of their journey—a journey they would walk together, side by side, just as they had always done.

As the first stars began to appear in the evening sky outside, Jonny felt a subtle shift within himself. The weight of his thoughts about Dave had not diminished, but the conversation had offered him something valuable—clarity, a sense of purpose, and the quiet comfort of knowing he wasn’t alone in shouldering the responsibility. Neither of them were. And that, above all, was the most important thing.

Together, they had made a plan, but more importantly, they had made a pact—a pact of support, of friendship, and of hope. In the midst of the archives, surrounded by the wisdom of ages past, it felt as if they had created something lasting, something that would carry them forward no matter what challenges lay ahead.

As the afternoon light waned, spilling gold and amber across the stone floors, the holy archives took on a new meaning. It had become a space for healing, for hope. In the midst of all the pain and uncertainty they faced, Jonny knew that they had something priceless—a connection to one another, and the strength that came from standing together.

The evening air grew cooler as the sun sank below the horizon, but inside the archives, there was warmth. Not from the fire, nor from the flickering candles, but from the unspoken bond between friends who had seen each other through the darkest of times.

---

Jonny stepped out of the holy archives, the weight of the daggers tucked securely at his side. The sun hung low on the horizon, barely casting golden hues across the city of Calaedria. The tall stone walls loomed behind him as he made his way toward the eastern border. The lively bustle of city life softened with the approach of evening, fading into the hush of quieter streets as the walls receded into distance. Beyond the gates, the forested outskirts stretched out, their shadows deepening in the fading light.

His pace quickened as he neared the trees, his thoughts drifting to Gavin. Though the city offered safety and structure, Jonny’s mind often wandered to the unknown that lay beyond the border—the mysteries, the dangers, and the unspoken bond he shared with the machine who had become his companion.

During the day, Jonny had fallen into a routine of meeting with Dave and Coral. But each evening, as the sun began its slow descent and Calaedria settled into a quieter rhythm, he made his way to the outskirts. It was here, in the shadowy underbrush and among the towering trees, that Jonny met with Gavin. The machine-man had taken to staying hidden on the outskirts, away from the prying eyes and curious whispers of the city. Their evening meetings had become a cornerstone of Jonny's new life in Calaedria, a blend of strategy sessions, reconnaissance updates, and shared moments of quiet reflection.

Despite the challenges of integrating into city life, these meetings provided Jonny with a sense of purpose and continuity. He and Gavin would review the day's findings, discuss potential threats, and plan their next moves.

As if sensing his approach, Gavin stepped into view from the shadowy underbrush. His mechanical frame hidden underneath his cloak and hat. The faint whir of his internal mechanisms broke the stillness as his glowing eyes locked onto Jonny.

Jonny slowed to a stop, offering a small nod in greeting. “Still keeping out of sight, I see,” he said, his voice light but edged with the weight of their circumstances.

“It is better this way,” Gavin replied, his tone even. “Fewer eyes. Fewer questions.”

Jonny dropped his satchel onto a nearby stump, pulling out a carefully folded series of maps and notes. Spreading them out, he began explaining his findings from the kingdom’s library. “I’ve been piecing together some information about what lies beyond the eastern border,” he said, pointing to specific markings on the map. “There’s a pattern to the Darkborn movements—areas where they’ve appeared and then vanished entirely. It doesn’t make sense unless they’re being directed, maybe by something stronger than the lieutenants we’ve encountered.”

Gavin leaned over the map, his glowing eyes scanning the markings. “Void General, "Jonny continued. "I came across some text referring to them, but all I could tell was that they're above a lieutenant in hierarchy. There might even be more powerful Darkborn. If they are consolidating power, it would explain the recent quiet.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll need to be ready. Which is why…” He reached into his side pouch and pulled out the daggers. Their runes shimmered faintly in the dim light, a subtle but potent glow.

Gavin’s gaze shifted to the weapons, his mechanical eyes flickering slightly.

“Dave gave me these,” Jonny said, holding them out. “One repairs itself—perfect for someone who’s out a while without access to a blacksmith. The other…” He tapped the second dagger, its runes glowing faintly blue. “It can make you faster, more precise. I think it could help you.”

For a moment, Gavin said nothing. His glowing eyes focused intently on the daggers, the subtle whirring of his internal systems the only sound between them. Finally, he extended a hand, his metal fingers closing gently around the hilts.

“These will be… useful,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “Thank you.”

Jonny exhaled, relieved that Gavin accepted the gift. “You’ll need every edge you can get,” he said. “We both will.”

Gavin straightened, the daggers gleaming faintly in his grasp as he turned them over, examining the runes. “Their enchantments are efficient,” he noted. “This will improve my effectiveness significantly. However, it does not solve the larger issue.”

Jonny tilted his head. “The larger issue?”

Gavin looked up, his glowing eyes meeting Jonny’s. “The question of what we are truly up against—and why.”

Jonny’s jaw tightened, his gaze drifting back to the map. “Then we’ll find out,” he said, his voice firm. “Whatever it takes.”

Gavin hesitated, his mechanical joints emitting a soft whir as if gathering his thoughts. Finally, he spoke, his tone careful and measured. “It’s time for us to part ways.”

Jonny blinked, the statement hitting him like a slap. “Part ways? What do you mean?”

Gavin’s eyes glowed softly, reflecting the dim light around them. “I mean, we need to separate. Our paths must diverge.”

Jonny’s heart raced, the shock evident in his wide eyes. “Separate? You mean for a short while, right? Just until we figure things out?”

Gavin shook his head slowly, the motion deliberate. “No, Jonny. This separation will be longer.”

A heavy silence fell between them, the weight of Gavin’s words sinking in. Jonny’s mind struggled to comprehend. “But why now? We’ve faced everything together. We’re stronger as a team.”

Gavin observed Jonny carefully before he continued.

Gavin took what appeared to be a slow breath, his eyes steady but soft. "You've grown, Jonny. You've found your place in this world, and I've been... holding you back. I'm still broken, still trying to fix myself. We both need different things now. You need to continue moving forward, and I... I need to face what's left of me. Alone." He paused the weight of his words settling between them.

The weight of Gavin’s words hit Jonny like a punch to the gut. “But why?” he asked, his voice betraying a mix of confusion and hurt. “We’ve faced everything side by side.”

Gavin’s glowing eyes softened, reflecting a hint of the sadness that Jonny felt. “I know, Jonny. But the path I must take is one you cannot follow. There are things I need to uncover, and I can’t do it with you by my side. It’s too dangerous.”

Jonny's mind raced, struggling to process the idea of life without Gavin. They hadn’t been apart in four years, ever since Helena brought him to the forest clearing by her cottage all those years ago. “Dangerous? We’ve faced danger together before. Why is this different?”

Gavin stepped closer, placing a metal hand on Jonny’s shoulder. “This is different because it’s not just about your survival, Jonny. I need to go places and do things that you can’t follow.”

Jonny’s eyes searched Gavin’s face for some sign that this was a mistake, but he found only resolve. “How long?” he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Gavin shook his head. “I don’t know. It could be years. Maybe longer.”

The reality of Gavin’s words began to sink in, and Jonny felt a lump form in his throat. “But what about us? The work we’ve been doing, the plans we’ve made?”

Gavin’s hand tightened slightly on Jonny’s shoulder, a gesture of comfort. “The work will continue, Jonny. You’ll have Dave and Coral. And I’ll be out there, gathering the information we need. This isn’t goodbye forever. It’s just… a different path for now.”

Jonny nodded slowly, trying to accept the inevitability of the situation. “You promise you’ll come back?”

Gavin’s eyes glowed with a renewed determination, but he couldn't find any words to say.

“So,” Jonny began, his voice tinged with frustration, “you really think it’s best to split up?”

Gavin stood tall, his mechanical frame radiating a quiet confidence. His glowing eyes flickered faintly as he placed the newly gifted daggers into his belt. His voice, calm and even, carried no trace of hesitation.

“Yes,” he replied. “I’ll repair myself faster if I go alone. And with these,” he gestured to the daggers, “I'll find a way to increase my functionality.”

Jonny’s frown deepened, and for a moment, he seemed ready to argue once more. But the resolve in Gavin’s tone—and the undeniable logic of his words—left him with little to say. He looked away, his gaze drifting toward the distant horizon.

“You always think so practically,” Jonny muttered, his tone softening. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Gavin turned toward the eastern border, the darkened forest ahead casting long shadows across his frame. The faint whir of his internal mechanisms hummed in the quiet, a reminder of the precise, calculated being he was. Without another word, he took a step forward, his movements purposeful and unyielding.

Jonny stood rooted to the spot, his arms falling to his sides as he watched Gavin’s figure grow smaller. The machine-man disappeared into the shadows of the forest, his brass and steel body eventually swallowed by the encroaching darkness.

The forest was silent once more, save for the rustling of leaves in the evening breeze. Jonny remained there, holding the maps and notes tightly in his hands, the edges crumpling under his grip. His jaw tightened, but his eyes held a flicker of determination.

He exhaled slowly, glancing back toward the maps. “You better come back, Gavin,” he murmured under his breath.

Jonny stood tall, his silhouette framed by the looming city walls behind him. Though he was alone now, the fire in his gaze spoke of resilience. He knew this was only the beginning of something far greater than either of them could yet understand.