The town had grown in size. Not by much, but it had transformed from a mere village pretending to be a town into a proper town. They glanced at the small shacks and the tavern, feeling the weight of someone's gaze upon them. Had it really only been ten years since they had last been here?

A man wandered onto the road. It was Arwale. The man stared at them once again. Before, Milnas had always found the man peculiar, and his oddness had unsettled him. But now, there was something familiar about the man. He had aged, with more wrinkles and a bald head. They waved at him, but the man simply continued to stare and did not acknowledge them. Despite the man’s oddness, he found the man’s sameness comforting. At least some part of his past had been left untainted. He left the small village and continued on down the road. The trees had grown bigger, and the road had been smoothed. He walked the familiar path back to his home that he had done so many times with his father.

The boy Alkalis looked ahead at the clearing. He had never been there before. However, Milnas tasted the woody scent in the air, the smell of the grass, and he felt the warmth of the sun on his skin.

Part of that boy had never imagined they would return, never believed he would want to return. And yet, he had always been curious. Curious to see what it would look like after so long, since he had been taken from his home. Curious because what he saw in Arthael’s mind--which was now his own.

They knocked at the door of the cottage--hoping and not wanting to find the answer. The house was largely unchanged--but it was older now, and in a slight state of disrepair. The wood had begun to rot, and the shingles on the roof were falling off. The flowers that had once been so carefully maintained had long since died and weeds surrounded the house. But the door still opened.

Their gaze met that of a woman. For a moment they did not recognize her. Like Arwale, she had aged--but unlike him, his mother had aged harder. There were deep bags under her eyes, and crows feet creased her eyes as she squinted at him. Sadness rested deep in her eyes, and the look of her--once such a happy loving woman, broke them.

They fell to their knees--as if burdened by a tremendous weight. And they were. The lifetimes of three people struggled under the harsh reality of the world.

"What's the matter, boy? Has someone hurt you?" The woman looked down at the small child, more confused than worried.

They focused on their breathing and willed themselves to their feet. They would not let the church take this from them. Not this time.

He had once hated Arthael--hated him with every ounce of his being, but now, all he could feel was love for him. Milnas saw the long years of suffering--the inability to move past the magical barriers in his mind that compelled him to loyalty. It should not have been possible for him to have such kindness left in his soul. Somehow a small sliver of it had survived. The church could not stamp all of it out of him.

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The woman tried to place the small child. Something about him seemed familiar but she could not say what. A distant longing filled her heart as she thought of her own son.

“Milnas,” she whispered, not even knowing that she did, and a far away look came into her misty eyes.

They moved forward slowly and put their arms around the skinny waist of the woman that had once been a mother to them. It would never be the same. It could not be the same, and they knew that she would never understand what had been done to them. They didn’t want her to know. And they didn’t need her to understand.

Once they had wanted to flee from the church--they had wanted nothing more to come back and live the life that had been stolen from them.

“It’s okay mother, I’m back.” They said. And when they looked up into their mother’s eyes, there was no recognition. She was here--and yet she was still gone. Without another word, they slowly pushed her back inside, and when she had laid down, they walked back outside and sat on the rotted porch.

For years Arthael and Milnas had existed only within the void and they had accepted the outcome of their fate. They had mulled over the death of their first father for many long years. There was not much else to do in the quiet than think and observe the small glowing forms of life moving around them.

“Sharet”, Milnas tasted the name of his first father on their tongue. And then the second father.

“Theodmon.” He said. They had only known the strange elf for only a few weeks. Theodmon had died as easily as any man--and that was something they still did not understand. They kicked a small foot in the sand and wondered why he had not used his power. And then there were the others. Rebert. Cleaver. Most likely dead.

And his only friends. Clidale. Shay. Most likely alive. He smiled a small little smile then. At least there was that.

They took a deep breath and felt the familiar strangeness of the void closer than it had ever been--only a thought away to bring its power into the world of men. But then, something else.

At first, they did not recognize it. They turned their head as if they heard a strange sound. A small sliver of light poured down from a gap in the loose shingle above their head.

When they reached out their hand to it, the light seemed to float around their hand. Strange, they thought. The light played around their fingers and when they focused their eyes on the light, it curled into a little ball in their palm.

That should not be possible. Arthael had only ever had the slightest inclination to the light magic--and he had only attained his status as paladin through sheer force of will. Controlling light, and bending it could only be done by the royal bloodline.

And then, they began to laugh. The priest had been right to go after Alkalis. The woman who had once been their mother, just a random face in the crowd who had watched him tortured to death--who had abandoned them in the streets, was not just any woman. Somehow, she had slept with the king, and now, he was the king's bastard.

He held up the ball of light in his hand, and then instinctively, he flicked his fingers forward willing the light forward. It shot forward at an incredible speed and hit a tree in the distance. It was if a ballista bolt had struck the tree, as a huge chunk of wood was missing.

For a long moment he sat there on the porch, watching the sun slowly melt from the sky. It seemed the church did not want to let him go after all...