Oh crap.
Hector’s hand moved by itself, chucking the coin pouch over the workbench and thudding it into the back wall. There was a dull thump as Hector reached up and grabbed a hammer off the top shelf. The door creaked open further, as his dad stepped in, and Hector brought the hammer down onto the wood.
“Sorry to barge in on you. I felt we needed to talk about what happened.”
“What happened?” Hector asked, hammering the wood and looking for a nail or something similar. There was only so long he could pretend to be doing something before his dad stepped closer and realised he was just hammering at wood—he could be an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d know Hector was hiding something.
“Hector, don’t be like that. Listen… How do I put this?”
Hector glanced over his shoulder while his father took a tentative step forward. The man wrung his hands as he looked off to the side, distracted. That was good. Hector looked back at the shelf, his eyes scanning it rapidly. His heart lurched, relief washing over him as he spotted what he was looking for.
A rusty nail sat on the corner edge of the shelf, perfectly within reach. Its surface was more brown than the iron colour it’d probably been before. But it would do. “Hector, could you please look at me? I feel like I’m talking to a wall here.”
“Yeah, Dad. Sorry,” Hector said, reaching for the nail. He turned his hand, regarding his father, as the man tried to speak. “I don’t think we have anything to talk about, though. I’m fine, trust me.” His hand brushed across the nail. He clamped down on it and brought it down to the board as he held his father’s gaze.
“You worked the wood already?” His father asked, stepping forward.
“Dad, it’s fine.” Hector shielded the wood with his body. What questions would his father ask? He didn’t know. But it was better if he could stay on the other side of the shed. “I can do it by myself.”
His father stopped, lowering a hesitant hand. A frown spread across his lips as he looked to the ground. “I know I messed up just now. I’ve been drinking a lot lately, haven’t I.”
“Not to be rude, Dad. But only you could answer that question,” Hector said, turning back to the piece of wood and hammering in the nail—it would be a pain to remove later at this rate. The dull thuds of the hammer echoed around the room as they stood silently for a moment.
Eventually, Hector sighed, resting the hammer on the workbench just to the side of the wood. “What’s going on, Dad? Seriously.”
His father stepped over to the shed wall, leaning against it. The wood creaked against his weight as he let out a shaky breath. “Do you know I’ve been working at that damn refinery for ten years now? Ten painful years.”
Hector turned and leaned back against the workbench, crossing his arms. His gaze ran up and down his father, from his tattered brown boots to his torn brown trousers. Time aged and tore his black shirt, and his face—once youthful and happy—was withered. “I know, Dad.”
“But, I stay.” His father said. The man’s brown eyes shimmered with purpose. Hector’s heart tightened as a wave of emotion coiled in his chest. “I stay, so you don’t have to worry. I stay so that you can cultivate and get the life you are destined for. A life away from this slum, hell. Hopefully, a life away from this city.”
Hector wrinkled his nose. His gaze moved to the hammer resting on the desk. Time had worn its handle, leaving holes and cracks that would probably break it in the future. Wasn’t this house his life? If his dad was working for something, was Hector really worth this kind of investment? His father’s happiness. Was it worth Hector’s future?
His dad sighed and looked off to the one window in the shed. His gaze lingered on it, perhaps taking in the garden beyond. “I won’t burden you with the things I have to carry. It’s my job, not yours.”
“And who decided that?” Hector snapped as a wave of annoyance flooded him.
His father’s gaze turned towards him, eyes steely and stern. “Hector. Careful.”
Hector went to speak but paused. He inhaled, letting the air fill his lungs, holding it and releasing it. The turbulence in his mind calmed if just a little—most of it still focused on how the man could be so selfish. “I don’t get it. Mum isn’t here. We should pull together, protecting each other. You can’t do this alone.”
His father pushed off the wall and shook his head. “You don’t get it. I have to protect you, and today proves that even more.”
“Today? How? I kept Mirae safe. I kept myself safe. You should be proud, Mum would be.”
“You have no idea what your mother would think,” His father said, voice dropping. “You barely knew her. Hell, I barely…” The man paused, letting out a sigh.
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“What, Dad? What?”
“It’s nothing Hector. Forget I said anything.”
Hector pushed off the workbench, his hands dropping to his side. His heart thundered in his chest. What did his dad mean? What was he going to say? “Dad, why don’t you talk about mum?”
“Take care, Hector,” His dad said, waving him off and walking to the shed door. “Don’t forget to work the wood before you use it. I’m not sure what your plans were with that one nail. But the wood needs working.”
“Dad,” Hector pleaded as the man stepped out of the shed, closing the door behind him and finishing the conversation. Hector’s heart tightened as he turned and slammed a fist down onto the workbench. Why the hell did his dad have to keep so much from him?
The nail stuck out of the wood—barely a few inches deep—and Hector placed a finger on it. This wasn’t achieving much. He was procrastinating. If he was going to waste time, it would be better to do it in the Talent Garden space. The house, even though it was pretty bad, could wait.
He picked up the hammer, sliding the hook underneath the nail and wrenched it up with a pop. The wood creaked under the pressure but didn’t crack as tiny splinters jutted out of the freshly formed hole. His dad was right; he needed to work the wood.
Shaking his head, he placed the hammer and the nail on the shelf and plucked up the wood. Moving back over to the stack of planks he’d got it from earlier, Hector lent the wood against them and made for the door. He would have to come back to this another time. Right now, he had to keep growing Talents.
Pushing open the shed door, Hector walked out into the back garden. He made his way around the scrap piles—something he’d need to come back to in the future—and made his way inside the house, heading to his room.
Upon walking inside and sliding the door closed behind him, Hector paused. There, down the hall in front of his room door, was Mirae. She stood, twiddling her thumbs as she stared pensively at the ground. Hector could feel a mini-lecture coming along—there was a lot of that going on today.
“Mirae, is everything alright?” Hector said, strolling up to her. The old floorboards creaked as he moved, groaning under his weight. Was it really wise to put off the repairs?
“Ah, there you are. Dad said you were in the shed, but I didn’t want to disturb you.” Mirae said, fidgeting with her fingers. “Is everything alright?”
Hector chuckled, raising a hand and patting her head. Her soft white hair ruffled under his touch. He laughed as Mire squirmed and slapped his hand away. “I just asked you that. Just say what’s on your mind. And before you ask, no, Dad has not told me about his debt.”
Mirae sighed, slumping her shoulder and leaning against his door. “I didn’t think you would. He’s too stubborn sometimes. Even for me,” she let out a sad chuckle. “But I didn’t really have much hope of that. I’m actually here for what you said earlier. You know about that thing… I think you called it a Talent.”
Hector sighed, closing his eyes and dropping his hands to his side. “Yeah, now is probably as good a time as any. Let’s not talk out here,” Hector said, raising a hand and gently nudging her out of the way. He opened the door and stepped inside his room, holding the door ajar for his sister. “Come on then, little one. We have a lot to talk about.”
As Mirae stepped into the room, a nagging feeling that he’d forgotten something played in his mind. But whatever it was. It could wait.
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Acalla rested her hands on her hip as her dark red robes fluttered in the wind. She admired the large void beast, its form crushing several of what used to be stalls—a few mortals had been caught under its weight. How had this happened? Something this large from the void should have been so rare that it was almost impossible. So how had the Night’s Raven done it?
The smell of sulfur wafted through the air as flames gently licked at the giant wound splitting its corpse—Simon was a pain to deal with, but he was not the third company commander without reason. She shook her head. It had taken her, John, Anton, and Rozala far too long to take the beast down. But he came along and killed it in a single stroke. An overbearing, obnoxious, and flashy stroke. But a single stroke nonetheless.
To the side of the freshly formed clearing in the festival was a group of Middlec city guards talking to the lower-ranking members of her company. Many guards had died today, and the city council would no doubt raise a stink about it—the old fools hated it when their cheap investments were ruined. They would demand to know who let this happen.
She didn’t even fully know what happened. The Night’s Raven had lured the company here, but why? The sounds of footsteps approached from behind her, a good few feet away. She glanced behind her. There, entering the festival clearing, was Silkmon—a good girl and a capable assistant. The girl’s robes fluttered as the wind ruffled them. Her eyes were dark as she approached. Was the report that bad?
“Silkmon, did you find Damond?” She asked, turning to face the girl as she approached. Acalla combed a loose strand of green hair behind her ear—she’d need to get it cut soon. It was getting a tad bit long.
“No, High Captain. I didn’t, but I received the field report from the captain of the Claw group.” Silkmon said, bowing.
Acalla waved the girl to stand, creasing her brow. Claw group wasn’t that Kain’s group—one of her better students. A smile came to her face as she thought of the man. She’d have to catch up with him. She hadn’t had time since returning to the city.
Though perhaps their reunion wouldn’t be so happy. “Weren’t Kain and Asomond in charge of guarding the center today?” Acalla asked, pinching the bridge of her nose.”
Silkmon’s brown hair fluttered in the wind as she nodded. “They were High Captain.”
“Bring them both to see me.” What a situation to be in, and on her first day back. One of the two would have to take the brunt of the punishment—not that they deserved it. But you could hardly sufficiently punish a Core Formation realm Cultivator. The cost would not be worth it.
Silkmon nodded, turning on her heels and walking over loose chunks of debris as she went to find the two. Various guards and company members watched the girl leave. Acalla smiled. The girl paid them no mind, ever dutiful, ever focused.
Acalla turned, taking in the void beast’s corpse again. Lower-ranking company members poked at it, some commenting on its size. They joked and laughed—it was like it hadn’t almost killed most of them.
The body of the beast took on a white sheen. Glowing whiter and whiter before turning into a stream of light. The stream flew through the air, travelling down towards an outstretched hand and the ring that decorated the hand—a storage ring.
She glanced at the holder of the ring and frowned. Simon Flamelight—an annoying smile hung on his lips. Why did she have to come back today? It was going to be a long day.