Robert Darnaval, soldier, blacksmith, and now the bewildered father of a newborn son, perched upon the wooden porch of his modest cottage, absently puffing upon a slender clay pipe. The morning sun cast long shadows across Ashford Heath, its rays gilding the thatched roofs of the village's quaint cottages, which stood in neat alignment along the cobblestone path. The air was crisp with the scent of late autumn blooms and the earthy aroma of freshly picked herbs, mingling harmoniously in the tranquil village setting.

From his perch, Robert's rugged figure was a study in contrasts. Short in stature yet imbued with a commanding presence, he rocked gently on the porch swing, his broad shoulders and bull-necked frame a testament to years of labor and battle. The metal walking cane he leaned upon bore the scars of old scorch marks, each telling a silent story of fires tamed and foes vanquished. His hands, thick and calloused, held his infant son with a surprising gentleness that belied the hardened exterior etched by time and toil. A solitary tear traced a path down his scarred cheek, catching the sunlight and shimmering with unspoken sorrow.

Across the lane, a group of mothers watched him with stern expressions, their eyes narrowing with silent judgment. Yet Robert paid them no heed, his attention divided between the peaceful slumber of his child and the lively chaos emanating from the village bonfire. Children darted about the roaring flames, their gleeful screams intertwining with the crackling of the firewood, creating a cacophony of innocent joy that filled the evening air.

As the setting sun bathed Ashford Heath in a warm, amber glow, Robert exhaled a quiet breath, his gaze drifting to the horizon where farmland stretched out on one side and the dense, untamed woodlands loomed on the other. The village lay nestled between the wild and the orderly, a silent witness to the eternal dance of nature and civilization beneath a sky deepening with twilight hues.

Robert's thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his old friend, Marcus, who approached with the easy grace of a man unmarked by hardship. Tall and lean, Marcus possessed a disarming smile that seemed to light up the surrounding gloom. His handsomeness stood in stark contrast to Robert's rugged demeanor— now a council member, not so much for his wisdom but for his popularity. He navigated life using soft words for precise moments, whereas Robert was a blunt instrument of honesty no matter the setting.Their friendship, forged in childhood camaraderie, was a blend of deep affection and mutual exasperation. Both loved each other dearly. Both thought the other a fool.

"A perfect evening, isn't it?" Marcus remarked, settling beside Robert with a casual ease.

Robert remained silent for a moment, the crackling of the fire filling the space between them.

"Being around children has reminded me of how happy they are," Robert finally said. "As adults, we don't get to be this happy. We're weighed down by knowledge and experience." He sighed deeply. "Looking at my son, I've suddenly become struck by the realization that one of the horrible things about being a parent is that I'll have to spend a tremendous amount of my time making him less happy."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? Shouldn't happiness be the goal?"

Robert's grip tightened slightly around his cane. The flames flickered, casting dark shadows across his troubled face.

"It's not about what I want," Robert said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Happiness is fleeting. It makes people overconfident and blinds them to their own shortcomings. When reality hits, happiness is the first thing to go."

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Marcus frowned. “Best to enjoy life while you can though, no? Otherwise what’s the point?”

Robert's gaze hardened as he stared into the fire. Memories flickered in the depths of his eyes—flashes of distant battlefields, the cries of the wounded, the smell of smoke and ash.

"There are situations in life where happiness is not only the wrong response," Robert said quietly, "but it also puts people in the wrong state of mind to deal with what needs to be done."

A sudden tension gripped his frame. The flames of the bonfire wavered, leaves rustling as if stirred by an unseen wind. The sounds of the children's laughter seemed distant now, overshadowed by an unspoken heaviness.

"What needs to be done?" Marcus asked, concern creeping into his voice. "You're speaking in riddles."

Robert nodded toward the children. "Take them, for example. Look at how happy they are. They’re so euphoric they can’t see the danger they’re running into. Their mothers know, though. They watch, they worry."

"Danger? In the Heath?" Marcus scoffed lightly. "The war is over. We are safe."

"That’s what we thought before the war started," Robert murmured.

Just then, one of the children, caught up in a burst of excitement, stumbled over his own feet and fell hard onto the ground. A sharp cry pierced the air, abruptly silencing the laughter. One of the mothers rushed over, scooping the weeping child into her arms and whispering soothing words to dry his tears. The other children gathered around, their games forgotten, concern etched on their faces. Recognizing that the evening had run its course, the adults began to usher everyone home. Soft goodbyes were exchanged as families drifted back toward the warm glow of their cottages.

"See? Happiness is done in by the first harsh blow that reality deals you."

Marcus shook his head. "That's just a scraped knee, Robert. Kids fall, they get back up."

Robert's eyes remained fixed on the scene. "There are circumstances in life where happiness is not only the wrong response but also where the expectation of happiness as a response will put you in the wrong state to deal with what must be done."

Silence settled between them, heavy and palpable. The night deepened, stars beginning to prick through the darkening sky. The scent of burning wood mixed with the earthy aroma of the forest, creating a bittersweet fragrance. Robert stood up and limped over to the abandoned fire, Marcus walking hesitantly behind him.

"More than anything, I want to protect my son and make him happy," Robert whispered, his voice barely audible. Another tear slipped down his face. "But I know that’s impossible."

"Why do you say that?" Marcus asked gently.

"Because God has taught me one universal truth: That life is suffering, and it must be endured in order for it to be overcome!"

A sudden gust of wind blew through the clearing, extinguishing several of the smaller flames around the bonfire. Marcus shivered, pulling his cloak tighter.

"Robert," Marcus said, standing up. "Can I hold him?"

Robert stood as well, cradling his son protectively. "I wish I could spare you," he said, his voice hollow. "But there's no escaping what's ahead."

Marcus reached out a hand. "Robert, please. Talk to me."

Before he could respond, Robert slammed his cane into the ground, leaving it stuck in place. The shock knocked Marcus over. Robert limped slowly closer to the fire, which had suddenly shrunk, the flames shooting downward as if pushed by an unseen force. The ground beneath them trembled slightly. Marcus stumbled back, eyes wide.

"Robert!" he shouted over the flames.

Robert's body was tense, his eyes distant. The air around him seemed to shimmer. A yellow, pulsating glow began to emanate from his fist, swirling faster and faster.

“ROBERT!!!" Marcus screamed.

Robert gazed down upon his newborn son, his pupils dilated to a pure black, betraying a horrifying blend of sorrow and unwavering determination. In his left hand, he softly cradled the child, while with his right, he lifted the eerie, pulsating glow before slamming it toward the crying baby.