After what felt like an eternity, Ishu finally pulled back, his tear-streaked face flushed with emotion. As he did, a small, familiar head poked out from the folds of Guhin’s robe. The grey-furred cat, Ikaya, meowed softly as she climbed over to Ishu, nestling against his chest.
“Ikaya!” Ishu’s eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and joy. He cradled the cat gently, holding her close. “You found her…” His voice was barely a whisper, still thick with the remnants of his earlier sorrow.
Guhin nodded, the faintest smile touching his lips. Ishu, still holding Ikaya, turned his gaze back to Guhin. His face, though softened by the reunion, still bore the marks of unresolved anger. “Do you even know how long it’s been?” Ishu asked, his voice trembling, the question hanging in the air like a fragile thread.
Guhin’s smile faltered, and he looked away for a moment. “Too long,” he finally answered, his voice low and heavy.
When Ishu looked up at Guhin’s face, he was taken aback. The man who stood before him was a shadow of the figure he remembered. Dark circles ringed Guhin’s hollow eyes, and though he wore a smile, it was thin and strained. There was a weariness about him that Ishu had never seen before, a deep exhaustion that no amount of rest could seem to cure.
“You’re… you’re not okay,” Ishu said, the realization dawning on him like a slow, creeping shadow.
Guhin’s smile tightened, and he let out a small, humorless chuckle. “I’ll be fine, Ishu. Don’t worry about me.”
But Ishu could see right through him. The façade that Guhin tried to maintain was fragile, barely holding together under the weight of whatever burdens he had been carrying. It pained Ishu to see him like this, to see the toll that time and hardship had taken on him.
Before Ishu could say anything more, a low caw interrupted their moment. Fukujin, Guhin’s companion, had hopped down from his perch and was now eyeing Ishu with his dark, beady eyes, head cocked to one side in that unsettling way only a bird could manage.
Ishu met the crow's gaze with a sigh. “Figures,” he muttered, sticking out his tongue and pulling down his eyelid in a playful gesture. “You’re still as creepy as ever.”
Fukujin stared him down, unblinking, as if considering the boy’s actions with all the gravity of a judge passing sentence. Then, with a dismissive flutter of his wings, he turned away, clearly unimpressed by Ishu’s antics.
Guhin watched the exchange with a small, genuine smile this time, though the shadows in his eyes remained. Seeing Ishu’s familiar playful side, even in the midst of all that had happened, gave him a bittersweet sense of comfort. It was a reminder that, despite everything, some things hadn’t changed.
But beneath that comfort lingered the unspoken truth of how much time had passed, and how much had been lost along the way.
Guhin reached out and ruffled Ishu’s hair, his large hand rough but gentle. “You’ve gotten big, Ishu. Almost didn’t recognize you.” He chuckled, but there was a warmth in his voice that Ishu hadn’t heard in a long time.
As Guhin took a step back, he got a better look at Ishu. The boy’s clothing was worn, patched in places, but it was clear that Ishu had put effort into his appearance. The dark tunic and trousers, though simple, bore a striking resemblance to Guhin’s own outfit—right down to the way the sleeves were rolled up and the boots were laced. Ishu looked like a miniature version of Guhin, minus the armor and cloak, of course.
“And you’ve gotten better with that slingshot,” Guhin added, nodding toward the weapon that still lay discarded on the ground. “That was a solid shot.”
Ishu blinked, momentarily taken aback by the compliment. He hadn’t expected Guhin to notice, much less acknowledge his skill. Emboldened by the praise, Ishu’s lips curled into a mischievous smirk. “I’ve gotten better with other things too,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of pride. “I even awakened my magic.”
Guhin’s brow furrowed as he leaned closer, his sharp senses picking up a faint but distinct smell. There was something… sweet in the air. He inhaled again, realizing that the scent was coming from Ishu. The distinct fragrance of citrus, fresh and vibrant, was undeniable. Could it be? Had Ishu really awakened his magic? The thought filled Guhin with a mix of surprise and anticipation.
He leaned in closer, eyes narrowing slightly as he observed Ishu with a newfound curiosity. But as he did, he noticed the boy’s smirk deepening, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. Guhin’s gaze drifted down to Ishu’s pocket, where a small bulge betrayed something hidden within. Without warning, Guhin reached out and squeezed the pocket.
The unmistakable shape of an orange pressed against his fingers, and the juice that squished beneath the fabric confirmed his suspicions. Guhin’s eyes widened for a brief moment before narrowing again, this time in playful reproach.
Ishu burst into laughter as Guhin withdrew his hand, holding it up as if to inspect the faint smear of juice. “Nice try,” Guhin said, shaking his head with a smile.
Ishu grinned, pulling out the oranges from his pocket. “You should’ve seen your face,” he teased, tossing one of the oranges in the air before catching it deftly.
Guhin couldn’t help but chuckle, though the playful exchange did little to mask the underlying concern he had for the boy. “You almost had me convinced,” Guhin admitted, still smiling. “But magic or no magic, you’ve certainly gotten clever.”
Ishu’s smile softened, the earlier bravado fading as he pocketed the oranges once more. “I’ll awaken it one day,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Guhin. “I just need to keep trying.”
Guhin’s expression softened as well, his earlier concerns giving way to a deep, abiding affection for the boy. “You will,” he agreed, his voice gentle. “And when you do, you’ll be the greatest wizard Valherya has ever seen.”
Ishu looked up at Guhin, his eyes bright with a renewed determination. He nodded, the weight of Guhin’s words settling over him like a warm, reassuring cloak.
Guhin’s thoughts drifted back to the boy’s dream of becoming a wizard, the greatest in all of Valherya. Ishu’s mother had often told him how the boy would mimic his father’s gestures, trying to cast spells ever since he could walk. The boy’s aspirations were no secret to Guhin, and he admired that determination, even if it sometimes manifested in playful mischief.
Guhin’s smile faded slightly as he thought of Ishu’s father, a man whose legacy seemed to both inspire and burden the boy. “Your father would be proud of you, Ishu,” he said softly, his voice carrying a weight that Ishu wasn’t sure how to interpret.
The mention of his father brought a momentary silence between them, a pause filled with memories that neither had spoken of in a long time. Ishu’s father, Elaran, had been a man of immense talent and ambition. Born in a small village much like Aryan, he had shown a remarkable aptitude for magic from a young age. His abilities had caught the attention of scholars from the capital, The Holy City of Iyen, where he was invited to study at the prestigious Academy of Thalos.
Ishu had grown up on tales of his father’s exploits, how Elaran had mastered spells that few could comprehend, how he had ventured into the farthest reaches of Valherya, seeking out ancient knowledge and forgotten relics. But of all the stories, there was one that Ishu dreaded the most. Elaran’s final journey.
Elaran had been sent on an expedition to the frozen reaches far beyond the capital, to a place where the snow never melted and the days were as dark as the nights, in search of a relic that would change the course of history. But it was a journey from which he would never return.
image [https://i.imgur.com/pYeh3jf.png]
The news of Elaran’s death had reached Aryan in the middle of winter. Ishu’s mother, Lira, had received the message with a quiet dignity, but the pain in her eyes was something Ishu would never forget. Elaran had fallen victim to a herd of shapeshifters, creatures of the night that could assume the form of anything they touched. The expedition had been ambushed, and though Elaran had fought valiantly, he had been overwhelmed by their numbers.
Lira had been shattered by the loss. She had clung to Ishu, her only remaining connection to the man she had loved. From that day forward, she had forbidden Ishu from ever leaving the village. She had lost her husband to the dangers beyond the village’s walls, and she was determined not to lose her son the same way.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
For years, that fear had confined Ishu to Aryan. It was a place of safety, of routine—but also of limitation. While other boys of his age would tell stories of how they traveled the western region with their parents, Ishu’s world was defined by the walls of the village and the vast, unexplored world that lay just beyond them.
He had longed to step outside, to follow in his father’s footsteps, to see the places Elaran had seen and learn the magic his father had mastered. But those dreams had been tempered by the weight of his mother’s grief and the unspoken rule that bound him to her side.
Guhin could see the conflict in Ishu’s eyes, the pull between duty to his mother and the desire for something more. It was a struggle that had shaped the boy’s entire life, and one that Guhin could not solve for him.
“Ishu,” Guhin began, his voice careful, “I know how much you want to see the world, to become the wizard you were meant to be. But your mother… she only wants to keep you safe. She’s afraid of losing you, like she lost your father.”
Ishu looked down at the ground, his fingers absentmindedly stroking Ikaya’s fur. “I know,” he said softly. “But I can’t stay here forever... I want to make her proud, but I also want to live my own life. To see what’s out there, to learn… to be like him.”
Guhin nodded, understanding the boy’s dilemma all too well. “You don’t have to choose between being safe and being free, Ishu. When the time is right, you’ll find a way to do both. And until then, you can keep practicing. Learn everything you can, even here in Aryan. You’ll be ready when the time comes.”
Ishu looked up at Guhin, the determination in his eyes tempered by the reality of his situation. “You think so?”
“I know so,” Guhin said firmly, placing a reassuring hand on Ishu’s shoulder. “Your father was a great wizard, Ishu, but he wasn’t born that way. He learned, just like you will. And one day, you’ll surpass him. But for now, trust in the path you’re on. It will lead you where you need to go.”
The weight of Guhin’s words settled over Ishu, offering him a sense of comfort and direction that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He nodded, the tightness in his chest loosening just a little. “Thanks, Guhin.”
Guhin nodded, but before he could say anything, a low rumble of thunder echoed across the sky. His demeanor shifted instantly, the warmth in his eyes replaced by a sharp alertness. He glanced upward, his gaze narrowing as he scanned the darkening sky. The storm clouds gathered with an unnatural speed, their swirling masses blotting out the last remnants of daylight.
They’re almost here, Guhin thought, clenching his jaw tightly. I’m running out of time.
Ishu, who had been watching Guhin closely, noticed the change in his expression. The way his fists clenched at his sides, the subtle tension that gripped his entire body—it was as if Guhin was preparing for something.
“Guhin?” Ishu’s voice was soft, tentative. He could feel the unspoken threat hanging in the air, and he wanted to bring Guhin back, to distract him from whatever was haunting his thoughts. “How about we go to the old mill? Like we used to. You can tell me a story on the way there, before the rain starts falling.”
Guhin’s dark-circled eyes met Ishu’s, and for a moment, he hesitated. The storm brewing above was a harbinger of what he had hoped to keep at bay a little longer. He knew this was selfish—he was here for himself, to say goodbye, knowing he would disappoint Ishu yet again. But looking into the boy’s hopeful eyes, he couldn't bring himself to turn away. Ishu had waited long enough, and Guhin would give him every second of the time left, even if it meant breaking his heart one last time.
As if sensing the tension in the air, Fukujin suddenly took off into the sky, his dark wings slicing through the gathering storm clouds. The crow’s departure left a strange silence between Guhin and Ishu, broken only by the distant rumble of thunder.
Ikaya, too, seemed to sense the impending change. The grey-furred cat, who had been nestled in Ishu’s arms, leaped down and darted away, her limp hardly noticeable as she sprinted toward the alleyways where the other cats of Aryan roamed. Ishu watched her go, a small frown creasing his brow, but he didn’t call her back. He knew she was returning to her friends, just as he had finally reunited with Guhin.
Guhin tried to crack a smile, but it barely held. The weariness that had settled into his bones was too deep, the shadows in his mind too persistent. Still, he nodded toward Ishu, a silent agreement to the boy’s suggestion.
“All right,” he said, his voice softer now, laced with a warmth that felt more forced than genuine. “Let's go.”
During their walk, Guhin told the story of Bokun. Ishu listened intently, the story coming alive in his imagination—the towering figure of Bokun, their fight, and the looming threat of what might have happened if Bokun had succeeded. “And what about that lady?” Ishu asked, his curiosity piqued. “What happened to her?”
Guhin hesitated, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “I freed her, and the next thing I knew, she was gone. Vanished like she was never there.”
By the time they reached the old mill, the wind had picked up, whipping around them as the first drops of rain began to fall. The mill stood at the very edge of the village, its once-grand structure now a mere shell of its former self, with broken windows and a roof that had seen better days. They made their way to a sturdy wooden ladder leading up to a small platform that offered a beautiful view of the village of Aryan. The ladder creaked under their weight as they climbed.
As they reached the top of the old mill, the familiar sight of the village of Aryan sprawled out below them brought a sense of nostalgia to Ishu. The old mill still held the memories of shared meals and quiet moments of contemplation.
Ishu glanced at Guhin, who had grown quiet again, his eyes scanning the horizon. There was a tension in his posture, a readiness for something Ishu couldn’t see.
“Guhin,” Ishu began, his voice barely audible over the wind, “is something wrong? You’ve been… different since you came back.”
Guhin’s eyes dropped to the ground, the question piercing deeper than he had expected. How could he explain it to Ishu? How could he tell him that all the running, the fighting, the endless pursuit of answers had finally worn him down? That he no longer knew what he was even running from—or toward? How could he tell the boy, who still saw him as a big brother, a protector, that he was giving up?
He couldn’t.
The silence stretched on, the wind howling around them, as Guhin fought to find the right words. His heart clenched with the weight of it all—the pain, the exhaustion, the futility. He had hoped for so long that he could keep it at bay, that he could protect Ishu from the darkness that pursued him. But it was futile. He had come back, not to protect Ishu, but to say goodbye. To give the boy a final moment before he went to meet his fate.
Slowly, Guhin lifted his gaze, meeting Ishu's eyes. His expression softened, a mixture of sadness and determination evident.
“There’s something coming, Ishu,” he said, his voice heavy with the truth he could no longer keep hidden. “Something I’ve been trying to protect you from. But I can't hold it back any longer.”
As the wind howled around them, Ishu’s heart raced with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. He turned to Guhin, whose eyes remained fixed on the horizon, his expression shrouded in worry.
“What’s coming, Guhin? What’s out there?” Ishu’s voice trembled slightly, the urgency in his tone betraying his growing fear.
Guhin’s silence spoke volumes. He glanced at Ishu, his haunted eyes betraying the struggle within. He didn’t want to burden Ishu with the truth, but he couldn’t lie either.
“Guhin, what’s coming?” Ishu repeated, desperation creeping into his voice. “What’s out there that you’re so afraid of?”
Guhin looked at Ishu, his eyes haunted by memories of past battles and the destruction he had wrought. The truth weighed heavily on him: the greatest danger wasn’t the enemies that pursued him, but the darkness he felt within. In the depths of Guhin’s mind, a grim answer echoed. Me.
The anger in Ishu’s eyes was unmistakable. The thought of Guhin leaving again, for who knew how long, stirred a storm of emotion within him.
Guhin’s gaze softened, filled with an emotion that was both heartbreaking and tender. But Ishu, seeing the unspoken truth in Guhin’s eyes, realized this was indeed a final farewell.
The realization crashed over Ishu like a cold wave. His anger flared, but it was overshadowed by a deep, crushing sorrow. He clenched his fists, struggling to find the right words. His voice, when it finally came, was steady but cold.
"You’re not coming back, are you?" Ishu asked, his words more of a statement than a question.
Guhin hesitated, but before he could answer, Ishu shook his head, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Just... leave," he said, turning his back on Guhin. The boy's shoulders were tense, his entire body rigid as he fought to hold himself together.
Guhin felt his heart shatter at the sight of Ishu's back. He wanted to reach out, to hold the boy and tell him that everything would be all right, but he knew it wouldn't be true. The reality was far more grim, and no comforting words could change that. Instead, he took a step back, his gaze lingering on Ishu for a moment longer before he turned away.
Guhin descended the ladder of the mill slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. The storm had begun in earnest now, the rain falling in cold, stinging sheets, and the wind howled through the skeletal remains of the old mill.
As Guhin stepped out into the open, the rain pelted him, soaking him to the bone. He paused, glancing back up at the mill one last time, his eyes searching for a glimpse of Ishu. But the boy was out of sight, and all that remained was the sound of the storm.
image [https://i.imgur.com/O6nyAvm.png]
Fukujin, who had been silently perched on the mill’s rafters, swooped down to Guhin’s side, his beady eyes glinting with an intelligence that belied his avian form. The crow let out a low caw, as if acknowledging what was to come.
Guhin sighed, running a hand through his tangled hair, his entire body aching from the emotional toll of the reunion. He had known this moment would come, but that didn’t lessen the sting of rejection.
"Fukujin," Guhin's voice was low, resolute, as he spoke to the crow perched beside him. He knew what he had to do, what he had always known would be his fate.
"It's time."
Fukujin cawed again, and Guhin took a deep breath, his gaze shifting to the horizon, where the storm clouds gathered like a dark omen.
High above, Fukujin soared, his dark wings blending with the storm clouds as he circled above Guhin, a silent guardian watching over his final journey.
And as the distance grew between them, Guhin whispered words that he knew Ishu would never hear, words carried away by the howling wind and the thunderous sky.
"Happy birthday, Ishu."
It was a futile hope, but Guhin clung to it nonetheless, that somehow, the sentiment would reach Ishu, that it might soften the hurt, even just a little.
But deep down, Guhin knew better. He had seen the pain in Ishu’s eyes, the raw betrayal that had cut deeper than any wound. The boy had every right to be angry, every right to feel abandoned.
The rain continued to fall, and as Guhin moved further away, he felt the weight of his decision settle over him like a shroud, heavy and suffocating. He had made his choice, and now he had to live with it, for however short that may be.
GUHIN!