Erica and I made it home quickly. Thankfully, my parents were both out—my mother was off having tea with some friends until super late, and my father had taken an unplanned trip to the pantheon’s headquarters on Sylvanus’ home planet. For a brief moment, I let out a sigh of relief, grateful we didn’t have to face them yet.

But as we walked through the familiar halls of my home, the calmness I’d managed to maintain during all of this began to waver. Somewhere along the way, anxiety crept in, coiling around me like a snake. The weight of betrayal, of secrets, and of the dangerous path ahead pressed heavily on my chest.

This wasn’t just about leaving everything behind; it was about losing the foundation I’d built my life on. My family, my home, my trust in the stability of the world I grew up in—it all felt like it was crumbling. I knew one thing for sure: after this, trusting anyone, even those closest to me, wouldn’t come easily.

I hated the feeling, but doubt began to creep into my unshakable trust in Erica. She hadn’t done anything to betray me—far from it—but the anxious knot in my chest made it hard to shake the unease. It wasn’t her fault, yet the weight of everything happening around us left me questioning everyone and everything. Overcoming this was going to take time, maybe more than I’d like to admit.

Erica, perceptive as always, seemed to sense that something was wrong. Her gaze lingered on me a little longer than usual, her brow furrowing slightly in concern. Thankfully, she wasn’t the type to pry, and for that, I was grateful. I wasn’t sure I could face that conversation just yet, not with everything else bearing down on me.

As we gathered our belongings, we stuck to Sylphine's advice, packing only the essentials—things we absolutely couldn’t leave behind. For both of us, that included our profession starter kits, vital tools for carving out any future worth having. I hesitated over my drawing materials, ultimately deciding to take them. I convinced myself it was to practice Runescribing, though deep down, I knew it was as much about comfort as practicality. The familiarity of sketching and creating something tangible felt like an anchor in the chaos threatening to pull me under. We descended to the vault in silence, the weight of our situation thick in the air. It had been a couple years since I’d been allowed down here—not since I’d swiped a few platinum plates to buy myself a ridiculously fancy drawing kit for my 14th birthday. I half-expected the combination to have been completely changed by now, but to my surprise, only the last digit was different.

Rolling my eyes, I guessed the new number: 14. A subtle, almost mocking jab at my teenage transgression. Typical.

With urgency driving us, we raided the vault's glistening piles of money. We prioritized the platinum plates, taking just enough to avoid raising suspicion while ensuring we had sufficient funds for our escape. Careful not to overreach, we limited ourselves, leaving most untouched.

Next came the gold plates. We scooped them up by the armful, dumping them into the duffle bag on top of our clothes and profession kits. Once the bag was full, we turned to our backpacks, layering them methodically—money plates, then clothes, and repeating the process until they were stuffed to capacity.

The plan was simple but necessary: stash the duffle bag somewhere discreet near the teleportation pad while keeping our backpacks on us to maintain the illusion of a brief trip rather than an extended departure. Every move had to count; the smallest slip could jeopardize everything.

What could truly unravel this entire plan was my father coming home. His path was heavily centered around perception, making his senses unparalleled—second only to one other in the entire universe. He could likely see through our ruse in an instant, as if peeling back a thin veil.

It was unnerving, the way his perception bordered on the supernatural. His uncanny ability to anticipate actions and uncover intentions often came off as pure foresight. The chilling part was that no one could definitively say it wasn’t foresight; perhaps it was a skill hidden deep within his repertoire, granting him a terrifying edge that no amount of planning could counter.

The mere thought of him walking through that door sent a jolt of anxiety through me. Every second counted, and every sound seemed like a potential signal of his return.

With all of our things in order, we headed toward the pad. Still only exchanging quiet looks to each other. Both our weighing anxiety limited our abilities to manage full sentences.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

I spotted a familiar tree—a towering giant with a sprawling canopy and a dense bush growing beneath it. Memories of climbing its sturdy branches on the way back from bidding my father farewell on his political trips flickered through my mind.

Its shaded seclusion made it the perfect hiding spot, blending effortlessly into the surroundings. The bush at its base was dense enough to obscure the duffle bag from plain sight. I crouched down and carefully pushed the bag into the heart of the greenery, ensuring it was well-concealed and wouldn’t draw any unnecessary attention. It wasn’t perfect, but it would suffice. No one would think to snoop around an ordinary tree along a quiet path.

The tension clung to the air between us as we made our way back, suffocating and unrelenting. After a long stretch of silence, Erica finally found the strength to speak, her voice tentative but firm. “Hey, we’ll make it through this. Just keep your head down, act like everything’s fine. Once we’re in Umbraeth, we’ll find a moment to breathe—really breathe—and let it all go.” Her gaze was intense, filled with concern as she studied me, recognizing the storm of anxiety still raging inside me.

I nodded, mentally slapping myself awake, forcing a smile onto my face. I shoved the anxiety aside, locking it away for later release. “Alright! Everything’s spiraling, but we’ve got this,” I muttered, trying to pump myself up, the words feeling like armor against the growing uncertainty.

Erica cracked a smile, her voice warm with familiarity. “Same ol’ Jackson.” She threw her arm over my shoulder, laughing, clearly trying to inject some sense of normalcy into the situation. I appreciated it more than she knew, though a tight knot of unease twisted in my gut. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to hold it together when we told my mother about our "small trip" to see Erica's family.

I could see the lights on in the house, one’s we’d turned off when we left, a clear signal that my mother had made it home from tea. I mentally prepared myself, and went over in my head what I would say to my mom. Hey mom! Erica wanted to go see her family in Umbraeth for a couple days before we delve. I thought it’d be nice if I went to meet them. We leave early in the morning.

We walked in, a wave of oppressive heat hitting my face. I felt the flush spread across my cheeks, the warmth unmistakable. I’d have to own this nervousness—no way around it. But I could redirect her attention, make her think it was because I was nervous to meet Erica’s family.

“Jack! Where’d you two go?” My mother exclaimed, hurrying out of the kitchen.

“We went to the runescribe, seeing if we could find an affinity Erica could resonate with.” I said, my nervousness bleeding through in my voice.

“What’s wrong, Jackie?” My mother asked, her tone soft but immediately picking up on my unease.

“Jackie?!” Erica burst out laughing at the nickname my mother was so fond of using when we were alone.

“Oops… Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” my mother chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

“It’s fine,” I said, the words I’d rehearsed in my head slipping out almost verbatim. “So, mom, Erica wanted to go see her family in Umbraeth before we delve. We thought it’d be nice if I went with her. We’d be leaving early in the morning…”

This time, I let my anxiety take over, letting it seep into my voice and body language, hoping it would sell the lie convincingly enough.

“Oh sweetie! That’s a fine gesture, and you’ll be great, just be yourself and they’ll love you,” my mother said, offering words of encouragement. I would’ve appreciated them more if I didn’t feel like I was drowning in deception. “Have you already packed?” she added, her eyes studying me intently.

Her gaze felt like it was drilling into me, but I fought to keep steady. I nodded, forcing the words out, “Yes, we packed before leaving for the runescribe.” I tried to muster a smile, but it came out stiff. “And thanks, mom, I appreciate it.” I pushed the words through clenched teeth, barely keeping the surge of anger from boiling over.

My mother turned to Erica with a grin, “His dad was just as nervous when he met my parents.” She elbowed Erica playfully and winked.

Erica let out a soft laugh that sounded effortless, like she was at ease. That was an assassin’s daughter for you—so unnervingly calm in situations like these, while I felt like I was about to burst.

“Go on, off to bed with both of you,” my mother waved us toward the stairs, her voice light but firm. “Get some rest before the trip. Your father won’t be back until probably after you’ve returned, and I’m certainly not waking up to send you off. Just... be safe, alright?”

We both nodded in acknowledgment, and Erica followed me into my room. As we did, I could almost hear my mother rolling her eyes behind us before she scurried back to the kitchen, likely cracking open the bottle of whiskey she’d been hiding from my dad.

In the comfort of my room, I let out a pure breath of anxiousness, trying to purify my body of the feeling.

“Hey, come here.” Erica pulled me toward the bed, gently laying my head on her chest and running her hand through my hair in an attempt to comfort me. “Let’s get some rest, I’ll wake you up when it’s time.”

I silently nodded, allowing her presence to settle me. We lay side by side, and within moments, exhaustion overtook me, pulling me into a deep, swift sleep.