CHAPTER 08

I observed the bearded man from behind the neatly cropped hedge fences as the sun beamed overhead. Mum was there with him in the garden, sitting close, their hands clasped together as though they had known each other for a long time. Well, that had to be true if what Mum explained last night was to make sense.

The man was still barefoot, just as the day he was born and when he arrived last evening, though he had lost much of his homeless bum look after finally getting a bath, healthy food, and a roof over his head. However, his hardened presence was unmistakable. He was easily a towering figure of two metres, built like a boulder or an unmovable tree that had stood the test of a hundred ashen storms.

“You need to lose that blighted beard,” Mum told him as she stood up. Her hand was still in his grasp. “Just wait a minute, I’ll bring the utensils. And no, I won’t take no for an answer. You frightened Arylin enough last night.”

He finally let go and lay back on the lush grass. A minute later, Mum returned with a box and a mirror.

“It’s not exactly shaving equipment, but I guess we can make it work,” she said, holding up a spoon whose edge soon turned razor-sharp under her power. I had no idea all this time she could shape metal without any effort. The man, on the other hand, gave no indication of surprise.

“Now, sit back and let me do my magic.”

“Hey, Arylin,” the familiar voice of Eran rang in my ears, followed by a pat on my shoulder.

I spun around and shut my friend’s mouth with my palm. “Shh!”

“What are you doing?” Eran whispered, freeing his mouth.

“Nothing,” I said with all the nonchalance a kid my age could muster, “just swooping around, sneaking here and there.”

“Sneaking?” Eran followed my gaze. “That’s your home, though.”

My mother was shaving the copperish wiry beard off the man’s face with the spoon-turned-razor. From the sheer length of the beard and the unsuitable instrument, it was going to take some time.

“Who’s that man?” Eran asked.

“My...” I paused, staring at the man, who was staring at my mum with heavy eyes. Sucking in a frigid breath, I answered, “He’s... my father.”

“Your father?!”

Before I could respond, my father perked up at his hitched voice and turned in our direction. Logic said he couldn’t see through the hedge, but the piercing look in his eyes felt like it could punch through any obstruction. Thankfully, it only felt that way. There were spells or skills for that, but according to the books, they weren’t highly impressive. Even after mastery, one could barely make out vague figures.

“Arylin, what are you doing there?” my mum called. “Is Eran with you?”

To his credit, my friend turned his head and ran straight back the way he came. I didn’t believe he was old enough to understand that this was a family matter he couldn’t interfere with. Eran was shy, and my father did have a face that wasn’t very welcoming. Just like how I had been too frightened to talk to him throughout the night.

Before Mum could call again, I dragged my body to the garden and presented myself before them. The man looked up at me, but I kept my eyes trained on Mum. I had been doing that since last night.

“With everything going on last night, I forgot to congratulate you for solving the cube,” she said, ruffling my hair. “Good job, Pumpkin.”

I grinned and recalled the new form the cube had reshaped into. I had tinkered with it for hours last night and figured out what needed to be done to solve it. As it turned out, the plight of meeting your father for the first time since birth was a great motivator.

The problem was that there was no way for me to solve its newer form. I feared something magical needed to be involved in untangling the Template.

“Can you teach me how to work on it?” I asked, even though I suspected it was impossible without the ability to wield essence. That was why she had given the cube to Rose when she had good control over her power.

Since my birthday, I had been working on the cube diligently. If I couldn’t spend time on the cube anymore, it would leave a large gap in my schedule. Well, I could fill it with other kinds of training or study. But Meditation didn’t pack the same punch anymore. Two half-hour sessions at different times of the day were more than enough to get the peace and calm feeling it brought—not to mention how god-awful boring it sounded to simply meditate for hours.

“You’ve left me in a pickle here, Pumpkin,” Mum said. “You were supposed to finish it sometime around your next birthday and almost be prepared for the next part of the study.”

Study? Of course, that’s what it was. The runes were eerily close to the things Mum practised regularly.

“Since I finished it early, can’t I simply practise it now?” I asked, my eyes widening in hope. Logic said it was impossible, but since we were talking about magic, anything should be possible.

“It would only be a masterful waste of time,” she said, shaking her head. “Without the ability to wield essence outside your body, it’s impractical to even try.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“And I won’t have essence for another 1,058 days.” I pouted.

Mum stared at me blankly. I bet she didn’t think I had already begun counting the days. She turned her head to the man—to my father—who had been watching the whole conversation with equal parts attention and hesitation.

“You do have essence,” she said slowly, as though measuring every word. “How do you think you can focus on studying for several hours without breaking a sweat?”

“Because of my high points in Focus?”

“That too, but what do you think supplies power to those attributes?” Mum smirked.

“It’s essence?” I arched my eyebrows.

“Attributes are a complex form of essence,” the man interjected, finally finding something to express his view on.

“You’re not wrong,” Mum said, “but a simple line like that doesn’t even begin to express the complexity at play. For now, think of attributes as a skill with a preset essence usage.”

“Like how the Focus attribute only lets me focus on something by spending essence?” I asked. “Wait, doesn’t that mean I’m already using essence? So if I could awaken a new attribute that enables me to wield essence more freely, wouldn’t that solve the problem?”

Mum opened her lips, exchanging a look with Father, then grinned. “Clever, isn’t he? I wonder who shall take credit for that.”

Obviously, it should be her, and her alone, but that didn’t answer my question.

“Your thinking is not wrong,” she said, “though tragically unrealistic. It’s tremendously hard to wield essence at will without a proper Essence Seed and a binding to the spirit realm.”

“I know about the Essence Seed. What does the binding do?” I asked in confusion.

Mum was about to explain, dumbing it down for a five-year-old to understand, but the man’s words stopped her.

“We can actually help him form an Essence Seed, can’t we?” he said. “As for the binding, we can—”

“Hush, you.” Mum glared at him, sneaking a measuring glance in my direction. She could tell that, although I wasn’t fully on board with the idea of this unfamiliar man being my father, his words had my full attention.

“You haven’t even been back for a full day, and you’re already putting rash ideas in his head.”

“Sorry.” The man scratched his index finger with his thumb. His skin looked somewhat papery.

Mum turned back to me. She saw the expectation on my face and sighed softly.

“You have to wait a little longer, Pumpkin. Just because you can’t wield essence yet doesn’t mean you can’t start training your mind for it when you’ll have full access.”

“Really?” I asked expectantly.

She nodded. “I warn you, though. It’s not going to be easy.”

I acted as though I hadn’t heard that last part. “When can we begin?”

Before she could answer, I sensed a couple of people creeping toward our compound. It was Eran, trailing closely behind his father, whose eyes shifted immediately to my father as he entered the yard.

Dalin Stonecutter was a dark, tall man with a protruding stomach and clean-cut facial hair. I had rarely interacted with my friend’s father, but I knew him to be a hardworking, honest farmer. And he was among the very few people who had ascended to Noble Class and received a title without being born into it.

And now that man was looking at my father like a common plebeian looks up at a Patrician.

“Ta'shin,” he said deferentially. “When Eran told me about Arylin’s father, I thought...”

My father stood up, narrowing his eyes at the man. A look of recognition flashed across his face, though he probably failed to recall the name. However, before he could ask, Eran’s Da stepped forward and dropped to one knee, his right fist clutched to his chest.

“I can never repay you for what you’ve done for me,” he said. “If you need anything, at least let me show my gratitude once.”

Well, that was a bit... dramatic, I thought. And I wasn’t the only one. It stunned Eran. His father was a respectable man among the people, with a properly designated title that he had earned on his own merit. What could my father have done for him to show such deference?

“Please stand up,” Father said, his eyes flickering to Mum, clearly uncomfortable with the whole thing.

The man obeyed before turning his gaze to his son. “Eran, do you remember the story I told you about when I was a soldier?”

The boy nodded.

“You remember Lord Jinn, the man who saved my life? This is him.”

Understanding finally dawned on Eran, but being a child of merely three winters, he was utterly lost on what to say or do.

Thankfully, before he could stammer out a bow, Mum said, “Shall we go inside to discuss the rest?”

Although she phrased it as a request, she had already begun moving toward the house. The others had no choice but to follow.

As the men talked, Mum prepared a light lunch for us, despite Eran’s father’s protests.

“So your father is a knight?” Eran whispered to me, his eyes wide with expectation.

“He’s not,” I replied without thinking, my ears absorbed in our fathers’ conversation. Wait, was he? “I don’t know.”

“I’m not a knight,” my father said, clearly hearing our talk.

Eran looked easily disappointed. Honestly, I felt a tad bit let down too, though it was within my expectations. Knights were the fabled heroes of the realm, not to mention that it was an honourable vocation; seldom did one in ten thousand Awakened ever make it to full knighthood.

My father seemed to read our disappointment and found something else to appease us. “But I can go toe-to-toe with a knight.”

I couldn’t tell how much of that was boasting.

They recounted the events of a decade ago when Eran’s father was a soldier in the army. In the very first year of his service, Dalin—who wasn’t titled Stonecutter back then—along with many others, had been assigned to deal with the aftermath of a Rift breaking. The higher-ranking fighters were already handling most of the trouble, but they had failed to account for the Rift turning into a Gate, releasing hundreds of monsters at once.

“Many people died that day. Good soldiers and common folk alike,” the former Decurion said. “Many more would have fallen if not for Ta'shin's timely intervention. He saved my life, along with a thousand others, and fought until reinforcements could arrive.”

“I was merely doing my job,” my father said.

Apparently, his job had been exploring and studying Rifts, ensuring they were closed if possible. If he hadn’t made it all up to appease us, then he had been part of some special military force that dealt solely with such threats.

“Enough about me,” Father said, waving a hand. “I’m glad to see you earned a title for yourself, Dalin. Stonecutter certainly has a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Like my friend, his father, too, was embarrassed easily at praise. “I earned it fairly early—three years into the army.” He patted Eran’s head. “But after Eran was born, I couldn’t do it anymore. I chose to settle on the land I was awarded with the title, far from all the trouble and my past aspirations, and I never looked back. Honestly, it agitates me sometimes, thinking about the battles the...”

“It’s a common folly,” Mum said, serving plates of food. “And don’t discourage yourself. It takes as much courage to give up the sword as it does to pick it up for a second time.”

“That’s something I can agree with,” Dalin said, releasing a breath and easing his legs. “Perhaps it is my weakness speaking, but I would never want to pick it up again.”

At least you were present to see Eran grow up.