Nathan strode through the neighborhood, humming to himself. With a spring in his step, Nathan entered a small convenience store.

The familiar, wrinkled face of Ms. Valdez greeted him. She’d been one of the few skeptics when the developer had come five years earlier. She’d had a nagging premonition about the deal—there must be trouble in it, her intuition had told her. But as she had nothing to lose, she’d acquiesced. Five years later, her hunch had come to nothing and she thought it to be nothing but a side effect of her diet. She’d almost completely dismissed it. Smiling, the lady addressed the young boy that entered her shop.

“Good morning, Nathan,” she smiled. “I take it you’ve come to look at the new goods?”

“Yes, Ms. Valdez. I’ll be buying the usual. . .” a childish grin spread over his face, “. . . and my father even let me buy something for myself!”

Ms. Valdez looked at him with a raised eyebrow. He had been an adorable child, but lately, his childish openness had been replaced with cold stoicism. He was still the kind and respectful young man she had always known him to be, but it seemed to her that his spark had died, leaving only a shell behind. It was good to see the old Nathan back again.

She resisted the urge to ask him personal questions. His family was cryptic, she knew. She had learnt not to inquire about Mr. Umbris’ job or Nathan’s mother after she’d gotten several vague answers. It was enough that Nathan was happy today.

As Nathan finished shopping, he chatted with Ms. Valdez about school.

“Immature,” he said when she asked him to describe his classmates. “It’s sad how much time I have to spend with a bunch of inarticulate buffoons.”

“It’s really hard to meet your standards, Nathan,” Ms. Valdez laughed, making Nathan blush a little. “Of course, that’s by no means a bad thing, dear. Just make sure to be respectful to your classmates. Condescension won’t help you here, all right?”

She patted Nathan’s head and ruffled his hair.

“I know, Ms. Valdez,” Nathan replied with a smile. “I have to go now. I still have a lot to do”

Nathan swiftly left.

He’d lost track of time in the shop, but as he rushed home, he planned out the training session he’d have before the fight with his father. His father would see. He’d realize just how hard Nathan had worked. He’d see Nathan was ready.

***

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Nathan and Blithe stood on the grassy plain in the middle of the training space

“Ready?” Blithe asked, entering a battle stance.

Nathan stood twenty meters away, smiling like a child on Christmas morning. He nodded.

But before he’d managed to take a stance, his opponent was barely a meter away from him, aiming a small blade at his head. Nathan’s reflexes kicked in and his body ducked automatically.

He attempted a jab at his father’s stomach with his right arm but missed. Without stopping to look at his father, he evaded a kick and dove into a roll. He stood up, now keeping his eyes on his father, trying to use distance to analyze his position.

But his father was too quick. Nathan assumed a stance just fast enough to parry his father’s slash with a blade of his own. He gripped his weapon and felt his strength ebbing away. His right hand was going numb. He wouldn’t win this way.

Nathan let the slash go through, dodging out of danger and giving himself an opportunity. He made a slash of his own but missed.

Blithe let go of the knife, using one hand to catch his son’s wrist, stopping the tip of Nathan’s blade not five centimeters from his face. Nathan’s wrist snapped, and his scream was cut short by a powerful roundhouse kick.

Nathan fell to the ground a few meters away from his father. He ignored his body’s screams of pain and stood up. His father was onto him already.

Dodging several kicks and punches swiftly drained Nathan’s stamina. He had to think of something.

His reflexes let him down for a second and a kick to his knee made him collapse.

He stayed on the ground, feigning defeat. He knew he wouldn’t win by staying on the defense, but he needed time to think. He racked his brain.

'That’s it!'

Suddenly Nathan shot up, spinning on his heels. He ran to the edge of the grass field, turning his back to his father in an attempt to leave him guessing.

But Blithe was too experienced to fall for such a simple trick. He ran, in hot pursuit of his son.

He had almost caught up when his son spun again to face him, glaring fiercely. Nathan took advantage of his momentum, drawing a small throwing knife from his sleeve.

Blithe had already read the situation and decided this was an opportunity to test his son’s resolve. The knife flew toward him, entering just below his collarbone. Blithe fell to the ground and laid motionless.

Nathan’s look of triumph quickly gave way to horror. His opponent—his father—had been hit by a blade he’d thrown. Now he wasn’t moving.

Nathan ran to the body, desperately hoping the worst hadn’t happened. His father lay on his side, the tip of Nathan’s blade poking out of his back. His chest wasn’t moving.

Nathan collapsed to his knees. He had killed his father, the only family he had. His eyes flooded with tears.

He slouched down and carefully twisted his father’s body toward him. He wanted to extract the knife, but a strange sensation in his abdomen stopped him. Through his tears, he saw a blade in his belly.

“As I said, you’re still not ready.”

Those were the last words he heard before the world went black.

***

Blithe took a deep breath and lowered his son gently to the ground. He hoped this would be enough of a lesson, but he doubted it. He was tempted to lay next to Nathan for a moment, to stay and decide how to move forward.

But his son was bleeding, and if the bleeding went unchecked the wound could prove fatal, despite its careful placement. Blithe extracted the knife from his own body, hardly flinching. He was almost numb to physical pain now.

He picked up his son and carried him gently toward the east wall. As he went, a tear rolled down his cheek.