“Talia,” an old lady sat by the woman’s bed. Talia had lost a lot of weight since the events of three months ago. After the first month, she had recovered slightly from the grief. But she ate little, lived in a neighbour’s house and barely went outside. She didn’t want to stay in her house since seeing her room or even the front yard would trigger traumatic episodes that sent her back to that day.

“Talia,” the old woman shook her. She slowly looked to her right, weakly registering the presence of the older lady. The old lady said something, but she wasn’t sure if she heard it right. Her ears felt clogged suddenly, the tinnitus ringing louder than it ever had before. Her eyes widened. Her heart raced, each thump banging against her ribcage.

“Tristan is here,” the old lady had said.

Talia’s moment of shock subsided soon. Another daydream. This had been happening more and more frequently as of late. Sometimes her husband would knock on the door and call her name. She’d rush to open the door only to find no-one there. Sometimes she’d hear Tristan calling for her from somewhere in the house. Sometimes she’d have hallucinations like this one, where she’d see her son and husband there with her.

But she smiled slightly. If she knew that it was a hallucination, that meant she still hadn’t gone fully insane. “Talia!” the old woman shook her once more.

That’s strange. Why was it still happening? They usually went away when she registered them as being a figment of her imagination. “Tristan is here.”

A boy taller than Tristan stepped into the room and stared directly at her. Maybe she had fully lost her sanity. These hallucinations were . . .

Were . . .

Talia stared, wide-eyed, at the boy in the door frame. He was taller than the Tristan she knew, and had a more athletic build than the Tristan she knew. But his face.

His face hadn’t changed at all.

She didn’t want to believe it. If this wasn’t real and she accepted it, she knew she’d have lost herself.

“Tristan?” she reached out a hand. But rather than take it, the boy rushed forwards and latched onto her in a choking embrace. For a moment, Talia stared at the doorway he had stood in, her hand still raised. And then the shaking hand wrapped around his body.

A smile broke her face but vanished uncertainly a moment later. It appeared again, this time with a laugh. Her breath shuddered. Her eyes burned with tears. The old lady was still here. The boy still held her. She could feel his warmth. His heartbeat.

“Tr—” she tried to say his name but the tears immediately came pouring and all she could do was hold him and cry.

Her son was home.

***

“Marcus of Eausuterrain. Hero. Husband. Father.”

The words hurt him more than the realisation that the kind man he’d known for twelve years of his life now slept eternally in the very soil that had prospered their village.

Tristan stared at the gravestone. Behind him stood Aeon, his mother, and the twenty or so townsfolk (young men, women and children) who had survived Emile’s slaughter.

“His last words were,” Talia began, and almost hesitated before continuing. “Let me see Tristan.”

A pang of emotion stabbed Tristan in the chest. Was it fear? Sadness? Anger? Regret? It felt like all of them together, having merged into one big multi-emotion. The awareness that his father’s last wish had gone unfulfilled sank his heart.

“Marcus’ death was something none of us could accept,” the old lady from earlier chimed in. “Least of all your mother.”

“Every time he was knocked down, he stood up again, trying to stop that Guard from entering the house,” a young man in his 20s added. “Until he couldn’t anymore.” His voice trailed off.

They all looked at the boy standing at the grave three metres in front of them. He was young, barely a teenager. He wasn’t even as tall as his own mother. And yet, he stood as if the world’s burdens were on his shoulders.

An arm rose and brushed something off his eyes before he turned around to face them. “The man who killed my father is named Emile,” he said. “He is the leader of the Inner Guard of the Aladeriv Monarchy. And on my father’s grave, I swear: I will avenge my father and everyone else who was killed here on that day, and strike him down with my own hand..”

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The sympathetic faces of the crowd slowly changed, mimicking the steel resolution of his, and they nodded their approval. “We will support you, Tristan,” one of them said. “Here here!” another seconded and the crowd together echoed, “Here here!”

***

Half an hour later, Tristan found himself explaining his three months at the camp to everyone who listened (which was everyone). They listened in horror, surprise and awe as he detailed the training he’d gone through, the things he had learned and the new feats of Encastry he was suddenly able to perform.

At the end of it all Aeon found herself approached by Tristan’s mother as she sat by the fountain in the town square.

“Thank you, my dear,” she said, “for bringing that letter to Tristan. I don’t know what he would’ve done without it.”

“Oh, it was nothing, Tristan’s Mom,” Aeon chuckled.

“But why risk it?” the older woman asked.

“I don’t know who my parents are. I was abandoned when I was a baby. And I didn’t want Tristan to go through the same thing, knowing fully well that his mother was waiting for his return.”

Talia found herself taken aback. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” Aeon smiled. “I’m glad I was able to help him back here.”

“Well,” Talia said. “I’m not your mother. But for what you did for my son, the most thanks I can give is that you’ll always have a family in this village.” She ruffled Aeon’s hair and Aeon giggled. “I’d love that,” she smiled.

“Talia, you heard?” came a call from across the street. “The king and queen have been murdered!”

“What?” Aeon jumped to her feet.

“It just came over the radio.” the small crowd gathered around the radio sitting on the counter of a café.

“...mass protests have begun outside the capital as citizens await word about who was behind this assassination,” the female newsreader said. And as a new voice came over the speaker, a cold chill ran through everyone gathered around the radio.

“Citizens of Aladeriv!”

The sharp and collected voice of Emile, the Inner Guard. Aeon glanced back at Tristan sitting a few tables down. The boy’s expression had gone dark and hateful.

“It is I, Emile, leader of the Inner Guard, here to inform you that I know who took your beloved King and Queen away from you! My intelligence team has looked deeply into the matter, and after thorough investigation, we have found that the culprit is a boy from the East known as Tristan of Eausuterrain!”

Tristan’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “What?” he snapped. “It’s a lie!”

“Yes, I know what you’re think!” Emile went on. “A boy? A boy killed the King and Queen? Well, it is true, for this boy is an Affinity-bearer. And he chose to turn his power against us!”

They could hear the crowd’s roar getting louder in the background of the broadcast.

“Must we let this go unpunished? What say all?” Emile yelled.

“No!” the roar returned.

“So it is! Tristan of Eausuterrain! I know you can hear me.”

Aeon, Talia and the other villagers all turned to look at Tristan, who sat frozen, eyes wide, staring at the floor.

“Turn yourself in now. Accept punishment where all can see! Lest you bring the wrath of the people of Aladeriv down on your land!”

Aeon turned the radio off, not wanting to hear more, and for a long moment, silence reigned in the afternoon street.

“Tristan?” Aeon asked.

Tristan said nothing for a spell of time before responding. “The last time he called me, I lost my father and allowed so many innocent people to be killed.” He stood up. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

“No!” Talia shrieked and dropped to her knees in front of him, grabbing him by the shoulders. “You can’t! I can’t lose you again!”

“I need to clear my name,” Tristan argued.

“They want you executed!”

“He is the only threat.”

“You’ve seen what he can do, Tristan please! I just got you back! I can’t lose you too!”

Tristan held his mother’s hands and pressed his forehead against hers. “He hasn’t seen what I can do either.”

“Are you crazy, child?” Talia shouted. “He’s a grown man! You can’t fight him!”

“He won’t be alone,” said a voice from the crowd. The young man who had shouted his support for Tristan from earlier now stepped forwards. “I will be with him!”

“And I!” another joined in.

“And me!” a woman added herself to the mix. One by one, all of the adults declared their support to Tristan.

Talia looked back at her son and saw the steel in his eyes. And for a long time, they remained still, gauging each other’s resolution as she weighed all that was at stake and he waited to see if she would change her mind.

It was Talia who caved. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath before matching his gaze. “I’m coming too!”

“That’s the spirit!” Aeon cheered.

Talia tried to smile. But in spite of her promise, it felt like her pledge had just doomed her son’s fate.