Drifting Embers
patreon
[MGM]: 58 - Shattered; Reformed
🕑 Added 2025-03-09 14:30:01 +0000 UTCArianna looked up at the night sky, her eyes fixated on the moon, hidden behind clouds that sailed the cosmic currents like dark boats buffeted by the uniform wind.
She stood beneath the canopy, blinking as she reminisced about the events of the past few weeks. It still felt like a dream—one where everything had gone wrong for seemingly no reason. But Arianna knew she wasn’t waking up—not from this dream.
She sighed, tearing her gaze from the concealed celestial body, and turned around. A gathering of men scattered across the empty glade greeted her, quietly chattering among themselves. They ate their meals with somber intensity, and she understood their worries, for they were just as much her own.
Her homeland had suffered an invasion. Terrible monsters had crawled out from the depths of the cursed forest to wreak havoc on their lands—destroying both men and land alike. They worried for their homes and families, and she shared these fears.
Alas, that was only the surface of the problem. Her worries ran much deeper.
She shuffled forward, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, and arrived near the tent. The shelter they had erected stood a level higher than some of the common houses, and though hastily made, it still came off as ostentatious with its clean white cloth and pennant banners fluttering in the wind.
She swiped the tent flap aside and strode inside. The interior was dimmer than the outside, where they had lit a number of fires—only a single lantern provided illumination. A mattress lay sprawled in one corner, and a table was set up in another, both empty.
She moved closer, finding the table cluttered with ink-stained papers and scrolls. A half-eaten piece of bread sat on a plate beside a thoroughly empty metal cup.
Her father was absent.
The quiet solitude of the tent offered a brief respite, and Arianna found herself collapsing onto the mattress, the fabric crumpling beneath her. The weight of their travels bore down on her; combined with the exhaustion of their circumstances, she could already feel a dull ache forming in her head.
Years spent away from the Barony, from her friends and family—all so she could forge a reputation, build character, and secure a better future. She had worked hard, excelling at every turn, earning praise and adoration. So, where had she gone wrong?
Honestly, does it even matter now? she wondered absentmindedly. What had happened had happened, and nothing she did could change it. She could only hope it wouldn’t affect her father.
The man who had always worn a good-natured smile and carried himself with boundless energy now looked worn and haggard. Arianna had even seen him eat less and speak less, and she had no idea what to make of it. She worried.
Suddenly, she heard the rustling of cloth and turned to find her father—Baron Feylance. He raised a brow, curious at her sudden appearance, and shuffled inside.
"Arianna, dear, what are you doing here?" he asked.
"I..." She opened her mouth to answer but hesitated. Why had she come to see her father? She bit her lip before finally speaking. "Father, I think it’s best if I return to the academy. I know you disagree, but I have some friends there, and maybe they could—"
"I know," Baron Feylance said, cutting her off.
"Then why?" she pressed.
Her father sighed, his shoulders slumping, a terrible exhaustion weighing on his eyes. "I wish things were that simple, Arianna, but they aren’t. You have been relieved of your position at the academy—something that has only rarely happened in history. The King is suspicious of us."
Suspicious. That word stung, and Arianna winced. She had always thought of the kingdom as one big family, but looking at it now, she couldn't help but wonder if she had been naive.
No. I am naive...
In the game of politics, familial relationships were weighed and assigned value. They weren’t proof of connection, support, or belonging—but something to be traded.
All it had taken was one event, a strange happenstance, and now those values were lost. Friendships broken.
"Then what are we going to do?" she asked dejectedly.
"We go back," her father answered. "At least there, we will have time. Time to think things through and maybe even solve the problem. And besides, our people need us right now—they have endured terrible times."
Arianna pursed her lips, saying nothing more. Truly, there was nothing to be done. And just as her father said, their people needed them—to offer hope and reliability.
"Go back to your tent," he said, "and get some rest."
She left the tent, absentmindedly making her way to her own. Her steps were heavy, and a gloom settled over her features. Returning to the academy wouldn’t solve her problems; her "friends" certainly wouldn’t offer their help. She had been naive once—she couldn’t afford to be so again.
Upon arriving at her tent, Arianna closed the vestibule and crawled beneath the sheets. Tomorrow, they would arrive at Feylance Barony—their home—and provide aid to those in need. Though their messengers had assured them that no emergencies had arisen in their absence, a flicker of worry still burned in her chest.
But tomorrow was a full night away, and sleep had abandoned her. So Arianna lay awake, staring at the roof.
***
Aldrin settled into his chair, arms and legs trembling with nervousness. It had been years since he had seen his son—until today, when Markus had come knocking on his door. At first, he had been confused, but that confusion had quickly given way to elation. Relief.
Alas, it had lasted all of ten seconds. His son had not come alone.
Three women, each striking in their own way, had carried Markus to his doorstep. They treated him with respect, their voices tinged with concern for his well-being, leaving Aldrin bewildered by the display.
Who were they? Where had they come from? And why had they been carrying his son? He had asked, but they had impatiently ushered him out of the room. Now he sat outside, worry gnawing at him, his mind racing with questions about what was happening beyond that door.
Yet, despite it all, the satisfaction remained.
When Markus had left home, Aldrin had made no effort to stop him. When he had registered to become a hunter, Aldrin had stood on the sidelines, watching with detachment. But it hadn’t taken long for the guilt to set in, breaking him completely.
He had loved his wife immensely, and losing her had left him shattered, drowning in drink. But in his grief, he had lost sight of the one blessing he had left. And he had let it slip away.
For months, Aldrin had struggled to rebuild his life, piecing together the fragments of himself that had crumbled into dust. Though a part of him would always remain broken—hollow—he had managed to become human again.
But this time, his son was no longer there.
The temptation to succumb to despair had been overwhelming. It would have been so easy. But he had resisted, clinging to the hope that one day, his son would return.
And now, he had.
Just not in the way Aldrin had expected.
The Markus before him was the same, yet different—more mature, his eyes hardened by experience. He carried an almost tangible weight on his shoulders, a heaviness that hadn’t been there before. And yet, beneath it all, Aldrin could still trace the remnants of youthfulness and innocence that had always been a part of him.
Suddenly, the door creaked open. Aldrin looked up as the woman with chestnut brown-hair stepped out.
He promptly rose to his feet, moving toward her. "Is he okay?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.
She nodded. "He's fine," she said, though Aldrin caught a flicker of hesitation in her expression.
"Can I speak to him?"
She shook her head. "Not yet," she replied. "Pyra is taking care of him."
"Oh," he sighed, a hint of disappointment in his tone. "Thank you for helping him."
"There’s no need to thank me," the woman said. Then, after a brief pause, she added, "Oh, and my name’s Tania, by the way."
"Aldrin," he introduced himself with a small smile.
For now, he was just relieved that things had turned out fine.
