I reclined into the heavily padded chair, sinking into its soft cushioning. It wasn’t too soft, not so much that I sank into it like you might a beanbag. But there was just enough to be comforting and pleasant, underlaid with a firmness that supported your butt and back.

How many times had I mused in this chair, wondering just how humans—or maybe just people, considering that there were other races—would have created this sort of chair without the modern tools to assist them that I had the luxury of in a past life. For me, it was another example of just what we, as people, were capable of. Even if it was the simplest, most mundane thing, I always found myself surprised by the knowledge, ingenuity, and understanding that people used to survive the harsh world they were provided as home.

I sipped at my tea, its taste was clear and pleasant without the milk I normally had in it. Thought I may as well try something different, a little celebration of Alena’s achievement and my small part in it. It was Mayer’s favourite tea, distinctly herbal and almost obnoxious in the strength of its taste. However, after a few sips, the taste mellows on your tongue and calms you. Instead of the almost overpowering affair the first few sips had been, it was like the air of the nearby forest. Refreshing and honest. There was no hidden aftertaste, or secretive ingredients and additives. It was what you tasted.

I dragged my eyes up from my cup, looking at the man that sat across from me in his favourite chair. In one hand he held his own cup of tea, and in the other he held yet another ancient looking book, splayed open with one hand as he read. I took another sip of the tea before I finally spoke.

“You know.” I started, calling the man’s attention. When he looked up at me, staring at me for a long moment, he nodded and tucked the ancient book away, redirecting his focus to me. I had always appreciated that about the man; he was never afraid to give you his undivided attention.

“Every time I think I find the answer to something, the ‘correct’ way, no matter how sure I am that I’ve got it in my hands, I’m always proven wrong.” Mayer raised a bushy eyebrow, his now slightly younger face only creasing a little with amusement.

“The Sharah?” He asked probingly. I waved it away, shaking my head.

“Yes, but also everything else too.” Stopping for a moment to think, I eventually sighed and carried on, “I thought I had Alena pegged as kid too scared of her own power to willingly use it herself, and I was right… but I was also wrong.”

Mayer nodded his head slowly but said nothing. I let a small grin creep onto my face as I remembered the early morning test.

“I knew what I was doing to her. I knew that every time I made her treat me, her own ideas were only enforced with failure after failure. I could feel her anxiety between walls, lingering around her house like a miasma of bad emotion. Maybe there was a better way–” Mayer shook his head gently.

“You did what you had to do.” I sighed with a little exasperation. We both knew it was true. Of course, I did what had to be done, even if it was unpleasant. Yet, as I looked into the old warrior’s eyes, I knew that we both didn’t believe that it was a good enough excuse.

I smiled wryly, continuing onwards, “When she came downstairs this morning, I knew something was different. She had found the fork in the road. The make or break. When she touched me, her mind crazed with a whirlwind of emotions, I knew she’d done it.” I caught a glimpse of a reminiscing expression on Mayer’s face. I knew he understood.

“She became so much more than what she was, after that. Right in front of my eyes, she found a strength even I couldn’t see in her. It was… enchanting.”

We sat in silence for minutes afterwards, both of us remembering that moment, undoubtedly vastly different moments, but also so very similar. I drank down the rest of the tea I’d been given and placed the empty cup on the small chairside table, letting myself sink further back into the chair.

“Do the surprises ever stop?” I asked in the end. The question that had been on my lips the moment I’d seen that change in the small, hate-filled girl. The same one who had railed against me so thoroughly since I’d known her, ignoring everything to act out an inner hate. A crippling self-doubt.

The man before me, though he now looked only middle aged, was just over two centuries old. I wonder what he saw in me at that moment, as his eyes light up with undisguisable mirth, a glee so pure that it infected my own expression.

“No, Max. For some that live as long or longer than me it does, but never once have I found myself unsurprised by that moment of transformation. People have always been endlessly surprising to me.” The answer was simple, but it was exactly what I needed. Every time I thought I understood, I was always proven wrong, shown a new side of the equation, a new point of view. Honestly, as frustrating as it was, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Mayer downed the last of his own tea, placing the empty cup on his own chairside table, letting the comfortable silence sit between us. But of course, the question we all knew was coming finally made its way out of Mayer’s smiling lips.

“When?” I sighed with as much humour as I could muster. I looked out of one of the nearby windows, seeing Orisis slowly seeking to eclipse the sun that stayed forever stagnant in the peak of the sky.

“Tomorrow, early morning. We’ve prepped everything, I think.” Mayer grinned, knowingly. You can never truly prep everything. Something always falls by the wayside.

“So you heal Rethi’s mother this evening.” He stated, and I nodded needlessly. Rethi had come to meet with me every day during the testing, hoping that each time the solution had been found. I knew Rethi felt guilty about it, I didn’t even need to look into his emotions to see that much. He hated watching his girlfriend suffer like she had been or watching me continually infect myself for test after test. He wasn’t overreacting, as such, but he was needlessly fretting.

Of course, he wouldn’t be the person he was if he didn’t worry himself over others, even if what they were striving for would ultimately benefit him. As of right now, Alena would be preparing Shae to be healed. I would likely miss the act itself, but it wasn’t for me to enjoy. It was Rethi’s moment, one he deserved to spend with his mother in peace.

I pulled myself from the comfy chair and stood in the middle of the room, sucking in a big breath of air. In that moment I committed everything I could to memory. The smells, the tastes, the atmosphere, the bookshelves filled with that ancient texts have been read a thousand times, the collection of three comfortable chairs where I had spent countless hours musing about it all with Mayer and Rethi, cup of tea in hand. I could only smile bitterly, knowing full well that—try as I might—I would eventually forget most of what was here. I would forget the soft but slightly frayed rug that sat underfoot over beautifully maintained wooden floors. I would eventually forget the individual patterns that each cover of those ancient books had, the only way I had to identify them from each other, being unable to read the esoteric languages they were titled in.

I would forget much of this little house. But there was one thing about it all that I would never forget. Could never forget.

I smiled down at the sitting man, extending a hand to him and quirking an eyebrow. The man rolled his eyes theatrically but took that hand—letting me pull him from his chair with a careful ease. We looked each other in the eyes for a moment after that, his stone-grey meeting my own intense brown, our hands wrapped around each other in front of us. With a grin, I pulled on the hand, levering the much older man into a full embrace, closing my arms around his body with as much strength as I could put in without hurting his now entirely mortal form.

He collapsed into my embrace with a rush of air from his lungs, almost totally subsumed by my much taller figure, but it wasn’t long until I felt his own arms wrap around my back, gently patting it like a father would his child. I snorted at the mental image, realising that it held more truth than not, and the snort quickly became a restrained sob.

For all my bravado—all my confidence and enthusiasm—my heart radiated its hurt through my body, the only consolation was the smaller form of my greatest teacher, wrapped in my arms. The hardened and developed muscles of Mayer’s shoulder, created through nigh endless training and constant battle, became a soft resting spot for my head in that moment. Who would have known that a man—purpose built to fight against the unending tide of foes—would have such a gentle soul?

I let myself laugh in his own powerful embrace, the mixture of laughing and sobbing, just as undignified as you’d expect it to be. I let the emotions run dry, embracing the man who had stepped up to be everything I needed him to be, despite having no reason to do so. At every chance he’d been given to end me where I stood, to send me away to a certain death; he had advised me, consoled me, taught me. And in turn, he trusted me at every chance I had to screw him over, to abuse his money, power, and influence.

And now I realised that I stood in front of a father I had lost to a duty I couldn’t ignore. Second only to my father back on Earth, one who I could never meet again, maybe only in a life beyond death.

I wiped away the tears and gunk from my face and pulled away from the man’s embrace, smiling weakly at he who was nothing short of a father in spirit. He smiled sadly but quickly turned back to his seat, rummaging beside it for just a moment before returning with a long wooden case.

The wood it was made of was dark and gorgeous, the ever so subtle pattern in the smooth, varnished surface of the wood was a treat for the eyes. The design danced across the wood, the tight pattern edging the long rectangular box with a faint gold colour, catching the light in a magical display of true craftsmanship. Mayer gently presented the box to me, leaving the heavy object sitting in my hands.

It was a piece of art, through and through. I could feel the pure emotion that had been poured into this simple but magical artwork. I looked to Mayer and he nodded, giving me the approval to open the box. I placed one hand underneath it, gently pulling the snug lid from its counterpart, revealing a small piece of folded paper.

The piece of paper sat over top of a mess of silk—stuffed over an indentation in the black felt padding of the box’s inside. I quirked an eyebrow at the man in front of me, whose grin was growing by the second. I picked up the delicate paper and unfolded it with a flick. On the pristine paper, only a few words were written, but they stuck me with glorious surprise.

A box in return for a life with purpose and futures. More than a fair trade. –Orion Jothian.

I let out a bark of laughter, a smile so wide it hurt my cheeks as it emblazoned itself on my face. The Jothian boy? That angry young man who’d once attacked me late one night had made this? Was that all it took, those measly words I had thrown at him in my anger?

No, I hope he understood that it was never those words that had given him purpose or a future. This artistry, the creativity and dedication that laid within this simple box was never something those words could have inspired. It was always within him, just waiting for the right moment.

I placed the lid of the box down with the little note of paper resting inside, and returned my focus back to the box, its true contents obscured by the length of silk stuffed into it. I grabbed it and slowly pulled it away, revealing a long length of wood, immaculately carved with sharp and precise edges that whispered of a young boy’s mind. My memories returned to so many months ago when I had awoken from my first night in this little house and picked up this very length of carved wood.

Before my eyes, I swear I could once again see a young boy grinning with a wild glee up at me, his fiery red hair an explosion leaping from his head. The vision of the boy sent chills across my body, a knowledge that this was the maker of the wand. I could feel the emotions of that boy, a snapshot of his very being, forever encapsulated within it.

“Axen.” I said, the name coming to me with ease. As if I had known the red-haired boy for as long as I could remember. Mayer’s grin was filled with satisfaction.

“His wand is yours now. A gift to help you remember. Remember the boy, remember that very first morning.” I gently pulled the wand from its snug compartment, feeling the warm wood with my fingers before returning it, along with the silk and note, to their rightful places. I clutched that box with more care than I’d held anything before in my entire life.

I looked at the man in front of me, barely holding back the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes, my nostrils and lips twitching with the effort. He laughed; his own eyes moist as he stared back at me in turn.

Then, the most superb warmth flooded through me like a million campfires, enjoyed by those who sat around them. I could feel that warmth leak from my skin, the room brightening with the sudden flush. Voices that didn’t exist, spoke in hushed tones, or boisterous ones. The phantom clamour of jolly men; their plates, mugs, and invisible cutlery clashing with meals as satisfying as the company. The sounds of important, and not so important arguments between those who were as different as they could be—or those too similar to possibly agree.

And yet, for all the multifaceted ways this warmth made itself known, it all boiled down to a staggering closeness. Binding the most unlikely of people together over a moment of pure safety, with warmth and food, conversation and jokes, arguments and passion, or a solemn quiet, preceding an uncertain future.

My body stepped forwards without my command, my hand raising to gently caress the side of Mayer’s head. The light confusion but fundamental understanding danced in the wise man’s eyes as he observed me, not acting to stop my body. When my mouth opened unbidden, a clamour of voices—steeped in power—spewed forth from it, filling the room to the brim.

“You, the father of our kin. Stand tall against the world, for you are the one who guided its saviour.” And with a blazing warmth, my lips pressed against the older man’s forehead, the favour of my brothers and sisters imparted to my spiritual father. I stepped back, almost embarrassed, but that small amount of favour that I had unintentionally imparted meant far more than could truly be conveyed to those without it.

Mayer’s stony-grey eyes opened after along moment, now contained within them a tiny fire, little more than a candle. But it was enough. We looked at each other again and smiled.

With a wordless farewell, I made to leave that small little house. Even as it pained me to not speak, not have one last conversation, one last cup of team, one last embrace, I knew.

All that would be said, had been said. All that could be given, had been given.

I didn’t dare turn back to look at that little house.

I had trained the night away in my field, spinning, leaping, and swinging with fervour. I could feel the strength in my muscles alter to surpass what I ever could have attained with that little screen in my mind. My body was slowly crafted and forged through an endless pursuit of understanding myself.

The Sharah had become more than just a fighting style, more than a set of movements. It had become a language of movement, of understanding and fluency. The Sharah was not understanding itself, far from it. No, it was merely the path you walked to get there.

I had thought myself gifted in its steps, but I had only been looking at my feet and a metre of the path ahead of me, foolishly believing that I could see its end. Now, I saw more of it, enough to know that over the next hill there would be a thousand more hills to travel, and mountains beyond even that. I knew that the Sharah was only one path you could take. Alongside it was thousands of other just like it, some in disrepair and degrading, others that were clean and nice, bypassing hills and mountains in favour of flatter ground. Yet, despite their differences, both were somehow equal in it all, unable to be anything but for them to eventually reach whatever it was that lay at the end of the paths.

I transitioned smoothly from a training kata, yet another bastardisation, into walking in the direction of Rethi’s home. The trip was short and sweet, arriving at Rethi’s door, the sun still yet to be unobstructed by the orbiting Orisis.

I felt the emotional states within, two states bound with an indescribable joy, and a lingering sorrow. I rapped two knuckles against the door, feeling both emotional states spike and then calm, the morose atmosphere leaking from their minds. I left them for a minute and opened the door gently to reveal both Orsens within the living room.

Shae, though clearly healed, still looked unwell but her skin was returning to a more natural shade of pink, along with a clearly increased appetite, judging from the remains of food surrounding her. There was a momentary spike of anger as she saw me, but it died into a quiet sadness partnered with shame. I only smiled. She was never an evil woman, simply misguided and in pain. And now she had been tentatively released from both, and she was the person we both knew she was underneath it all.

I turned to Rethi, meeting his questioning gaze. I nodded with sorrow at the boy, watching his heart drop. He turned to his mother, pulled her close and whispered into her ear that made her everything weep with a loving pride and unspeakable sadness. He pulled away, kissing his mother gently on the forehead, and pried himself away from her. He quickly began walking towards the door with a confidence I knew he didn’t feel, just as unable to look back as I was.

As we walked away from that run-down house, I could feel Shae’s heart break. I knew there was nothing I could do to help her, except for one thing.

“Unsheathe Hindle and raise it, for your mother to see.” And he did. I watched, in that moment, as Hindle pushed away the gloom of dawn with the shine of the Midday sun. For just that moment, Shae Orsen felt relief, the true knowledge of her son’s overwhelming future bringing comfort. Leaving only the ache of a broken heart.

We continued towards Gram’s Apothecary, the storefront alive with anxious emotions. I entered, leaving Rethi outside to finally prepare the horses and the bags. Immediately I was confronted with Alena and Michael, both walking towards their entrance. Upon seeing me, they both froze, nodding at me in greeting simultaneously. I smiled along with a nod back. As anxious as they both were, they were prepared. Alena even had the beginnings of glee within her. Michael, despite his fears and anxieties for his daughter, understood that with me, Alena was as safe as she could ever be. After all, I had made that pact and bound by Divine soul to it, however unintentional.

Alena walked forwards to join me, turning around to look at her father as she stood by my side, prepared to leave the only family member she had left. Michael fiddled with his clothing for a moment before he turned to me, taking off his glasses, and staring me dead in the eyes.

“She better come back.” He said stonily, though I could tell he was barely restraining the sob behind his expression. I nodded deeply, almost a bow. Alena, however, walked back towards her father and gently caressed his face, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. Gram blinked, surprise running through his mind before Alena grinned, whispered a goodbye, and left as quickly as she could before she could never make herself leave.

I smiled, knowing full well that she had just healed her father’s poor eyesight. We regarded each other one last time, the bookish man burdening me with one last—entirely clear—gaze before shooing me out of his store.

And less than a half hour later, we were gone. Following the old, beaten road out of the small town, leaving behind everything and moving towards a future as uncertain as any. It was now that every step felt like it mattered—no longer confined to a small part of the path. Now I truly walked forwards, towards whatever waited at the end of the treacherous path, good or bad.

The first steps of hope.