Gazing upon him, my heart swelled with unmeasurable pride and affection. My son had grown into a fine creature—tall and athletic. His beautiful body had flowered into sheen's of muscles that replaced everything once thought babyish. A father couldn’t be more proud of his child; and to witness the development of gangly youth, there was no greater joy. No matter what sins he committed, or treason was uttered, a parent would find little fault. Where there was sin, an excuse would be made, a blind explanation for the injustice that our spawn croaked so willingly.

I moved not to embrace him tenderly as I might have, out of respect and the hint of a warning that could be witnessed behind those untrained eyes. Did he think me ignorant to not read the signs he so carefully laid in place? Especially since I’d worn such a mask around those that had been spared truth. Cera found his voice, an omission that slowly lowers my smile from face and drains these tired eyes of light.

He spoke out, speaking of the Throat and a God who had never been my father’s patron. His words are like a lash, ivory sunlit feathers tighten and unbid both ears slice back. Somewhere Fina stops singing and falls dead silent. Cera needed this, to bite, to understand. He desperately needed these answers, so much so I feared that the act of asking them would send his body shattering to pieces before my eyes. And what of my answer?

If the words didn’t suit his needs did I stand the chance at losing yet another special individual simply out of trying to do what was right?
My gaze holds him unwaveringly, staring at the ugly truth that had become his disease. Why did he always seem angry with me? And I the constant explainer…

“Cera,” I tried gently, faltering and forced to pause as he pressures on. Rising in volume and getting more frantic with each passing beat. With hushed note, my voice rises as the child of light finishes speaking. “Cera.” There is a fresh edge of pain and betrayal shortening breath and deepening this voice, “Is this what ye truly believes? Does thee think so little of my affection and love to think I’d simply abandon my kin to go lie in a bed full of vipers and wolves without due cause?” tone grows hauntingly quiet in the end, yet finishes strong in its mark. He didn’t trust me. He didn’t believe me.

Without waiting for an answer I pressed on,“When have I ever lied to ye?” Fina chirps sharply in the trees, feeling my hurt swell into a mixture of anger, even if it is unseen, “Listen, I beg, listen well.” Tone rises, deepening again and offering no quarter for him to interrupt, “The god of Earth came to me in palaver during the illness that plagued this land, and it is he who has tied me to the earth your feet stands on. The god of Sun has chosen newblood to lead the Throat. I wasn’t among his pick.”

“Would ye have me forsake the god of my father’s when he calls a change in path?” A question that couldn’t be answered by him, “What was I supposed to say!?” teeth clinch together, swallowing the bitter bile of frustration that swells past my walls. Frustration for this situation, frustration for nobody understanding or even caring to stick around long enough to understand, frustration that honor called me away from home countless times again and again.

It takes a moment for my breath to gather again, and words to flow without the sting I felt singing through my blood, “I was not born from the loins of a god. My parents were simple folk, soldiers for Dragon’s Throat.” I never talked about my parents much to Cera; mostly because there was hardly anything to tell—I only remembered a few sparse stories that Ma used to sooth me with, “Right before my first Orangemoon they went to battle and died among the blood and rot.” My voice breaks off as memory replays the night that returning warriors trumpeted victory, forgetting that a fragile soul stood on the edge of their sand—there was no joy in my heart for their war. Only the numb tears of a colt as his parents’ names were called from the list of those that had gave their life for the benefit of others.

Words came slowly and quietly, smoldering, “I found them afterwards. Or…what remained—and later buried them in that field.” Eyes lowered, teeth loosened their hold, “There was nobody to guide my steps. I was an orphan, sent to drift among the reeds of life as fate willed. Only by the sweat of brow and toil did my skill as a warrior prove useful despite a disadvantage in size; there was no gods to aid in these first few years of finding, nor was there words of wisdom coming from trusted kin.” The child that had existed back in those tender months was forever gone and with it the pain of a night spent in sorrow beside the remains of my family.

Children had been cruel during my apprenticeship, they teased that small size would never amount to much—and that I should be thankful for parents who received death in battle. They boasted without knowledge of the words, and rattled idle phrases without truly understanding their meaning. In the meantime I sealed ears to ignore their taunts and trained until the majority of flesh was covered in bruises and cuts.

“There is nothing that can’t be done. If you’d only set mind to task.”