After three days of traveling the pass, Sheeva and Tazaro emerged into Maizen, a town slightly more prominent than Urul, though with similar interests in commerce. Vendors for gemstones lingered towards the entrance to the pass, housing, inns, a clinic, and other various essentials clustered in the middle, and a row of grocers were set up towards the far end for easy transport of the current harvest of crops or hunter’s kills.

  They had bypassed the inn to stock up on supplies before heading out into the forest, eager to make as much headway toward Raynak as possible. Tazaro was perusing a blacksmith’s wares, searching for that one tiny gear he would need to restore Sheeva’s broken watch to working condition, hoping the burly, bushy-bearded man had what he needed. On the other hand, Sheeva had skipped along toward a baker’s stand, intending to pick up some flour, baking powder, and sugar for whatever “secret” she was planning on making him. His mouth watered, and he smiled to himself, hoping it was pancakes. He could always go for pancakes.

  “Hey, Z, I–oh?” He heard her say down the way and lifted his head to look over, catching the end of an awkward, apologetic interaction between Sheeva and a man that looked much like him–so much so, he could understand Sheeva mistaking the stranger for himself.

  “My apologies, I-I thought you were my...my husband.” She blurted, and his chest swelled with appreciation and pride at the pleased blush spreading on her face at his new title. Even though it wasn’t formally sanctioned, just hearing her accept it so publicly made it less surreal and caused his heart to do a flip. Pleased, he hurried to her side.

  Tazaro’s face fell as he neared them and finally caught a better look at the man slightly younger than himself, eyes widening in mild shock as it felt as though he stared into a mirror. His eyes were the same orange tint, and while Tazaro didn’t have much of a beard, he still picked up on the hint of dark hair in the other man’s. Amazingly enough, the face felt oddly familiar, and he slowly recognized it as someone’s face he hadn’t thought of in what felt like years. He shook his head at the idea; he had to be kidding himself.

  “I, I’ll take my leave. Sir. Ma’am.” The Tazaro look-alike muttered, giving them both a quick tip of his head of greeting before turning heel and heading away, a confused look on his face as well after locking eyes with Tazaro.

  “Wow! I’m sorry, out of the corner of my eye, I thought he was you.” Sheeva murmured, and Tazaro barely picked up on the apologetic inflection of her voice, lost in thought. Could he honestly just be imagining things?

  As he stared into space where the stranger had disappeared, he barely heard Sheeva crack a joke about a “long-lost sibling” with a slight hint of unease in her voice.

  Tazaro’s brow furrowed, and he squinted in thought, feeling his eyes harden into a cold, angered stare. He was an only child now, as far as he knew, but the idea that perhaps there were other, younger siblings burned a hole of distaste on his tongue, and he felt the scowl grow even more. He crossed his arms and directed the fierce look to the inlay of brick and cobblestone, trying to will away the unsettled boulder in his gut.

  “Tazaro?” Sheeva called, taking hold of his arm and giving it a squeeze. He felt the muscles in his back still as he sucked in a breath.

  “Do you know that man?” She asked.

  Tazaro pursed his lips, and his eyes flared as he seethed.

  “No. No, I don’t, but you’re right–guy looks a lot like me, and I–” He stopped, feeling a gagging knot form as his lip curled in dislike. “I–” He babbled, tensing even more and coughing as the knot strangled him. “I don’t like it.”

  “Oh.” She whispered, looking in the direction the man had left. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms, too.

  “You know, we could settle this right now. I can track you. If it–well, it worked for your mother.” She suggested carefully.

  “I don’t want to know. I, I can’t.” He hissed, glaring daggers at the direction the now certainly possible “long-lost sibling” walked away toward.

  He barely saw Sheeva look around them, then blinked, brought out of his pissed stance as she grasped his wrist and sharply pulled him into a nearby alleyway to get them out of the view of the crowd.

  “Can’t? Or won’t?” She asked softly.

  Tazaro scoffed, then growled, and began to shuffle his feet, returning his arms to their crossed state. When this comfort failed, he began to pace, fighting with maddening thoughts, grumbling to himself.

  “Tazaro...speak. Let it out. Ramble, if you need to.” She offered patiently, leaning against the opposite wall with a foot hiked up on a crate for comfort.

  “I-I won’t. You, you saw that guy! He’s what, my age, or pretty damn close to it?” He started icily, pointing in the direction before scowling at it. “I, I’m more pissed about that then–well, no, I’m pissed about all of it! I mean, what kind of father–” He barked, feeling the pit of worry well and moss over the boulder of fury in his gut. A vine twisted up into his throat and constricted him, and as his breath caught, he gave a haughty “Feh!”

  “How could he just–” Tazaro strode away, unwilling to have Sheeva witness the tears that pricked at the corner of his eyes.

  “Because of him, Mom and I– He stopped as Sheeva appeared in front of him, grasping his cheeks in her hands to look at her while sternly yet gently calling his name. It made him suck in a clearing breath, then blink and sigh nervously as she caressed his cheek with a thumb. He fixed on her ruby eyes, noting the elegant, determined glow, lips curled in a sympathetic smile. His arms unfolded, and he lowered his hands to his sides as he settled and managed to croak out a frightened “Yes?” though able to predict what she needed to say.

  He avoided her gaze, embarrassed as she rested her hands on his shoulders to give them an encouraging squeeze, aware of how much he shook by how wobbly his legs felt and how much his back ached. Screwing his eyes shut at himself, he drew in a shaky breath and slowly let it out past quivering lips. Sheeva was right; they could figure it out quickly.

  Tazaro lifted her hands off of his shoulders and held one as he hurried to a nearby stack of pallets and less-than-gracefully collapsed onto it.

  “Alright.” He took a deep breath and sighed, slouching forward to bury his face against her torso. Her hands snaked along his back, and one ran through his hair, stroking it in comfort. “Alright, Sheeva, track me.” He asked, fumbling with the belt loops on her pants in nerves. He hooked his fingers through and let his hands hang there, feeling the calm wash over him as she cast her spell.

  The sigh she let out was heavy, followed by silence as her stance shifted, and she held him tighter to herself. Tazaro cringed, and he couldn’t squeeze his eyes any more shut than they were, feeling his face heat. Her actions told him all he needed to know, and he kept his face hidden as he forced out a muffled: “How many?”

  Sheeva cleared her throat, and her voice was even. Calculating. She was distancing herself in an attempt to be his rock, and his arms wrapped around her waist in appreciation, though she didn’t need to close off like she was trying to do.

  “Three. One is fairly solid, which I believe is your father’s, and the two others are faint. I assume they are half-siblings.” She answered, tucking a strand of wavy, chestnut hair behind the shell of Tazaro’s ear. The strained whimper he’d been fighting slipped past his taught throat, and he shivered as the wave hit, and a pool of tears slipped past his eyelids.

  “Fucking bastard!” Tazaro swore, with a voice he hadn’t heard since mourning his mother’s death. “That fucking bastard!” He barked again as his hands tightened on her waist and fisted into her shirt. If she hissed at him from the sting of accidentally pinching her skin in his hands, it was lost on him as he struggled with the rage that struck into his core.

  Sheeva said nothing and continued to console him with a fantastic amount of tenderness and grace, calming the storm that battered his head and swelled behind his eyeballs. As he sighed in acceptance of the circumstance and sat back, the squiggly, sheepish smile broke on his face as she dabbed at the corner of his eyes with the sleeve of her shirt.

  “I, I’m sorry if I hurt you. Squeezed too hard, or–

  –Hush. You did not.” She assured, smiling warmly at him before her expression grew resolute.

  “This, this may come off as rambling as it’s quite sudden, but...” She began, then shook her head at her meekness. She took a deep enough breath that he felt his face sway with the motion, and he swooned, further pacified. “This is painful, but this too is a gift. It’s an experience that has made you into the man you are today, and I am proud of that man. As I did with my birth mother, absolve yourself, and use it as a...” She paused to find the words, then nodded to herself. “Way to shape yourself into who you want to be, whether it’s a strong spouse, who promises to be there even when things go to hell or a loving parent, who will be there for his kids...however many we decide to have.” She imparted, beaming at him as though she were an actual sun and not just metaphorically the light of his life.

  Sheeva settled and hummed, pleased with herself at an unspoken thought as her eyes shifted and curled in cheer. As she pecked the top of his head, she knelt and pulled him into a hug.

  “Thank you, Tazaro Chorea.”

  The statement baffled him, and he tilted his head to look at her as well as he could, though due to their awkward embrace, his neck protested the action with every fiber of its being. He cleared his throat and relented to his aching muscles as he buried his face back into her shirt.

  “You’re thanking me? I should be thanking you.”

  The hum of content she sang was music to his ears and brought a tender, love-smitten smile to his face.

  “I’m just...suddenly reminded of how grateful I am to have met you. We have learned many things together, but one of the greatest things you’ve helped me discover is the ability to exercise compassion. It has certainly made this life...fulfilling. I’ll remember that for many years to come.”

  As she clutched him to her in a tight, effortful, arm-shaking hug and gave a saddened sigh, Tazaro returned it with his own sigh.

  “Suppose you’re going to ask me what I want to do, now?” He asked. She gave a small huff and pulled away, a mixed, downcast guilty expression on her face.

  “Well, not right away, but yes, eventually. My apologies. Do not rush yourself. I will stand by you, regardless of what you decide.” She promised, kissing the top of his head as she stood back up. “I will give you time to think. I will be in the plaza. Besides, there’s a greenhouse with a spectacular view of fluorescent plants–supposedly better viewed at nighttime by moonlight.”

  Tazaro sat back on his laurels and sighed. That was the big question now, wasn’t it? What did he want to do?

  Part of him wanted to get what they needed and get out, continue on their way to the capital and not look back. Or, if they chose to come back, circle back after Zakaraia and after starting the life and family with Sheeva he so excitedly craved, unable to resist entertaining daydreams that left the love-drunk smile plastered on his face.

  The other part tugging at him thrust the fecal pile of reality in his face that, of the hundreds of thousands of things he had dredged up to say over the last twenty years or so, if they were not said and addressed at this time, he may not have that chance. As he’d been shown time and time again, anything could happen. His father could come down with an illness and die or perish in some freak accident and miss out on the opportunity. Tazaro himself could die by Zakaraia’s blade and never have the opportunity.

  Opportunity for what, though, he was ultimately unsure. Reconciliation? Retribution? Did he want to patch the almost non-existent relationship with the man who Tazaro understood was broken and defeated by the loss of a child when–apparently–he had simply packed up and moved to some other town merely two-hundred miles away and had started a new life for himself by marrying the first woman he bedded and popped out kids with?

  The steely taste of disgust tingled his tongue and made him want to spit.

  Tazaro scoffed at himself, feeling indignant on Tyler’s behalf for spending as much time as he’d thought about it. Tyler was the father Tazaro needed and the role model for the kind of husband he wanted to be, appreciative of all the support, care, and love Tyler fostered towards his mother, who had needed it the most. He scrunched his nose, feeling the sting and burn from more tears as his heart ached and yearned for his mother’s advice.

  Tazaro took a deep breath and sighed so heavily his body pulled into a lean, elbows propped onto his knees as he hung his head in anguish. Occupying his need to fidget, he played with the webbing of his fingers in thought.

  What would Mom say? He wondered, then rolled his eyes at himself, allowing the annoyed-with-himself smile to break on his face.

  He knew damn well what she would say, and if she were standing with him at this moment, she’d likely give him that stern look he often received in his teenage years.

  “What would you regret the most?” He muttered to himself, then sighed again.

  He already knew. A funny smile crept to his face as he wondered if Sheeva knew, too, but of course, she knew. He snorted, chuckled to himself, and sat up, wiping at his face with a handkerchief. Nighttime view of a greenhouse, huh? You would want to see that, Sheeva.

  Tazaro cleared his throat and stood to stretch out the scream of his muscles as they protested, worn out from his whirlwind of frustrations. With his hands in his pockets and his heart on his sleeve, he stepped out of the shade of the alley and into the sunny plaza, the shadow of nerves careening his face as he looked for Sheeva.

  He spotted her sitting cross-legged on a bench, not seeming to mind that a pigeon had perched itself on her shoulder as she wrote away about something in a blue, leather-bound book that he had gifted her with the dissecting scope. As he pondered the subject matter, his spirits lifted as he decided it had to do with wedding vows. He almost missed it, but as she reached up to tuck back a strand of hair with her right hand, he found it funny to see the faint grey of graphite dusting itself on her palm. That answered the question of whether or not she dragged her hand across the page.

  The pigeon took off as Tazaro approached, causing Sheeva to look up and toward her shoulder, apparently surprised at the fact that something had invaded her space at all.

  “Wow. You were really absorbed. What’s got you so immersed?” He asked, craning his head to look at the page. He spotted a list of about ten things and gave a knowing, half-cocked grin. Sheeva blushed, grew cutely flustered, and slapped the book shut. She gave him a double-take as though trying to decide what he was up to, then sputtered her lips at him.

  “Ah, well, it’s a...” She trailed off and gave a hissing snicker. “It’s a secret!”

  “A secret, hm? Anyone else privy to this secret list?” Tazaro bantered, happy to lose himself in their silly antics.

  “No one but my husband.” She grinned with a wink as she tucked the book away in the pocket of her bag. She slung the bag over her shoulders and straightened her clothes, shrugging the straps into a more comfortable position.

  “Have you decided what you would like to do?” She asked, bringing Tazaro back down to earth. Straight to business, as usual.

  Tazaro inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled past his lips in a sigh.

  “I’m going to reach out to my...father.” He announced.

  Sheeva grew serious and offered her hand for him to take.

  “Alright. Let us go.”

  He took her smaller hand in his and intertwined their fingers, giving pause to place a kiss on it.

  “Thank you, Zvezdaya.”

  Though he tried, Tazaro found he was unable to track himself, so he allowed Sheeva to guide him through unfamiliar streets, and as they followed the condensing trail through a neighborhood that reminded him of the fancy housing of the Eastern Quarter, Tazaro found it became one more “slap-in-the-face.” They hadn’t lived in extreme poverty but still struggled to afford new things. He felt grateful for all the times Mildred and Tyler scrounged to get something nice for him, including the set of woodworking tools he currently carried safely in his backpack.

  Tazaro distracted himself from the disappointment of the neighborhood by reminding himself that he’d found more reward in where he had been–and was–through the mass amounts of hard work he’d put in. Odd-jobs and fixer-uppers to help support Tyler, Mildred, and himself in school. Scholarships and tutoring to help pay for college. And yes, even studying until three in the morning to comprehend the insanity of Physics and Calculus.

  Jerked to real-time as Sheeva stopped them at a gated property, he stared at the lawn, sectioned off with rails and even a mailbox with a decorative sign, proudly stating The Chorea Family, which he caught himself scowling at. He could barely huff in appreciation at the thought that, if Micah were here, he’d suggest to stuff the thing with rotten cluckatrice eggs. A stone-set pathway led to an ornate door with a large viewing window, glowing yellow from what he guessed were gas-lit lamps. They were likely piped into the walls from the get-go, unlike the ones at his mother’s, which Tazaro had to add in later with his own hands and assisted by colorful swears–not that he was salty or anything!

  The large bay window offered a peek in at what appeared to be a cheerful family inside, and he froze, eyes narrowed as he saw the long-forgotten face surrounded by three other figures that he didn’t recognize. He blinked sluggishly, his hand ceasing to grasp Sheeva’s as he gulped past a suddenly dry throat and his stomach churned in nerves. Her gentle compression of his hand brought him to life, and he tore his eyes away to turn and look at her. He must have appeared more frightened than he felt as she gave him a slightly pitied smile.

  “What is his name?” She asked, likely in an attempt to encourage him, or maybe, she was genuinely curious. He furrowed his brow as he briefly wondered how his father’s name hadn’t come up in conversation, despite telling her about him.

  Still, he had to think about it, and he hoped she did not pick up on that.

  “Luka. Luka Chorea.” He mumbled, lifting his gaze to the door again. Sheeva stared with him, then rested his hand on the handle to the latched gate in their way. The cold metal was warmer than his fingers, but he managed to thumb the button, and, with a click, the gate swung open to allow them in, as though it, too, encouraged him to tackle this beast.

  Tazaro took a deep breath and sighed, mustering up the courage to cross the threshold and toward the door, his heavy footsteps thudding across the wooden porch. With his heart in his mouth, he raised his fist and knocked before he could stop himself, the knock a barely audible tok-tok-tok.

  The brightening of the outside lamp brought his attention to it, and he stared in the calming flame for a few precious seconds before the front door opened and the person behind it snared his consciousness.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  A tall woman with crow’s feet cornering blue eyes and a fancy, almost gaudy gold necklace greeted them with a perfect smile due to what he guessed was ivory dentures. Her blonde and silver hair was short-cut and in insanely tight curls, and he fought the rude scowl as the thought crossed his mind that his father had remarried a gossip girl.

  “Hello, may I help you?” She asked, taking Tazaro slightly by surprise; he’d almost been expecting a shrill, airy voice typical for airheaded gossip-girls.

  He cleared his throat and blinked as he shook his head.

  “I, um, is...Is this the house of...Luka Chorea?” He asked. His father’s name felt so incredibly foreign he may as well have been speaking a form of gibberish.

  “Yes, it is. Is there something the matter?” She asked, blinking back the apparent confusion.

  “Um...I…” He stammered, still trying to process the situation. His hand squeezed Sheeva’s in a bout of frantic anxiousness as his heart pounded in his chest.

  “We’d like to talk to him for a moment if that’s alright?” Sheeva interjected. Tazaro didn’t miss the slight tilt in the woman’s face as her directions fixed on Sheeva, no doubt finding Sheeva’s warrior-girl state an oddity. The blue eyes widened in shock, and her lips pursed into a thin line as she kept back a statement.

  After collecting her composure, the woman popped her mouth open in a tongue-click and gasped in a short breath.

  “Ah! Well, I–” She stopped, and the funny curl formed on her lips. “Pardon me, I’m not used to–ahem,” She cleared her throat. “Who should I say is asking?”

  “Tazaro and Sheeva Chor–

  –Jules! Tazaro and Sheeva Jules.” Tazaro interrupted, feeling a bead of sweat crawl down the back of his neck and beneath his shirt.

  Her eyes widened, and the smile faded into a “this-is-awkward” lip-pucker, and as she fought with herself over something, she nodded slowly.

  “Oh. I see. Well!” She clapped her hands together and pursed her lips into a thin line once more, exhaling sharply and dropping her hands. “It was only a matter of time. Please, come in.” She insisted, stepping back to allow them passage through the door.

  Sheeva led Tazaro inside, and he didn’t have to look to know she’d arched her eyebrow in question at his interruption. They’d address it later.

  He found himself distracted by the glamorous decor of just the foyer and wondered how else his apparent half-siblings grew up cushioned and sheltered. When he lifted his head to look towards the ceiling, he stared in awe at the colorful, gemstone-decorated chandelier above their heads.

  “Please, follow me. We’ll have this conversation in the kitchen, away from the others. In the meantime, I’ll put on some tea.” She urged, waving them through the dark, oakwood double doors immediately to their left. The kitchen was as big as Tazaro’s old apartment, with a sink large enough to bathe in, a double-oven built into the wall, and a gas-operated stove built into the smoothed marble counter. An island rested in the middle of the room, with a hole in the counter for scraps and a metal band with hooks for hanging cookware hovering above. Well-stocked shelves with a plentiful bounty of spices and what looked like a walk-in icebox for vegetables, fruits, and meats were built into the surrounding walls.

  As he caught Sheeva’s wondrous expression, he had a tugging feeling she was more mesmerized by the wide variety of spices.

  They watched as the woman put a kettle on the stove and clicked on the ignition, then hesitated at the double doors before leaving. She shook her head at something she wanted to say, then stepped through, leaving the two of them alone in the impressive kitchen.

  “Jules?” Sheeva murmured with an amused huff, taking a spot against the wall next to the double doors and positioning herself into a comfortable lean, arms crossed.

  “Give me a break. I panicked.” He muttered back under his breath, dropping his gaze to the ivory and ebony tiled floor. It appeared so polished he could almost see his face in it. He sighed and leaned against the island, crossing his arms in wait to settle his churning stomach.

  “We’ll figure it out someday, I suppose. Maybe after we've grown old and dead.”

  He was sure the statement was meant to make him chuckle, but he didn’t have the mindset for it, and before he could muster up the words to say something, the double doors opened once more as a man walked in, dressed to the nines.

  As he stared, flabbergasted at his father’s confused visage, Tazaro found himself instantly recalling how the medium-length hair still framed his face, and the full beard still covered his cheeks and chin, though he now wore small round glasses and had grown a bit of a pot-belly. His red shirt beneath the black vest was silken, something far more exquisite than something he would allow himself, with pompous-looking golden cuff-links and maybe, if not faux, pearl buttons keeping the fabric closed. The black slacks were neatly starched and pressed, with a straight-as-can-be crease folded into the breathable fabric, and the chain-link fob of a golden pocket watch clipped to his belt loop dangled and shimmered as it linked to the small pocket on his vest. Even his leather shoes were cared for, expertly laced and lacquered, no doubt with a permanent, “no-polish” shine.

  His father stared back, equally astonished, evident by the slack-jawed face and wide eyes, taking in Tazaro’s stature despite the defensive front. Tazaro began to wonder what was going through the man’s head as his eyes traveled from head to foot and decided he was being picked apart for his long hair, ordinary clothing, ruffled jacket, the swords strapped to his back, or the laced boots that were likely tracking crumbling dirt into the house–just to name a few of many things possibly under scrutiny.

  “Tazaro. It’s, is it really you? My gods, you’ve grown up.” Luka sighed. His voice was as deep as Tazaro barely remembered, albeit a little more aged and rumbly.

  “Yeah. I did.” Tazaro forced, more biting and curt than expected. To be honest, he wasn’t sure what he expected of himself.

  Luka blinked, and his head dipped, nodding to himself about something. He took a moment, thinking of something to say as he took in Tazaro’s appearance again.

  “What are you? Some kind of soldier? I’m impressed.” Luka complimented, fishing for something to say.

  “What are you, some kind of con-man?” Tazaro shot back, looking around at the fancy kitchen in scorn, then flashing an accusatory stare towards his father.

  Luka, shocked, cleared his throat and shook his head, raising his arms in defense.

  “No, no, nothing like that! I...I manage a business in the clinic!” Luka corrected Tazaro. He grew concerned, then seemed offended.

  "You would think I'm a con-man?"

  Tazaro didn't answer, and instead, looked out of the window. Perhaps, he'd been out-of-line to suggest Luka had simply ripped off his own wife.

  “How did you find me?” Luka asked softly, offering a small smile.

  Tazaro’s eyes hardened, and his face grew terse once again, affronted by the idea spawning in his head that Luka had wished to remain hidden.

  “You say that as though you didn’t want to be found,” Tazaro growled, the hiss flying from his lips before he could filter it. His eyes began to burn as he glared daggers into the citrine eyes across from him, shielded by thin-glass spectacles.

  Luka opened his mouth to retort, then shook his head.

  “I am sorry,” Luka admitted guiltily.

  "The hell you are!" Tazaro snapped. "Twenty years, and you never wrote, never stopped by to see Mom or me, and, come to find out, you have another family? How old is that man in the living room? My age? Older?"

  Upon calling the half-siblings into question, Luka stood up straight and scowled in turn.

  "If you're implying I stepped outside of my marriage with your mother, you're absolutely wrong! To even consider that I would do such a thing is insulting!" Luka spat, pointing his finger at Tazaro.

  Tazaro held his ground with a stern stare, ignoring the finger in his face as he locked eyes with the older man.

  Luka softened, and sighed.

  "Alain, he's seventeen. Helena, the youngest, is fifteen."

  Tazaro quickly did the math and sent his father a death glare.

  "Three years? That’s an awfully short time to start having kids after walking out on your last living son.”

  Luka silenced, taken aback, then turned his attention to the stove as the kettle began to whistle at them. He headed for it, muttering to his wife: “Please, Kisa, allow me.”

  Tazaro crossed his arms and directed his heavy glare to the expensive-looking icebox before blinking it away, unintentionally glaring at Kisa as she reached into it to retrieve a pitcher, a couple of glasses tucked underneath her arm. He lifted his head to follow with his eyes as Kisa approached Sheeva, silently tipping her head towards the doors.

  “Would you prefer to be left alone?” Sheeva asked, appearing ready to support in whatever way he happened to need it. Perhaps he and Luka were better off discussing things privately for the moment. He nodded his consent and stared at the cup of tea Luka set on the island across from him.

  "Call me if you need me, Zvezdayu." She agreed.

  Sheeva stepped closer to tenderly cradle his cheek with one hand and kiss the other, and Tazaro felt his eyes droop closed as she sneakily cast a bemusing spell on him, nullifying the uncontrolled anger for the moment. To support himself as the wave of pleasant stupor hit, he propped himself to lean heavily against the marble counter, staring further into the bottomless, brown, fragrant tea in the fancy china cup. Luka leaned against the other, awkwardly offering a small pitcher of cream or cubes of sugar, to which Tazaro waved them away dismissively.

  Tazaro practiced a few deep breathing techniques Vincent had taught Sheeva as he swam in lax bliss for a few precious moments, finding himself remorseful for his haughty attitude as the spell began to wear off.

  “I’m sorry, Tazaro. I...I don’t know where to start. I wanted to contact you and Mildred, let you know I was alright. I felt it was better to say nothing at all but only learned that I was a coward for not telling you two the truth. I finally sent a letter last year, but had heard nothing, so I figured you'd moved. Or, perhaps, you truly wanted nothing to do with me and had burned the letter to ashes.”

  Tazaro said nothing but took a sip of the tea through a thin mouth, feeling the stern look in his eyes. He cursed himself for denying the cream and sugar out of anger and sighed with himself, reaching for the stuff. A dollop of cream, followed by two cubes, plopped into the milky brown liquid and dissolved as he stirred them in with a teaspoon.

  "Haven't lived in Roussell for a little over a year, now," Tazaro answered, unwilling to bring up the fact that the house his mother and father had worked so hard to make a home had burned down to the ground.

  “Oh. I see.”

  Another awkward silence fell between them, and as Luka studied his oldest son’s face, the shadow of disappointment beckoned him to bring the ugly truth to light.

  “I…left because I felt it was my fault Amara died.”

  Tazaro blinked and looked up, feeling a twinge ache in his chest at the untruthful statement of his sister’s untimely death. It didn’t match up with what his mother said at all, and he scowled, feeling his lip curl in disgust as he squinted.

  “What? That’s not what Mom said. She said Amara was sick–that she died from Wellington’s Flu.”

  Luka’s face fell deeper into despair, and his head hung as he shook it sadly.

  “She did. Couldn’t scrounge up enough cash for the medicine she needed. I was working about sixty hours a week and still couldn’t get what we needed. With you being so small and so young, a little bit was all you needed. But, Amara, she was older.”

  Tazaro took a moment to understand the gist of Luka’s words, and he shook his head in protest.

  “You really think that? That Amara’s death was because you weren’t making enough?” Tazaro asked, feeling a strange well of concern for the fact that, for over twenty years, the man had been beating himself up over something that, to him, sounded like he’d given it everything he had.

  Luka sighed and stared forlornly into his cup.

  “I did and only came to terms with it recently. I failed as the head of the house to keep my family safe. I failed as a husband to support my grieving wife and as a father to provide the well-being for my children.” He stated, arms waving around as he made his points, then dropped them in defeat into his lap. “Mildred, she suggested we divorced first. She saw the pain I was in. It must have weighed as much on her as it did me. It was too much for me to bear–I couldn’t move past it, no matter how I tried.” He answered.

  “So, I left. Wandered. Found me here. Your mother grew up here, you know–used to tell me stories of the place all the time–and somehow, I felt…connected to her, still.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Tazaro grunted.

  Luka paused, then sighed away the cold response.

  “Anyway, I started working in the fields. Didn’t know my ass from a pitchfork, but I put forth all of my efforts. When I got barreled into by an ox, I ended up crippled in the hospital. I...met Kisa. She helped me get back on my feet again–literally. Couldn’t walk for the first year-and-a-half. She never left my side, even after I told her the wrongdoings of my past.”

  Tazaro listened patiently, frustration a mite assuaged as he thought back to how he and Vincent had nursed Sheeva back to health and caught himself understanding how a broken man could feel whole again, having gone through it himself. He mumbled a small “hm” to voice his unspoken thought: Thank the gods for our compassionate women.

  “So now, I’m a broker at the clinic. I make sure everyone can get the care they need. ‘If they can’t pay me in coin, they can pay me in potatoes,’ as I like to say.” Luka pointed out with a grin but gave an awkwardly forced chuckle at Tazaro’s silence. Tazaro was further humbled, finding the lengths his father had gone to correct his past mistakes comforting, though unorthodox.

  Luka brought the warm cup to his lips, sipped, and held it there for a moment, then his expression softened and turned warm in memory of something.

  “Your mother spoiled me–always knew how I felt. Could never get a thing past her. Maybe...maybe that’s why.” He muttered, alluding to the fact that Mildred had suggested they part their separate ways.

  Tazaro could only grunt, saddened at the mention of his mother.

  “No, you really couldn’t.”

  The strange hum of the icebox combined with the tick-tick-tok of the clock and the sounds of conversation from the living room added to the stillness of the room for a few long, agonizing minutes before Luka cleared his throat and took another loud sip.

  “How is your mother?” He asked.

  Tazaro’s brow furrowed, and he glared into his cup before he rationalized that Luka wouldn’t know. He set his cup down on the counter and hopped up on it, shuffling back to sit comfortably before staring down a space on the floor.

  “Funny, I used to put you up on the counter when you were a little boy, do you remember–

  –Mom gave her life for Sheeva and me.”

  Luka lowered the cup from his mouth and stared unblinkingly with his mouth agape.

  “What?”

  Tazaro looked up at the unmistakable tone of pain, surprised that Luka’s shock would show itself so readily as his eyes widened and the cup shook in a trembling hand. He had to remind himself that Luka had not been able to keep in contact, so this was news. Tazaro nodded solemnly and took a deep breath.

  “When Sheeva and I first met, there was a man she was pursuing. Llyud. Tyler brought Sheeva to Mom’s, and she stayed with her while she searched Roussell. The man Sheeva was looking for kidnapped Mom, and we pursued. Come to find out, another man named Zakaraia was pulling strings and ambushed us. Sheeva fought so that we could escape, but Zakaraia rendered her unconscious and-and damn near dead. He then found Mom and I. Made me watch as he...” Tazaro trailed off and rubbed at his wrists, almost able to feel the invisible rope Zakaraia had to have tied his hands back with. “If it helps, it was quick. She didn’t suffer.”

  Tazaro was surprised to see tears fall down Luka’s cheeks as he dropped his head and sobbed.

  “I’m sorry, Tazaro. I never imagined that was how she would die.”

  Tazaro held his tongue, allowing Luka the time he apparently needed to mourn, still trying to wrap his head around the fact. Though, he realized he shouldn’t be so surprised. From what little he remembered as a child, he could tell Luka genuinely loved his mother at one point in time. There was no question his mother loved Luka; she loved everyone.

  “So, this...Tyler. Mildred remarried?”

  Tazaro nibbled on his lip, then sighed. May as well get this awkward bit out of the way.

  “Not exac–well, no, but they may as well have been. I...He’s, well...”

  “Your dad.” Luka summed. Tazaro nodded, muttering an apology.

  “No. Don’t apologize. I’m...glad you could have someone there to be the father figure I couldn’t be.”

  Tazaro felt his lips form into a slight, embarrassed pout. Did Luka have to be so understanding about everything, just like his mother did?

  “Was Mildred happy with him?” Luka asked, sounding hopeful.

  “Yes,” Tazaro answered truthfully.

  “Good. Good, that’s...all I suppose I could wish for. She deserves that.”

  Luka sighed and sat himself up on the counter with the aid of a small step stool, groaning as he held his knee at an ache. He reached for the still-hot kettle, topped off his tea and Tazaro’s, then rested the soothing thing on his knee, a thick hot pad sandwiched between his leg and the metal.

  “Sheeva. She’s your…” Luka asked, leaving the question open.

  Tazaro felt his cheeks heat and his eyes smile as he attempted to hide the prideful curl behind his teacup as he took a sip. Cheer bubbled in his gut, and he swooned, forgetting the strife and anxiousness he’d just been under. It seemed to work better than Sheeva’s charming spell.

  “My wife.” He answered boastfully, finally lifting his head to look at Luka’s face, who beamed at him in kind as he tipped his cup slightly in a toast.

  “Congratulations. Sheeva seems to care about you greatly, from what little I saw.”

  Tazaro huffed, feeling defensive.

  “You don’t even know the half of it.” He countered, thudding his boots together to fulfill his need to fidget.

  Luka remained silent for a moment, struggling with the reaffirmation that, no, he really didn’t know.

  “I suppose that’s true, but...” He sipped, then clicked his tongue. “Your mother looked at me like that once upon a time, and I was just as lovestruck for Mildred as you appear to be for your Sheeva.”

  A fleeting shadow of fondness flickered in Luka’s face as he smiled, tearful-eyed at a memory of some kind. Tazaro blinked, further taken by surprise.

  “You…still do, don’t you?” Tazaro asked, more matter-of-factly than questioningly, mindful of the other patrons of the house.

  The guilty look returned on Luka’s face, and he dropped his head.

  “I never stopped,” Luca admitted, hiding behind the cup as he tipped back his head and finished the cup in a couple of gulps. “Though I love Kisa, I will always respect and admire your mother, Tazaro. She is a–um, was–a good woman, and…she raised a good man, from what I can see.”

  Sheepish, Tazaro swirled the creamy liquid in his cup, eyeing the gold-trimmed lip and bluebird decoration that appeared and disappeared as the tea sloshed around and around, then finished his drink off as well. He winced as he set the cup down too hard on the saucer, eliciting a sharp, biting clink.

  “Sorry. Not used to using something so...delicate.”

  “It’s just a saucer.” Luka dismissed.

  Though Tazaro had turned and set the cup down on the marble countertop, he could not will himself down, wondering slightly if there was anything left unsaid or unburied. He noticed Luka had not budged, either, though he decided it was more likely due to an old injury than an unwillingness to leave.

  “You said you two are pursuing the man that killed your mother? Did you really join the military? I always imagined you’d grown up to become an architect–you loved building things, even before you could walk.”

  Tazaro smiled, imagining four-year-old him building towers, pretending he was a giant monster, and bringing the things crashing to the ground with a feral, make-believe roar of power. Honestly, if he thought hard enough, he swore he had an old pair of footie pajamas that turned him into a big, purple behemoth, complete with a mohawk of stuffed, plushie horns.

  “We are, but we’re not in the military. No, we’re heading to Cruinia to search there. Before I left Roussell, I was a woodworker. Invented stuff on the side. Prosthetic leg for an amputee. Something to study the stars. Something to study dissections in better detail.” He answered, labeling the most significant pieces of work. He dared not mention anything regarding bastard printing presses and huffed a hot breath of air through his nose at the thought.

  “Sounds like an adventure. You’ve done some amazing things, it seems.”

  Tazaro gave a wry smirk. Flown all around the skies. Created spells for shits and giggles. Wrested a fucking bearog. How’s that for adventure?

  “Yeah.” He agreed, saying nothing more.

  Luka stared at his hands, folded in his lap.

  “Is there anything the both of you need? Money? Clothing?” Luka offered.

  Tazaro looked up, greatly astounded at the generosity of the offer.

  “N-no, we’re fine. We don’t need–

  –I don’t see a ring on your finger. What about money for a wedding band?”

  Tazaro looked at his hands. True, they lacked the typical symbol of he and Sheeva’s unification.

  “I’m crafting it from scratch. It’s a part of her traditions.”

  Luka blinked, pleased with the sentimentality of the gesture.

  “Well, what about money for a wedding?” He suggested.

  “We’re eloping, so that’s not an issue.”

  “A honeymoon?” Luka pressed.

  “Kind of already on it.”

  “I see,” Luka murmured, backing down from the rapid-fire questionings. “It'll be a good marriage, then.”

  Still, he hopped down off the counter and towards a spice container labeled pizza dough, unscrewed the cap, and fished out a satchel of Inue, tossing it toward Tazaro. It landed on the counter with a heavy thud and skidded towards him as it slowed to a halt at his side. Tazaro stared, amazed at the sheer size of it–There had to be hundreds of coins in there.

  “I can’t accept this!” He stated, refusing to touch it because then he’d have to accept it.

  Luka sighed and leaned against the counter.

  “Look. This isn’t me buying your favor or love or trust or anything like that. I know what I’ve done, and I’ve paid for that mistake. This is just me, making sure you’re supported and have what you need for a successful future. That’s what a father should do for his children.” He explained. Tazaro stared guiltily at the satchel, hesitation striking him once again.

  “Do you...remember what I used to say to you, almost every night before you went to bed, or whenever I had to scold you?” Luka asked, his voice taut and strained, sounding as though he were about to cry. It caused Tazaro to tear his eyes away from the lump of coins and into Luka’s citrine eyes, glossed over with hope.

  “No matter what you say, no matter where you go and what you do, and no matter what–

  –What you become, I love you. Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Tazaro stated, becoming warm and filled with a bizarre sense of cheer. He couldn’t remember the last time he heard it, but it came swarming back to him like a flood.

  “That’s right!” Luka praised with a toothy, goofy grin. He circled around the island, picked up the satchel, and deliberately set it in Tazaro’s hands.

  “Now, I’m going to extend that further by saying this: No matter how much you may hate me, you’re still my son, and I will always love you.”

  Tazaro’s eyes welled in an instant, and before he could process the act, he’d already broken, sobbing as the current of shame, guilt, relief, and resolution swept over him. It wouldn’t fix overnight, but it was a start and the first step towards many.