Favri's says: Story is set a year prior to Oxymoro- Uh, the Third Installment.


I have no father. My father is dead.

Or so I've been telling myself for the last dozen years of my life, even though I know my old man won't die for another three decades or four.

Everyone knows who he is. He's a hero. He's that great hero who fired the Elemental Lighthouses and reinstated Alchemy—the source of magic—to the world.

He's a hero, right—my dear father. He's that legendary hero people sing songs and write plays about. They call him a hero—a Warrior of Vale. They sing his praises and lift his name to the high heavens above. But he isn't even half the hero the people say he is. And to me, he's nothing more than a man who left his family and friends behind to chase more glory—and never returned to see them again—not even once.

He walked out of my life when I was three years old and vanished from the face of the earth. I can't remember his face. I just remember a dark silhouette kissing my mother goodbye in a warm autumn evening and then disappearing into the golden horizon; never to show up in our lives again. My mother held my hand so tightly that day, and when I looked up, I saw a tear tracing a path down her cheek.

That was the only time I saw Mother cry—ever.


My mother is brilliant and strong. I consider myself lucky for having her as family. She is strong, in spirit and in body, but she still has a heart big enough to forgive people who'd wronged her. She constantly helps the citizens of Kalay, despite that they once used to fear and hate her for her magics.

Once, Kalay was just like another Psynergy hating town, run by its frail king and his ignorant ministers. We, the Adepts—the sorcerers and the mages; the wizards and the warlocks—we helped to build this nation into the pinnacle of civilization it is today. Some citizens still think of us as foreigners and intruders to their home—we're immigrants after all. But we've lived on Kalayan soil for almost three decades. That's almost two thirds of the city's age itself. When the rise of the Golden Sun invoked all kinds of natural disasters on the surface of Weyard, we the Adepts used our Psynergy to keep Kalay safe. We spared Kalay of the horror that many other nations suffered. Kalay accepted us when the world turned its back on us. We are a part of Kalay, and her people are ours to protect.

My mother was a true Adept—a Messenger of Good. She used her fire powers to protect the citizens and to heal the wounded and purge disease. And on grey evenings she'd often brighten the mood with firework displays.

She runs a restaurant in the heart of town. I grew up here in the centre of the city and helped out as a server or cleaner at early age. We have many regular customers and many simply dropped in to talk to Mother or to see my uncle, Felix—the masterful Psynergy instructor with the kindest smile on earth. He and Mother would often tell the stories of their adventures with delight. They never turned down a request and inspired fledgling wizards to be Adepts—to be Messengers of Good like themselves.

People look up to them. They're the heroes—not the deadbeat who sired me.

I admire my mother. She stands firm in her decisions. She yields to no one; not the king, the prince, bandits and wizards, or even the goldsmith who once managed to push my father over the edge. She only yielded to one person… she yielded to the worthless excuse of a man who fathered me.

I don't know the story in detail, and I wouldn't buy the theatrical versions of their tale. I know they grew up together, and had always loved each other—my uncle could testify for that. Their love was tested several times in youth, and it seemed nothing could break them apart. Even the rift that drove my uncle away from my father couldn't pull my parents apart. So how did things get down to this? How come my father left the woman he loved so dearly?

My father never wanted to be a hero, or so my mother tells me. She says he simply wanted to settle down, raise a family and live an easy life. Uncle Ivan can testify for that—he has leftover cards from the cancelled wedding, being the person who worked hardest to get it off the ground. He often says how my father fuzzed about the wedding and wanted it to be absolutely perfect because my mother deserved nothing less. Yet, he didn't show up to the ceremony and left her at the altar.

A relative of mine, my second cousin once removed to be exact, still has the wedding bands my father commissioned from him. I've seen them myself in the workshop. They were simple rings and very narrow too, but still made of gold. It took my father years to save up enough money for the wedding since he refused aid from others. Uncle Tryphon says my father still owes him money for his work on the jewellery. My mother had told him to sell them, but I still see them in the display case. Uncle Tryphon might be a cranky goldsmith and harbour distaste for my father, but Mother was his best friend and he wanted her to be happy.

It isn't easy to raise a child as a single parent, let alone as an unmarried woman. But my mother did it. And that's why I am here—alive, strong, and contributing to society.

I am well mannered and schooled in speech and writing. I am a skilled magician and swordsman too. I'm a member of a quite prestigious theatre troupe and regularly perform in the city. I'm quite successful as an actor if I have to say so myself.

My life has always been a busy. If I'm not performing or rehearsing in the theatre, I study with my tutors. When the evening draws near, I head back to the restaurant to help my mother and grandparents out. When my father's insane admirers or enemies come to bother my family, I have to deal with them too.

No one can say I'm lazy because I have rich relatives and call the Prince of Kalay my uncle. No one can say I'm spoiled because I'm an only child. No one can say I'm rude and impudent because I have no father to keep me in check. And no one can say I'm proud or arrogant because my father is a hero. In fact, I wish my father was an ordinary man who could cheer me on in my duels, praise me for my accomplishments, and reprimand me when I mess up. I'd rather have a father who'd go fishing with me on Sundays, instead of a father who saves the day in faraway lands.


People from all over the world come to our restaurant to meet the "Warriors of Vale"—my father being the main attraction. Most of these admirers want to be my father's student or disciple, or to train with him a few years. Needless to say, some are very persistent and refuse to believe he isn't around here anymore. Mother said it used to be a lot worse when Father still was around—it was almost impossible to do business with the fans scaring away customers. I direct them to my uncles who teach Psynergy in the academy, but more often than not, they refuse to take anything "second best"—which is ironic since my father himself admitted Uncle Felix was a far superior Adept, and that Captain Piers mopped the floor with him in a duel of blades.

How do I know this? I have a journal my old man wrote during the first weeks after this "legendary quest". My mother gave it to me, saying it might help me understand why he left us behind. His writing was horrible and he didn't seem to grasp the concept of basic spelling. Sometimes, he even misspelt his own name. In some ways, I pity him. I pitied him for being uneducated and was only being capable of fighting. He was a peasant and city life simply didn't fit him. But I still can't forgive him for running away from his responsibilities and leaving Mother and Uncle to clean up his mess.

We have enemies in the city. Uncle eloquently calls them "Psynergy critics", but they're just hooligans and thugs. They are known for provoking fights on the streets and harassing Adepts. Yes, we are protected by the law, but it is very hard to do business with these troublemakers around. They regularly come over here to slander us or to vandalize our property.

When the first Psynergy vortexes were discovered, they blamed the Adepts for creating them. My uncle was attacked on his way back from the magic academy with red paint. He wasn't happy about it, to say the least, but it wasn't the first time something like that happened either.

My uncle is on very bad terms with my father. Uncle Felix is the forgotten hero. Everyone praises my father, but seems to forget my uncle is just as much of a hero as he is, if not more. His story just doesn't sell so well in the theatre, mainly because he didn't chase pale skinned villains who kidnapped his one true love. His first priority wasn't to save the world—his family and friends always came first. He was coerced into his task—he was a young scribe forced to pick up a sword. He was a victim of circumstances, a plaything of fate…

Rumours say my uncle had always hated my father. That is not true at all. They used to be best friends, and no one had been as supportive of my mother and father's relationship as Uncle was. But something happened during the "quest" and it changed his view of my father forever.

Uncle said he's over it though. He told me he firmly decided he still loved my father despite his jarring personality flaws—it was my father's selfish decisions later on that ended the friendship.

My father arranged a wedding, but he faltered on the last minute and didn't arrive to the altar. You can imagine the shame and humiliation everyone involved suffered. Even so, my uncle tried being an understanding friend, if only for my mother's sake. Even when my father years later impregnated my mother, my uncle tried being a supportive friend and brother. But when my father left Kalay without a word, he couldn't be a forgiving friend.

The man left his entire family behind—he left his mother, his father, his woman and his three year old child behind. He humiliated my mother with his leave and he left me to suffer. I was born out of wedlock—a bastard. Without him being here to claim me as his own, I'd suffer the jeering and humiliation of many. How could he not see that I needed a dad?


I'm lucky. I'm lucky to have Mother, Uncle Felix and Uncle Ivan.

In theory, Uncle Felix didn't need to do anything about it, but in reality he was compelled to support his sister, and raise his three year old nephew.

I always thought my uncle didn't care about fame and glory, but it seems he does to some degree. He loved me but he tended to hate the theatre for distorting his character in plays. My uncle is often portrayed as a weak version of my father and is turned into my father's follower, when it was the other way around in reality. He did, however, adore my performance as the lovely Little Prince Ivan and found it quite hilarious that the writer didn't outright turn him into a girl. And I would smile, happy that he at least didn't hate the parts I played.

But the idiots who glorified my father's deed on the Mars Lighthouse, he hated them with the burning intensity of a thousand suns. Because that was the one deed that sowed the seeds of dissent in my father and uncle's lifelong friendship.

The rest of the world is quite ignorant of the history of Psynergy and Adepthood. That's why even Uncle Garet, who lives in the Goma Plateau, sent his son to Kalay for education. I remember Uncle Felix taking me on a trip to visit him and Aunt Clara when I was six years old. I rode with him on horseback to the highlands and a he smiled as he held me close and told me the history of all the places we saw.

Near the outskirts of what used to be the city of Vault, there was a school teaching Psynergy and I was curious to meet children from other parts of the world. The instructor of the school offered to show me around the "Psynergy training ground".

I was just a little boy, so I thought very little of the silly games and obstacle course they used to encourage young wizards to learn magic at the time. But I did notice that my uncle was fuming after the tour. He picked me up in his arms, put me in the saddle, and then angrily led the horse away. Later on, he'd tell me he would have unceremoniously torn the place down, had I not been there holding his hand.

He was outraged, to say the least, and who could blame him? Not only did people reduce him to a pawn in the theatre, but people also tarnished the images of his northern allies in education! They might as well have used his picture as target practice as well—why not?

But the final straw was the "Dim Dragon". How dare they make a mockery out of what was the most traumatizing event of his life! Did anyone remember that it was his own parents he fought? Did anyone remember that even my "heroic" father was deeply ashamed of what he did at the Mars Lighthouse? Did anyone in this place know a thing about the events that occurred?

I had many good father figures in my life, and my own uncle was one of them. He seldom smiles, but I happen to be one of the few people who could bring a true smile to his face. My mother says he used to be carefree and cheerful, but to me, he'd always seemed very sad about where his life had taken him. I spend a lot of time with him. I feel I owe him at least that much. I always try cheering him up and in return he teaches me how to read, write, speak properly, and how to sword dance.

Yes, Uncle Felix carries a sword, but it's just for show. He isn't actually that good of a swordsman, and his true power lies in magic. A lot of people say Uncle Ivan his the mightiest Adept of all, but I believe my uncle is more powerful. He usually wears his cloak over it, but his right arm has been replaced with a prosthetic powered with his own Psynergy. Mother says he's had always been brimming with magic. As a child, flowers and weed shoot up in his footsteps. He was a prodigy who invented defensive spells for the temple. He was destined for greatness, she said.

My uncle says he used to be an explorer, but he refuses to talk about it when I try digging deeper. Yet, when I see him look into the distant sunset on evenings, I knew he should have been more than just a Psynergy instructor in the academy. He always seemed very excited when he led field trips or expeditions to distant places. I could always see he wanted more from his life, and that he feels the city his cage.

I sometimes wonder if he ever resented me. I'm the reason he gave up his owns dreams after all. A lot of people say I ruined my mother and uncle's lives by simply existing. Had I not existed, my mother would have married someone else.

But then I remember being five years old and receiving a gift from the chef of the restaurant. It was a handmade storybook filled with pictures of cute animals. At night, I brought it with me to bed and asked my beloved uncle to tell me the story.

I can't remember what it actually was about, but there was a rabbit, a kitten and a chick in it. What I remember was my uncle's words trailing off as he flipped one page and become silent after flipping the next. He broke down to tears when he reached the middle section and closed the book, wailing with his face in his hands.

When I asked him what was wrong, he hugged me. Then he said he loved me and said nothing more after that.

I gave him that picture book that night since he asked for it. He kept it in on the high shelf in his room like it's a treasure of sorts. Sometimes when he thought he was alone, he'd take it down and look at the pictures and cry. I've looked inside the book again, but I can't see what he sees. There were just cute animal doing cute things.

The middle section, which he couldn't get past, was large painting of a hare, an orange kitten, and a baby chicken sleeping huddled together. It's a cute picture, but I don't understand why my uncle would cry over this.


My father didn't seem to have that many friends. But he was best friends with Prince Ivan.

I've been to Uncle Ivan's manor in the Valian settlement. In his living room hung an old sword on the wall. That blade once belonged to my father, his father, and the father before him—my grandfather can testify for that. The prince meant so much to him that he gave his family heirloom away to Uncle Ivan as a token of friendship and devotion. Prince Ivan was his beloved little brother, so the blade was still kept within the family, he wrote.

When my father walked out on me, Uncle Ivan was one of the people who took his place. I latched onto Uncle Ivan because he actually tried filling my father's shoes rather than trying to teach me how to live without a father. I love Uncle Felix with all of my heart, but I was just a little boy when my father left. At the time, I needed comfort, not lectures. I needed to be happy again. I wanted to hear good things that gave me hope, not complaints about how my deadbeat father won't ever return.

Uncle Ivan looks after me. Despite that he's a busy man he always has time for me. He's the Grand Vizier of Kalay and has to help the king run the country. He is the founder of the magic academy and has lots of research projects to supervise. But he always had time for me. Me—the bastard child of his former servant.

He used to drop by after work each day to have dinner with us. He always brought me the perfect gifts and he could always cheer me up. Karis's presence helped too. For the longest time, she was my only friend, and she remains my most treasured one.

As a child, I often wondered how my father was. Everyone told me he was brave and bold and a great hero and dragonslayer. Some told me he squandered his abilities in Kalay because he was blinded by status and riches. But the general public couldn't tell me how my father was as a person.

Uncle Ivan could. He was his best friend, after all. He said my father taught him Psynergy when he was a teenager. He told me I live in a golden age and that magic used to be a dark art. He told me how his unusual gift of being able to hear people's thoughts and tell truths from lies made him an outcast among his own people. He told me my father embraced him and took him into his heart despite the fear Mindread instilled. My father saved his life many times, he told me. He's a true friend and brother, he told me. And he made me hopeful of that maybe one day my father would return to Kalay and claim me.

Uncle Ivan is a researcher of magic and a Psynergy instructor on top of being Grand Vizier. He is a man of many talents. He is arguably the most powerful sorcerer in Angara. He can swordfight as well as do magic combat. He is also an archaeologist, inventor, engineer, writer, artist, musician… he's so many wonderful things.

He is a brave person. He's an inspiration to all Adepts in Kalay. When years of work couldn't convince the ministry to legalize Psynergy, he gave up his claim to the throne and left to build his magic academy in the Valian settlement instead. I was seven when I visited the academy for the first time, and I was awed by his magnificence.

He oversees several projects that attempts recreate the ancient technologies that once powered the civilizations of old and was making progress in all fields. He did an amazing job making Uncle Felix's prosthetics and he had created the Soarwing prototype. The first time I visited the academy, I saw him flying around the academy on artificial wings, swooping up and down in the air like a bird.

When he finally landed on top of the academy's roof, tired and bashfully drying the sweat from his brow after the performance, the assistants and students on the ground cheered loudly for him.

He was admired by every Adept in Kalay. He was their hero and protector. And they nicknamed him The Eagle of Kalay. I've admired him since I was a child. On that day I saw him shine like a star, I knew I wanted to shine as brightly as him one day.


Karis is my best friend. She's been my best friend ever since we were small children. We grew up together even though we were from vastly different social classes—she was the daughter of the prince while I was the son of his former retainer. She lived in a huge manor in the Valian settlement and had servants tending to her every need. I live above the restaurant with about ten other people and shared a room with my uncle.

But then Karis's mother died and Uncle Ivan changed. He became sombre and distant. Even cruel and uncaring. But that didn't disillusion me. What broke my heart was when he hurt Karis. I adored Uncle Ivan, but I loved Karis. She's always been there when I needed someone to remind me I'm not alone. She's always shared everything she had with me and told me everything that was hers was also mine. So I couldn't forgive Uncle Ivan for hurting her the way he did. He didn't care when she ran away from home. After we found her, he decided he no longer wanted her in the manor anymore. She was only ten years old at the time—ten!

My uncle moved out of my room that night to let her have his bed. The first few weeks she couldn't stop crying at nights, so I held her as we slept. She'd tell me everything: her worry and fears, her dashed hopes and her shattered dreams. She told me she was so alone. She said no one wanted her. She told me she didn't want to live. I told her she wasn't alone at all. I told her Mother and I wanted her and that we'd always be here for her. And I told her we won't ever leave her behind.

We've lived under the same roof ever since. It was crammed with eleven people living together above the restaurant, but liked it. I always preferred it this way since it brought us closer as family. My two sets of grandparents lived here. So did Uncle Felix. Then there were the four homeless employees who worked in the restaurant; Ibrahim, Joachim, Erol and Ali. And now Karis has joined the family. It's always crowded around the dinner table. We always have so much to talk and laugh about. With us, Karis found happiness again. With us, she learnt how to smile again. With us, she found a second family. But she'd always look back to Uncle Ivan and miss him. She made me promise to take care of him, because even after he changed and become a cold-hearted sorcerer Uncle Ivan still looked after me. Me—the bastard son of his former servant. I often feel guilty about it because it feels like I've stolen her dad, but she keeps telling me everything that was hers was also mine.


My second best friend is Tyrell. Tyrell's the child of another family friend, the Valian hero Garet, who married a goat herder and moved to the Goma highlands. I've seen Tyrell several times when we were young, but I didn't really get to know him until we were eleven. Tyrell was sent here for tutelage because of the lack of decent teachers in the east. He lived with his relatives in the Valian settlement at the time. Uncle Felix tutored him in advanced magics at the academy, so we saw each other every day.

He grew up on the countryside as a herder and hunter, so I couldn't fault him for lacking a bit of manners. But despite his ignorance and poor manners, Karis and I enjoyed his company. He was so friendly and nice. We both envied him for having such a perfect life—loving parents, wonderful family, and a simple life on the countryside.

I remember how Tyrell was staring at me as if I was some sort of famous person he'd always wanted to meet. He instantly ran up to me, seized my hand with both of his and said:

"Hi, Matthew! I'm Tyrell!"

And then he shook Karis's hand in the same excited way and called her Princess, which she didn't like. To her chagrin and my amusement, he kept that as her nickname whenever she became too overbearing.

Everyone said I was a spitting image of my father. Tyrell said so too. He admired my father. He often used his name when it wasn't really necessary. I usually instantly dislike people who do that, but I made an exception for Tyrell. The fact that he was so friendly and was insistent on becoming my friend helped too.

Tyrell admired my father for other reasons than his heroics. He said my father wasn't really that great when it come to heroics—I suppose being the son of another Hero of Vale gave you better perspective. He admired my father for being loyal and kind. He spoke of how he gave up everything to protect his friend Prince Ivan and how he wasn't the glory hound I believed him to be. He told me he rejected the king's offer of giving him a noble title and how he stayed a servant for seventeen years. He said he left Kalay to protect me.

Right. He left to protect me. That didn't even make any sense, but I appreciated Tyrell's sentiment. Sometimes, he brings me gifts. Gifts he supposedly got from my deadbeat dad. But of course I didn't believe him. Isaac the Hero was probably too busy slaying dragons somewhere. Why would he have time to buy gifts for a son he haven't seen for a more than a decade?

I would miss Tyrell's cheerful laughter and self-inflicted humiliation when he went back to the highlands without notice. Something happened to his mother so he left two months before his "graduation". He haven't visited Kalay ever since, but my cousins carry letters between us—since they do business with Tyrell's father on a monthly basis.


I could have become a Psynergy Instructor or a priest. I had the magic talent for it.

People nowadays seem to think I come from a family of warriors, but that's not true. Before my great grandmother and grandfather started the tradition, my family was full of poets and skalds. It's not really that strange for me to pursue a career in acting.

I'm a thespian. It's not a prestigious profession but it was something I felt I excelled in and enjoyed. I liked to put smiles on people's faces. I always appreciated the applauding which always gave me the feeling of being appreciated. And I wanted to show my father, wherever he might be, that you don't need to be a warrior and slay dragons to become famous and appreciated.

For the longest time my only roles had been Little Prince Ivan or females, thanks to my voice and short stature. That changed when I reached puberty and my voice started acting up. I trained my voice, but then I shot up in height as well. My parents were Valian and I heard my father was very tall. I knew I wouldn't stay petite forever, but I didn't expect I'd grow that much. I'm taller than my mother now and I'm just fifteen!

I was cast in the role of my father last month. I could no longer be Prince Ivan. Instead, I had to be Isaac the Saviour. The other troupe members said I was perfect for the part since I had my father's face, but I still wasn't keen on it. At least it was a comedy so I could take comfort in that the play didn't actually glorify my deadbeat dad. Now I'm afraid I'll be typecast forever because my performance was a success. I hope my father never sees this play when I play the part—I really don't want to give him any ideas that I might be missing him or wanting to be like him, because I don't.

Back in happier days, Karis would drag me to the palace and show me every room there. She didn't live in the Kalayan palace, but she visited her grandmother often enough to know the place inside out. I never liked that place though. Too many ill-intended strangers. Too many eyes. Too many weird looks. And I couldn't stand the courtesans and their stuck up children who made fun of my heritage or called me a lovechild or bastard. Karis stuck up for me, sure, but I would still feel sad when people told me my dad abandoned me.

I know he's alive. There are even people who know where he is currently. In the academy, I once heard a messenger delivery a letter to Uncle Ivan from my father. Sometimes, I'm tempted to ask Uncle Ivan where he is so that I could go find him and beat him up for leaving me and Mother, but I've always concluded that he didn't deserve even that.


My mother is a strong woman, but she's still just a human. A lot of people might admire her for her tenacious strength and generosity, but helping people put a strain on her in later years.

Sometimes, I wonder if her life wouldn't have been better if I hadn't existed. Many fine men had expressed their interest in my mother, who didn't look a day over twenty-five. Some had even offered to adopt me. But my mother, she never gave it a thought, even though my father apparently has no intention of ever returning to us.

My uncle said I was a mistake—the fruit of one of my worthless father's drunken nights. My mother doesn't speak fondly of it either when I ask either, but she says she has no regrets and I am the centre of her world. She says she'd never blamed my father for leaving her—not even once. She says my father is not the bad person I think he is. She says he told her to marry someone better instead of waiting for him. She says my father even told her to say my father was a nameless mercenary who died in a mission—Oh, how I wish that was true.

I lost hope for my deadbeat father to ever return when I was eleven, about the same time Karis got kicked out of home and I had to stop clinging on to unrealistic dreams; I wasn't smart enough to become a Psynergy researcher like Uncle Ivan, so I became an actor. The hooligans will never leave us alone, so I might as well accept that I'll have to stay in the city and protect my family. And my father won't ever return to claim me, because if he would he'd have done it years ago.

I told my mother she should find someone new. I told her I don't care about my father, and it's true. He doesn't deserve her. And he doesn't deserve me.

I know Mother flirted with the chef in the restaurant. Joachim wasn't perfect, but I liked him. He was jolly, good-natured and he never failed to make Mother smile. And he liked me. He wasn't perfect. He had thuggish eyebrows and a big black bush as a beard and he was wider than average around the waist, but he was fine. Sure, he wasn't Isaac the Hero, but at least he wants to be her husband and my father. He's so pathetic that he actually bribed me with sweet rolls when I was seven just so he could hear me call him "Dad" just once.

I wish she'd said yes to Joachim's proposal. Maybe he wouldn't have left if she'd said yes. He told me he wanted to see the rest of the world and spread his cooking elsewhere, but I wonder if he didn't leave because it was getting awkward living under the same roof after my Mother rejected him.

I don't understand my mother sometimes. I don't understand why she's still waiting. It's been twelve years now—if Isaac the Hero wanted to come back he'd have returned ages ago!

I worry when I see my mother look out to the evening horizon every year on that day he left us to pursue his owns dreams—or to remain free, as my uncle puts it. But I have never been so worried for her as this year.

My grandfather was exposed to the Light of Mars. He's still as springy as he was twenty years ago. He still works as a guard captain and keeps order in the city. My grandmother however, aged as any normal human being did. She was constantly ill and needed to be taken care of. My grandparents from my mother's side paid a great deal for foreign doctors to come and treat her. Since she was growing weaker each day, they grew desperate. They ended up trusting a con artist and lost all their savings. And in the end, my sick grandmother didn't make it. She succumbed to illness and passed away. On her deathbed, her dying wish was to see my father for one last time.

We all knew it wasn't possible. Even if we could contact my father, he wouldn't be able to make it back in time—unless he's been hiding in the attic all along. Instead, I went to the theatre and borrowed a costume. She was nearly deaf and blind at the time she died, but I still think she knew it was me. Maybe she passed away with a smile because knew I went out of my way to fulfil her last wish.

The funeral was held last week. Uncle Ivan said he sent an express message to my father with a carrier pigeon, asking my deadbeat father to come to the funeral.

But my father didn't arrive. My living grandparents were sad and disappointed, to say the least. Mother and Uncle Ivan said nothing. My uncle Felix… he was outraged, and it's actually an understatement.

Shortly after we got back from the funeral, he unexpectedly lashed out at Uncle Ivan at the mention of my father's name. He broke the table, slamming his Psynergy powered arm on top of it. He said he couldn't believe he and Mother were still waiting for and protecting this heartless person after twelve years of absence. He grabbed Uncle Ivan and slammed him against the wall, demanding to know my father's location so that he could do us all a favour and rid him from the face of the earth. Then he let go and broke down to tears.

It was the frustration he'd been keeping all these years. He'd always been a silent martyr. We later found him weeping on the balcony at sunset, and he repeatedly apologized to Uncle Ivan for his manners during the day. But Mother embraced him and told him he was the best brother she could wish for. She told him to leave Kalay and chase his own dreams. She said he had done enough for her and that it was time for him to live for himself—not for others. We saw him off at early morning. He embraced me, and through tears he asked me to never grow up to be an irresponsible jerk like the man who sired me.


Things went downhill after Uncle Felix left. The hooligans gave the restaurant yet another makeover. If Mother and Grandfather hadn't arrived in time, they'd probably have tried torching the building again. Without Uncle Felix and Joachim helping in the restaurant, Mother became exhausted from work. It was painful to see her dealing with troublemakers afterwards. She collapsed at work last Friday. She was sick. In a feverish dream I heard her mutter my father's name…

She still missed him. She still wanted him.

For the longest time, I've pretended him to be dead. He might as well be for all I care. I'd probably have been a happier person if he really was a nameless mercenary who died twelve years ago in a mission. But Mother needed him.

And I had to bring him back. I had to make him take responsibility for his actions. For my mother's sake—for everyone's sake. I've had enough of his cowardice. I don't want Uncle Ivan or someone else to have their life ruined to protect him. He either has to come back and take responsibility, or outright tell us that he longer cared so Mother can finally move on.

I snuck into Uncle Ivan's office in the academy. I picked the lock in his drawers and the lockbox containing all the letters he's been receiving from my father during the past twelve years. The latest letter was dated a couple of weeks back, so apparently my father didn't respond to the letter concerning my grandmother's death.

I read each letter, and found out he lived as a freeloader in Tyrell's family in the highlands. He was doing research of some sort, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that I'd pinpointed his location. Now I could finally confront the bastard who ruined our lives.

I was caught red-handed. Uncle Ivan caught me raiding his office. He was speechless when he found me reading the letter.

I confronted him about my father. I said my father was a worthless man who left his woman and child behind to do stupid "research". I asked Uncle Ivan how he could defend such an irresponsible person. I asked him how my father could be the selfless and loving person he always says he is. I told him my father just cared for fame and glory and wouldn't care less if Mother and I were killed by anti Psynergy goons. I said my uncle had been attacked in his place for years while he sat in a goddamn summerhouse enjoying the view in the highlands.

Uncle Ivan was taken aback by my sudden outburst. He always considered me a docile student, taking after my uncle. But then, he smiled meekly and took me back to his manor, retrieved my father's old sword from the wall, and gave it me.

He gave me directions to the Goma Plateau—the place where I would find my old man. I asked him why he changed his mind—he used to refuse telling me what happened that day my father left and such—but he just smiled. He'd always been hard to read. It was always him reading other people's minds. Others could never understand what he truly was thinking.

My mother wasn't exactly shocked when she found out about my decision to ascend the Goma Plateau. I promised her I would return, and that I'd bring my useless father back as well. But even though my promise was sure as the earth I stood on, I was still worried. I probably wouldn't have too much of a problem finding my father. I knew Tyrell, and once I find him my father wouldn't be far away from reach. But last time my father saw me was twelve years ago—I was a small child back then—would he recognize me now when I've grown up?

My mother smiled. She went to her drawers and picked up a sort of yellow scrap fabric or an old curtain, which she wrapped around my neck as a scarf. My father's name was embroidered on one of the ends. The stitches were crude, obviously done with my mother's own hands, so I assumed this scarf had its own tale in my parents' love story.

"He'll recognize you," said Mother, "don't worry about that."

And I nodded. That is true. I was probably just paranoid—everyone said I had my father's face. I hugged her. I told her I loved her, and that I'll send a message home once I've found him. And she brushed a hand along the side of my face, kissed my forehead, and smiled; a true smile I haven't seen for many, many years.

I rent a horse from my cousin and rode eastward at evening. I vowed no return until I've found the useless man who was my father. I had to find him and demand explanation for his absence all these years. A couple of days later, I arrived to the outpost in the highlands run by a hunter turned merchant named Patcher. He gave me the strange stare Tyrell had given me back when he met me in the academy four years ago. I've learned to deal with it with a smile though. At lunchtime I ascended the plateau after asking around the area for directions and the safest road. Around afternoon, I saw the cabin that was Tyrell's home.

My father was supposed to live there too. He should be a herder—Tyrell said his family herded goats and hunted for a living. But considering how my cousins delivered supplies to him every month, "goatherder" might just be a cover up—just like how Uncle Garet's name was used instead of my old man's. My father had been careful not to let Uncle Felix track him down. He also made sure his annoying admirers and the anti Psynergy community couldn't find him either, spreading fake rumours about his new adventures in the Sanan Empire.

I took a break on the mountains trail, sitting down to eat. When dug into my sandwich, I suddenly spotted a lonely man sitting by the side of the road a little bit further way, casting a long shadow across the rocky path. He wore a long coat and a slouch hat and was drinking from a canteen.

I walked up to him to ask for directions to the herders' cabin. He lifted his gaze to look up at me and I saw from his rosy cheeks that he was intoxicated. I guessed his age at early thirties. He was an ungroomed tramp—his red beard grew all over his face and on his neck, and his red mullet was dirty and tousled as if he'd never seen a comb before. He spoke with a raspy voice, and his ways of speech revealed a lack of manners. He also made it clear to me that he wasn't going to give away my father's location.

"You came here to see the Heroes of Vale eh?" He spluttered and drank from his canteen again. "They're too busy to teach children magic tricks."

I stared down at him and narrowed my eyes. I didn't even ask for my father yet and he already assumed I was looking for the Heroes of Vale? The tramp looked away and smiled sheepishly, waving me away with his free hand. I left him for himself and went back to eat. But when I was finally done with the food and went on towards Tyrell's home, the filthy tramp suddenly ran up to me and grabbed my scarf.

"What's your problem?" I snapped at him. "Let go!"

"Kid," he then said, his tone suddenly less drunk than before, "where did you get this?"

"None of your business, jerk!" I shot back, but he angrily yanked my scarf. "It hurts!"

I coughed and tried pulling it back, but he was strong and didn't yield. I finally closed the distance to punch him, but he dodged the blow, dropping his hat in the process.

I looked at him in the eyes. They were dark blue like cornflowers… like mine…

"My mother gave it to me," I finally said.

The tramp's intense gaze suddenly dissolved into a look of astonishment. His grip around my scarf lightened, and the fabric gently slid out of his grasp. Just as I thought, he'd grabbed the end with my mother's shabby embroidery.

"Your… mother?" he said.

"Yes," I replied, not moving a muscle. "She runs a restaurant in Kalay. She puts food on the table for two families and feeds a bunch of other people in the city too. Unlike my worthless father who ran away."

Hearing that, the man averted his eyes and turned his back towards me, taking a few steps away. He was a swordsman, I could see; he carried his blade on his belt, just like me.

"Why are you here?" he then asked, not looking back at me.

"I am here to find the bastard who put my mother through twelve years of suffering." I replied. I stared him down. "I'm here to find the failure of a man who left his parents, his woman, and his son behind for twelve years, erasing all traces of his path and not even returning for his own mother's funeral!"

The tramp winced.

"Your grandmother… is dead?" he then said, placing a hand to the side of his head, bowing down a bit as he staggered another step away from me.

I chuckled joylessly.

"Yes," I finally said. "Yes, she is, my dear father—saviour of the world. Grandma died and you didn't even come to the funeral!"

He flinched and then slowly turned to look at me. He stared, his mouth hanging open as he raised a hand—as if to touch my face—but then suddenly let it fall to his side. Then, he looked away, again.

"The Great Isaac, isn't it?" I laughed sardonically. "The Warrior of Vale; The Saviour of the World."

My father didn't speak for a moment.

"What's your name?" he then asked, his voice low with shame… and guilt.

"Why do you ask?" I suddenly shouted at him, infuriated by the ridiculous question. "You named me! Have you forgotten the name you picked for your son? Or do you have so many bastards that you can't remember which I am?"

I reached out to tear off his stupid red wig, only to find that the hair was real. He didn't resist the assault. When I finally let go, he staggered back and looked me in the eyes.

"Matthew," he whispered with a shaky laugh. "It's really you, Son."

I narrowed my eyes and nodded slowly. He straightened himself, and then began staring at me. Then, he began stepping closer to me.

"Matthew, I—"

I slapped his hand away when he reached out to touch me. He immediately let his hand drop, along with his gaze. But I took a step back, and I drew my sword—the sword he wielded during his "legendary quest"—and I said:

"I'm not here for tearful reunions. I've come to bring you home, Father. And you'll come with me, whether you like it or not."

He lifted his gaze, but kept his head bowed. He looked at me for a moment, but then averted his eyes and shook his head. My immediate response was slapping him across the face with my glove. It caused him to sway aside—of shock, mostly. He froze and stared blankly, blinking with his widened eyes. He'd only began to register what just happened as he slowly raised a hand to touch the cheek I'd hit.

Suddenly, a voice called out my name. I turned around to see my friend, Tyrell, running towards me. He ran to my side, grabbed my right wrist and forced me to lower my sword.

"Matthew, don't!" said Tyrell. "What are you doing?"

"Challenging this worthless piece of trash in a duel!" I roared back.

"He's good!" said Tyrell. "You'll just get hurt!"

"He's good? Really? Well, I'm not bad either!" I snarled, pointing at my broken father with my glove. "Look at him! I didn't expect a knight in shining armour, but when I hear the words 'great hero', a tramp is not what comes to mind!"

"Tramp…" whispered my father. "Tramp."

"He's not a tramp! He just poses as one!" said Tyrell, but I ignored him.

"This man—is—my—father!" I snapped. "This is what my mother waited for for twelve years! When a dozen fine men have proposed to her throughout the years! She believes he left to protect us and our future in some way but no sir, he just flew away to be free! My uncle was right about him all along! He ran away to be free—because having a family was obviously too much for—!"

SMACK.

I turned my face and swayed aside when a force crashed against my cheek. I spat, touched the side of my face and then looked at my father who finally stood tall before me. He stared down at me, his eyes twitching while and his hand still raised after slapping me in the face.

I smiled smugly towards him and then moved away from Tyrell, raising my sword. The duel would commence.

Tyrell tried to stop the fight, but my father waved him away with a simple gesture, his gaze never leaving me as he flipped some stray hairs out of his eyes, slowly drawing the sword hanging from his belt. Suddenly, he blinked and staggered, shaking his head. Right, he was drunk. I missed that little detail when I challenged him. Beating him now wouldn't mean much if he decided to turn this into an excuse later.

"I'd rather not take advantage of your drunken state," I said, lowering my sword.

He blinked again and then touched his rosy cheeks.

"Tomorrow morning," I continued. "Same place. I'll be back. Get yourself cleaned up. I don't want to bring a tramp home for Mother to see."


I spent most of my evening in the inn at the outpost. I asked around about Tyrell's family. Patcher told me Aunt Clara died last week, and that her brother was blaming himself for her death.

Apparently, my father had hid himself in the highlands and gone by the name John, pretending to be Tyrell's nonexistent uncle on his mother's side. Why? I don't know. I assumed he ran away to be free, but why would he be a herder here if that was the case? The only reason I could think of was that he couldn't adjust to city life, but that didn't make any sense either—he had seventeen years in Kalay for adjustment. And if he couldn't adjust to city life, he could have moved to the Valian settlement. I don't want to give my father excuses, but I can't help but wondering why he left. It is strange, really. I spent most of my life hating him, and telling myself I didn't care what reasons he had for leaving us behind. But when I finally met him, I couldn't help but wonder. He writes strange reports to Uncle Ivan, so maybe he is "doing research"—but why would he need to hide from the world to do it? Uncle Ivan conducted lots of research projects, and he was fine staying with his family in Kalay while doing it.

I went to sleep early that night, since I needed energy for the duel. I left early at morning before dawn. Now, I've almost reached the plateau and the first rays of the sun have touched the clouds.

Yesterday, it hadn't occurred to me that I might lose the duel, but now I am a bit worried. I forgot I'm didn't bring my own sword—I brought this heirloom Uncle Ivan gave me. Why? I don't know. Maybe I really wanted to make this sword my own. Or maybe because this was the only blade I find fitting to use against my father.

But then again, Uncle Ivan probably didn't intend for me to wield it. It was probably a token to prove my identity. After all, I won't say "Isaac the Hero" and I look like father and son. I do have his eyes; I admit that, but it was his red hair that prevented instant recognition. Everyone says I look just like my father, but that's the biggest lie ever. He looks nothing like how he's portrayed in theatre. They even got his hair colour wrong… But then, why would my family tell me he's blond when he's obviously a redhead?

I force my doubts away when the sunlight stings my eyes. I've almost reached the given place for the duel. I squint and see that my father is already there, waiting for me. He still wears the same clothes he did yesterday, but he had left the slouch hat at home. He is standing tall with his back facing towards me, and he idly raises and lowers his sword—he must have been waiting for a while. As he hears me approaching, he slowly turns around to face me. The first rays of sunlight touch his face and I blink.

He looks different. Of course, I'd expected him to shave off his scruffy beard and wash his face. But his hair… it is suddenly golden blond and short like mine. I then avert my eyes and shake my head with a smile—of course he dyed his hair—how could I not have figured that out? I cup my jaw and touch my chin, suddenly seeing the family resemblance—I do have his face as my family often tells me.

He notices how I am staring at him, but he says nothing. He simply removes his long coat, throwing it aside. He takes his sword in his right hand, but still keeps it lowered as he approaches me. I smile smugly and draw my own blade. I raise it, and point it at him.

"If I win—you're coming home with me," I say, watching his moves.

He closes his eyes for a moment in thought, and then takes a step aside.

"And if I win?" he then asks with a grin.

"Then I'll be back and fight you again tomorrow," I reply.

He lifts his sword and moves aside again. I move as well, and we circle around. I watch his moves intently. He uses my grandfather's style. And so do I. I should know how to deal with his moves. I can't beat my grandfather yet, but as far I know, the man before me couldn't best him either. But my father has experience, and that will make a difference.

"If you lose that duel too?" he then asks.

"Then I'll fight you again the next day," I reply and narrow my eyes. "l'll keep coming back until I beat you."

Finally he stops circling and shifts into a battle stance, raising his sword. I do the same and he smirks.

And then our swords clash in a flurry of steel.