The tension between the two men was tangible, thick like smoke in the air, ready to ignite.But I said nothing.I couldn’t.I only held Marcellious tighter, his small body pressed to my chest as if I could somehow will him to stay mine.
Their words weighted with bitter truth.Yet the thought of being severed from my son was a torment too deep to name—a blade slowly carving me open from the inside.
“Please,” I heard myself whisper, my voice thin, raw, a man stripped bare.“Let me stay.Let me raise my son alongside you, Dancing Fire.”
The plea hung between us, a fragile thread of hope against a storm of inevitability.
Lazarus shook his head, finality etched in the motion, cold and merciless.“I cannot allow it, Amir.But I will grant you this—you may visit them here.”His gaze locked onto mine, cold and calculating.“But understand this—whatever permission you once had, it ends now.You are never to see Roman or Elizabeth again.That chapter is closed.In time, Roman will find his destiny.And we must be ready when that time comes.”
His decree settled over me like a burial shroud.I understood the reasoning—the cruel strategy.The war ahead demanded separation, anonymity, and sacrifice.But knowing this didn’t stop my heart from rebelling, raging, against the loss.
Marcellious stirred in my arms, soft and unaware, untouched by the chaos that had shaped his birth.He deserved more.More than a father hidden in shadows, more than a love kept at arm’s length by prophecy and war.
With every breath, I vowed—to him and to the woman who still held my soul across oceans and lies?—
I will guard you both and Roman.Unseen.Unwavering.Until the end of my days.
“Just… let me stay,” I croaked, my voice raw with everything I couldn’t bring myself to say.“Give me until the next full moon.”
Lazarus paused, his silhouette a clean slash against the dying light beyond the doorway.A breath passed—one heartbeat of silence—before he spoke.
“Very well.”
He didn’t turn to face me.
“But don’t forget your purpose, Amir.”His voice was steel now, cold and honed.“You are a warrior first and foremost.”
A warrior.
And yet, as I looked down at my son’s face—peaceful in sleep, untouched by the world’s chaos—I knew that was only half of who I was.
Now, I was a father.And I would never forget.
“I will protect them,” I vowed into the silence of Lazarus’ departure.“With everything I have.”
The heavy wooden door closed behind him with a deep, echoing thud, sealing us in the small, cloistered cabin.That sound wasn’t just the end of a conversation—it was a seal on my soul, binding my promise deeper than any oath I’d ever sworn on the battlefield.
I turned to Dancing Fire, standing like a sentinel in the fading light.The weight of betrayal hung between us, heavy, unspoken—but too real to ignore.I met his gaze, his eyes shadowed with sorrow and spoke through the knot in my throat.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, struggling to keep my voice from cracking.“Sorry for what you had to do… for betraying her trust like that.”
His expression shifted—the anger in his brow easing, replaced by a deep, aching sadness.
“You have nothing to apologize for, Amir,” he replied quietly.“It is I who owe you both… everything.She saved my life once.Tended to my wounds not as a duty but with a kindness I didn’t deserve.”
His eyes drifted toward the forest beyond the cabin’s rough-hewn walls as if searching for something—or someone—already lost.
“She’s leaving now,” he murmured, his voice catching.“Taking with her the light and warmth she brought into my life.I’ll feel her absence every day.”
In my arms, Marcellious stirred, blissfully unaware of the war, the grief, and the shattered bonds that welcomed him into this world.He was innocence incarnate, the embodiment of all we had lost and all we had left.
Dancing Fire stepped forward, his hand settling gently on the baby’s soft head, a gesture filled with quiet reverence.
“This child is yours, and I will raise him with all my honor and strength.For you.For her.That’s the least I can do.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice thick with the sting of tears I refused to shed.
Between us was a bond that needed no words—not forged by blood but by fire.Brotherhood born from adversity, sealed by choice, and now, by this child.
