The echoes of the grand celebration had long faded, leaving the castle to settle into its usual rhythm. Edwin, now a year old, found himself more aware of the world around him, though still trapped in a body that refused to cooperate with his ambitions.

  His newfound understanding of the language had opened up an entirely new realm of observation. He could finally grasp the conversations happening around him, piecing together snippets of politics, responsibilities, and the expectations of noble life. Though he was still treated like a mere infant, he knew more than any baby should. That fact only made his situation more frustrating.

  Through bits of conversation he had caught during the party and day-to-day chatter among the servants, he had finally learned the names of his parents. His mother, Lady Evelyn Hawthorne, and his father, Lord Aldric Hawthorne. He also realized that their noble status was newly minted, granted to them rather than inherited, and that they had been placed on the very edge of the kingdom’s reach. Their family name, Hawthorne, carried a weight of both prestige and expectation, marking them as newly appointed barons entrusted with the frontier lands.

  The frontier was far from the grandeur of the royal court, a land of untamed wilderness and scattered settlements rather than bustling cities. Whether this was an honor or a polite exile, he couldn't yet tell, but it was another piece of the puzzle. Each new discovery gave him more control, more understanding of the life he had been thrust into.

  The old man’s magic display had been a turning point. It solidified the reality of this world and, more importantly, the existence of power beyond mere physical strength. If magic was real, then what were its limitations? Could he, too, wield it? He had once defied the heavens, bending spiritual energy to his will, shattering boundaries that others dared not approach. Surely, he could grasp the arcane arts of this world as well.

  But first, he needed to understand how magic functioned here.

  And so, Edwin began observing, listening, and experimenting in secret. What he lacked in mobility, he made up for in curiosity, his mind constantly analyzing the smallest details. He watched how servants interacted with one another, how knights carried themselves with rigid discipline, and how his parents conversed with the weight of responsibility in their voices.

  Then, there was the old man. A riddle wrapped in madness, yet undeniably powerful. Edwin had a feeling that the eccentric elder held the key to many of his questions. If he could find a way to get closer to him, to study him, perhaps he could begin unraveling the mysteries of magic in this world.

  Of course, before any of that, he had to survive being a toddler in a noble household where expectations loomed over him like storm clouds. And he had a sinking feeling that his family had plans for his future that he wasn’t going to like.

  At the same time, Edwin attempted something far more ambitious, cultivation. If magic existed in this world, then surely spiritual energy did as well. But every time he tried to focus, to draw that familiar power inward, something always interrupted him. A sudden cramp, an odd jolt of pain, or a completely uncontrollable bowel movement. His frustration mounted with each attempt, but the truth became undeniable: his body simply wasn’t ready. It was too young, too fragile, unable to withstand the strain of channeling even a fraction of the energy he had once wielded effortlessly.

  Yet, even in failure, he made a profound discovery. Whenever he attempted to cultivate, he could feel it. An energy like spiritual energy, yet different. It wasn’t just more potent, it was more refined, purer than anything he had encountered before. It vibrated through the world around him, a latent force waiting to be harnessed. But the moment he reached for it, the sensation slipped away, as if taunting him, reminding him of how weak he was in this new body. He gritted his metaphorical teeth at the realization.

  Power was within his reach. But for now, he was too weak to grasp it. Not yet. But one day.

  A few days later, Edwin found himself seated in the family library, surrounded by shelves lined with thick, leather bound tomes. His parents sat beside him, attempting to teach him to speak, encouraging him with patient smiles and exaggerated pronunciation of simple words. They didn’t know that he already understood everything they were saying. He just couldn’t articulate words properly yet, no matter how much he tried.

  Before he could make another futile attempt, the library doors burst open, and in walked the old man. His usual erratic energy was subdued, though the glint of eccentricity still lingered in his eyes. He strode forward, muttering under his breath before addressing Lord Aldric and Lady Evelyn directly.

  "It’s happening again," the old man said, his voice tinged with something far too serious for his usual antics. "More frequently than before. And if something isn’t done soon… well, let’s just say dire doesn’t even begin to describe it."

  Edwin’s parents exchanged a glance, concern flashing in their eyes. His father’s jaw tightened, his hands clasping together, while his mother’s expression darkened with a restrained worry. "We knew this was a possibility," Lord Aldric responded carefully. "We had hoped things would settle."

  "Hoped?" The old man let out a dry chuckle. "Hope is a fine thing, but it won’t stop the inevitable. If we do nothing, the consequences will come knocking on your doorstep sooner than you think."

  Lady Evelyn exhaled, her fingers brushing against her temple. "We have been careful. We have taken precautions."

  "Not enough," the old man countered. "You’re playing defense when you should be acting. If we wait, we lose the advantage. You know as well as I do that the pattern is becoming clearer."

  There was something deliberately unsaid in the conversation, a dance of words that avoided naming the true danger outright. Edwin, his small body still and quiet, listened intently. Whatever they were talking about, it was serious. Serious enough that his usually unshakable parents looked troubled.

  Before the discussion could go any further, Lady Evelyn straightened, her expression softening yet resolute as she glanced down at Edwin. "This is not a matter for young ears," she said, her tone firm but laced with warmth. "He should be somewhere else, away from this discussion."

  Rising from her seat, Lady Evelyn left the library, cradling Edwin in her arms as she walked down the hall. Glancing down at him, she murmured half to herself, half to him, "Perhaps Marian is on break. I know just where to find her. And maybe… it's time for you to meet someone your age."

  She turned down a corridor Edwin had never been through before. The air grew noticeably warmer, carrying the rich scent of freshly baked bread and faint traces of dried herbs. This part of the castle felt different, less imposing, more lived-in. It lacked the polished grandeur of the noble quarters, instead exuding a quiet, steady warmth. This was where the maids and household staff lived, their own space within the estate. The hallways were narrower, the walls adorned with simple tapestries, and there was an underlying hum of daily life that made it feel like a world apart from the rigid expectations of nobility.

  Ahead, a common room opened up, modest but well-kept. The sturdy wooden furniture, though lacking in luxury, was arranged with care around a large hearth that cast a flickering glow over the room. It was a place of respite, where the staff could gather, share meals, or steal brief moments of rest between their duties.

  Inside, a handful of servants were seated, engaged in quiet conversation while their hands busied themselves with various tasks—mending clothes, scrubbing wooden bowls, and polishing brass fixtures that had dulled with time. The moment Lady Evelyn stepped inside, a ripple of motion swept through the room. Some of the servants immediately stood, bowing deeply in deference. Others, caught off guard, scrambled to rise or dipped their heads in hurried acknowledgment. A few murmured, "Lady Evelyn," in hushed, reverent tones, their voices tinged with surprise.

  Evelyn merely smiled at them, her expression kind yet effortlessly composed. "It’s alright, please, relax," she said, her voice carrying the warmth of reassurance but also the unmistakable authority of nobility. Her words had the intended effect. The servants hesitated, then slowly eased back into their seats, though a few still sat with rigid backs, unsure how to completely let go of their formality in her presence.

  Her attention, however, was already on a particular figure.

  Marian, the head maid, sat near the hearth, cradling a warm cup of tea in what was likely a rare moment of peace. At the sound of approaching footsteps, she lifted her head, her expression swiftly shifting from quiet relaxation to composed attentiveness. Without a word, she rose smoothly to her feet, setting aside her cup with an air of practiced grace.

  "Marian," Lady Evelyn addressed her, "Please watch over Edwin for a while. Take him somewhere else."

  Marian inclined her head respectfully, her tone measured yet dutiful. "Of course, my lady."

  She was a woman of refined efficiency, her chestnut brown hair neatly braided and pinned, ensuring not a single strand was out of place. Her deep brown eyes were sharp, missing nothing, a testament to the experience that made her indispensable in the household. Though she wore the simple uniform of a head maid, she carried herself with quiet dignity, commanding the respect of the staff with both competence and fairness.

  In her arms rested her own son, a boy just a few months older than Edwin. As the two infants locked eyes, Edwin felt a sinking realization settle in his gut. He was now at the mercy of an overenthusiastic toddler companion.

  A few weeks passed. Instead of constantly being by his mother’s side, Edwin found himself spending most of his days with Marian and her son. At first, he resented it. It felt beneath him to engage in the mindless play of infants—rolling balls, babbling nonsense, and smacking wooden blocks together. But as the days stretched into routine, something unexpected happened.

  He started enjoying it.

  Without realizing it, the forced companionship chipped away at his reluctance. What had started as an obligation, enduring the boy's endless energy, slowly became something else. He found himself laughing, a sound foreign even to his own ears, as the boy tumbled over himself in a fit of excitement over a particularly high stack of blocks. Despite the centuries of wisdom locked inside his mind, despite the weight of memories from two lifetimes, he was still, at his core, just a child. And in those fleeting moments, where the world was nothing more than wooden toys, clumsy games, and breathless giggles, he forgot, if only for a second, the burden of everything he once was.

  Yet, something else gnawed at him beneath the surface. The more time he spent as a child, the more he noticed something strange. His own thoughts felt... different. His emotions flared more quickly, his frustrations came in bursts, and at times, even his own curiosity felt overwhelming. Could it be his current biology affecting him? It made sense. His brain, though carrying the memories of an adult, was still developing, still forming. The instincts of a child, the joy, the impatience, the wonder, were seeping into his mind no matter how much he tried to resist them.

  The simple joys of play, the infectious laughter, and the tiny victories of stacking blocks without toppling them became oddly, almost absurdly, satisfying. And perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t only because of his past. It was because he was, undeniably, living this new life, and his body refused to let him ignore it. His emotions, his instincts, they felt sharper, more impulsive, unrestrained in a way that didn’t belong to the rational mind of an engineer or the tempered will of a cultivator. He wondered if this was simply a side effect of inhabiting a developing body, one whose biology influenced him in ways he had yet to understand. Try as he might to suppress it, he was changing, adapting, and perhaps even becoming something new altogether.

  During this time, he finally learned the boy’s name, Gideon. A strong name, fitting for someone who, despite his age, had the boundless energy of a rampaging beast. Gideon was relentless, always dragging Edwin into whatever new discovery he had made, whether it was chasing after a stray cat or trying to climb onto furniture far beyond their reach.

  It was also with Gideon that Edwin practiced speaking. Though his words were still clumsy, still tinged with the unmistakable wobble of an infant's tongue, he was finally able to express himself in a way that others understood. His parents were jubilant when they heard him finally utter recognizable words.

  "Aldric, did you hear that? He said ‘yes’!" Lady Evelyn gasped, clasping her hands together in delight.

  Lord Aldric, usually composed, let out a rare chuckle. "A fine word to start with. Better than ‘no’."

  Edwin felt the warmth of their joy, but as he studied their faces, he could see the subtle tension beneath their celebration. His father’s smile was tempered by something unreadable, and his mother’s laughter, though genuine, didn’t reach her eyes completely.

  Even as they celebrated his progress, something weighed on them. Something connected to the old man’s words in the library, to their hushed discussions late at night. His parents had been busier than usual, speaking in guarded tones, their movements laced with urgency.

  Edwin narrowed his eyes slightly. Whatever was happening, whatever troubled them, he would find out. And if it threatened his future in this world, he would do something about it.

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  With his growing understanding of language, Edwin soon turned his attention to another critical skill, reading. He had long since realized that the ability to read would grant him access to knowledge far beyond what he could overhear in passing. The problem was that no one expected a baby to have any interest in books, let alone the ability to understand them.

  At first, his lessons were informal. His mother, when she wasn’t busy, would sit with him, pointing at the inscriptions in children’s books, patiently enunciating words while guiding his tiny fingers along the parchment. Marian, too, would help, showing him basic letters whenever Gideon was preoccupied. She was also determined to teach her own son, though Gideon had far less patience for sitting still and learning symbols. More often than not, he would turn the lessons into a game, making up nonsense words or trying to see how many times he could make Marian sigh in exasperation before she gave up. But those lessons, while useful, were slow, and Edwin was impatient.

  So, whenever Marian was busy and no one was watching too closely, Edwin took matters into his own hands. During moments of distraction, he would sneakily grab whatever parchment or book he could reach, be it from an unattended desk or a stack left near the library entrance. At first, he only recognized symbols, tracing them over and over in his mind, matching them with the words he had heard spoken aloud. Then, as days passed, his recognition became sharper, patterns forming in his mind.

  It was a painstaking process, relying on stolen moments of quiet practice. He would mimic the way his mother’s lips moved as she read aloud, repeating the sounds in his head, then whispering them when no one was around. Bit by bit, the written words began to make sense.

  What had once seemed like a confusing arrangement of shapes slowly turned into something more. His first real triumph came when he managed to understand a short passage from an old nursery rhyme, the meaning clicking in his mind like a puzzle piece falling into place. It was a small thing, but to Edwin, it was monumental.

  Weeks passed, and with his continued efforts, Edwin's grasp of reading improved. He could now recognize more words, piecing them together faster than before. Though still far from fluency, he could decipher enough to understand the general meaning of simple texts. He could feel himself growing closer to unlocking something valuable. If only he had the right opportunity.

  One day, that opportunity finally presented itself.

  Edwin had been watching his father closely, noting the stiffness in his movements, the way his fingers would tighten into a fist when he thought no one was looking. The hushed conversations with his mother had grown more frequent, their voices dropping even lower whenever a servant passed too close. The weight of something unseen pressed down on the household, thickening the air with unspoken tension.

  Then, finally, Edwin saw it. His father, alone in his private study, a single candle flickering beside him as he sat hunched over a scroll. His brows were deeply furrowed, his fingers drumming restlessly against the desk. Whatever was written there, it was serious.

  Before Edwin could study his father’s expression further, the door opened abruptly, and a soldier entered with the silence of someone accustomed to delivering grave news. He bent low, whispering something urgent. The reaction was immediate. Lord Aldric’s grip on the parchment tightened, his knuckles going white. His jaw locked, his entire posture stiffening like a man bracing for a blow. Then, with a sharp, decisive nod, he rose to his feet, abandoning the scroll on the desk as he turned toward the door. "Understood. Ready the men. I’ll be there shortly."

  The soldier bowed and left just as swiftly as he had come. Aldric hesitated, his eyes flickering toward the scroll. His fingers twitched, as though debating whether to take it with him. But whatever urgency had just been relayed, it was enough for him to leave it behind.

  The door shut behind him with a quiet finality. Silence followed.

  Edwin’s pulse quickened. This was it. His chance. The scroll sat there, unguarded, abandoned in the flickering candlelight. His father’s expression, the way his body had tensed, this document was important. He needed to see it. He had to see it.

  The moment came when no one was paying attention. Marian was occupied, Gideon was off causing mischief, and the study door had been left slightly ajar. His heart pounded in his chest, the same way it had in his past life when he had stolen into a rival sect’s library in search of forbidden techniques. Slowly, carefully, he pulled himself forward, inching toward the heavy wooden desk. The document lay within reach, its edges slightly curled from use.

  With painstaking care, he used the desk’s leg for balance, stretching his tiny fingers toward the parchment. Almost there. His breath hitched, heart hammering. He pulled the scroll just a fraction closer, just enough to see the words etched upon it.

  His eyes scanned the first few lines, his young mind scrambling to piece the meaning together. Some words were unfamiliar, too complex for his growing vocabulary, but others… others were clear enough.

  "…continued disruption in the region… escalating attacks on supply routes… pressure from external forces demands a response…"

  A slow chill seeped into Edwin’s bones. This was no ordinary banditry. This was organized. Someone was orchestrating these attacks, manipulating events from the shadows. Pressure from external forces—who? Another noble house? A rival faction? Before he could decipher more, the heavy sound of boots echoed down the hall.

  Panic flared in Edwin’s chest. He barely managed to shove the scroll away before the door creaked open. His breath hitched as he froze in place, heart pounding against his ribs. Lord Aldric stepped inside, his imposing frame casting a long shadow across the dimly lit room.

  Edwin remained perfectly still, willing himself to look as inconspicuous as possible as his father’s sharp gaze swept across the study. A seasoned warrior, Aldric’s instincts were honed to detect even the slightest disturbance. The silence stretched, thick with tension, as his piercing eyes lingered on the desk. Then, they shifted to Edwin, narrowing slightly, the weight of his scrutiny pressing down like a blade poised to strike.

  A slow frown settled on his face as he stepped forward, arms crossed. "What are you doing in here?" he asked, his deep voice filled with quiet authority.

  Edwin blinked up at him, widening his eyes in what he hoped was an innocent, babyish expression. "Papa! Hiding!" he declared, throwing his tiny hands up as if this were all part of a grand game.

  Aldric’s frown deepened. "Hiding, hmm? And just where were you planning to hide?"

  Edwin pointed at the nearest chair with exaggerated enthusiasm. "There! Big chair! Me small! No see!"

  For a moment, his father simply stared at him, exhaling slowly. Then, to Edwin’s relief, the faintest ghost of amusement flickered across Aldric’s face. Kneeling beside him and lifting him effortlessly into his arms. "You certainly have a knack for showing up where you don’t belong," he muttered, though there was no real anger in his tone.

  Shifting Edwin in his arms, Aldric strode to the desk, his movements slow and deliberate. He reached into the drawer, retrieving the scroll Edwin had been after, before rolling it tightly and locking it away in a small iron-bound chest. "Not yet," he murmured to himself, his grip on the chest tightening. "Not until we’re sure."

  With a sigh, he lifted Edwin more securely into his arms. "One day, you'll understand that some knowledge is more dangerous than ignorance," he murmured, his voice quieter this time, as if speaking more to himself than to the child in his arms. There was a weight in his tone, something weary and knowing, as though he had once sought answers he wished he'd never found.

  Then, without another word, he carried Edwin out of the study, his grip firm but careful, shutting the door behind them with a quiet finality. Whatever lay within that document, whatever truths it held, Edwin wouldn't be learning them today.

  But that didn't mean he wouldn't learn them at all.

  Left without answers but filled with even more questions, Edwin let out a slow breath. He hadn’t been caught outright, but he hadn’t succeeded either. Yet this was still progress. That document wasn't just important, it was a catalyst. Something was happening, something his father was preparing for. If Aldric was waiting for confirmation of something, then events were already in motion.

  And Edwin Hawthorne would find out exactly what they were.

  As the days passed, an undeniable shift took over the castle. Servants moved with a hurried sense of purpose, hushed conversations replaced casual chatter, and supplies were being accounted for with greater scrutiny. The clatter of armored boots against stone became a regular sound in the courtyard as soldiers drilled with increasing intensity. Even within the halls, guards seemed more present, stationed at key locations with a vigilance that hadn’t been there before. Something was happening, and everyone knew it, even if they didn’t speak of it openly.

  One evening, just before Edwin was put to bed, his parents came to see him. He could tell, even before they spoke, that something was different. His father’s normally commanding presence seemed heavier, weighed down by responsibility, while his mother’s usual warmth carried an undercurrent of concern.

  Lady Evelyn knelt beside his crib, gently brushing her fingers through his soft hair. "Edwin, my sweet boy," she said with a tender smile. "Mama and Papa have to go away for a few days. Just a short trip, nothing to worry about."

  Edwin frowned, tilting his head. "Where?" he asked in his small, innocent voice.

  His father chuckled, crouching down beside Evelyn. "Your mother and I have some work to do, little one. There are some unruly bandits causing trouble, and we have to go remind them who these lands belong to."

  Evelyn leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Edwin’s forehead. "We’ll be back before you know it. Be good for Marian, alright?" Her eyes, though filled with love, carried something deeper. A hesitation, perhaps? A shadow of worry she did not want him to see.

  The next morning, Edwin was taken to the castle entrance to see them off. The crisp morning air carried the scent of damp earth, and the sky was streaked with hues of dawn. His father stood clad in full armor, a sight to behold. A towering, commanding figure in steel, the very image of a knight. His mother was draped in deep blues and silvers, robes embroidered with intricate sigils of magic, a regal presence that exuded wisdom and power.

  A squad of elite knights stood behind them, their armor polished, their weapons gleaming in the early light. These weren’t ordinary soldiers; their disciplined stances and unwavering gazes spoke of experience and purpose. It was clear, even to Edwin, that they had been chosen for something far more perilous than dealing with mere bandits.

  Aldric knelt down, placing a firm but gentle hand on Edwin’s head. "You be strong for your mother and me, alright? No causing trouble." There was a softness to his voice that made Edwin feel, just for a moment, like a real child, not just a reincarnated soul in a small body.

  Evelyn, holding Edwin close one last time, handed him over to Marian, her expression warm but distant. "We’ll be back soon," she promised, pressing another kiss to his forehead. "I love you, my little star."

  As they mounted their horses and rode away, Edwin couldn’t shake the unease creeping into his heart. This felt... too much like the beginning of a tragic story, one he had seen far too many times in novels and movies. A noble family, parents marching off to war, the child left behind. Only for tragedy to strike. He clenched his tiny fists, pushing the thought away. No. This wasn’t a story. This was real life. They would come back. They had to.

  The waiting was unbearable.

  The castle was caught in a strange limbo, too quiet, yet simmering with an underlying urgency. Servants moved with rigid efficiency, their usual idle chatter absent. The distant clang of metal echoed through the halls as armored soldiers drilled relentlessly in the courtyard. Patrols doubled, stationed at every entrance and high point, their eyes scanning the horizon as if expecting an attack at any moment. Even the air felt heavier, thick with a tension that no one acknowledged aloud. It was suffocating.

  And Edwin, for all his intelligence and memories, could do nothing but sit and wait.

  Even Gideon, his usual source of loud and energetic distraction, had sensed something was wrong. The other boy had been unusually quiet, watching the soldiers with wide eyes as they marched past the courtyard. He had tried to drag Edwin along on one of his reckless attempts to sneak closer to the knights, but they were stopped before they even got close. Marian had scolded them both, but even she wasn’t her usual self. Her reprimands lacked their usual firmness, her hands gripping Edwin a little tighter whenever the sound of distant hooves reached their ears.

  On the far end of the courtyard, away from the gathered soldiers and frantic preparations, the old man stood unnaturally still. The erratic energy that normally crackled around him had vanished, replaced by an unsettling calm. His piercing gaze was locked onto the distant horizon, his eyes narrowed, calculating. The usual glint of mischief was gone, leaving only quiet intensity, as if he was peering beyond what mortal eyes could perceive.

  Edwin shivered. There was something eerie about the way the old man stood, unmoving, like a statue carved from time itself. It reminded him of an elder from his past life, the kind who would stare into the heavens before declaring some grand omen, a storm yet to come. A premonition.

  The world around them bustled with urgency. Knights donning armor, servants hurrying with supplies, but the old man remained apart from it all, untouched by the chaos. The sight sent a strange unease crawling down Edwin’s spine. It was as though he alone had paused to witness something that no one else could see. And whatever it was, Edwin had the growing, gnawing feeling that it would change everything.

  Edwin had tried to slip past the ever watchful maids, to sneak to a place where he might overhear something important, but they had been relentless. Every attempt to eavesdrop was thwarted, every plan to crawl away was gently but firmly intercepted. They treated him as they always had, a young, helpless child. And for the first time, that truth stung more than he cared to admit. He was small. He was weak. And he was utterly powerless to do anything but watch and worry.

  Then, after what felt like an eternity, they returned.

  The gates swung open, and a roar of relief surged through the castle. Cheers erupted from the gathered soldiers and servants as the Hawthorne banner rode through. But Edwin, standing with Marian at the castle steps, wasn’t cheering. He was watching.

  His father was the first through the gate, still astride his warhorse, his armor bearing deep scratches and the remnants of battle. Though he had clearly attempted to clean it, dark stains still clung stubbornly to the metal, seeping into the crevices like a permanent reminder of the fight. No fresh blood remained, only the lingering evidence of violence that water alone could not wash away. His mother rode beside him, her usually pristine robes dirtied, the hem torn, and exhaustion weighing heavily in her eyes, even as she forced a smile.

  It wasn’t the triumphant return of heroes. It was the return of warriors who had survived.

  The moment she dismounted, Lady Evelyn swept Edwin into her arms, holding him close as if he might disappear. "See?" she whispered into his hair, her voice warm but carrying the slightest tremor. "I told you we’d be back."

  Lord Aldric stepped beside them, exhaustion lining his features. Still, he managed a small chuckle, reaching out to ruffle Edwin’s hair. "Did you behave while we were gone? Or did you drive Marian mad?"

  Edwin pouted dramatically. "Me good!"

  His father let out a low laugh, but there was something distant about it, something hollow. His mother held onto him for a moment longer than necessary before finally relinquishing him back into Marian’s arms. The relief around them was almost contagious. Servants bustling to take their mounts, knights greeting their returning comrades, laughter and weary smiles exchanged freely.

  But Edwin wasn’t fooled.

  Beneath the surface of celebration, there was something else. Something unspoken.

  His mother and father were smiling, but there was a weight behind their eyes, an exhaustion beyond the physical. His father’s grip on his sword hilt lingered too long. His mother’s hands trembled ever so slightly before she curled them into fists. Whatever had happened out there, whatever they had faced, it wasn’t over.

  Not by a long shot.