CHAPTER TWO: An Emotional farewell
It took Blade a moment to regain control over his numb legs, stiff from hours of kneeling. His body, so accustomed to discomfort, had grown too accustomed to comfort all too quickly. The sudden surge of weakness surprised him.
“Need a drink?” Vesper asked, offering a bottle of water.
“I’m fine,” Blade replied, running a hand through his hair as if he could somehow sift through his troubled thoughts.
“I would ask what’s wrong,” Vesper said, taking a swig from the bottle, “but I know you well enough by now. You deal with your problems in silence. I won’t push it.”
Blade sighed heavily.
“Has my father left?” Blade asked, his voice betraying a hint of worry.
“He’s long gone,” Vesper answered, a note of finality in his tone.
Blade pushed himself to his feet, only to be met by a sudden dizziness. He stumbled, instinctively reaching out to steady himself with Vesper’s arm, his vision spinning as he fought to regain his balance.
“Are you okay?” Vesper asked, gripping Blade’s arm firmly, his concern palpable.
It took a few moments, but Blade nodded, brushing off the tension in his body. He let go of Vesper’s arm and attempted to walk away, but Vesper, not convinced, pulled him back by the wrist, holding him there.
“Don’t shake me,” Blade whispered sharply, his face tightening with irritation.
“Blade, you’re not fine,” Vesper insisted. “I can see it.”
“I know my body better than you,” Blade replied, his tone hard, masking the turmoil beneath.
“I get it,” Vesper sighed. “You’ve always kept your burdens to yourself. But sometimes, it wouldn’t hurt to let others share the load. This world isn’t about doing everything alone.”
“Vesper, enough!” Blade snapped, his voice low but firm, a frown knitting his brow as he shot a glare at his friend. “I’m not in the mood for this.”
Vesper fell silent, murmuring a soft “Sorry,” but Blade didn’t acknowledge the apology. He simply rolled his eyes and turned away, walking off, weighed down by thoughts that never seemed to leave him.
Each step he took seemed heavier than the last, his shoulders hunched under the invisible weight of his burdens. The tropical forest around him seemed a fitting companion for his solitude. Narrow paths, dense leaves—each step felt like it was dragging him further into the depths of his own mind.
Raised and trained by his godfather, Blade had learned not only how to fight, but how to endure. He had been taught to never question the wisdom of the elders, never hold on to the insults they tossed his way. He was trained to bend, never break, and to trust that those in power had a reason for every decision, even when those decisions felt wrong, when they went against his sense of morality.
But karma, it seemed, had its own way of delivering judgment. And for Blade, it had forced him into the shoes of those he had once wronged.
His father’s words echoed in his mind again: “What you just showed them was that I am your weak point. I am your Achilles’ heel, Bastein.” The weight of those words lingered, like a warning, a sign that his father had hidden something deeper, something he was desperate to protect.
Was Blade just overthinking? Or was he not thinking enough?
If his father had his own worries, why hadn’t he shared them with Blade? What was it that his father had been hiding? Blade’s godfather had the skill to refuse any order from Elder Hans, yet he had complied without question. That alone raised doubts, especially when the order came in the form of a “smoke order”—a rare and secretive command issued only to the Elders of the Citadel, and typically only by the higher-ups, once a year, or sometimes even once every five years. These orders were so dangerous that they had claimed the lives of many Elders, leaving only seven standing, with two more currently indisposed.
So why had his father accepted such an order from Elder Hans, a man known for his cunning and ruthlessness? Hans’ schemes were legendary, and his father—who knew Hans better than anyone—had never been afraid of them. Yet this time, something was different.
As Blade’s mind raced with questions, his feet carried him to the cottage he had once called home. It was hidden deep behind a cave, a place that had been his sanctuary from the ever-watchful eyes of the Citadel. The quietude of the place calmed him, the stillness of the forest providing a respite from his relentless thoughts.
The wind whispered as it brushed against his skin, offering a moment of peace as he walked toward the entrance. His mind, however, remained troubled. It had been two months since he had last been here, caught up in mission after mission, each one weighing more heavily on his soul. The air around him was different, more refreshing than any drug, its coolness bringing a moment of clarity amidst the chaos.
As he reached the door of the cottage, he found it opening before him, revealing his father, already dressed and prepared to leave for yet another mission.
“I’m glad I caught you before I left,” his father said with a deep sigh of relief. “Come inside.”
“How long this time?” Blade asked, his tone detached, refusing to acknowledge his father’s initial relief.
His father paused, his gaze turning somber. “I know you have questions. And while I can’t answer them all, I will try to give you what I can. But first, come inside. Let’s sit down.”
Blade nodded, stepping inside the humble cottage. His father set his black bag down and moved to the small kitchen area, returning shortly with a teapot and two cups. The wind outside seemed to grow stronger, blowing through the house with such force that one of the teacups toppled over, shattering on the floor.
“See?” His father’s voice was dry, attempting humor. “Even nature’s on my side today.”
Blade didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the broken cup. His father, sensing the tension, cleared his throat, attempting to ease the moment, and began pouring the tea. But Blade’s mind was already elsewhere, lost in the storm of unanswered questions.
His father took a slow seat across from him, his gaze steady. “You think it’s unfair, don’t you?” he began, his voice low but measured. “That the ones who create the laws aren’t bound by them?”
Blade said nothing, but his father’s words continued to press forward.
“You think it unkind, perhaps, that everyone congratulated you on your promotion to Black Robe, but all I gave you after your third mission was a punishment you didn’t deserve, don’t you?” His father pushed the tea toward him, his gesture quiet but deliberate.
Blade didn’t respond. He simply stared at his father, his displeasure clear in the way his brow furrowed. His silence spoke volumes, and his father could read it like an open book.
“I can see your anger, even without that look in your eyes,” his father said, almost wistfully. “I feel it too. But I know you understand why I punished you.”
Blade’s voice, when it came, was raw, cutting through the silence like a blade. “No. I don’t understand. Honestly, I don’t. Most of the time, I don’t understand why I’m given these missions at all. I don’t understand why we follow orders from someone we don’t even know, or someone who may not even be alive. I don’t understand why an assassin who dies in the line of duty isn’t worthy of a place on the Citadel’s Wall of Stars. But I’ve never questioned them. I’ve never questioned the orders, the authority. Even when it didn’t make sense, I obeyed—because I believed there was always a reason. I believed the Elders knew best. And that led me to kill so many innocent lives. A mother. A child barely a year old. But the one time I question why my father was given an order I know is wrong, I’m called defiant?!” His voice trembled with the weight of the confession, an outpouring of frustration and pain that had been building for years.
His father fell silent, struggling to compose himself. “Sébastien…” He spoke Blade’s birth name, his voice faltering. “You think the world sees me as the one who made you what you are. The one who trained you, molded you. But the truth is far darker. They don’t know what came before me.”
His father paused, as if weighing the words. “While other children were indulged—pampered by their parents, running through fields, playing with toys, and being tucked into bed—you were taught to wield a knife before you could even walk. No day was ever spent in your mother’s arms, no warmth, no comfort. You were trained to kill before you were old enough to understand love. I remember you running wild in fields, trying to catch butterflies, only to be punished and forced to kneel in the snow when you failed. Your mother said it was for speed, but I know it was more than that. She was shaping you for something greater.”
He took a breath, and the weight of his words settled over Blade like a heavy fog. “When you came to me, it wasn’t just for training. It was for survival. And no one in the Citadel ever saw the sacrifices you made—those endless days spent learning to kill, to endure. No one saw the fevered nights you spent after training, or the pain you pushed through to become who you are.”
Blade said nothing, his face a mask of stoicism, but his father’s words continued, like the toll of a bell. “I know people see it as favoritism to make my godson the head of all assassins. But they don’t see the full picture. They don’t see the years of sacrifice, the years of being forged into something that can be broken so easily. The Black Robe—that title—is a shackle, not a reward. It makes you a target, Blade. It paints a bullseye on your back. Every time you make a mistake, your life is at risk. And as your father, I will do anything, even destroy your weaknesses, to make sure you survive—even if that weakness is me.”
He paused, his eyes locking with Blade’s, searching for some sign of understanding. “That’s why I punish you. That’s why I insist on patience, on composure. Even when your world is spinning, you must hold still. Don’t give your enemies a reason to strike. Do you understand now?”
Blade exhaled, the weight of his father’s words pressing down on him. After a long moment, he nodded, his voice steady. “Yes, Father.”
A brief smile tugged at his father’s lips, and he stood, his movements deliberate. “You asked how long this mission would take. I’ve been given an order to eliminate the Master of the Scarlett Blades. Our rivals, the only all-female order to oppose us, and I’m tasked with ending their leader’s life. You might think it’s too much, but—”
“You’re going after their leader? Isn’t that too much?” Blade interrupted, concern slipping through his usually controlled tone.
His father raised an eyebrow, his voice a bit sharper. “I just told you, Blade—stay calm. Was I talking to a wall?”
Blade hesitated, then said, “Father, this mission—it’s too heavy for you.”
His father let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Sometimes I don’t know whether I should be touched by your concern or offended by your doubts. Am I really that old to you?” He shot Blade a teasing glance, though the edge of seriousness remained.
“No, Father, I just—”
“I’m not stupid, Blade,” his father interrupted, his voice low but firm. “I know exactly what I’m doing.” He shouldered his bag, the weight of the poisoned needles and weapons evident in his stride. “I could be gone for a year, or maybe just three months. I don’t know. But I don’t want you causing trouble while I’m away.”
He looked over at Blade with a rare softness. “You’ll have plenty of time. I’ve got some books for you to read—things to occupy your mind. When I get back, you can tell me what you’ve learned.”
He placed a hand on Blade’s shoulder before heading toward the door. Blade moved to stop him, grabbing his father’s hand gently.
“Don’t say goodbye, Blade,” his father murmured, his voice soft with unspoken meaning.
“I know,” Blade replied, his grip tightening slightly before he released it. “Just… bring a pack of sodas when you return.”
His father stopped, studying him for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. He reached out and pulled Blade into an embrace, his voice a quiet murmur. “Stay safe.”
Blade stood there, watching his father walk away, the familiar figure growing smaller until all that remained were the swaying plants. He didn’t look away until his father had vanished from sight, the finality of it hanging in the air like the last breath before the storm.
