"Meredith, Richard. You are back home!" Margaret's voice trembled slightly as she emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray laden with tea and biscuits, eyes shining with relief.
The faint scent of freshly baked scones filled the room, mingling with the lavender she always favoured.
Richard allowed himself a brief smile as Meredith hugged their mother. His gaze lingered, drinking in the sight of his family together.
"Yes, Mum," Meredith murmured softly, squeezing Margaret once more before releasing her. "I took good care of him."
Richard shook his head with fond exasperation.
Andrew entered from the hallway, nodding firmly at his son in quiet acknowledgment. "I see the two of you haven't changed a bit. Still inseparable."
Meredith cast Richard a teasing look. "Oh, I don't know, Dad. He might look the same, but I've definitely become the older, wiser sibling in the meantime."
Their father chuckled, though it sounded somewhat hollow. "It's good to see you two together again. It's been far too long."
Margaret nodded, squeezing Richard's hand gently. "Far too long," she echoed softly, her eyes dampening again as she regarded her son. "I've prepared lunch. Richard, I made your favourite—cottage pie."
Richard felt warmth spread in his chest. "Thanks, Mum. You didn't have to—"
She cut him off with a gentle but firm wave of her hand. "Nonsense. You're home. That's reason enough to celebrate."
As they settled around the table, Meredith leaned toward Richard, keeping her voice low. "We need to talk more later, privately. There's still a lot you don't know about the Association, and… other things. And I think there's an introductory class for the Mage Guild in a week, so you won't have to wait too long before… starting your hero path again."
Richard gave her a slight nod, feeling a prickle of unease at her tone. She's all grown up… he thought, watching her eyes, which carried a familiar intensity he recognised all too well—a resolve that mirrored his own.
"What are you two whispering about?" Margaret asked gently, ladling hearty stew into bowls and placing one in front of each family member.
Richard exchanged a quick glance with his sister before answering smoothly, "Just catching up on lost time."
Andrew raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced, but chose not to press further. Instead, he raised his glass. "To having both our children home safe."
Richard nodded solemnly, lifting his glass. "To family."
The words echoed around the small dining room, each member silently acknowledging the fragility of the moment.
After dinner, Richard found himself alone with his father in the small study, the familiar scent of books and worn leather chairs wrapping around him like a comforting embrace.
Andrew regarded him with quiet seriousness. "I won't pretend I'm not worried, son. The Association—" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "They don't take kindly to things not going their way, and from what I see—your whispering with Meredith—I take it you'll go back, won't you?"
No one can keep a secret in this family, can they? Richard thought fondly. It was ironic how his parents and sister all tried to hide things from each other to avoid causing worry, yet they each failed without realising it.
Richard's eyes hardened, his voice quiet but resolute. "I have no choice. Someone inside the Association betrayed me. I have to find out what happened that night."
His father sighed, running a weary hand through greying hair. "Just promise me you'll be careful. Losing you once was bad enough. I don't think your mother and I can take it again. The shock—"
Richard reached out, gripping his father's shoulder firmly. "I promise. But I need to do this—for myself. I won't be able to keep living otherwise."
Andrew nodded solemnly, resignation and pride mingling in his gaze. "Then get ready and do it right. If you're going to step into the light again, the world will notice."
"I know, Dad. That's what I'm trying to do, and with Meredith there to help me out. It'll work. She's grown capable."
"She's just like you, you know. Going around under a mask, calling herself Astrid, and saving people. Gosh, you've both grown up," Andrew said, closing his eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if I did right by you, letting you follow these dangerous paths."
Richard smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You did exactly right, Dad. You taught us to stand up for what we believe in."
His father's snort surprised him. "Did I, though? Give a man a cause he deems righteous, and he'll fight like a demigod. Isn't that what happened? Weren't you being controlled by the masses and the Association? Sure, it was all done in the name of chivalry and nobility—but the results were the same."
Richard felt anger rising in his chest. Controlled? Everything I've done has been my own choice. I have free will, just like everyone else. Yet even as the thoughts formed, his arguments felt hollow, and his anger faded as quickly as it had flared.
"Maybe you're right, Dad. Bloody hell, if I've fallen for this once, how can I be sure that it won't happen again? What do I do?"
Andrew leaned forward, his expression softening. "You listen to your heart, but keep your head clear. Question everything—even your own motives—and find a cause that's righteous for you, not someone else. Don't let revenge consume you, or you'll remain as dead as you've been these past ten years."
Richard sat in silence for a long time, letting his father's words sink in. The weight of truth in them was undeniable, yet somehow liberating.
When he finally lifted his head from his reverie, he found himself alone in the room.
Huh. When did Dad leave?