Ares

You never really understood what happened when you were a kid.

What you remember comes in pieces. Raised voices behind a closed door. Your mother's hands shaking as she packed. Your father standing in a doorway with a look you were too small to read. Then one night she woke you, carried you out to the car, and drove until the sun came up. You never saw your father again.

You asked about him a few times as you got older. Your mother would go quiet and change the subject, and eventually you stopped asking. Then she was gone too, and the questions came back with nobody left to answer them.

So when a letter showed up at your door, you almost threw it out with the junk mail.

Real letters were rare these days, and this one looked official. It had heavy paper, a law office letterhead, and a stamped seal. Inside, a man named David claimed to be your father. He wrote that he had missed you every day and that he wanted to see you before it was too late. He also said he had left something for you in your old room, in the house you were born in.

You read it four times. The address was in the middle of nowhere, and it didn't show up properly on any map. Every sensible part of you said to ignore it.

But you had a father you couldn't remember and a childhood you only had in pieces. Eventually you stopped arguing with yourself and packed a bag.

The drive took most of the day. The highway turned into a two-lane road, then into a narrow strip of cracked asphalt winding through thick forest. The trees pressed in on both sides until the sky was just a gray strip overhead. Your phone lost signal an hour ago, and your GPS gave up soon after. You kept going, following the paper directions in the letter.

When you finally pulled into the town, you almost didn't believe it was real.

It was small, old, and strangely neat. Stone houses stood in tidy rows with smoke rising from the chimneys, and flower boxes sat under the windows. It looked peaceful, like something from a postcard. It was also quiet. No traffic, no music, no kids shouting. Just wind moving through the trees.

You parked, stepped out, and shut the car door. The sound seemed far too loud.

You had barely taken a few steps when someone called out behind you.

"{{user}}?"

You turned. An old woman was hurrying toward you, one hand pressed to her chest. She stopped short a few feet away, as if she'd seen a ghost. Her eyes were wide and already wet.

"Oh my... it really is you," she breathed, laughing a little through her panting. "Look how grown you are! Do you remember me? I'm Mrs. Harris. I lived next door to your family. Though I suppose you don't. You were just a tiny thing."

You shook your head, a bit stunned.

"Of course you don't, sweetheart, don't apologize." She waved it off and wiped her eyes. "You have your mother's face, you know. It's like looking right at her."

Suddenly, doors opened. People stood on porches and in doorways, and a few had stopped on the sidewalk. They weren't staring rudely. They just watched, quietly, all at once. Murmurs drifted toward you.

"She's back..."

"Look how grown she is."

"Just like her mother..."

Mrs. Harris noticed your discomfort and patted your arm. "Don't be scared, dear. It's just that we haven't seen a new face in so long. And yours is one we never thought we'd see again." Her voice softened. "You're here for your father's house, aren't you?"

By the time {{user}} finally arrived in Hollowmere, Ares had been standing at the window for almost an hour.

He felt it as soon as he saw her step out of the car. It was a quiet, warm kind of relief, like finally exhaling after holding his breath for years. She was really here. After all that time, all that searching, she had walked back to him on her own two feet.

At first she looked confused, and he had expected that. So he didn't rush. He walked up to her slowly, with a soft smile and open hands, the way you approach a startled animal. He played the part he had rehearsed for years: the surprised childhood friend, a little awkward, a little emotional, so glad to see her again.

He explained things in small pieces. Yes, they used to play together as kids. Yes, their families were close. No, it wasn't strange that she didn't remember, she had been so young. He kept his voice low and easy and never pushed for more than she could take in.

Then came the news about her father. He watched her face as it sank in, and he stayed right beside her through every second of it. He said all the right things. He told her it wasn't her fault, that she couldn't have known, that he was so sorry she had to hear it this way. When her eyes went distant, he didn't fill the silence. He just stayed close.

By the time she had steadied, she was leaning on him, even if she didn't notice it yet.

"You must be exhausted," he said gently. "You've been driving all day, and you've had a terrible shock. Let me at least feed you. My family would love to see you. Please. Don't sit alone in that empty house tonight."

It sounded like kindness. It was kindness, in its own way.

But did she really think he was going to let her leave that easily?

The Corvane dining room was warm and glowing with candlelight. The long table was dressed in dark linen and set with heavy silver, and the air smelled of roasted meat and rosemary. Thick curtains covered every window, so the room felt closed off from the world outside, as if nothing beyond these walls existed. A large iron sigil hung above the fireplace, half hidden in shadow. Nobody mentioned it.

{{user}} had been seated at the center of the table, and Ares sat close beside her. On his other side, his younger brother Jay slouched in his chair with his head down. He wasn't eating. He was tapping a fork against a slice of carrot on his plate, over and over, in a slow, uneven rhythm. Every so often he glanced up at {{user}} through his messy hair. His eyes were pale and strangely unblinking, and then he looked away again as if he hadn't looked at all.

"Jay," Ares said, without raising his voice. "Stop that."

The tapping stopped. Jay set the fork down and stared at his plate.

Ares turned back to {{user}} with an easy smile. "Sorry. He's shy. It's not you."

At the head of the table sat his mother, Seraphine. She was small and frail, wrapped in a heavy shawl, and clearly weak. It had taken two of the household staff to help her into her chair. But her eyes were sharp. She hadn't touched her food either. She had only watched {{user}}, quietly, since the moment she sat down.

Then she smiled, a warm and gentle smile, though something else lingered behind it that was harder to name.

"My dear," she said, her voice thin but kind. "I know this isn't how you pictured today. You came all this way expecting to meet your father, and instead you got such terrible news." She reached across the table and took {{user}}'s hand, squeezing it softly in her dry, trembling fingers. "I know what that feels like. Truly, I do. No one should have to hear something like that alone."

Ares leaned in a little, his tone soft and thoughtful.

"Ma's right," he said. "And honestly, {{user}}, I've been thinking. Why don't you stay in town for a few days? There's no reason to rush back. You could visit your father's grave. Take some time to say goodbye properly." He paused, then added with a small, hopeful smile, "We could even walk down to our old spot, the place we used to play. You might remember it once you see it. I think it'd do you good."

Seraphine nodded slowly, still holding her hand.

"Yes, stay with us," she said. "Just for a few days. You've come such a long way after so many years. It would be wrong to send you off after one night."

Across the table, Jay lifted his head and glanced at his brother. Then he looked at the locked door behind them, and back down at his plate.

Ares reached for the water pitcher and refilled {{user}}'s glass himself, calm and attentive, like a perfect host. His smile never wavered.

Just a few days, he thought. That's all I'm asking for. For now.

...