It was a good day. For breakfast, they even ate his favorite dish, roasted duck with potatoes.
After that, his cousins were taken by their respective teachers -for Bertrand’s absolute misery. Having completed his education some months ago, Morgan was free to spend the evening with his favorite hobby: Sword training.
In various cities melee weapons like swords were starting to be considered archaic thanks to the recent spread of fire weapons, but in small towns like Onder, such simpler weapons were still the norm, which Morgan appreciated greatly.
To fight for your honor and the life of innocents with just your bravery and the forged iron between your hands. As childish as it could be, a part of him was just enamored with that concept.
Morgan hit the target-dummy with all his might, shifting his movements to dodge as he pictured his imaginary opponent striking back. By the time he finished, he was exhausted. He breathed with difficulty and his muscles ached, and yet, he felt a great sense of accomplishment.
“Looks like your technique has gotten really strong, young Morgan,” commented one of the guards.
“Huh? I wouldn’t say that.” Well, he was objectively stronger than most people his age, but still inexperienced in actual combat. Though thinking about it made him feel embarrassed. “I’m just decent.”
“Whatever you say, kid. I know talent when I see it. Just don’t take our jobs from us, okay?” said another guard, while chucking.
He smiled back at them, feeling even more awkward. He didn’t know how to take compliments.
As he set his equipment aside, a young maid approached. "Young Morgan, sorry to bother you but Mayor Basthed requires you in his study."
Morgan blinked with curiosity. "Did he mention why...?"
"Sorry.” She bowed in apology. ”It seemed important, though."
"Ah. I see.” He smiled. ”Thanks, Mary." The girl seemed surprised he knew her name. He couldn’t see why, the minimum he could do for the people that worked so arduously for the family was to be kind and respectful to them.
Looking embarrassed, the girl bowed and continued on her way.
There were only two places where his uncle spent enough time to call them his studies. The Light Tower was one of them, but it was more probable Mary meant the single room at the castle’s top floor. From there, his uncle took care of his duties as Onder’s mayor.
He rushed up the stairs, not wanting to make him wait, and knocked at the door.
"Come in."
When Morgan stepped inside, the blond man by the desk smiled kindly. He was Sigmund Basthed, also known as the Spell-Bringer. His wife and Morgan’s aunt, Seras, stood beside him.
"Uncle. Aunt." Morgan gave them a nod. He acted rather stiff around them. Not like they weren’t friendly or anything, he simply felt self-conscious while dealing with adults, after his mother had drilled into him to be as respectful as he could with his seniors.
“Come on, nephew, you can sit down,” said Sigmund.
Seras added, “Indeed. You look quite tired, Morgan. Just back from training, I would assume.”
“S-sorry.” He must have looked like a sweaty mess.
"It’s okay, I’m already used to you being as absorbed in your sword-training as my dear older brother," she said in fond exasperation.
Morgan gave her a small smile; being compared to his father was always a great honor.
"A letter arrived for you, Morgan." The man extended it to him. A white envelope with a fierce-looking red bird painted over it.
It was the Selbair’s family sigil, the one that gained Morgan’s father the moniker of Blood-Hawk.
As Morgan grabbed it, he noticed a similar-looking one over his uncle's desk.
In that instant, Morgan instinctively understood the situation. With slightly trembling hands, in both excitement and nervousness, he took out the message and read it.
'To my second son, Morgan,
the time finally arrived for you to return home and take your place beside your brother.
By the moment you receive this letter, we should be a few days of travel from Onder.
We’ll stay for the New Year and your 17th birthday. Then we shall return to Rover, so you can put your sword back to where it always belonged.
From your father, Elvran Selbair. Lord of Rover.'
Morgan’s life changed for the first time when he was only eleven years old.
"You are my second son. You won't be my heir, but you will grow to be a strong man that protects his family." Despite how young he was, Morgan absorbed each of Elvran’s words. “Join the Basthed, grow strong, and be their sword. Show them the strength of a member of our family." With those words, the severe but just man sent him away from his homeland to live with his relatives.
While not strangers, Morgan had expected some awkwardness from his relatives, but instead, the Basthed received him with arms open, and soon enough he started to see them as a second family.
Now, faced with the knowledge he would be reunited with his two families, just to be separated from one of them once again, it left him feeling lost. He could do nothing but to imprint all those precious memories he had gained on his soul.
No better place to start than from atop his favorite place in Onder, the watchtower. A colossal mountain stood at the building’s back and a deep river cut across its front, so you could only get to it through the bridge that crossed over the watercourse.
It was so far away from everything else in Onder that nobody bothered to approach, guarantying his privacy.
Beautiful, even at night; Onder was a modest place, unlike the big and intimidating city of Rover. Maybe because of that, Morgan found it more homely.
He was going to miss it.
"You can be obnoxiously dramatic sometimes, Morg," said Bertrand all of the sudden. So distracted he was, he didn’t notice Bertrand approaching.
Sighing, he looked at him from over his shoulders. "I don't know what you mean. I just wanted some time alone."
"Right," said Bertrand. "And instead of staying in your room, you came here.”
“I like tall places, Bertrand; you already know that.”
“I do. And of course, this doesn't have anything to do with the fact your family is visiting and you will be leaving with them."
Morgan’s eyes widened. "How do you know...? Did uncle Sigmund or aunt Seras tell you?"
"Not exactly. I overheard you talking," he said, showing no shame about violating his privacy at all.
"How?" He didn’t see him around. Actually, Bertrand was supposed to be busy with his classes at the time. And escaping their tutors wasn’t an easy task.
"I have my ways." Ignoring his glare, Bertrand shrugged. "Sorry, but it's a secret I intend to keep. You should be mad at your folks, not at me." Bertrand walked to his side. "They must have guts to want to take you away from us just after the new year and your birthday!"
"You are saying it as if they were going to kidnap me." Bertrand shrugged. He sighed. "Did you tell Cailin?"
"What? Telling Cai her favorite honorary brother is going away? Obviously not. If I had, she would be here right now, bawling her eyes out... She will be royalty mad when she hears about it."
A small smile inched on Morgan's face.
"You know? You could always tell them you want to keep on living with us. You know dad and mom would accept you."
Morgan was shocked at Bertrand’s words. "You assume I don’t want to leave...”
“Do you?” Bertrand asked seriously.
He missed his family, whom he hadn’t seen since about a year ago, because of how busy they were and how distant both his hometown and Onder were from each other. And of course, while he kinda preferred the latter, he was still born in Rover, so he missed it too.
At the same time, though, he almost couldn’t imagine himself not being in Onder. Not following his usual routine, nor sharing time with his cousins, and his uncle and aunt.
‘If I could divide myself in two, I would do it.’ Instead, he just said, “I wonder...”
They remained silent, looking at the starred sky.
"Hey, want to shoot some arrows?" said Bertrand.
Morgan stared at him, curious about the sudden change of topic. "You always beat me." He didn't mean to sound bitter but it was a known fact he wasn't made to use a bow.
"And? You always get me when we use swords. Now it's time for my revenge!" His cousin smirked.
"Fine."
They made it to the shooting range and grabbed a bow and quiver each.
"Okay, as the archery champion," Bertrand gestured at himself, "yours truly will shoot first."
"If you say so." Morgan shrugged. First or second, he was going to lose anyway.
His cousin made a disgruntled face but said nothing. With a swift movement, he equipped the arrow and lifted his bow.
Morgan admired this side of Bertrand. His cousin could be a goofy boy most of the time, but you gave him a bow and he transformed into a skilled archer. It would be great if he were just that serious and dedicated all the time.
Taking three seconds in total silence to aim, Bertrand shot the arrow, hitting the bullseye.
"You hit the center, as always." It didn't even surprise Morgan anymore.
"It's not that hard, you just need practice," the younger boy tried to sound modest but failed.
"Practice I don't have."
"Not my fault. Now it's your turn."
Morgan equipped the arrow with difficulty and shoot it. It hit the target post.
"Hmm. At that height, if that were a real person you would have hit their groin, not sure if that's amazing or awful."
He cringed. "Definitely awful."
"Come on," Bertrand patted his back, "don't give up so fast!"
He nodded and kept going, even if only to indulge his cousin.
They continued for half an hour. Bertrand succeeded every time while Morgan didn't get even close once.
After a while, it became a bit annoying.
"Can we stop? We both know that I'll never be a decent archer."
"And what would you do if a strong enemy were approaching and your only weapon was a bow?"
"I'd die?"
"Exactly! So hear me, just calm your breathing, visualize yourself as the arrow hitting the center, and when you feel ready, let it go."
Morgan tried again, but then a weird thought invaded his mind, ‘to be the arrow, it means going forward no matter what‘.
His family and the Basthed, he loved them both. Because of that, he felt the same way he did when he arrived at Onder for the first time. He childishly thought he would never see his family ever again. But not only did they visit numerous times during the last five years, soon he would return with them to his homeland.
He had said goodbye, but it has been just something temporary, and it was the same this time. Even if he left Onder and the Basthed, one day he would return and greet them one more time.
The arrow he shot failed just like the previous ones.
"Wow. That one was worse than before." Bertrand was stupefied. "Did you try as I said?"
"I did." He smiled softly.
"Um. Do you feel better, then?"
"Actually, yes. I do. Thanks, Bert."
"Aw, after six years living in the same place you are finally calling me by my nickname. I'm so proud of you!"
Morgan snorted, hiding his embarrassment, and put the bow and quiver in their place. “You know, my family will surely come accompanied by a group of soldiers, maybe they could let you try one of their muskets.”
“Nah, those things are bloody noisy. Bows are much better.” Bertrand made a face which made Morgan chuckle.
Once in his bedroom, it took him a while to fall asleep, thinking constantly about his family.
‘It’s fine. Everything will be alright.’
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
