Chapter 23: Asmon’s Departure
Lukas got dressed quickly, with the help of a maid who entered his room shortly afterward, and ran down the stairs, his bare feet tapping against the stone steps. Tilbo was perched on his shoulder, holding on tightly.
In the inner courtyard, the family was already gathered.
Aurora looked pale, her violet eyes glistening with unshed tears, though she maintained a calm expression. She held Judite’s hands, while the little girl seemed unable to fully understand what was happening.
Clavor stood beside the carriage, speaking quietly with the coachman, adjusting the final details of the journey.
And Asmon...
Asmon looked different.
The fifteen-year-old boy now resembled a young man, taller than when Lukas had been born, with broader shoulders and a more defined jawline. He wore a dark leather tunic over a linen shirt, sturdy high boots, and a navy-blue cloak embroidered with the family crest on the shoulders. His favorite sword hung at his waist, not the training sword he used during practice with Clavor, but a real blade, sharpened and battle-ready, with a wrapped grip.
He was leaving.
Lukas felt a tightness in his chest.
’He’s going away.’
"Asmon!" Lukas called, running toward his brother.
Asmon turned around, and the serious, composed expression he had worn moments earlier immediately broke into a smile when he saw his younger brother.
"Hey, little prodigy," he said, crouching down to Lukas’s height.
"You’re up early."
"You’re traveling?" Lukas asked, ignoring the comment.
"Where to?"
"To the Royal Academy of Rhyne," Asmon replied, pride and anxiety mingling in his voice.
"I’m going to study there. Train. Become a real knight."
Lukas already knew this was coming. He had overheard Clavor and Aurora discussing it for weeks. The Royal Academy of Rhyne was the finest military academy in the kingdom, and Asmon had passed the entrance examinations with exceptional scores.
Knowing it, however, did not make the farewell any easier.
"How long?" Lukas asked.
"The course lasts three years. But I’ll come back during breaks whenever I can. I promise."
Three years.
Lukas did the math mentally. When Asmon returned, he would be... three years old. Almost four.
An entire lifetime in this world.
"I’m going to miss you," Lukas said, surprising himself when he realized he was not lying.
Asmon laughed, a rough, slightly shaky laugh, and ruffled Lukas’s white hair with his large hand.
"You know you’re weird, right?"
"I’m special," Lukas replied, repeating the phrase he always used.
"Yeah. You really are." Asmon looked directly into his brother’s eyes, and his expression became serious.
"Listen, Lukas. I know you’re not a normal baby. I know you’re smart, smarter than I was at your age, probably. And I know you don’t want to become a swordsman."
Lukas opened his mouth to answer, but Asmon raised a hand.
"You don’t have to deny it. I can tell. When I talk about swords, your eyes glaze over. When I talk about animals... that’s when you pay attention."
Lukas closed his mouth.
"But listen," Asmon continued, his voice lower now, almost a whisper.
"In this world, you need to know how to fight if you want to survive. I’m not saying you have to become a warrior. I’m saying you need to learn the basics. To protect yourself. To protect the people you love."
He placed a hand on Lukas’s shoulder.
"You have a strength inside you that I’ve never seen in anyone. Don’t waste it."
Lukas looked at his older brother, at the face that had become familiar, at the eyes that always lit up whenever he talked about battles and honor, and nodded.
"I’ll learn," he said.
"I promise."
Asmon smiled.
"That’s what I wanted to hear."
Aurora was the first to say her official goodbye.
She approached Asmon with slow steps, lifting her skirts so she would not trip. Her violet eyes shimmered with tears she refused to shed, and her lips trembled slightly.
"My son," she said, her voice faltering.
"Mother..." Asmon sighed, but he did not resist when she wrapped him in a tight embrace.
Aurora held her son against her chest as though he might disappear. Her fingers dug into his navy-blue cloak, and she whispered words that Lukas could not hear, prayers, most likely. Blessings. Things only a mother could say.
"Take care of yourself, my son," she said at last, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes.
"Write often. At least once every two months. Don’t leave me worrying."
"I’ll write, Mother. I promise."
"Eat properly. You need to take care of yourself."
"I will."
"Don’t get involved in unnecessary fights."
"Mother..."
"Don’t interrupt me." Aurora raised a finger, and Asmon immediately fell silent.
"Don’t get involved in unnecessary fights. But if you must fight, win. We are Dmonds."
Asmon laughed.
"Yes, ma’am."
She kissed his forehead, his cheeks, and then his forehead again before finally letting him go.
Judite was next.
The four-year-old, or almost five-year-old, Lukas wasn’t entirely sure, ran toward her brother and leaped into his arms without warning, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.
"You can’t go!" she cried, her voice cracking.
"You’re not leaving! I won’t let you!"
"Judite..." Asmon held her carefully with one arm while using the other to stroke her brown hair.
"I have to go. It’s to become stronger. To protect the family."
"But I’m going to miss you!" Judite’s eyes were filled with tears, and her voice trembled.
"A lot!"
"I’m going to miss you too. A lot." Asmon hugged his sister tightly against his chest.
"But I’ll come back. I promise. And when I do, I’ll bring you a gift. The prettiest one in the capital."
Judite sniffled, still clinging to his neck.
"The prettiest one for real?"
"The prettiest one for real."
"You swear?"
"I swear on the Dmond name."
Judite seemed satisfied with that answer. She slipped out of his embrace and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to recover her dignity.
"Okay. You can go. But come back soon."
Clavor approached last.
Father and son stared at each other for a long moment. There was no immediate embrace, no emotional speech. Just a look, silent recognition between two warriors.
Clavor placed his large hand on Asmon’s shoulder.
The hand that had wielded swords in battle. The hand that had killed and protected. The hand that had built and destroyed.
"Make the Dmond name shine there," Clavor said, his deep voice heavy with pride.
"Train hard. Learn everything you can. Listen to your instructors, but don’t trust them blindly. Question them. Think for yourself."
"Yes, Father."
"And come back stronger. Not for me. For yourself."
"Yes, Father."
Clavor nodded once.
Then he pulled his son into a brief embrace, the kind that lasted only a second but conveyed more than words ever could.
When they separated, Clavor’s eyes were shining.
Only a little.
Finally, Asmon turned toward Lukas.
The nine-month-old boy stood quietly, holding onto the hem of Aurora’s skirt, observing everything with calm, attentive violet eyes. Tilbo rested on his shoulder, her antennae slowly twitching.
