The figure dropped the hood fully. Silver hair glinted under the moon, eyes sharp and commanding. He looked at the pack, at the relics, and finally at me.
“My son.” He said.
My heart froze. I stared at him, trying to process the words. My father’s voice was steady, but the meaning behind them hit me like a punch.
“My son?”
I turned to Eryx, searching for answers. He looked older tonight, lines of worry etched deep into his face. “I… I thought he was gone.” Eryx whispered, almost to himself. “I thought… I was too late. But he survived.”
The figure stepped forward, fully into the moonlight. His silver hair caught the pale light, and his eyes were sharp, piercing. Taller, broader, older than me. He carried himself like he belonged in command, like he had been surviving and learning for y
