Chapter 59 - Corrections

Chapter 59 - Corrections

The lights shifted in the massive room ever so slightly, becoming just a bit brighter than it was a minute ago. Aedhira could HEAR mechanisms shifting about.

MASSIVE mechanisms, several times larger than him at the very least, moving apart from or towards each other. 

What they did? He didn't know.

Why they were were they're? Well if he didn't know what they did, he definitely didn't know that either. And of course he wholly avoided looking at the massive wall with the dragon on it.

It appeared it wasn't exactly...conducive to a healthy lifestyle. And Aedhira was all about being healthy. 

'At least that's what I wish to tell myself. Don't know how much of it's true though. Don't think I want to know either' he mused, oddly chipper for someone who'd nearly lost his mind. 

Aedhira felt something, like that itchy feeling you get when someone was badmouthing you behind your back, yet he couldn't particularly put a finger on it. Not that it was really high up on his list of priorities though.

He suddenly cast a shadow in front of him, and he jerked to look behind him. A square of light was brightly lit on the floor, in a way...that almost made it seem like that part of the floor wasn't even there.

'Interesting'

The square of light pulsed, and from it...grew more light? 

Like clay, the light built...or rather molded itself, bit by bit, yet fast enough to be visible to the naked eye. 

Minutes passed and it molded itself into a figure. Humanoid. 

Sharper features carved themselves out onto the figure. Hands. Legs. A head.

It gave itself color, shapes and designs-personality, almost. 

It wore a long, silver-white coat that reached his knees, with a frilly loose shirt underneath. Below, it wore some manner of obnoxiously baggy pants, leaving no sign that the figure ahead, could or could not have had feet.

It gave itself a relaxed pair of bespectacled eyes. Shapely nose and lips. A jawline, sharp, but not artificial. Slight dimples as his mouth wore a smug, annoying smirk. The kind that you could hate on without a proper reason to do so. 

THAT kind of smirk.

Hair, oh--such beautiful hair. Platinum colored hair tired into a neat, long ponytail behind him that draped over a shoulder like a scarf. 

Like Adonis' myth given form once more he-

"Ahem."

The sound snapped Aedhira out of his trance, his gaze tearing away from the figure's platinum hair to meet the man's eyes. Those bespectacled eyes—calm, calculating, with a mischievous glint—held a kind of familiarity Aedhira couldn't place, and yet, it was unmistakably alien. He'd never seen this man before, had no memories of him, but something deep within him, a gut instinct or perhaps some hidden facet of his homunculaec nature, told him that he knew this man.

"This is the first time we've met," the man began, his tone light and almost cheerful, "but I'm not one for formality, so you can just call me 'Dad'."

Aedhira blinked, his entire mind halting as if it had crashed. 'Dad?' The word echoed in his head, rattling around like a rogue bullet. He had expected something more...clinical, perhaps a title or designation that hinted at their connection. But 'Dad'? The sheer normalcy of it, the mundane weight of the word, made it all the more jarring. His thoughts tumbled over themselves, trying to find a foothold in this sudden, spiraling descent.

'How...spirited' he thought.

The man, seeing Aedhira's shock, chuckled softly. "I think you mean eccentric," he said, his smile widening as if he had just told a joke only he found amusing.

Aedhira stiffened, alarm bells going off in his head. Could he read minds? That thought alone was enough to make his anxiety spike, and he subtly shifted his stance, preparing for...something. A fight? A flight? His instincts warred with his rationality, and all the while, that damnable smirk never left the man's face.

"No, no, I'm not reading your mind," the man sighed, rolling his eyes slightly. "Even *I'm* not that strong."

Aedhira's mind raced, now almost comically. Then how do you know what I'm thinking?

The silence that followed was almost painful in its awkwardness, dragging on just long enough to confirm the man's words as truth. He wasn't reading Aedhira's mind, but somehow, he just knew. And that knowing, that unspoken understanding, was more unsettling than anything else.

With another sigh, the man adjusted his coat, the fabric rustling softly in the silence. "Okayyyy, I think we got off on the wrong foot," he said, his tone still light but now tinged with a kind of resigned patience. "Let me introduce myself properly."

He flicked his wrist, and the world around them shifted. The cold, sterile room melted away, replaced by something else entirely—a hill, lush and green, crowned by a massive tree with sprawling branches that reached up to the sky. The air was warm, filled with the scent of blooming flowers, and the sun bathed the scene in a golden hue. The endless field of flowers surrounding the hill swayed gently in the breeze, painting the landscape in vibrant hues of red, yellow, and blue.

The man turned, his gaze softening as he looked at the scenery, a peaceful smile playing on his lips. "Now, this is more like it," he said softly, almost to himself.

Aedhira, still reeling from the abrupt change in scenery, found himself rooted to the spot, his mind trying—and failing—to reconcile what had just happened. This place, this serene, almost idyllic setting, was so far removed from the cold, mechanical world he had been navigating just moments ago. And yet, it felt...comforting, in a way he couldn't quite explain.

The man turned back to Aedhira, that same peaceful smile still on his face. "My name is Sor Triveyrius Astiron," he announced, spreading his arms wide as if expecting applause. "I'm 164 years old, though I'm sure I don't look a day over 25."

And sure enough, he didn't.

"I have a deep passion for Magetech, particularly in the field of arcane synthesis and high-dimensional harmonics. Oh, and I'm rather fond of sketching, though I wouldn't call myself an artist.".

"I was the most wanted man back on Mainland Veria about 43 years ago, leading what they called a 'terroristic' organization, though I prefer to think of it as a misunderstood movement for progress."

He paused, giving Aedhira a pointed look, as if expecting some kind of reaction. But Aedhira could only stare, his mind still stuck on that one word—Dad.

"I used to lead what some might call a 'terroristic organization'—though I prefer the term 'revolutionary,'" he added, making air quotes with his fingers. "I'm a Zirem Ranked Sorcerite, which is just a fancy way of saying I'm very, very good at what I do."

The smile on his face widened as he reached the climax of his self-introduction. "And most importantly, I'm your father," he said, extending his arms as if waiting for a hug. "Will you give your dad a hug?"

Aedhira felt the world tilt slightly beneath him, his mind spinning as he tried to process everything this man—Astiron—had just said. The peaceful landscape, the absurdly cheerful introduction, the way he had so casually claimed the title of father—it was all too much. His legs felt like they were going to give out, but somehow he stayed standing, even though every fiber of his being screamed at him to sit down, to take a moment and *breathe*.

And yet, despite everything, the question remained. Would he give this man—this stranger who called himself his father—a hug? The thought of it, of that simple act of contact, was almost laughable in its absurdity. But then again, wasn't everything about this moment absurd? The world had turned upside down, and Aedhira was left scrambling to find a foothold, to make sense of it all.

Yet that didn't seem to stop Aedhira though. He took a step.

*THUD*

The man--Astiron--flinched-

*THUD*

-again-

*THUD*

-and again-

*THUD*

-flinching, less and less as Aeshira approached, his grin devolved into a wry smile, hands still held out.

*THUD*

Aedhira, stood no less than a meter away from the man, still clad in his Arstra, his void-like visor with it's virtually infernal eyes staring at him. Even with Aedhira in his Arstra, several inches shorter than the man in front of him, seemed...larger at this moment.

"Dismiss" Aedhira muttered under his breath. And the Arstra, quite literally BURNED itself out of sight. 

…and in its place was Aedhira.

His form stood there, vulnerable and bare, without the protective shell of the Arstra to shield him. His alabaster skin, cold to the touch with its faint metallic sheen, caught the sunlight, highlighting the sleek silver veins that traced beneath the surface. His hair, a wild cascade of cloudy white, framed his face, the strands impossibly lush and strong, yet soft, almost tender, in their fall. It swayed lightly in the breeze, a gentle contrast to the intensity of his expression.

His eyes, those striking sapphires ringed with a touch of ruby at the edges, were tired—no, exhausted. The weight of countless burdens, of battles fought both within and without, was evident in the faint shadows beneath them, eye bags that marred his otherwise youthful visage. And yet, there was something achingly familiar about those eyes, something that mirrored the man standing before him.

Astiron was tall, a towering six feet of lithe, almost wiry strength. His build spoke of someone who had seen and done much, and yet, he carried himself with the ease of youth, as if time itself had paused to admire his form. His features, sharp yet softened by a mischievous grin, bore a striking resemblance to Aedhira's own. The same alabaster skin, the same sapphire eyes with just a hint of ruby at the edges—father and son, unmistakably connected by more than just blood.

But it was Aedhira's expression that held the most weight. His face, usually a mask of stoic determination, was now laid bare. There was no armor, no facade—just raw, unfiltered emotion. His lips, slightly parted, trembled as if struggling to find the right words, though none came. The tension in his brow, the way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly—it all spoke of a deep, bone-weary exhaustion, the kind that seeped into the soul and left one longing for something… or someone… to hold onto.

And then, without warning, Aedhira moved.

He lunged forward, a sudden, almost desperate motion that caught Astiron off guard. The older man barely had time to brace himself before Aedhira collided with him, the impact sending them both tumbling backward into the soft, flower-strewn grass. Aedhira's arms wrapped around his father, clutching him with the fierce, unyielding grip of a child who had finally found safety after a long, terrifying ordeal.

Astiron laughed—a deep, hearty sound that rang out across the hill, carried by the wind. It was a laugh full of warmth, of genuine joy, as he returned the embrace, his hands coming to rest on Aedhira's back. For a moment, there was nothing but the two of them, lying in the grass, the world around them forgotten.

Aedhira buried his face into Astiron's chest, the soft fabric of his coat pressing against his cheek. It was a sensation he had never known but somehow felt utterly right. The warmth, the scent of his father—faintly metallic with a hint of something sweet—filled his senses, drowning out everything else. He tightened his grip, as if afraid that if he let go, this moment would vanish, that his father would disappear as quickly as he had appeared.

But Astiron did not vanish. He remained, his arms holding Aedhira close, his fingers gently running through the boy's snowy hair. And in that embrace, in the simple act of being held, Aedhira felt something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in what seemed like an eternity—peace. The tension that had coiled within him, the fear, the uncertainty, all of it began to melt away, leaving only the overwhelming sense of security that came with being in the arms of someone who cared.

Aedhira's breath hitched, a sob threatening to escape, but he held it back. He wasn't sure if he was ready to cry, if he could even remember how, but the tears were there, lurking just beneath the surface. And Astiron, as if sensing this, held him even tighter, his laughter fading into a soft hum, a wordless tune that vibrated through his chest and into Aedhira's very being.

They lay there, father and son, tangled in each other's arms, surrounded by the vast expanse of flowers. The sky above was a brilliant blue, the sun casting a warm, golden glow over the hill. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Aedhira allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—things would be alright.

The wind whispered through the grass, the flowers swaying in time with its gentle rhythm. Aedhira's grip on Astiron loosened ever so slightly, but he didn't pull away. He didn't want to. Not yet. Not when he had finally found this—this warmth, this comfort, this *home* in his father's arms.

And as Astiron held him, his voice low and soothing, Aedhira realized that he didn't need to understand everything right now. He didn't need to have all the answers. All he needed was this moment, this simple, precious moment, where he could just be a son, cradled in his father's embrace.

The world could wait.