It had been a week since the miraculous carnation of the dog—the first success Charles and Diana had managed together. With that single act, they have earned full Gana, a thousand precious carnation points. While others still toiled with first-tier illustrations—awkward shapes and unstable forms—Diana and Charles had somehow drawn a breathing creature from their combined will.
They were still reveling in the success, spending late nights in Diana's room, poring over parchment, refining their lines, discussing techniques, laughing when their attempts dissolved into meaningless smudges. There was a comfort in the work, and more importantly, a comfort in each other's company.
But the previous night had changed everything.
"Mom, Dad, we have something to tell you," Diana had said as they all gathered for dinner.
Lucy and John exchanged a look—one that held both caution and resignation. John gave a small nod, and Lucy smiled weakly. "We have something to tell you too," she said.
"Oh?" Charles asked, glancing curiously at Diana. Her brows furrowed slightly, reading the unease between her parents' expressions.
"We've decided to relocate," Lucy started gently, but John, too tired for careful phrasing, interrupted.
"No. The family is chasing us out."
The room went still.
"They say we've become a burden. That our presence is dragging down the family name. We're being exiled, essentially. Quietly, of course, but unmistakably," he continued, his tone bitter.
Charles blinked, confused. "What… why?"
John leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand down his face. "They called a family meeting. A formal one. Not everyone gets summoned to those. I knew something was coming. I just didn't expect it to be so... cruel."
He closed his eyes, remembering the circle of distant faces. Family by blood, yet strangers in their judgment.
"John, is it true your stats have dropped again?" one uncle had asked with forced politeness.
"Are you capable of flight at all?" another demanded more bluntly.
John had looked around at the sea of eyes—none of them sympathetic—and answered, "No. Not anymore."
That had sealed it. The whispers began, even before the meeting ended. There was no room in the upper echelons of the Rous family for someone who had lost their gifts. Even if he had once been a decorated level 7 carnater.
Back in the present, Lucy sighed, her fingers wrapped tightly around her cup. "They gave us the suggestion to leave while there's still grace left. It's not an order, but it's no less binding."
Charles looked from Lucy to John, then to Diana. Her lips were pressed tightly together, her hands trembling ever so slightly.
"I'm sorry," Charles said softly, unsure of what else to offer.
Diana shook her head. "Don't be. It's not your fault. It's just... it's unfair."
Lucy looked toward her daughter and Charles with a questioning gaze, Diana straightened, pushing aside the gloom like a curtain.
"We carnated a dog," she said, her voice quiet at first, then rising with each word. "A full creature. It was stable. Breathing. Reactive. Alive."
John blinked in surprise. "You're serious?"
"We earned full Gana," Charles added. " a thousand carnation points. First-tier success."
For a moment, the silence was stunned.
Then Lucy let out a shaky breath. "Oh… that's incredible. That's miraculous, actually."
John smiled faintly, a flicker of pride breaking through the weight on his face. "That's... that's real hope, isn't it?"
Diana nodded. "It is. And if we keep progressing—if we can learnthe drawing, the next few weeks, could change things. For all of us."
The idea hung in the air. That maybe, just maybe, they could reclaim some dignity. That they could rewrite the fate the family had handed them.
But Charles noticed the hesitation in John's eyes. A flicker of something more than doubt—fear.
Later that night, Charles lay awake in the guest room, staring at the ceiling. His mind was a whirl of thoughts: the strange blend of pride and guilt, the family's rejection, the desperation in John's voice.
He sat up and quietly tiptoed out into the hallway.
A flicker of candlelight shone under the study door. Curious, Charles approached and knocked gently.
"Come in," John said.
Charles opened the door to find him hunched over a stack of old journals. Arcane sketches, equations, and diagrams were spread across the desk.
"Couldn't sleep?" John asked without looking up.
"Not really," Charles said. "You?"
John chuckled. "Haven't slept properly in months ."
He gestured to the seat across from him. Charles sat, watching the worn lines on the man's face.
"I didn't always struggle," John began. "There was a time when I was revered. When people clapped at my arrival. I trained in the mountains with Masters. They said I had talent."
"What happened?" Charles asked.
John looked at him, and for a moment, Charles thought he saw Robert's eyes in his.
"they said I killed my friends son" He looked away, not out of guilt but grief.
"I was in charge of exploring new realm, I had the best carnater out there, but we had to split up to cover more ground," he paused before continuing, "I found his body lying there, I tried carnating him I tried everything but for some reason it didn't work".
"when the rest regrouped I was accused, I wanted to explain but the evidence was right there"
Charles felt a weight settle in his chest. "Do you regret it?"
John was silent for a long time. Then he said, "No. But I hate what it cost my family."
The silence stretched between them. Then Charles reached out and tapped one of the journals. "Teach me."
John looked up.
"Teach about the drawings, about myself, about the world ."
John studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright. But I warn you—it's not the kind of knowledge that wins you applause."
Charles smiled faintly. "That's fine. I don't have much of a choice ."
Outside the window, the wind rustled through the trees. A quiet storm was coming, both within and beyond their walls. But in the flicker of that study's candlelight, something steady had been lit—an ember of resistance, of purpose, of hope.