The sickness left the house. Elara walked out of her room one morning, her face thin but her smile bright. She sat at the kitchen table. Thalen watched her, his eyes full of a quiet happiness. The fear was gone from his face.
Caelum watched them from his small chair. His mission was complete. His mother was safe. The ghost fox now visited his room every night. It was a silent, glowing companion.
That afternoon, Caelum went looking for his father. He found him in the old training yard behind the manor. The yard was just a patch of dusty, hard-packed dirt. In the center stood a single wooden practice dummy. The dummy was old and leaning to one side. Its canvas skin was torn, and straw stuffing fell from holes in its chest.
Thalen stood in front of it. He was not holding a sword. His hands were empty at his sides. He just stared at the broken dummy.
Caelum walked toward him. His small feet made soft sounds in the dust. "You fight that?" he asked. His voice was a child's voice, clear and simple.
Thalen turned. He looked down at his four-year-old son, and a sad smile touched his lips. "I used to," he said. "A long time ago."
He looked back at the dummy. "I was the captain of the King's Guard. I had a fine sword. The king gave it to me himself." Pride flickered in his voice, but it quickly faded.
"What happened?" Caelum asked.
Thalen's jaw tightened. "A man I trusted lied to the king. He said I was a traitor. The king took my title. He took my lands. He took my sword." Thalen looked down at his empty hands. "He let me live. He called that a kindness."
Thalen knelt down in the dust, so his eyes were level with Caelum's. "The world is run by powerful men, Caelum. They make the rules. Men like us just try to survive."
He put a heavy hand on Caelum's shoulder. "Stay inside. Stay safe with your mother. That is all that matters now."
Thalen stood up. He walked out of the training yard, leaving Caelum alone with the broken dummy.
Caelum did not move. He stared at the dummy. He saw the rips in its body. He saw the straw spilling onto the dirt. It was a symbol of his father's defeat.
His gaze was cold and hard. He looked at the dummy not as a child, but as an emperor planning his first move in a new war.