Nineteen: Long Awaited Reunions 

Warning: Abuse/violent scene

They make it back to Iyelion the next day, around noon. The overcast sun is burning down on Layre’s unprotected shoulders, but the pain of the sunburn is not enough to deter him. The four travelers had agreed to split apart until the night. They would meet at the foot of the Great God Mountain then, traveling in the night so that they could remain unseen.  

However, until then, Layre and Mageus planned to visit a few people.  

Layre first stops by Olive’s home, finding the door slightly cracked open, a thing which meant that friends or loved ones were welcome in. Layre spots Olive in the kitchen, leaning over the fire-stove, stirring a concoction of food together that smelled better than anything Layre had eaten over his journey. 

“Adreian, honey?” She asks, turning around and holding a hand to her stomach. She had a small bump there, and she cradled it gently. Her eyes widen to saucers when she sees Layre standing there instead, alongside a strange being.  

“Long time, no see, Olive!” Layre says cheerfully, and Olive sprints for him. She throws herself at him, taking the breath from his lungs. She wraps her arms around him, tight, letting out joyous whimpers into his shoulder. 

“I missed you so much, Layre! What has happened to your face?” Olive pushes him back by his shoulders, examining the scars. “You look so tough, now.”  

Layre explains the whole story, and Olive has them both settle down on the couch. She gives them each a bowl of food, to which they both eat gratefully. Layre’s body thanked him a million times over for the real food.  

“You two look like skeletons, hopefully that should help.” Olive crosses her arms on her chest, eyebrows furrowing with worry. “And you said you are half-blood?” She asks to Mageus. 

“Yes. I am the son of Centuros, born from a mortal’s womb.” Mageus says coldly, and Layre hears the bitterness in his voice. He had never heard Mageus state it so plainly before now.  

“How old must you be—Oh, welcome home, dear! We have a few guests!” Olive springs up from the couch, running to the door as it creaks open to reveal Adreian. His face is immediately attacked with kisses, and he lazily wraps his arms around Olive, like it was an instinct. Layre was glad to see they had lived a nice life while he was gone. 

“Guests? I did not expect anyone today.” Adreian takes a look now that the greeting is over, and he stares for a long while, in pure shock at who was on his couch. Olive runs back to the kitchen to prepare Adreian a bowl of food, too. 

“Sit down, sit down!” She calls as she scoops the food. “Let them tell you the story!”  

With everyone seated and sated, Adreian draws Layre close to his side in a friendly hug. 

“Those scars are insane, man!” Layre draws his hand up to touch them as he says it, a little self-conscious of them. He knew that Adreian meant it in a good way, but it still felt fresh, and he was not used to the man he saw in the mirror yet. He was not sure if he ever would be. Mageus reaches over, taking notice of the small plight Layre suffered; he gave his hand a gentle squeeze. 

That’s right, Mageus was there. Layre thought that if Mageus was there, he could get used to it.  

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ 

After that lovely lunch with Olive and Adreian, Layre decided he must visit Silvyr. He was unsure of the state his father would be in when he arrived, but he had promised himself that no matter what, he would go and see him. So, Layre instructed Mageus to head to the foot of the God Mountain and wait with the women. 

“Are you sure? I do not mind coming along.” Mageus took Layre’s cheek in his palm, soothing the scar on his lips with his thumb. 

“I am sure. I need to talk to him alone. I need to make right what I have done wrong by him.” Layre admits. He knew leaving would be a problem. He knew his father was vulnerable, weak, and enraged. He knew it was not a good time for his son to disappear, only a year after his wife was murdered.  

He also knew that if he had to make the choice again, he would choose to leave, every time. 

“Alright, dear. If you take too long, I will come back for you.” Mageus presses a kiss on Layre’s forehead, and Layre offers him an intimate smile.  

“Worrier.” He teases as Mageus walks away, who calls out just as playfully: 

“Only for you!”  

Layre watches him disappear into the city, a dumb, toothy grin plastered on his face.  

His home is still the same as he recalls it from childhood; quaint and cozy, tucked up neatly against a giant red oak tree. Layre approaches the front door, his feet trembling with each step. The gravel beneath his feet was still the same, the whistle of the wind was. He raises his hand, unsure of it, and knocks on the wide, wooden door. It is silent for a while thereafter, and Layre swears he could hear nothing but his own deep, labored breathing. 

“Whoever it may be, as I do not so much as care, I demand you to leave!” Silvyr’s voice yells from behind the door.  

“Dad, it is me!” Layre calls back, and Silvyr falls quiet.  

It is quiet for a long, long time, and Layre thinks about turning around and walking away. Perhaps it was better that he leaves his poor, grieving father alone. Perhaps he had failed to think this through. Perhaps Silvyr did not wish to see him, after all. 

The door swings open with hostility before Layre can do so, though, and the sight of his father is dreadful. His hair is thin and gray, skin patchy and dry, his eyes sunken and red, and his mouth drawn harshly into a frown. He looks right past Layre, not at him. He regards his son for a minute, maybe more, and his face draws up in disgust. 

“What do you want?” He snarls, voice tired and broken. 

“I wanted to let you know I have returned.” Layre winces when this gets a negative reaction.  

“What of it? How do I know you will not leave again? You will leave again. I see it in your eyes. You are ashamed to look at me. You are ashamed to see the state you have left your father in.” Silvyr treks back into the home, and Layre is hesitant to follow, but he does.  

“I am sorry. I am sorry for leaving without any word, but I had to. I was miserable here, living the same day over and over, and I knew I could do more with my life. It is what I needed.” 

“What of what I needed?!” Silvyr turns, screaming right into Layre’s face. “You left me! I needed you to stay, and you left!”  

Layre’s face hardens, the sympathy he felt for his father had frosted over. He knew he had done wrong, but he did not deserve to be yelled at.  

“I thought you would be proud.” He spits, glaring at his father. 

“Proud? Of you?” Silvyr laughs, throwing his head back. “You are mad if you should think I would be proud. I mean, look at you! You have thrown your life away for some idiotic tale I told you nearly a decade ago! You should be ashamed. I have had to work twice as much, and all alone. Your mother would be disappointed in you, Layre!” He screams again.  

“Do not even mention her, Silvyr.” Layre growls. “She is a big part of why I am doing this. You know she would only support me, just as you have failed to do. She would be disappointed in you, not me.”  

This, apparently, was enough for Silvyr to break. He rears his hand back, grabbing a lantern that was discarded on the floor. He swings it high in the air, whacking it hard against the side of Layre’s head. Blood instantly spills down the side of the man’s face, and he hurriedly grabs for the wall so he would not fall over. He reaches his hand up into his hair, letting out a surprised, little gasp at the amount of blood in his palm. The glass from the lantern shattered about the floor, and the melted wax of the candle dripped pathetically downward. 

“Get out of here!” Silvyr screams, grabbing at his hair and yanking it out manically. “Get out! Get out!”  

Layre sprints for the door when Silvyr raises the lantern again, threatening him with another assault.  

“You’ll see, Dad! I will free Solmeris. I will avenge Mom, and you’ll be sorry for this.” Layre tells his father, unsure of if Silvyr had heard but believing every word. He knew he did not need the support of his father, as he had not had it in years, but it would have been nice.