The town square of Tombuza stretched wide, paved with intricately laid cobblestones that shimmered under the midday sun. At its heart stood an old stone fountain, water trickling from the mouth of a carved tiger, its once-ferocious expression softened by time. Laughter and chatter filled the air, children playing in small groups, their voices blending with the distant sounds of the market.
Amidst it all, a lone child stood at the edge of the open space. He was no older than four. Dressed in neat, well-kept clothes, his hair combed with care, he clutched a small book in his hands, fingers tightening around the worn leather cover. His cheeks burned as he hesitated, shifting on his feet, watching the group of older boys playing nearby.
He took a breath. Then, in a voice barely louder than a whisper—
"Hey…"
The word barely left his lips before his nerves betrayed him, and he instinctively stepped back. His heart pounded. He wanted to say more, but his voice refused to come out. The group of boys, all older than him by at least two years, continued their game, unaware of his presence.
He swallowed and tried again.
"Hey…"
This time, they turned.
One of them, the tallest of the five, tilted his head. "Huh?"
The little boy stiffened, gripping his book tighter. "C-Can I play with you?" he asked, forcing his voice to carry, his eyes filled with hope.
The group exchanged glances. Then, one of them muttered, "Hey… isn't he Valen's son?"
Another boy's expression soured. "We shouldn't be talking to him."
The whispers spread through the group like wildfire, hushed but sharp enough for the little boy to hear.
His smile wavered. "I have a book too," he offered quickly, raising it slightly. "There are lots of stories in here! We can—"
A rough shove sent him stumbling backward.
He barely managed to keep his balance as one of the boys sneered at him. "Your father is a bad person. Why would we want to play with you?"
"Yeah," another boy scoffed. "He's a thief. My dad says people like him ruin everything."
The words stung. His small hands trembled as he clutched his book tighter, pressing it against his chest. "But—"
A sudden smack cut through the air.
The tallest of the group had struck the boy who spoke last. "Is that how you talk to someone younger than you?" His voice held a reprimanding tone, but his smirk never faltered. He turned back to the little boy and crouched down slightly, his expression unreadable.
"Wait here, just for a minute, okay?"
The little boy blinked.
"We'll be right back."
The group huddled together a short distance away, whispering, snickering, throwing occasional glances his way. He stood still, waiting, hopeful. Then, after a few moments, they turned back to him.
"Fine," the boy who had pushed him earlier said, his lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile. "We'll play with you."
"R-Really?" His eyes lit up.
"Yeah totally ,But—" another boy added, scratching his head "We have to go somewhere first."
The tallest one pointed toward an empty spot near the fountain. "How about you wait over there until we come back? Then we can all play together."
"You all will?" The little boy's voice wavered, uncertainty creeping in.
"Yeah," one of them assured him, already turning away. "Don't move from there, okay?"
Another called out as they jogged off, "Just wait. We'll be back."
And just like that, they were gone.
The little boy stood in the designated spot, gripping his book, eyes gleaming with expectation.
Minutes passed.
Then an hour.
The sun burned high in the sky, its heat bearing down on him, sweat clinging to his skin. He shifted on his feet, wiping his brow. Why are they taking so long?
More time passed. The sun dipped lower, casting elongated shadows across the cobbled ground. The once-bustling square was thinning, merchants packing up their stalls, the scent of freshly baked bread giving way to the coolness of approaching night.
They'll come back soon.
The boy repeated those words like a prayer, his small fingers fidgeting with the corner of his book. His throat was dry, his feet sore from standing, but still—he waited.
The sky darkened.
One by one, the lanterns around the square flickered to life, their warm glow casting golden hues against the stones. The air grew colder.
The fountain's gentle trickle was the only sound left.
His eyes, once filled with hope, dimmed as realization settled in.
They weren't coming back.
His fingers curled tightly around the book, nails digging into the cover. His thoughts swirled, circling back to what they had said about his father. About him.
Slowly, he turned on his heel and walked away, his small footsteps barely making a sound against the cobblestones.
Morning light spilled across the cobbled square, bathing the town of Tombuza in its usual golden warmth. Merchants arranged their stalls, the scent of fresh bread filled the air, and the streets buzzed with life.
Near the fountain, the same group of boys played, their laughter ringing loud and clear.
And once again, the little boy saw them.
Despite everything, despite the hours he had spent waiting, despite the sinking feeling in his chest last night, something inside him still clung to hope.
Maybe they had simply forgotten. Maybe they hadn't meant to leave him there. Maybe today would be different.
He walked up to them, hands curled into small fists at his sides, his voice soft but steady.
"Hello…" He hesitated before forcing a smile. "M-Maybe you all forgot to come back yesterday."
The boys paused mid-game. For a brief moment, they just stared at him. Then, laughter erupted.
One of them folded his arms, smirking. "Wait, you actually stood there?"
Another boy doubled over, holding his stomach. "Are you serious? All that time?"
The tallest of them snorted. "Wow. You really are stupid."
The little boy flinched, his fingers trembling. "I-It's okay! We can still play today! I still have my bo—"
A hand shot out.
The book was yanked from his grasp before he could react.
"Let's see what's so special about this."
The little boy gasped, reaching for it. "N-No, wait—"
Rip!
The sound echoed in his ears like a crack of thunder.
Pages fluttered to the ground, torn apart like meaningless scraps. The words, the games, the tiny pieces of joy he had held onto—shredded before his very eyes.
His heart plummeted.
"No…" His knees hit the ground as he scrambled to pick up the pages, his small hands desperately trying to gather the scattered remains. "M-My book…!"
Laughter.
It came from all around him. Sharp. Mocking. Cruel.
Then—thud!
A kick slammed into his side.
Pain burst through him, knocking him to the cobblestone ground. The world blurred as his breath hitched in his throat. His tiny fingers clutched a single torn page, crumpled and dirt-stained.
Above him, the tallest boy sneered.
"You really don't get it, do you?" he scoffed.
Another boy leaned down, grinning. "Your father is the reason everything's so messed up."
"My dad says he only cares about making money," one of them chimed in. "That he lets bad people do whatever they want, just so he can get richer."
Another voice, colder, firmer. "I bet he also killed your mother for money as well"
The tallest boy crouched beside him, voice laced with venom. "If someone like him is your father… then you're just like him, aren't you?"
The little boy's breath shuddered. His throat felt tight, like something was lodged deep inside it.
His father…
His father wasn't like that.
Was he?
The boys stood up, their amusement already fading as their attention drifted elsewhere.
"Go play at your house, kid."
"Yeah, no one wants you here."
With that, they turned and walked away, leaving him alone amidst the scattered remnants of his book.
The little boy didn't move.
He lay there, curled up on the cobblestones, his tiny hands gripping the torn pages as quiet tears rolled down his cheeks.
"Is my father really that bad?"
"What did I even do to them?"
His sobs were silent, choked back as he tried to collect the remnants of his book. His fingers trembled as he tucked the pages into his pockets, but it didn't matter. The words were ruined. The games were gone.
He picked up what remained of the cover—ripped into two, barely holding together. He traced his small fingers over it, his lips quivering.
"I just wanted to play..."
The weight in his chest felt unbearable. His small feet dragged against the stone path as he walked home, the laughter of those boys still echoing in his mind.
By the time he reached his house, the sun had begun to set, casting long shadows over the quiet streets of Tombuza.
As soon as he stepped inside, his father, Edric Valen, turned to look at him.
The moment he saw his son—his dirt-streaked clothes, the tear-stained face, and the ruined book clutched in his hands—his expression shifted.
He instantly crouched in front of him, eyes filled with concern.
"What happened to you?" he asked, his voice gentle but firm.
The little boy said nothing.
He only stepped forward and hugged his father.
Edric's arms instinctively wrapped around his small frame, holding him close. He felt the faint, shuddering breaths against his chest, the silent grief in the way his son clung to him.
The scene shifted to the quiet warmth of their home.
The little boy now sat on the sofa, his coat removed, dressed in a simple shirt. His father stood nearby, preparing tea. The soft clinking of the cups was the only sound in the room.
Then, in a small, hesitant voice, the boy asked—
"Dad… are you a bad person?"
Edric stilled for a moment.
Then, he turned to him, his expression unreadable.
"Do you think I am?" he asked softly.
The boy hesitated, gripping the hem of his sleeve. "I… I don't know…"
Edric walked over and sat beside him, waiting patiently. His son's small hands were still gripping the torn book pieces, his eyes lowered.
Then, barely above a whisper, the boy asked—
"…Why did Mother die?"
The question struck like a dagger.
Edric's expression darkened, a flicker of shock passing through his eyes. His son had never asked about it before. Not once.
He took a deep breath, his hands clasped together.
"Why do you ask that, son?"
The boy lifted his head, his voice trembling—
"Answer me!"
Edric let out a quiet sigh. He reached out, gently placing a hand on his son's head before pulling it away.
"It was two years ago…" he began, his voice steady yet heavy. "We were returning from Penrith. I had an important meeting there—a meeting where I proposed a plan that some very powerful, very corrupt people did not want to hear."
The boy listened, his small fingers tightening around the torn book cover.
"My proposal would have harmed the fortunes of certain nobles. I suggested that the wealth being funneled into their pockets through corruption should instead be used to develop Tombuza—to help the people who actually need it."
He paused, looking away for a brief moment before continuing.
"The meeting went in my favor. If I had been allowed to carry it out, their profits would have been cut by more than half." His voice grew quieter. "They couldn't allow that to happen."
The boy's lips parted slightly, confusion and unease settling in.
"So… what happened?"
Edric exhaled.
"When we were returning home… they sent people after us." His voice was almost a whisper now. "They wanted to eliminate me."
The silence in the room was suffocating.
"…Your mother was killed in that incident."
The little boy's eyes widened.
He felt something inside him tighten, something painful and unfamiliar. He opened his mouth as if to speak—but no words came.
The room suddenly felt colder.
He lowered his gaze to the torn book in his hands, feeling its weight.
Edric watched him in silence, his eyes filled with something unreadable. He reached out, placing a firm but gentle hand on his son's shoulder.
The little boy lowered his gaze, his small fingers gripping the torn book tighter. His voice was soft, hesitant—yet burdened.
"The kids in town… they said you let bad people do whatever they want." His eyes lifted, filled with something fragile yet searching. "They said… you only care about getting richer."
Edric's expression hardened for a brief moment before softening. Without hesitation, he spoke, his voice firm yet calm.
"Don't listen to them, son." He exhaled, rubbing his temples before looking back at his child. "That's what they want people to believe—to ruin my image so that I won't interfere."
The little boy stared, confusion clouding his young mind.
Edric placed a gentle hand on his head. "You don't have to go outside, my child. If you want something, I will bring it here. You don't need to face those people."
His arms wrapped around his son again, holding him close. His voice grew quieter, heavier.
"If I interfere again… I might lose you too." His grip tightened slightly, as if afraid that if he let go, the world would take his son away as well. "I can't afford that."
For a moment, the boy hesitated, feeling the warmth of his father's embrace. The weight of his words.
But then—he shook his head.
He pushed himself back slightly, looking up at his father with eyes filled with something new. Determination.
"No." His voice was small, yet steady. "I won't stay locked up forever."
Edric's breath hitched slightly.
The boy looked down at the torn book in his hands, then back up at his father.
"I will go out and play on my own." His fingers curled around the ruined cover. "Even if they won't."
Edric looked at his son for a long moment.
And Edric Valen… he couldn't bring himself to refuse.