The Wolf House | OffGun - TayNew |

05 | Singto

The house was, in more ways than one, empty.

As exquisite a palace the Sangpotirat manor was, its halls etched with history of the family, it was hollow and almost haunted. Much like Gun's house, there were no other people in the sprawling house except its three inhabitants. The lights had been dimmed as the night grew; a spectral silence was found in every corner. Ornate vases and paintings littered every wall. Priceless artifacts which were collections of the people of the same lycan bloodline that dwelled in the manor for decades declined that house's desire for a negative space. It was a museum, to say the least. To anyone unfamiliar with its halls and rooms and garden pathways, there was the certainty of getting lost not just due to the sheer scope of the property but also in the curious things housed therein. Yet even with all these treasures, it was nonetheless nothing more than a pretty storage building. There was loneliness among its adorned rooms and Singto had been feeling it for a while now.

He was pacing in the kitchen, patiently waiting for his tea to steep. Golden Buddhas and ivory dragons prancing on lotus blooms perched on the walls watched in silence his usual unnerved behavior. The laptop on the countertop displayed his latest collection of urban still-life photographs. An open notebook lay beside it, filled with unorganized thoughts for Singto's latest book. It was a mess, to be honest. There was barely any focus to his words; mere ramblings of a house-husband slowly being driven insane.

In the silence of the night, there broke a loud crash that echoed throughout the house. Startled by it, Singto rushed to the main hall, thinking there might have been an intruder. When the noise sounded again, he closed his eyes and focused his ears. His wolf led him through the west wing of the manor as his heart raced more and more. Why you may ask? This was the hall that led to his son's bedroom and workshop. Singto picked up the pace, thoughts that any parent would have—both logical and outlandish—flashed in his head. What was his son up to? What was he tinkering with this time? Another invention gone awry perhaps? He threw open the door of his son's room and found Fiat in his sleeping clothes and kneeling on the floor, eyes wide at the sight of his father, and hand trying to hide his bleeding nose.

Without a word, Singto took some tissue on his son's workbench and knelt beside him. He gently pulled Fiat's hand away from his bleeding nose and dabbed the tissue over the blood. Singto had always applied a longsuffering parental sensibility when it comes to Fiat. He was a wild spirit, much like how Singto was in his youth. Fiat's curiosity and propensity to do things without prior thought grew as he got older. So far, Singto could see he still hasn't reached that threshold where teenagers shed their reckless nature and morph into young adults.

"Be careful next time," said Singto, cleaning up the blood above Fiat's lips and under his nose. He proceeded to clean up his son's hand, failing to notice that there was a faint glow surrounding it.

"Papa, I—"

"What did you invent this time?" a slight humor slipped through Singto's tone. "An angry alarm clock?"

"I wasn't..." Fiat looked down at his hands "...tinkering."

"Then what was that noise?"

"Well, I—"

Fiat's answer was drowned by the ring of Singto's phone. Eagerly answering it, Singto's brows folded into each other as he listened to Tay speak on the other line.

"Right now?" said Singto. "Okay. I'll be there." His eyes moved to his son. "Does he really need to be there? Fine. I'll bring him along."

"What's going on?" said Fiat.

"Pack meeting," answered Singto, standing and pulling up Fiat with him. "Get dressed. Tay asked that you should come along."

The drive to Tay's house was not long but the silence lengthened the travel. As Singto turned the car towards the suburbs, he noticed how Fiat's eyes lingered on his hands. His son's thoughts seemed exceedingly fixated on them as if they were a threatening thing.