The Infinite Story Volume 1

27. The knight who had it all

"Old traditions die hard..."

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Marcus was cutting wood, and after splitting the log in half, he set the axe down and took a deep breath.

"Big brother...?" Oliver's small voice broke the silence. He was sitting on the grass, balancing himself with a tiny axe.

"Yes," Marcus turned to look at him. "What is it?"

Oliver jumped to his feet. "Why does Father need to go on missions?"

Marcus, the older brother at sixteen, knew that a detailed explanation would be lost on three-year-old Oliver. He smiled gently. "Well, you see, Father is a very important figure..."

"A figure?" Oliver asked, his young mind curious.

"Yes, someone that people look up to. He protects people and fights to make the world a better place for everyone to live," Marcus explained patiently.

Oliver pondered this for a moment. "Oh, because he is tall." He looked up, imagining their father's towering presence.

Marcus chuckled, "Yeah, he is tall, and strong. He's a hero!" he said proudly.

"Oh yeah?!" Oliver's face lit up with a smile.

"Yeah," Marcus affirmed, sharing a moment with his little brother, patting him on the head

"Then, when I grow up I wanna be just like him, big tall aaand strong." he said as he got up and smiling

"You sure will, and when you do everyone will look at you too as a hero!"

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Marcuse's eyes widened in shock as he beheld his father's unconscious, badly wounded body.

"Brother, brother! Why are you covering my eyes? Let me see," Oliver pleaded, trying to pry Marcuse's hands away from his eyes.

"He should be able to survive...but I don't think he will be able to fight again like he used to," the person treating him said solemnly. "Your insurance won't cover this, so you'll need to come back later and settle the payment...in cash," the doctor added with a smirk.

Marcus sat on the sofa, his head cradled in his hands. Dark circles underscored his eyes, a testament to sleepless nights and pounding headaches. The world felt fragile, on the brink of collapse, and he couldn't bear it any longer. Amidst the faint sounds around him, one word echoed relentlessly in his mind: "son, son, son, son."

"Son!" Roland's voice boomed through the room.

Marcus jolted upright, his hands leaving his head as he turned to face his father. "Huh?" His thoughts scrambled to align with the present moment. "Y-yes? Yes, Father?"

"Give your old man a hand," Roland's voice echoed from the kitchen.

"Yes, of course, Father," Marcus replied obediently.

Roland, still recovering and confined to a wheelchair, struggled to reach for a bottle of wine on the top shelf.

"Here, let me help, Father," Marcus smiled faintly, his eyes betraying no emotion.

Roland returned a smile, his voice almost devoid of emotion. "What would I do without you, son? Thank you."

"Yes, of course," Marcus replied quietly.

Suddenly, the front door swung open, and Oliver burst in, laughing with excitement. "Look, Father! Today we had a sword tournament in class, and I got third place!" he exclaimed eagerly, showing his father the medal.