Letting You Go

A Letter

Dear Noah S,

It has officially been a year since you last messaged me, my child. The stars are out in all their glory, and they reminded me of you. I felt a string of emotions before I finally decided to put my thoughts to paper, even though I promised myself that the last letter would... Be my last.

Today is November 14th. Your birthday. You would've turned eighteen, my child. You would finally finish your training and education and be sent out into the world of Teyvat to do the bidding of the Fatui. I always imagined sending you to Mondstadt; you love books, after all. Especially the stories that featured strong, courageous warriors, right? Acting despite the immense odds stacked against them. I can see where your inspiration stems from, little one. You only proved that fact when you wrote about your new scythe. Like Father, like son, it seems.

As for your birthday, I told you I'd remember. I remember everything about my children despite their departure, for the most part. I can hear their voices sometimes when I'm alone. But that only usually happens when... Well, perhaps you can ignore that last part. I'm writing in ink again. I know you told me to use a pencil for our letters, but it seems I forgot in my anticipation.

I'm not sure what to write now besides my worry for you. As previously stated, it's now been a year since your last message. I've sent you eleven already this year, and well, I guess that makes this my twelfth. As stated before, your silence is incredibly bewildering to me. You typically answer no longer than a week or two after I write for a status update. There have been scares in the past, yes. Like that time two years back when you didn't answer for an entire month. I've already written to you just how... Disquieted, that month made me. So you can imagine the headspace I have been in for the last year. You told me to be honest with you. That you could be someone I could open up to far more than anyone else, and that's not an opportunity I intend to waste.

...

I miss you. A lot... And I'm scared.

The stars tonight reminded me of when you first told me of your newfound plan. I was beyond apprehensive that morning. I still am, honestly. Children are not to leave the House before they are of proper age. That isn't just regulation, mind you, it's common sense. (Though the Tsaritsa wouldn't mind such limits being lowered). You don't send children out into the world until they're absolutely ready. And I was almost positive that you, my peace-loving, compassionate Noah, was not ready to leave the nest just yet. But I saw something in you that day. A miraculous fire rivaling even my own.

So I know you're, well, in simple terms, a hard nut to crack. Putting you down would be a challenge, no matter the foe. Especially considering the tough and well-rounded young man you have grown up to be. When I found out you had not only outwitted that Traveler but sneakily faced them in combat and held your own, I was not just impressed with the warrior you made yourself out to be.

I was proud. Pride that I am rarely ever allowed to feel.

You are an incredible wonder, Noah. The stories you've told me of your adventures abroad, the secrets you've shared with me of not just the Fatui, but all of Teyvat, and the pain you've endured, only to stand up strong, with your head held up high. It might sound a tad childish, but sometimes I wish I could join you. But I suppose if I were with you, you wouldn't have that opportunity to truly grow. It is only natural that we, father and son, part, one way or another. But how I wish such didn't have to be. More than anything.

...

Where are you?

Why have you not written back?

I... I really promised myself that I accepted your fate. That I wouldn't let my mind wander and acknowledge the reality of our situation after so much time has passed. The Tsaritsa would not be happy with my decision to let you go, "Find our solution," as you so put it. Our way out of this. A place we can... Get away from everything. I still find it far-fetched, curse me, I know, but I came to realize there was really no harm in letting one child off on his own to find out the absolute truth. Except for the potential guilt I would feel should you fail.

The pain.

I know I'm rambling about the past a lot, but the first few weeks you were gone, I was so worried. Worried that you wouldn't make it even half the journey. You were just a fourteen-year-old boy following his heart. And yet, I let you. As your father, I have only myself to blame. And I hope you know that I never thought otherwise. You're my responsibility.

Those first few weeks, I didn't eat breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner. I didn't even drink. My heart was constantly tight and wound up. That feeling of anxiety was one I knew all too well. And despite my beliefs that I had strengthened my resolve entirely, of course, such was nowhere near true. Those habits and feelings, four years later, still ring true. This last year has been agonizing, but...

I think I'm ready. I mean it this time.

I can... holler into my pillow like a schoolgirl all I want, bawl like an infant all I want, but in the end, such is the way of life. You make mistakes, and you grow from them. But this mistake of mine, I feel, has carved a grand hole into my heart. A grave wound that no act of atonement or redemption can ever hope to heal. I can only pray that I never make the same mistake again.

...I wish I never said yes.