Father, Sons and None Vol. 1: Above and Behind

The Artifice

Darren's ears lifted at the tick of metal hands. The sound was not as loud as the calming staccato of the rain or the fluttering mutters of fire, but it made him look at the white face seated on top of the chimney: Its black numbers placed in a circular. 2 AM: It tells. Bedtime, the 28-year-old remained loyal to his routine.  He put the memoir The Great Conrad on the brown round table beside him and placed both his arms on the chair's armrests. Closing his eyes, he slouched his shoulders and dug his back deeper into the cushions, relaxing all tension from his body and mind alongside nature's symphony. The rain dripped and dropped, landing on little stones on the ground with soft tacks. 

Darren opened his eyes and like most nights, he was grateful to see what he had: a heating source to keep him warm, writing desk to its right, and shelves filled with his favorite books of history and politics decorating the study's circular warm-colored walls. He was satisfied, especially for the distance between the chair he sat on and the scenery as of now. There was space to walk around, and that was necessary for his habit of frolicking about when thinking aloud.

Darren angled his body to the left and looked behind at the towering glass window with thick brown stiles. The droplets tainted them, creating a beautiful uniformed unplanned pattern. 

BOOM!

A storm shook the rain, inciting the line-like structures to fall heavier and more. Darren simply gripped the edges of the armrest to relieve his shock. The symphony was getting louder and louder to a crescendo, highlighting the rain's aggravation more than the unsuspicious fire. 

"Papa?" A sleepy voice murmured.

Darren rose from his seat, feeling the warm ache all over his lower body. He approached the desk, pulled back the chair, and looked underneath. Atara was rubbing puffed-up eyes. The storm must have disturbed her dream. 

"What was that noise?" She anchored her small body on her left arm, plopping her round head off the pillow. She crawled out of the desk, allowing the small wool blanket to slide off her white nightgown. Darren held his eight-year-old under her armpits before she could stand up and lifted her off the ground, placing her whole person to rest on his left arm. "Look Atara," Darren walked towards the window, bouncing her slightly. "Isn't it wonderful?" He pointed towards the now-noiseless electric streak. Atara rested her head against her father's shoulder. "It's scary Papa." She yawned, covering her mouth.

"Why would you say that?"

"It doesn't have any sound." She turned around, closed her eyes, and wrapped her arms around Darren's neck. "Things that come without prior notice are scary."

NEIGHHHHH!

Darren's heart jumped. The wheels of the carriage churned louder and louder. Atara stayed still in her father's embrace, too half-asleep (not to mention comfortable) to be bothered. Darren strode to the window's corner and peered at the gate. There was a visitor stepping out of his transport and holding a white flag that had a red sword on it – Kingdom Navalia's flag.

Knock knock knock.

Bold and polite requests rang at the door. There was only one person who could be that graceful and yet so profound.

"Enter, Lady Sakoi." Darren said.

His wife opened a small width to let herself in. She wore a purple robe that was handled with a bow tie at the front. Underneath, she wore the same white nightgown her daughter was wearing.

"Forgive me for disturbing Lord Darren." She approached him. Her face looked tired and yet still so beautiful with its slanted thin eyes, minuscule mouth and nose, and black luscious hair. Elegant, that was the first thought that Darren had when he met her 10 years ago for the first time.