Sins of the Present

Chapter 6 - The Son's Rebirth

He turned to walk away, glancing only once at his loyal servant Berthew. He could only lower his head in apology to his Lord, before turning to leave himself.
"We will... Make sure his burial is... Done before the... Asranians return to the city... My Lord." His voice was particularly quiet, but still audible in the mostly empty crypt, carrying along the now plain stone walls. Byron could only bite his tongue. His servant did not deserve to be on the receiving end of his bitterness. Not now, not after he set all this up, went out of his way to try and bring his Lord's son back. As Berthew opened the door and went to leave, however, a voice called out from behind the two men.
"Father... Father." Byron turned, his mouth agape and his eyes once again filled with tears as he saw his son, now alive, sat up on the altar he had been laid upon, alive.

"Ceron..." Byron breathed, before rushing towards his son, wrapping his arms around him, and embracing him. He stroked his hair, holding him close, as if terrified that if he let go, he would lose his son again. "...You're alive. You're... Really alive."

Eventually, the two parted, the son silent, looking his father over as though he was seeing him for the first time. Byron was filled with joy, wiping his tears away. He glanced at Berthew, who was stood smiling by the door to the crypt.
"Ignore... Me, my Lord... Enjoy this moment... With your son..." he said quietly, one hand against the wall to hold himself upright, his legs aching from the extended walking and standing he had done today. Byron nodded, before turning back to his son, who was looking down at himself, staring at his hands.
"So strange..." Ceron spoke, quietly. Byron barely noticed the difference in his son's voice, having not heard it for over two weeks.
"What's strange, my son?" asked Byron, his face and voice softened compared to his normally stern and strong attitude.
"I feel... Different than I did before..." he began, slowly pushing himself onto his feet, standing for the first time since his expiration. "...Not at all what I expected."

Byron, still overwhelmed with emotion, didn't find any words at first. Eventually, one came to him.
"What?" he asked his son, still beaming with glee.
"I wasn't sure if it would work, but... It did, and now I'm alive," started Ceron, gingerly walking around the room, becoming re-acquainted with his own body. He started slow, before walking at a steady pace, his stride quickening with each step until he paused in front of his Lord Father.
"Thank you," was all that Ceron could utter before embracing Byron again. They held each other for a few moments, before Byron broke the embrace.
"Berthew, quickly, fetch some of his garments, I want him dressed before he leaves the crypt," he ordered to his servant, who quickly bowed and left the room, closing the door behind them.

As Ceron began to re-familiarise himself with his own body, his father had many questions he needed to hear the answers to. Questions like 'How did dying feel?', 'How does being alive again feel?' 'Did you see your mother in the afterlife?', etc. Ceron did his best in answering them all, taking his time, making sure he spoke clearly and precisely about his experiences, giving his father the answers he wanted.
"So... I died on that field, in battle... Did we win?" asked Ceron, his eyes still holding the images of the blades clashing, the blood and bodies that piled up in the grinder that was the front-lines of their battle.
"Yes, my son. We won, all thanks to you and your leadership," Byron began, seeing the pride fill his son's face as he spoke. "The men were able to break through to the rear-guard, crushing the majority of their forces and sending the rest screaming over the hills northward."

As he finished his sentence, the crypt door reopened and Berthew emerged from behind it, carrying a set of plain clothes and a suit of armour, as well as a sheathed sword.
"My lord... I have brought... Some armour for your... Son..." he spoke, bowing deeply as he laid them on the stone floor beside him. Ceron immediately walked over to the piles of clothes, putting on a pair of tight trousers and a loose grey shirt.
"Thank you, Berthew. Feel free to stay a while, this day belongs as much to you as it does to us," Byron said bluntly, his voice returning now to it's original gruff texture, but still holding some semblance of joy within it.
"You are... Too kind to me... My Lord..." Berthew said, his decrepit, old face contorting into a crooked smile, a smile which Byron was not accustomed to seeing.