The night had grown quiet. The wind outside had stilled, and the moon bathed the dense forest in a cold silver glow. Inside the wooden cabin, a single oil lamp flickered gently, casting warm, wavy shadows across the walls. Arvin sat at his old writing desk, flipping through a leather-bound journal, the pages yellowed with time. His face was thoughtful, but his eyes were fixed on the door, as if waiting.
And then, soft footsteps approached. The door creaked open.
Eamon stepped in slowly, brushing off the dew that had gathered on his sleeves. His eyes were tired, but they held a different light now—a mixture of resolve and something deeper.
"I'm sorry, Grandpa Arvin," Eamon said, his voice low and sincere. "I needed some time to understand... everything you said."
Arvin turned, a small smile appearing on his lips. "It's okay, Eamon. I know it was too much for you. You must have been overwhelmed."
Eamon walked over to the fireplace and sat down on the rug, warming his. He stared into the flames for a while before speaking again.
"There's something I wanted to tell you."
Arvin closed the journal and moved closer, pulling a wooden chair beside the fire. "What is it, my child?"
Eamon took a deep breath. His voice quivered slightly as he began.
"I knew Grandpa had cancer," he said.
Arvin's eyes widened. "You knew?"
"Yeah," Eamon nodded, not breaking his gaze from the fire. "I read the letter he sent you... two days ago, before I even came here. I read it on the way. He didn't want me to know, but somehow... he couldn't keep it all in. I knew from many days that he was sick and was hiding it from me. He never shared his pain. Just... his love. His care."
There was a long pause. The logs crackled softly in the fireplace.
"I never saw my parents, you know," Eamon continued, "but there's never been a single day when I felt their absence. Because Grandpa... he was everything. My father, my mother, my teacher, my friend... my whole world."
Arvin's expression softened. He reached out and placed a hand gently on Eamon's shoulder.
"He wanted me to go to school," Eamon said, chuckling sadly, "but I didn't want to. I always told him I didn't need anyone else. He wanted me to make friends, to be social... but he was the only friend I ever needed."
His voice cracked.
"He protected me from everything. From bullies, from hunger, from nightmares. From life itself. And when he was dying... I was completely helpless."
Arvin's eyes welled with emotion. "So you knew about the cancer," he whispered.
Eamon nodded. "That man lived for me. And the one thing he ever asked of me was to live freely. Make friends. Be happy. After he died, I... I felt like I had no reason to go on. Like my soul had been ripped from my chest. But after he came back, he asked me all of that. And now I see it. He wanted me to fight this curse, not give in to it. He wanted me to trulylive."
He turned to face Arvin, eyes burning now with a new intensity.
"And I will. I'll do it for him."
Arvin smiled sadly, pride and sorrow mingling in his eyes. "I'm happy to hear that, child. But know this—this path you're choosing... it's not one of safety. It will be dangerous. Possibly deadly."
"I know," Eamon said, "but I'll have to do this. For Grandpa."
Arvin leaned back, folding his hands over his lap. The fire cracked again, sparks dancing up the chimney. Silence stretched for a moment.
"But there's still something that's bugging me," Arvin finally said.
Eamon raised an eyebrow. "What is it, Grandpa Arvin?"
Arvin's brow furrowed, eyes narrowing in thought. "Why did your grandfather possess such a dangerous magic spell in the first place? The resurrection incantation... it's not ordinary dark magic. It's old. Ancient. Forbidden. This isn't something you stumble upon by accident. It's something kept under lock and key, hidden from even the wisest of mages. What good reason did anyone have to keep such a dangerous thing... and that too, in their own home?"
Eamon's expression changed. A shadow of doubt passed over his face. He leaned forward, rubbing his hands together.
"Actually," he said slowly, "I was thinking the same thing. What was Grandpa doing with something like this..."
Arvin replied, "he was always a mysterious man for me, he finally said, his voice low and thoughtful. Your grandfather, I mean. He came to Drakenshade after retiring from the royal army. You were just a year old back then, a tiny thing barely able to walk".
Eamon shifted on the old couch, listening intently.
"After your parents died", Arvin continued, "he arrived here with you in his arms. Didn't speak much. Just asked if there was a place he could build a quiet life for his grandson. He was... reserved. Always had this heaviness behind his eyes. I used to think it was grief. But maybe it was more."
He paused for a moment, fingers tightening on the chair's armrest. "He saved my life once. Did he ever tell you that?", asked Arvin.
Eamon shook his head slowly, "No. He didn't."
Arvin gave a small smile and said, "Fifteen years ago, I got caught up in something dark. A cult in the old ruins outside Drakenshade was summoning demons. I'd heard whispers about it from a few passing scholars and decided to investigate. Foolish of me, really. I was younger, reckless. Thought I could handle it. But the thing they summoned… It wasn't supposed to come through. It wasn't part of their plan."
His voice trembled slightly as the memory returned, vivid and sharp.
"It tore them apart, Eamon. Like they were made of paper. And then it turned to me. I ran, but not fast enough. I thought that was it. I had no magic strong enough to defend myself. And then, out of nowhere, your grandfather appeared. No hesitation. No fear. He fought it like he'd done it a hundred times before. Defeated the demon with some spells I didn't recognize and that's how he saved my life."
Eamon's mouth parted slightly in awe. "I… I had no idea", he gasped.
"Since that night", Arvin said, "I swore I'd help him however I could. We built that house together—the same one you grew up in. But I always thought he was just a soldier. A brave one, yes, but normal. Until now."
He looked at Eamon with worried eyes.
"That spell you used, the one hidden in your house… No normal man would have such dark, ancient magic lying around. I'm starting to think your grandfather was far more than just a retired warrior."
Eamon nodded slowly, absorbing each word.
He said, "Maybe he was. Maybe there was a whole part of his life he never showed me. But honestly, grandpa Arvin… I don't care who he was before. All I know is that he was my grandpa. And he loved me more than anything in the world. And I love him too, no matter what life he lived. No matter what secrets he had."
Arvin's expression softened. He said, "I know, Eamon. That man had the purest soul I've known. I'll never believe he did anything wrong. He was my friend. And I'll stand by him, even now and forever."
Eamon smiled faintly, the warmth of the fire casting soft shadows on his tired face.
He said with a smile, "you know, he was really smart… always a few steps ahead of everyone else."
He paused, a chuckle building in his throat. "But he could never figure out it was me who kept sneaking into the backyard and eating the berries. He blamed it on the parrots every single time."
He broke into laughter, and Arvin joined in almost instantly saying "you idiot", Arvin said, his voice rich with amusement. "He knew it was you. You think he couldn't recognize his own berry thief?"
Eamon raised an eyebrow, still laughing, "He did?"
"Of course he did", Arvin replied. "But here's the funny part—he used to steal your pies too."
Eamon's laughter stopped mid-breath. "What?"
"And not just the pies", Arvin added, grinning, "sometimes, when he couldn't sleep, he'd sneak into the kitchen to eat them and then blame on the cattle in the morning".
Eamon looked at him, shocked, then burst out laughing again.
"That thief. All these years I thought something was sneaking in at night. I even set traps once!"
"Yeah, I remember", Arvin said between chuckles." He almost stepped into one of your traps one night. But couldn't even scream to hide from you."
Eamon was now laughing so hard he was wiping tears from his eyes. "I'm such an idiot, he said, gasping for breath. I blamed every forest animal in existence… even the squirrels. All this time, it was just him."
Arvin wiped his own eyes, still smiling, "he loved teasing you. Said it was his favorite game. Pretending to scold you for things he knew you didn't do, while secretly being the real culprit."
Eamon leaned back on the couch, the laughter slowly fading into a quiet smile. "I miss that wrinkly thief."
"I know", Arvin replied gently. "So do I."
The fire crackled again, and for a long while, they both sat there in silence, letting the warmth of the room and the comfort of shared memories filled the space between them.
They sat like that for hours, drifting through old memories, laughing at the past, grieving the present. Eventually, as the fire turned to glowing embers and the night pressed deeper, the sound of their shared laughter grew quiet, and the room sank into peace.