Genesis

On his 16th birthday, Wolfstan was roused from sleep by a summons from his father, Lord of Raldel. The servant who delivered the message didn't say why, but Wolfstan had his suspicions. He always knew this day would come.

The chamber smelled of old wood and cold stone, and the air hung thick with the weight of expectation. His father wasted no time. The Lord of Raldel spoke at once, his low voice sharp and steady, weaving familiar words of legacy and family.

Wolfstan knew this speech by heart. He'd heard it before, though it had never felt so heavy as it did today. He stood still, quiet, letting his father's words wash over him like a the tide over stone. Not resistant. Not receptive. Just there.

This time, however, as Wolfstan feared, the speech dragged on longer than usual, and had a different ending.

"You are a bastard, you see", his lord father said, his voice cold as iron, "You may have my blood, but you are a bastard just the same".

This wasn't the first time Wolfstan had heard it. But hearing it now, from his lord father - the man he respected, the man he loved - it felt like a dagger twisting his gut.

His lord father continued his speech, but Wolfstan's thoughts had drifted elsewhere. His eyes settled on a half eaten apple on the floor, tracing the bite marks where the red skin met the white flesh. He felt the weight of his father's words without hearing them, each syllable a dull knock on the walls of his mind.

Then, his father's voice came sharp and clear, as if cutting through fog - "…and I command you to leave Raldel in a fortnight and start making your own living."

Wolfstan made eye contact with his father and blinked, breathless, he thought he'd misheard but his father's eyes told him otherwise.

---

He stood there, unmoving, facing his bedroom door, knowing that this was probably—no, surely— the last time he would ever be permitted in this room.

Slowly, he turned around to face the room one last time. His Manor. His Kingdom. His Childhood. Titles that had once felt so powerful now lay hollow in his mind, like old banners left to rot in the rain. He scanned the shelves, the bed, the worn rug at his feet. He memorized it all. Every crack in the wall. Every scar in the wood.

He closed his eyes, his breath catching in his throat. He wasn’t ready. He’d never be ready. But he took a breath anyway. Long and slow as if he could stay here just a little longer. When he opened his eyes, the tears clung to his lashes like dew on the edge of a leaf. Then, he turned back to face the door.

Three days. That’s all it had been. Three days since his father’s words had turned his room into a stranger's.