After the, putting it lightly, tense conversation between Even and Matthew, the aftermath hung in the air like smoke. Even hadn't moved from the table since. His fingers were laced together, resting against the worn wood, shoulders hunched just slightly—still. He stared down, unmoving.
Lia was the first to approach. Whether it was bravery or just a lack of self-preservation instinct was anyone's guess.
"Hey, Even," she said softly, laying a hand between his shoulders.
He didn't flinch, but he didn't acknowledge her either.
"You okay?" she asked, her voice gentle as her palm moved in a light, uncertain pat.
Even exhaled through his nose. His voice, when it came, was tight. "No. I'm not." He blinked slowly, eyes still locked on the table. "I just talked to a younger brother… named after my dead younger brother."
Lia's hand stilled.
"Want to talk about it?" she asked after a beat, rubbing his back in a slow circle.
"I don't know," Even muttered. His voice dropped as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table's edge. "That's what I should do, right? Talk about it so I'll feel better? Because it's better than bottling it up?" He scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. "Goddess, I really don't want to."
Dirk stepped in from the side, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "We're not gonna tell you what to do," he said plainly. "You're a grown man. You know what's right for you. Just… do whatever feels like the right thing."
Even breathed in deep, held it, then finally stood. His shoulders rolled back, fingers brushing through his hair before settling at the back of his neck. He looked tired. Raw.
"Let's talk outside," he said quietly. "Away from everyone else."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked toward the inn's doors. Lia followed close behind, and Dirk came after her without a word.
Quincy took a half step to join them… then stopped herself. She and Even had shared plenty—words, moments, beds—but this wasn't for her. Not right now. This was for the people who knew the version of Even that existed before.
As Even passed Xain on his way to the door, the boy leaned in slightly.
"Think about what I said," he whispered, the words soft but urgent.
Even didn't respond. He kept walking, expression unreadable.
Once outside, the three of them drifted off to the side of the building, where shadows stretched long in the quiet. The sounds from the inn dulled behind them, replaced by the hush of wind and city noise.
Even leaned against the outer wall, eyes unfocused, breath slow and heavy.
"Where should I even start?" he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "Should I start with how much of a piece of shit my father is? Naming his new son after the old one just to see if he'd get lucky with magic again?" His voice cracked—low and sharp with fury. "Or maybe how I feel bad for my new little brother, because he's not a person to them, just another goddamn tool for the family to use?" He clenched his jaw. "Or maybe how I want to kill that old bastard." The last words came out like broken glass, barely above a growl.
"Start wherever you feel comfortable," Lia said softly as she gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. Then, with a small, lopsided smile, she added, "Just know that we're always on your side."
Even's breath caught. The moment hung.
"And that's a problem," he said, the words cutting sharper than intended.
Lia's smile froze, her hand still mid-pat before it dropped. Her shoulders tensed. "What do you mean?" she asked, uncertain now.
Even shook his head slowly, gaze distant as he stared past them. "You two just... agree with me. No pushback. No telling me I'm wrong. No arguing when I'm clearly walking a line I shouldn't. You don't tell me if what I want to do is right." He thought of Xain—of the way he'd looked at him. Not with fear. Not with pity. But with that damned pleading conviction.
He turned his eyes on them. "Do you think I should really kill my father?"
There was a silence, heavy as lead. Lia glanced at Dirk. Dirk met her look, then exhaled and leaned against a wall, arms still folded.
"If you want my honest opinion?" he started, tone low and steady, "No. I don't think it's right for you to kill him. I don't think anyone should have to get to that point. No one should ever need to kill their own father." His jaw tensed. "But are you wrong for feeling like that?" He shook his head. "Absolutely not. Samwell Mathers is a worthless bastard. A human stain. He deserves worse than death."
Lia blew out a breath, running a hand through her hair. "I don't know much about what's 'right' or 'wrong' in family stuff like this. My own family's... well, we're not exactly what you'd call normal." Her mouth twisted into something between a grimace and a smirk. "So, wanting to kill a parent or sibling you hate—someone who's a threat to your life or your future—it's not that different from killing any other enemy. That's just how I grew up."
Even looked between them, something unreadable passing behind his eyes, then dropped his gaze to the ground. His fists clenched tightly at his sides.
"Then maybe I really should..."
"Don't kill him," Dirk cut in.
Even's head snapped up, eyes narrowing in confusion.
Dirk stood firm, his expression dark but calm. "Like I said—he deserves worse. Killing him? That's mercy. What you should do—what you can do—is be better. Not morally. Not spiritually. Just better. Stronger." He stepped forward, voice lowering. "You've got blood magic now. Your earth magic's getting better every day. Your water magic already surpasses his. Sure, you don't have every tool he has, but you will become better. And when you do? You'll be everything he said you couldn't be."
He narrowed his eyes. "Make him see it. Make him live with it. Make that rotten old man choke on his own legacy."
Lia stared at Dirk for a moment, then turned to Even and pointed straight at him with a grin. "Yeah! What he said."
She stepped in close, expression alight with mischief. "Remember when I told you to be greedy? Don't waste that on a quick ending. Be greedy and make him watch. Be greedy and take everything. Rip the family out from under him. Reform it in your image. Make him sit in that crumbling ruin of power while you rise."
Even exhaled, this time through a grin. Small at first—but it grew, slow and confident.
"You're right. Fuck killing that old bastard." He looked up, fire in his eyes. "I'm going to be greedy... and make him suffer."
And as the words left his lips, he thought quietly to himself, *Congratulations, Xain. Looks like I changed my mind. I'm not going to kill my father. I'm going to be greedy... and do worse.*