Chapter 21: The Windsor Family
After Aleron had finished cleaning the whole house, the place gleamed — spotless, fresh, and alive again. Dust no longer clung to the wooden beams, and the faint scent of soap and bread drifted through the air.
That evening, they had dinner together as the day dimmed into a calm twilight. Somehow, it felt… nice. Simple. Comforting. Aleron hadn't realized how much he'd missed just talking — chatting with his long-lost uncle about ordinary things instead of war and duty.
"Oh, I see, that's how it is," Uncle Charlie said after Aleron had told him everything. He spooned his pudding into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he tore off a piece of bread. The house was well-stocked with supplies, and with the wheat growing wild around the cottage, Uncle Charlie had managed to bake fresh loaves that filled the air with warmth.
"I always thought the mantle would fall on us older ones," the old man chuckled, his deep voice rumbling like a hearthfire. "Never thought it'd be you youngsters carrying the weight of the world." His laughter boomed — a sound rich and rough, almost like Santa Claus if he'd lived in the countryside with a heavy beard and flour-dusted hands.
"Have you been able to have a life, lad?" Uncle Charlie asked suddenly, his tone softening as he leaned back in his chair. The wind picked up outside, bringing the smell of rain through the open window. The clouds rolled low, and the evening deepened into that surreal calm that comes before a storm.
"What do you mean, Uncle?" Aleron frowned, confused by the sudden question.
"Well, you know how it is," Charlie said, stirring his pudding slowly. "Our family's always had a fair bit on its hands. From the olden days of the Pendragons to the rise and fall of Britain herself, we Windsors have been carrying more than our share. Always the ones to shoulder the world, to keep the flame burning. The Falcon Knights — that was our lot."
He sighed, rubbing at his beard as if the motion soothed something deeper than skin.
"We often pass the burden to the young ones like yourself, thinking we're helping them grow strong. I speak from experience, lad. I once had to play the part, follow orders, act the way I was told… and it wore me down. That's why I came here, why I didn't bother reaching out to anyone. Needed a bit of peace to stay whole, y'know?"
Aleron tilted his head, a small smirk forming on his face. "But it made you stronger, didn't it?"
Uncle Charlie blinked — then burst into laughter, slapping his thigh. "Ah, lad, you crack me up!" His laughter filled the little cottage, echoing off the wooden walls. "Aye, you're right about that. We Windsors — we've always carried the blood of kings, even if the crown's long gone. Ruling blood, fallen Britain and all that. So aye — I'll carry my cross proudly."
"So how strong are you?" Aleron asked, grinning as he sized his uncle up from head to toe. He really did look like a bear of a man — broad, towering, solid. The sort of man who could lift a cart if he felt like it.
"Honestly? I don't rightly know," Uncle Charlie said with a shrug. "When I first came here, I was ranked in the Omega Unit. But I've been training every day since. Helps keep me sane, having something to fight for — even if it's just myself."
He leaned back, folding his thick arms. "But aye, I see what you're asking — and I'll say this much: you don't need to know everything now, lad. Just live. That's what most of us forget to do. We train, we fight, we bleed — but we forget to live."
Aleron blinked, caught off guard by the weight in his uncle's tone.
"Listen to me, son," Uncle Charlie continued quietly. "We don't know how long we've got in this world, and we sure as hell don't know what comes after. Take it from an old fool — be happy while you can. I know you might say you're too young for all that, but nobody's too young for love. Get yourself someone. A real fine young lady. Have a family of your own. Someone who'll love you for who you are, not what you carry."
His eyes glistened faintly as he looked toward the window, rain tapping softly on the glass. There was something in that look — remorse, perhaps. The weight of a man who'd lost more than he could ever say.
"Uncle Charlie… are you all right?" Aleron asked, voice low.
"Yeah, I'm all right," the old man said, wiping his eyes quickly before reaching over to pat his nephew's shoulder — a heavy, reassuring thump. "It's just one of those things life teaches you, lad. You don't truly understand it until life itself takes the time to tutor you. There are mistakes I wish I hadn't made. That's why I'm telling you this now — live life at its best."
He stood then, stretching with a soft grunt, and turned toward the kitchen. "Come on, let's get some rest. The weather's calling to us. Feels like it's going to be a proper storm tonight — marvelous, eh?" He nodded to himself as he collected his plate.
"Goodnight, young Windsor," he called from the kitchen, his voice echoing warmly. "Take one of the rooms on your right. It's got a window facing the wind — you'll love it."
"Goodnight, Uncle," Aleron called back, smiling faintly. His uncle was quite the character.
He finished his meal, cleaned the dishes, and made his way to the room his uncle had mentioned. He'd tidied it earlier, so it was neat and inviting. The window indeed faced the direction of the wind, which whispered softly into the room, cooling the air.
He changed into the spare clothes he'd found and laid down on the bed, feeling the weight of the day settle in his bones. Around his neck hung a pendant — a small locket that carried a photo inside.
His fingers brushed it open.
Inside was his family — his father, mother, elder sister, and little brother. All of them smiling. The Windsor family — descendants of Britain's ancient monarchy, bearers of old nobility and a secret legacy that stretched back beyond memory.
Few knew that the Windsors had kept a secret through the centuries — one tied to King Arthur himself. The Falcon Knights.
Aleron could still hear his mother's voice, telling him stories about them — an order of light-bearers, soldiers who embodied the brilliance of the sun and the will to protect. It was no surprise that his grandmother, Elizabeth Windsor, had been one of the fallen warriors.
He remembered the first time he'd heard the prophecy — how everyone had expected a woman to inherit the power. In the Windsor family, the women had always led; their lineage revered their daughters as the stronger heirs. So when the mantle had fallen upon him, it had shocked everyone.
He turned his gaze to his hands, flexing his fingers in the dim moonlight. Something had changed in him since that day — since his awakening. He remembered seeing someone, a figure of light, a whispering voice trying to warn him of something… but the memory was fragmented, fading every time he tried to grasp it.
"Well," he muttered softly, closing his eyes, "there's nothing I can do about it now. Best get some sleep."
He lay bare-chested, the pendant resting on his chest, catching the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the window. The crickets sang outside, the wind hummed through the trees, and the night wrapped around him like a quiet lullaby.
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The next morning.
The crowing of a rooster pulled Aleron from his dreams. Heavy footsteps followed — the familiar thud of boots approaching his room.
"Wake up, kiddo!" came that booming voice. Uncle Charlie filled the doorway, grinning.
"Good morning, Uncle," Aleron mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Well, good morning to you too, son. Seems the morning's brought a few guests with it," Charlie said as he strode to the window and pushed open the blinds.
"Huh? What are you talking about?" Aleron sat up, frowning.
"Well, you said you were sent here for training, didn't you?" the old man asked, glancing back at him with a glint in his eye.
Aleron nodded slowly. "Yeah…"
Charlie's grin widened. "Then what better way to learn than with real subjects?"
"I don't follow—"
"Well, I just got a message from the Watchtower," Uncle Charlie interrupted, his deep voice rumbling with excitement. "The Scryvians have arrived."
The words hung in the air like thunder.
Through the open window, Aleron saw it — a distant shape in the morning sky, dark and alien, growing larger by the second.
The Scryvians had arrived.
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