WHEN STRENGTH HAS FOUND ITs
16 years later...
The clash of bodies echoed across the high field where stone met sky.
Anthian drove his shoulder into Anthonio's chest and sent him skidding across the dust. Anthonio rolled once, twice, then rose again, teeth clenched, eyes burning. The violet glow within them had grown sharper with each passing season—no longer wild, no longer unfocused.
Again, Anthian advanced.
Steel was absent today. This was flesh against flesh, will against will.
"You hesitate," Anthian said, circling him. "And hesitation is death."
Anthonio lunged. Anthian twisted, caught his arm, and wrenched him down.
The ground shuddered.
"Your body obeys," Anthian continued calmly, tightening his grip, "yet your spirit still asks for permission."
He released him and stepped back.
"Your blade is not iron," he said. "It is you. Until you know this, you will always fall."
Anthonio rose slowly, chest heaving. Sweat traced his jaw. His hands shook—not from weakness, but restraint.
They moved again.
This time, Anthonio did not rush. He waited.
Anthian struck.
Anthonio yielded, turned, used the force instead of resisting it—and in one clean motion, he flipped his father onto the stone.
The impact rang like thunder.
Anthian lay there, staring up at the sky.
Then he laughed.
A deep, satisfied sound.
He lifted one hand.
Anthonio grasped it and hauled him up.
"Well done," Anthian said, dusting himself off. "At last."
Before another word could be spoken—
"Mother!"
The cry split the air.
Anthonio turned sharply.
At the edge of the field, near the path of white stone, his mother swayed. One hand clutched her side. Her face had gone pale, her lips bloodless.
"Mother!" Anthonio shouted again, already running.
She collapsed before he reached her.
He dropped to his knees beside her, panic flaring across his face for the first time that day. "Mother—speak to me!"
Anthian was there a breath later.
"Move," he said quietly.
He knelt, slid one arm beneath her shoulders, the other beneath her knees, and lifted her with ease.
"Inside," Anthian commanded.
Anthonio followed closely, eyes never leaving her face.
They carried her into the inner chambers—the stone dwelling carved into the mountain itself, cool and dim, smelling of earth and old fire. Anthian laid her upon the low resting couch and took her hand.
His fingers pressed lightly against her palm.
He closed his eyes.
Time stretched.
Then—
Anthian smiled.
It was not loud. Not dramatic.
It was the kind of smile that belonged to those who had waited centuries.
Anthonio saw it.
His confusion deepened, sharp and silent. He had never seen that expression in this moment—not in battle, not in injury, not in collapse.
"What ails her?" Anthonio asked carefully.
Anthian opened his eyes.
"She carries more than breath," he said.
The words were calm. Measured.
They struck Anthonio all the same.
His gaze flicked to his mother's still form. To her hand resting against her abdomen.
Understanding settled in him instantly—quiet, heavy, undeniable.
He did not gasp. He did not ask foolishly. He did not speak at all for a long moment.
Then he exhaled.
"…I see," he said.
Anthian studied him. "You do not question."
"There is no need," Anthonio replied. "Life announces itself in its own hour."
A flicker of approval crossed Anthian's face.
"You are not a child," he said. "And you have never been dull."
They stood in silence.
The woman stirred faintly, breathing steady, unaware.
"At such a time," Anthonio said slowly, "the threads of fate tighten."
"They do," Anthian agreed. "And what is bound will not be undone."
"Will this change what comes?" Anthonio asked.
Anthian's gaze drifted to the far wall, where ancient markings were carved deep into stone. "Change?" he echoed. "No. It fulfills."
Anthonio nodded once.
Outside, the light had begun to soften. The day was turning.
"She must rest," Anthian said. "And you must learn what it is to stand when more than yourself depends upon you."
"I understand," Anthonio said.
Anthian placed a hand upon his shoulder. "Strength is no longer yours alone."
"I know," Anthonio replied.
There was nothing more to say.
As the sun dipped lower, Anthonio left the dwelling and walked alone toward the river.
The water moved steadily, ancient and indifferent, reflecting the dying gold of the sky. He stood at its edge, hands clasped behind his back, eyes distant.
The world had shifted.
Not with thunder. Not with war.
But with life.
And as evening settled upon the realm, Anthonio remained there, silent beside the river, listening to the sound of the river alone was satisfying,he sighed a breath of relief as he casted stones into the river slowly.
"Now that mother has her's,will she still care for me "?
He said inwardly.