Beast Gacha System: All Mine

Chapter 292: The Old Way Home

August was bewildered.

"For slapping me when you thought I was about to rape Sienna. For locking me in the dungeon for months and beating me. For never giving me a chance to explain. Or listen. Or believe me."

That... never happened.

He found out that Sienna was trying to drug his son and removed her. What was he saying?

He never...

But... but if... he walked in on something similar...

He might—

"Father." Arkai looked up calmly. His voice was steady. "I forgive you. I always have." He held his father’s gaze. "I just needed you to know."

Because he never apologized, Arkai too never got to tell him he already forgiven him. Perhaps that was more of a loss than Arkai had ever thought.

August’s hand trembled on the broom. His face had gone pale. His eyes—

He started to question... were there things he should have asked? Were there things he should have said? Things he should have known about his son that he had never taken the time to learn?

Arkai picked up the last piece of broken plate. Rose to his feet. Crossed to the bin, and dropped the shards inside.

He let go.

"Forget it, Father." His voice was gentle. "I’m just glad you’re here."

GRASP!

August’s hand shot out, fingers digging into Arkai’s shoulder. The broom clattered to the floor, and the rest of the broken dishes, the water, the silence... all of it fell away, and there was only this.

Only his eighteen-year-old son, standing in front of him, looking at him with eyes that held secrets too heavy to carry alone.

"Forget what?" August asked urgently. He was trying to find the right question to ask. "Tell me."

Arkai’s eyes widened. His father’s grip was firm, almost painful, but he couldn’t pull away.

This firm touch he could only miss—

"Tell me what the hell is happening here, Arkai Dawnoro." August’s low, whispering voice cracked. His eyes were wild. "This trip. The four of you." His hand tightened. "What are you planning?"

He asked.

"Who are you?"

***

In the quiet upper floor of the villa, the door to Eliam’s room was half-open. A sliver of golden light spilling into the corridor, and Eastiel did not knock.

SLAM!

"Father—"

Eliam flinched.

His hand jerked. The communication crystal in his palm wobbled, caught, nearly dropped. His other hand flew to his chest, pressing against the silk of his sleeping robe, his face red from being startled by one’s own son while mid-conversation with one’s wife.

"Oh my God!" His voice cracked. "Can you knock, you brat?!"

Eastiel ignored him completely. His eyes were fixed on the crystal and the familiar face flickering in its depths. The woman inside was laughing at the expression on her husband’s face.

"Did you call Mother?" Eastiel asked, already moving closer and waving, inserting himself into the conversation.

Harriet waved back. Her face was bright, amused, framed by the soft light of the Edengold estate’s evening room. She was wearing something comfortable, her hair loose.

"Mother!" Eastiel called. "Are you well? Did Elias look for us? Did he finish his exams?"

"Eastiel." Harriet said gently. "Your brother is fine. His exams are fine. You, however—"

Her eyes moved to Eliam.

"Me? I’m fine! I just want my time with Father." Eastiel said. "Father, let’s take a walk down there. Come on!"

Eliam sighed.

"I was about to. Alone. After telling your mother I thought it would be quite a bit of a trip." He looked at his son. "Now you want to join me..."

His voice trailed off. His hand moved to his forehead, rubbing, as if he could physically push away the exhaustion that came from being Eastiel’s father.

"Haa..."

Eastiel’s grin did not falter. He was already pulling his father toward the door, reaching for the jacket that was draped over the chair.

"Come on, come on," he said, his voice bright, his hand firm on his father’s arm. "The moon is up. The tide is low. Cecilia said the sand glows at this hour. Something about phosphorescence, I wasn’t really listening, but it sounds beautiful."

He lied. He was actually the one who chose this beach because of phosphorescence. Mind you, his memory was as good as Cecilia’s.

Hearing that, Eliam let himself be pulled. He always let himself be pulled. He had, he thought, been letting himself be pulled by this boy since the moment he was born, and he had never, not once, regretted it.

He paused at the door and touched the crystal. "I’ll call you later, Harriet," he said. "When this guy’s asleep."

"See you later, Mother!" Eastiel’s voice echoed down the corridor, bright and careless, already halfway to the stairs before the words had finished leaving his mouth.

"See you guys later." Harriet’s voice drifted from the crystal.

Leaving the villa, Eliam’s footsteps were slow. He wondered about what was the purpose of this trip was.

This trip was just one weekend. The kids had to return to school by Monday, and they had traveled—how far? Gates upon gates of Teleportation, across terrain that was not easy, to a place that was not close.

The villa was luxurious, sprawling, the property surely cost more to rent for a weekend than most people made in a year.

They were wealthy, yes. The Dawnoros and the Edengolds did not lack for resources. But this was not something kids these days normally did for a weekend trip.

The second thing was the gathering. They had brought him and August.

Why?

If this was a family trip, then Harriet should be here. Elias should be here.

No, wait, actually, no. His family was the only one that was still intact and whole.

No wonder Arkai had only brought his father.

And Cecilia and Oathran were orphans, both of them.

Eliam wondered if he was here to make August less awkward. Was he here to be a presence so the crickets would not sing? A mosquito repellant?

He almost laughed.

"Father, look!"

Eastiel had kicked off his shoes, was running across the sand, his feet bare.

The moon was high and the sand glowed. Pale blue light rose from the shore in soft, pulsing waves, catching in Eastiel’s hair, painting him in something that looked like starlight.

Eliam watched. His son. His boy. Running across a beach that glowed like something out of a dream, his laughter bright, his joy uncomplicated, his whole being focused on the simple beauty of the world around him.

"I’m looking," Eliam said.

"Hehehehehehehehheh—"

"Careful." He said the thing he had been saying for as long as Eastiel had lived. "You’re already big. Don’t trip and fall."

"I won’t!"

The young man stopped. Turned. Stood still in the glowing sand, the moonlight on his face, the sea behind him, and looked at his father.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The world was very quiet.

Then Eastiel was moving, was running, was crossing the distance between them in three long strides, and his arms were around his father, his face pressed into his shoulder.

"Father."

Eliam’s arms came up. "What’s up, man?" Eliam’s voice was light, teasing, trying to see his son’s face and understand what had made him cross the sand like that, with that look on his face, with that weight in his chest.

Eastiel’s arms tightened. His voice, when it came, was muffled against his father’s shoulder.

"I miss you."