Three Years Later

Rhun hadn't expected his father's letter to come when he came home that day. A raven had simply been waiting by the windowsill, a piece of paper in his beak. 

Thanking him and carefully stroking his feathers, Rhun took the letter from his mouth and noted it to have the seal of his father. When Draven first started sending them, Amadahy had worried about the risks, how someone else could read it, and had expressed these worries, but Rhun trusted his father without a doubt. He knew his father had instructed the raven exactly how to keep it from falling into the wrong hands; if the raven didn't recognize any of the humans of the house or really if anyone, human or elf, that he didn't recognize or even if he did but who the letter wasn't assigned to, he would bite and fend them off, or he would tear it to shreds until it was illegible. 

Unfortunately, when it came to Rhun, such precautions had to be taken. However, his father never stated it as if the discovery of his bloodline would harm him in any way, although Rhun knew very well it would, only speaking of what would happen to Rhun and the danger he'd be in. If anything, he thought Draven to be more at risk. For his people to know he had fraternized with their enemy, and for him to have taken it a step forward and have him? It was doubtful if anyone would follow him after hearing that.

As Rhun unrolled the scroll, he saw only a few words scribbled down, his father's usual tidy handwriting slanted and the cursive letters looking as if it'd been written with hurry, nearly blurring together. Rhun was barely able to read it, but he could decipher the gist of it. All it had was a location, and Draven's signature at the bottom.

Brows furrowed, Rhun folded up the letter again and turned to the raven still waiting on the windowsill. He gently stroked its feathers and broke off a small piece of bread from his recent trip to Rosella's bakery before extending it to the bird. "Thank you. You may go back home now," he said with a small smile, watching the raven take the food and fly off.

As far as the raven was gone into the horizon, so was Rhun's smile. Grabbing a pair of batons and hiding them on his person, he left the house and made his way to the woods. There wasn't much Rhun could do if his father were in trouble, him being an important figure in Xadia and thus his life was always at some risk, but he always did the best he could however little.

His family had their own talents, and they were all vastly different. To the point that the rare moments all of them could gather in a rare sight and feeling of being an actual family, it would make them laugh from the irony. Rhun's mother was a soldier and even before, a hunter, Rosella was a baker, his father was an assassin as well as king and operated best by shadows, and Desdemona was a mage, a strong one at that. And Rhun? Rhun was a craftsman.

Over time, Rhun had created weapons from studying his father's own and their design, selling them to others in the village for a pretty penny, and had earned a reputation for such. He also used that talent and what little magic he learned from Desdemona to make Draven things to protect him, and things to alert Rhun to Draven's state of being. Each of them were created with determination and care.

The first things he'd created were his own weapons and his father's. They were durable and versatile. For months, he'd studied the functions and observed Draven's fighting style, the one he had learned, and noticed he was good at both defensive and offensive tactics, so he ensured the weapon had the flexibility of both at his advantage. Rhun had spent countless hours and days designing it, sketching out drawing after drawing and reworking his vision until it was perfect. When he moved on to making it, he took his time as he carefully sculpted and perfected the weapon. It wasn't unusual for Rhun to fall asleep at his workbench, working tirelessly all night.

The result was successful, and afterward, Rhun had made a matching set for himself, the pair of batons he stowed in his jacket now. Harmless at first sight beside something to hit someone to hit over the head with, but not at all so if one knew how to use it right.

On top of these things, he also made his father the metal cuffs that Draven always wore on his horns, and Rhun had made a pair for himself as well but for his wrists – with a special addition, two rubies, one on each that he'd tied to Draven's well being. From what Desdemona told him, it wasn't unusual for talismans, accessories, or decorations to be enchanted with magical properties, so Rhun took full advantage of the opportunity, asking her for advice and help through letters. Anything to know that his father was well.

As Rhun approached the meeting spot, he checked for any sound, eyes searching. He waited, and waited, then finally, a rustle in the branches. Rhun looked up and backed away, someone dropping from the tree before him. The person stayed hidden in the shadows, only lavender eyes visible through the darkness, almost glowing.

With a lighthearted scoff and laugh, Rhun folded his arms across his chest. "Cut the dramatic flare, Dad," he said.

"I see just like your mother, you prefer not to beat around the bush." The dark figure chuckled, then rose and stepped into the fading light as the sun started to set. There wasn't much noticeable that Rhun shared with Draven, besides his eyes and ears, Draven's skin pale with a violet undertone. However, Rhun's facial structure, his square jaw, the shade his hair would take during the night where his hair would bleach to the very roots until it was the color of the moon, those were all his father's. Their marks were different, as well, his most prominent one a blue tattoo in the shape of a crescent moon upside down on his forehead, and the others circular patterns along his cheekbones. Then again, all elves' markings were different to each.

The two embraced, Rhun breathing in his scent of the forest, and when they separated, Rhun noted something different. Growing up, as a child, Rhun had found joy in playing with and braiding his father's long white hair, even longer than Desdemona's as it reached a few inches past his knees in a braid. Now, though, those same locks were newly shorn, barely reaching his neck as the wind teased it. What worried Rhun more was the meaning behind it.

Once Rhun had asked why Draven grew out his hair as long as it was. He told him that among Moonshadow royalty, it was tradition for the ruler to grow their hair long for the years they managed to avoid war. And though for years, tensions had begun high and Xadia had been on the brink of one with the human kingdoms, Draven had managed to keep it from going too far into an all-out war. But just barely.

And seeing Draven's shortened hair did not bring Rhun piece of mind. "What's wrong?" he demanded. "Something's happened, hasn't it?"

His expression turned grave, Draven nodded. "Four moons ago, the humans of this kingdom struck down the King of the Dragons," he said, a pained look in his eyes.

"Thunder?"

"The very same," he sighed, shaking his head. It seemed he also missed the presence of his braid, occasionally running a hand through his hair and Rhun didn't miss the discomfort on Draven's face every time it came to an abrupt end. "If that weren't enough, they destroyed his only egg, the Dragon Prince. I have tried my best, but now.... Now it is out of my hands." Though his eyes were hard, there was a hint of softness to his voice pleading for Rhun to understand.

With a sigh, Rhun sat on a large boulder, not meeting his father's eyes. "What do you mean?"

"The Dragon Queen desires vengeance for her loss. The elves desire justice. Justice against King Harrow and his son, Prince Ezran." At this, Rhun looked up. "Even if I hadn't agreed to the mission, I believe Runaan might have gone out anyway?"

"Runaan?"

"Assassins, Rhun. He's the leader of a team of assassins. He does not particularly feel well about striking down a child along with his father, but he is committed. If nothing else, Runaan believes in justice. He has conviction, and once he makes up his mind, no one can ever change it – not even me."

"But that's not fair!" Rhun scrambled up. He had seen the young prince before, usually accompanied by his older half-brother and King Harrow's stepson, Prince Callum. Sometimes they'd be followed by a guard, but within half an hour, they'd escape them, and walk around the village freely. Ezran had a particular love for Rosella's jelly tarts, and Rhun found the young boy to be sweet. "Ezran just turned ten. He's no harm to anyone. To kill the King...is something I can't agree with but I understand. But his son?"

"That's politics." This time, Draven was the one unable to meet his eyes, turning his back to him, hands clasped behind. "Child or not, we cannot leave an heir, someone who may wish vengeance in return for his father's death, or someone who, being so young, could be manipulated so effortlessly by advisors whispering into his ear." He gave a heavy sigh. "Justice cannot be denied. And I believe you know how it will be after the King and his son are dead."

Rhun did. With the crown and heir dead, someone will demand vengeance on the elves and take out someone important to them in kind. And the cycle would go on, one of never-ending hatred and violence. "I don't understand why making peace is so hard!" he exploded. "The humans don't want to die, and I'm pretty sure you all don't want to die, so why can't you just come to an agreement?!"

"It's not so simple. After centuries of wrongs on all sides, wrongs I can no longer say we are completely blameless for, no one is willing to trust nor forget. Not everyone shares my view after meeting your mother and having you. They believe humans to be vile creatures, and they've finally taken a step too far." He faced Rhun and placed his hands on Rhun's shoulders. "Tomorrow night is the full moon, and Runaan and his team will strike when the moon is highest in the sky. I insisted on joining them in this mission to come find you, to warn you, but considering the target, I'm uncertain whether I'll come back." Draven's grip tightened as Rhun's eyes widened and he tried to back away. "I won't discourage you from warning anyone—regardless of the casualties if you so, but I need you to do something for me."

"An—anything. "

"I want you to leave the village and go somewhere safe, anywhere safe, until the mission is complete. There's another human village East where you can—"

"What? Hide?" Rhun shook his father off, taking a step back. "No, I want to help! I can—" His hands had moved to take out his batons, but Draven saw him, and grabbed his wrists tightly just as they had grabbed the handles.

"And which side exactly would you be helping?" he demanded in a stern but not unkind tone.

Rhun opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out as Draven released his grip. His first thought was to help his father, but to do so would mean allowing the murder of his king and a child, and to reveal himself on both sides. Staring at the ground, he mumbled, defeated, "I don't know."

"And I'm not asking you to," Draven said. "I understand your allegiance to both me, and to your king, and I wouldn't dream of forcing you to choose. You have a good heart, just like your mother." He lifted Rhun's head to meet his eyes. "I would never ask you to take a life; all life is precious, and you've never taken before. Some don't have it in them, and sometimes I think they're better off that way."

"What about Theodosia?"

"Your sister?" Draven wryly chuckled, looking off in the distant. "She takes after Desdemona, a mage-in-training. She's seventeen now, so she would be near taking the throne anyway. If anything happens to me, her mother will find her a suitor, and she'll be queen. However, I doubt she'll show the humans any mercy."

"Dad..." The words died on Rhun's throat, and he burst forward to wrap his arms around Draven who returned the embrace. For all they knew, it could be there last. The words Rhun had almost said hung in the air, but they both knew.

As they separated, Draven took the opportunity to ruffle Rhun's hair, making it stick up in all directions and some strands escaped his bun. "Hey!"

With a laugh, Draven pulled back. "You are my son," he said, the smile on his lips fading, "and never let anyone tell you differently. Be safe." Then without another word, he ran into the trees.

"You, too," Rhun muttered, watching him until he disappeared. Then he glanced at the rising moon, remembering his father's words. "I get you want me to stay out of the way. To protect me, or maybe so I don't compromise things. And I understand. Perfectly." He pulled out a baton, and pushed a small button, sharp blades shooting out of either end. "But I don't think I can do that. "