As Asher stepped out of the room, Azeron sighed. The mission was just an excuse to give his son a reward, a way to compensate for his own inability to save him because of the constraints of his position.
As Azeron remained deep in thought, the door opened, and a man standing at over eight feet in height stepped in with a calm smile.
The First Sun, Malrik Wargrave.
Azeron had already sensed his presence long before he arrived. "Has the prodigal son finally remembered his father?" Azeron spoke, his tone dry, as Malrik simply sat down with composure.
"Father, I’m almost thirty already. I don’t have to come see you every time I return home," Malrik replied, still wearing that same carefree smile.
Azeron snorted. "Hmph. And which parent wouldn’t want to see their children’s faces when they come back from work? Your siblings came to greet me, but you," his eyes narrowed, "you acted like I didn’t exist, even though we returned on the same day, and before everyone else at that."
Indeed, although both Malrik and Azeron had come back on the same day, Malrik hadn’t visited him even once, and they had been back for seven days now.
"Why don’t you come greet me then? Don’t I deserve at least that much?" Malrik countered with a snort of his own, raising an eyebrow.
"When you become the Primarch, then I will," Azeron responded with a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Father, you have zero scheming ability. If you want me to become the Primarch so soon, you should try thinking harder," Malrik replied, amused.
"Hoo... Just because you started scheming your way into noble politics, you now think you can talk back to me, huh?" Azeron said sharply. As if reacting to his mood, Ender, the ever-watchful spectral spear, appeared instantly beside him, humming with energy, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.
"Father, can’t you just put away the spear? I’m just here as a son to visit his lovely father," Malrik replied, clearly having no intention of indulging Ender and his crazed battle appetite.
"Hmph. I have no son like you. You’re adopted. I’ll be returning you to your real parents soon," Azeron joked without missing a beat, and Ender vanished with a disappointed hum as the hope for battle faded away.
Malrik didn’t reply. He was used to his father’s antics, this was the side of the man he hid behind his iron mask, a side rarely shown to others.
Malrik calmly brought out a bottle of alcohol from his space ring, along with two glass cups, and poured it for the both of them.
"How is the youngest?" Malrik asked as he took a sip.
"Where did you get this alcohol? I’ve never tasted anything like it before," Azeron asked as he stared curiously at the bottle, rolling it slightly in his hand.
"I simply employed someone whose talent is brewing any drink better than most people," Malrik replied, unbothered that Azeron hadn’t answered the question he asked about Asher.
"Be sure to send some of this alcohol my way then," Azeron said as he gulped the entire cup at once like it was a shot, then poured himself another without hesitation.
Then a smile appeared on his face as he began to speak, "As for your brother, he simply inherited all my talent."
"I thought I was the one you said inherited all your talents?" Malrik said with a smirk, amused.
"You wish," Azeron shot back with a grunt, then began recounting everything Asher had done, right from the very beginning when he had awakened until now. Azeron listed and explained all of Asher’s achievements down to the smallest detail, not missing a single one.
Since Malrik wasn’t present during any of it, he had no idea. He had only heard of Asher defeating someone named Ryan, but when he searched his memory, he couldn’t even remember who Ryan was. So, he classified him as another irrelevant character.
Malrik simply nodded and didn’t interrupt, letting Azeron continue speaking... and boasting.
"If Asher is about to die tomorrow, would you intervene?" Malrik suddenly asked.
"I wouldn’t," Azeron answered immediately, not wasting even a second to think.
"Why?" Malrik asked again, clearly surprised. He had expected his father to say yes. He knew just how deeply Azeron cared for Asher, how far the man was willing to go.
Hearing him say no caught him off guard.
"Why should I.... when I know you will," Azeron replied with a knowing smile.
Malrik paused, his entire train of thought seemed to halt for a second as he finally understood the meaning behind his father’s answer.
"Has Father started using his brain, or am I just that predictable these days?" Malrik murmured under his breath, though Azeron could hear him loud and clear.
"If I couldn’t use my brain, how could I have gotten over half of Silvershade’s yearly earnings? That’s something even you can’t pull off," Azeron snorted in response.
But Malrik didn’t reply. He believed the man was simply lucky and had played an unknown card at the right time.
"I don’t think the youngest will need to be saved tomorrow," Malrik said with a smile forming on his lips.
"And why do you think so?" Azeron asked with a calm tone as he poured himself another glass of alcohol, curious about the reasoning.
"Because... he is special," Malrik replied, his gaze distant, his thoughts clearly drifting somewhere far from the room they sat in.
"Enough talk about my last son. What about you? How are you feeling? Do you need your father’s help to handle some people?" Azeron asked with mock concern.
"Well, everything’s good on my end. I’m just waiting for a few key pieces to fall into place before I wipe out all the Emovirae in Fallen Heaven," Malrik replied as he swirled the alcohol in his glass, eyes sharp.
"Can I come?" Azeron asked, a slight eagerness in his voice, clearly wanting a piece of the action.
"Nope. It would no longer be fun for me if we had to share preys," Malrik replied calmly.
Azeron chuckled and nodded. His first son had always handled things on his own.
’When will I ever get the chance to help this brat with anything in this life?’ Azeron wondered, a heavy sigh forming silently in his thoughts.
The discussion between father and son continued well into the evening as they waited for the next day to arrive.
But they weren’t the only ones waiting.
Every Wargrave was for it.