Blood and Burden

A week later, the morning sun stretched its golden fingers across the sprawling grounds of the Greinthsion estate. At the main gate, Nathan stood beside a sleek black steed, its coat gleaming like polished onyx in the light. The horse pawed at the dirt, while Nathan's gaze lingered on the small, weathered pack at his feet. He knelt to inspect it one last time, not out of necessity but as a stalling gesture, an excuse to delay the journey he had committed to but didn't fully welcome.

His thoughts churned, circling the same dark, restless ideas. To disappear entirely—that seemed an option, if not an enticing one. To fake his death, perhaps, or to send just enough updates on his mission to quell suspicion while ensuring he never had to set foot in the dukedom again. The Grand Symposium loomed half a year away, a deadline that felt both distant and dangerously near. Would six months be enough to decide his future? Enough to truly escape?

His lips pressed into a thin line as he ruminated, a tempest of conflicting emotions swirling within. Do I just disappear? The thought whispered through him like a cold draft. What if they send someone to hunt me down? Hounds or worse... And what about Lila? At least I managed to send her off. She doesn't need to be trapped in this accursed place while I'm gone.

His hand brushed the horse's mane absently, his brow furrowing. I don't want this. Any of it. There's nothing here for me anymore—no home, no kinship, no claim to anything but empty obligation. The Greinthsion name might as well be carved into a gravestone for all it means to me now.

He sighed deeply, his breath misting faintly in the crisp morning air. Straightening, he adjusted the strap of his pack and swung it onto his back, the weight settling against his shoulders like the burden he carried in his heart. For a moment longer, he stood there, his figure outlined against the towering gates that marked the boundary of the estate—his prison, his legacy, his curse.

Then, with a decisive motion, he mounted his horse. The animal shifted beneath him, eager to move, and Nathan allowed himself a fleeting moment to feel the freedom that came with the act. Without a glance back, he nudged the horse forward, its hooves striking the cobblestones in a steady rhythm that echoed faintly through the estate's walls.

The journey from the estate to the southern main gate of the dukedom was uneventful, marked only by the steady rhythm of his horse's hooves and the occasional flutter of birds disturbed from their perches. The air carried a faint chill, mingled with the earthy scent of early morning dew—a sensation that would have been refreshing were it not for the tension coiled within Nathan's chest.

As he approached the towering iron gates that marked the southern boundary, two guards stationed at the bay stood at attention, their spears crossed to bar his way. Their expressions were impassive, their postures rigid with protocol, though their eyes flickered with the faint curiosity that often accompanied unannounced travelers.

"State your business," one of them barked, his tone perfunctory but edged with suspicion. The man's gaze swept over Nathan, pausing briefly on his sleek horse and the modest pack strapped to its saddle.

Nathan said nothing at first, sliding a hand into his coat with deliberate care. His fingers brushed against the cold metal of the Greinthsion badge, a small token of his lineage, its intricate design unmistakable to anyone acquainted with the dukedom. He withdrew it, holding it up for the guards to see, the morning light catching on its polished surface.

The crest bore the unmistakable mark of the Greinthsion house—a silver insignia etched with the family's sigil, elegant and austere, a symbol of authority and privilege that few dared to question. He kept his expression neutral, his gaze steady, as if daring them to challenge its authenticity.

The guards exchanged uncertain glances. One of them leaned closer to scrutinize the badge, his brow furrowing. "That's the Greinthsion crest, no doubt about it," he muttered, his voice low but audible.

"Even so, why is someone of Greinthsion descent traveling through the southern gate alone?" the other guard countered, his tone skeptical. "Shouldn't there be an escort or..."

"Enough," Nathan interrupted, his voice cool and composed. "My business is my own. You've seen the crest. Let me pass."

The weight of his words hung in the air, their quiet authority cutting through the guards' hesitation. After a tense pause, they lowered their spears, though their reluctance was palpable.

"You may pass," one of them said at last, stepping aside. His tone lacked the usual deference reserved for nobles, but Nathan didn't care. He had no desire to linger, to explain himself further, or to endure the scrutiny of men whose allegiance lay with the very system he sought to distance himself from.

Without another word, he urged his horse forward, the gates creaking open to admit him. As he passed, he tucked the badge back into his coat, the cold weight of it against his chest a stark reminder of the name he bore and the secrets he intended to guard.

The path beyond the gate stretched out before him, winding through the dense southern woods, its shadows beckoning him into a future uncertain and uncharted. The guards' murmured conversation faded into the distance, their voices swallowed by the rustling leaves and the rhythmic clip of hooves on packed earth.

*****

As Nathan crossed the southern gate, the cool air of the open road greeted him, carrying with it a sense of liberation and quiet foreboding. He tugged the hood of his coat over his head, shielding his face from the faintly glowing sun and the rare passerby. His steed, a sleek black horse, trotted forward with steady resolve, its hooves kicking up small clouds of dust. The path ahead wound into unfamiliar territory—a land he had never ventured into, a land unbound by the suffocating familiarity of Greinthsion's halls.

His first destination was a modest town nestled near the border of the northern part of the empire, far removed from noble concerns. A town too small, too poor to draw the interests of lords or vassals, left to its own devices. It was a one day journey by horse, and while the distance wasn't daunting, Nathan knew the importance of pacing. His horse was more than a mere beast of burden; it was a companion, one whose endurance and well-being would carry him through the uncertainties of this mission.

He made a habit of stopping every two hours, pulling off the road to rest beneath the sparse canopy of the northern region's trees. The land here was mercifully flat, the kind of landscape that offered little in the way of challenge but even less in the way of intrigue. Forests dotted the horizon like distant islands in a sea of grass, their shadows fleeting companions to his solitude.

Nathan's supplies were more than sufficient, a testament to the generosity—or guilt—of the duke's provision. He had coin enough to purchase food and lodgings for weeks, though the thought of sleeping in a crowded inn among prying eyes didn't appeal to him. For now, the road itself was enough. He munched on bread and dried fruit during his breaks, his eyes scanning the horizon as if expecting some unseen threat to materialize. None did.

Back at the Greinthsion estate, the duke sat in his study, a sealed letter in his hands that bore the news of Nathan's departure. The wax was marked with the sigil of the southern gate, its contents brief but sufficient: Nathan had left alone. No escorts, no servants, only a horse, supplies, and the purse he had been given.

The duke leaned back in his chair, his expression caught between bemusement and consternation. He had anticipated his second son's departure but not like this. A mission of such significance, undertaken without an entourage to ensure his safety—it was unheard of, reckless even.

His first instinct was to summon one of his trusted men, to dispatch a shadow to follow Nathan's movements discreetly. Yet, as his hand hovered over the desk, he hesitated. The memory of Nathan's resolute words in the noble court replayed in his mind: "If I am to adapt, to truly understand the nature of the mission, I must face its realities unvarnished."

The duke exhaled deeply, his hand falling to his side. His son's reasoning had been sound, albeit bold. To interfere now, to impose his own will under the guise of protection, would undermine everything Nathan sought to achieve. For better or worse, this was his mission to bear, his burden to carry.

For the first time in years, the duke felt a pang of something he couldn't quite name. Pride? Anxiety? Perhaps both, tangled in the complexities of fatherhood and obligation. He resolved to wait, to give Nathan the space to prove himself. The results would come in time, one way or another.

For now, the vast halls of Greinthsion fell silent again, save for the faint rustle of papers as the duke turned back to his work. Miles away, Nathan rode onward.