Chapter 42. Heroes Get Lost

I wanted to ask more questions. Kevin’s past was tragic, brutal, being left like that. The way he spoke, the weight in his voice... I could tell he was too deep in it now. Reliving everything, as if the past had dragged him back.

So I stopped asking. I held back, and respected the man in front of me, letting him continue his story.

***

Kevin had already crossed three borders before he realized the journey had stopped feeling like a search and started feeling like an escape. At first, he told himself it was a search. A mission he had no choice but to follow. But each mile told its own story. And in the spaces between, the weight he carried grew heavier with every step.

He had left Levin behind.

Left the boy sleeping where the Guild could keep him safe, too young to notice that the arms meant to hold him had disappeared. He couldn’t stay. Not there. Not near the boy whose life he had barely saved. Whose every breath, every shape, every fragile piece of him reminded Kevin too much of Callista.

It won’t take long, he had told himself when he fled.
Just a few weeks. A few clues. I’ll bring her home. Then everything will be right again.

But beneath that promise, a hollow truth had already taken root.

The Guildmaster watched him pack, eyes narrowed beneath her battle-worn brow. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. “And the boy?” Kevin’s hands froze on the straps of his pack.

He forced himself to look down, away from her gaze. “He... he’ll be safer here.”

Just beyond the open hall, past the bannisters, a small crib stood in the corner of the Guild’s meeting room. Inside, Levin slept, one tiny fist curled near his mouth. His chest rose and fell in soft rhythm. Kevin’s throat tightened. His feet refused to move. His heart screamed at him to turn back, to hold his son one more time. But another voice whispered, “You will only bring more pain if you stay. Find her first. You can't let the baby grow without the mother. That's why you need to leave.” His fists clenched. His breath came ragged.

“I... I will bring her back,” he whispered to no one, to himself, to the lie he needed to believe. “Then everything will be right again.”

The Guildmaster was silent for a moment. Then nodded.

“You know where your son will be,” she said. “You decide how long he waits.”

Kevin paused at those words, and the Guildmaster watched him carefully, saying nothing, but in her gaze, it was clear she already saw how lost he was. What used to be the brightest light in the Guild now walked with the loneliest step through its halls. And before Kevin turned to leave, the Guildmaster added softly.

“We will use every contact we have to find her too.”

But beneath those words, her eyes were troubled and when Kevin hesitated in the doorway, she spoke once more. “And I think you should start with the Adam Kingdom first.”

“Will do,” Kevin replied.

“Where will we send word?” she asked.

Kevin’s hands stilled. “The trading post in Adam City.” He forced the words out, each one dragging.

“If you have any news about her… send word there. Mark the letter with a blue seal so I know it’s about her.”

“Before I move on, I’ll send word where to send the next letters.”

By dawn, he was gone. Before he left, at the threshold, he stopped one last time. He turned, gaze locked on the sleeping child.

His son.

His only light left in the world. A sound tore from his throat. He pressed a trembling hand to the door-frame to calm himself. His legs felt hollow. Then, afraid that staying even a second longer would shatter him, Kevin fled into the morning light.

He never looked back. Just like that, with each road traveled, the promise unraveled a little more. The weight behind it had changed. It was no longer a father’s vow. It was a man running from the shadow of a woman he could never reach and the eyes of a child he wasn’t ready to face. So he ran. Across kingdoms and coasts, through forests and forgotten ruins. Anywhere that kept the questions at bay a little longer.

***

The road welcomed him like an old rival. It had been years since he’d traveled alone. Now, each mile felt heavier than the last.

The Adam Kingdom came first.

He chased rumors through stone courts and guild halls, burned through favors and coin alike. Every whispered sighting of a woman who looked like the love of his life drew him deeper. He showed her picture to almost everyone.

In time, he went numb to it. He had been scammed more times than he cared to count and each time, he knew the lead was likely false. But he paid and paid again. Because even the smallest chance of finding her was worth more than pride or coin. Every false lead hollowed him further.

On the last day before he left Adam City, he stopped by the trading post. At first, he had visited it often. But as the weeks dragged on with no blue-sealed letter, he began to check less and less. Now, passing through one last time, he saw them—a small stack of letters waiting under his name.

None marked in blue.

He picked them up without a word, slipping the bundle into his space ring. Then, with a tired breath, he borrowed a scrap of parchment from the clerk. A few words. Barely more than a line.

Heading east. Next stop, Eleandra. Send letters there.

He sealed it, left it with the postmaster and walked away.

Eleandra followed.

He climbed the forests of glass and green, where leaves shimmered with captured starlight, carried upward by braided vines that pulsed with quiet life. High above, the elves spoke in lilting tones, their words half-music, half-thought. They welcomed the First Ember. The councils welcomed him with open halls. The elders lent their ears and their wisdom.

Word of his coming had reached them long before his arrival. Doors opened freely. Flame-callers and spirit-seers gathered to hear his request. He showed her picture to them all—mages of fire and memory, ancient readers of the stars. Their gazes were warm at first, eager to aid the hero they had once known. But the warmth faded with each passing day. Smiles turned softer. Hope grew distant. Again and again, the answers came.

We do not see her. We do not hear her name. The fire you seek does not burn here.

He stayed longer than he should have. Each new seer gave him a reason to wait. A hope too thin to hold, but impossible to refuse. Chasing whispers. Wandering through silverlight groves where no flame answered.

The days blurred. Weeks slipped into months. Kevin barely noticed.

Sometimes, at night, he sat alone high in the trees, beneath strange stars. Gazing into nothing, sat there in silence, tears slipping as he thought of his wife, his son. It was a lonely journey and in those quiet hours, he told himself this was better. Better for Levin to grow without him for now, than to be near a father lost to grief. While he carried the cold alone. The Guild would be warmer for Levin. His guildmates had promised to watch over him, after all.

By the eighth month, Shurtie’s forges called him south—not for hope, but because habit had become the only direction left. The city gave him a place to stop, to breathe, to think, even if thinking often hurt more than the road itself. There, in a corner of the trading post, the Guildmaster’s letters waited—a small bundle wrapped with care.

Kevin stood for a long moment, staring at them in his hands; the paper felt heavier than steel, the seals too fragile to break. And when his eyes found no trace of blue among them, his fingers numbed, his chest tightened beneath the weight of another quiet disappointment.

He did not open them.

***

Days passed in a blur of heat and steel. Kevin drifted into the hollow numbness he had once tried to outrun. He no longer searched; instead, he worked as a miner, the rhythm of forge and stone giving him a place to disappear.

A moment of his own peace. Something kept him near the forges with each strike of the pick, he tried to vent the loneliness, hammer out the desperation, and chase away the thoughts that waited at the edge of silence. Steel and sweat kept him busy, far from distracting thoughts.

And then, one tired evening, beneath the low hum of hammer and flame, a dwarf packed up early, waving goodbye and saying it was his son’s birthday. Kevin watched him go. For a long time, he sat alone in the mine, the word birthday echoing in his head. After a few moments of silence, he reached into his ring. At last, Kevin dropped the stack of letters the Guild had sent him onto his lap.

He unfolded the first letter that had sat there for far too long.

Levin is doing fine. Everyone in the guild takes care of him. As for now, we haven’t found any clue about her.
We will keep trying. Don’t be too harsh on yourselves. Remember, your son is waiting.

The letter was from the Guildmaster herself. Kevin flipped another letter from her.

Levin crawled today. Not graceful, but determined. Like someone I used to know.
All of our intel has yielded no result. The moment we have any clue about her, you will know.

He closed his eyes. His breath caught. The words “Levin crawled today.” haunted him.

Had he missed his son’s every first? Was it worth it?

For a moment, the forge seemed too quiet. The distant crackle of flame felt thin. Hollow. He opened the next letter. Then the next. He kept reading. Each word etched new lines into his bones. His fingers trembled as he unfolded them. The letters, no longer in order, scattered across his lap—some from the Guildmaster, others from his guildmates.

And still, he read.

He stood for the first time last week. Looked proud of himself. You should’ve seen it.
His first word was ‘Mom.’ His second was ‘Dad.’ He called them both to me. I told him you’d be back soon.

Kevin’s grip tightened. The edges of the letter crumpled beneath his fingers.

We taught him how to draw, and he drew everyone here and said this is family.
He claps when we sing. Laughs when we get the words wrong. He brings so much life to this place. He is just like you.

Kevin drew a sharp breath. His chest ached with each line. I wasn’t there for any of it, a voice whispered in his mind.

He cried when he fell, but I told him, Your father never cries. Even when he falls, he gets up and smiles.
He is strong, even when it hurts. He will stand taller than anyone to protect those he loves. Then Levin stopped crying and said he wanted to be like you.

His fingers slipped. One of the letters fell from his lap onto the floor. Kevin barely noticed.

He started drawing stars now. Whole pages of stars.
He says, I will draw the sky so Mom and Dad can follow it home.

Kevin’s hands shook. His vision blurred. The words swam, lines melting into pain. He scrubbed his eyes with the back of his wrist. It did nothing. Even when the tears were wiped away, his heart kept aching, tightening, choking him. Breath ragged, he dropped the letter. His other hand clawed at his chest, as if he could tear out the weight crushing it. For a moment, he sat frozen. Back scraping the cold stone, letters scattered around him.

His hands gripped his hair. His head bowed. His shoulders trembled with each broken breath. He wasn’t sure he could bear to read another word. Yet still, the letters remained—waiting. And with shaking fingers, he picked up the next.

Brother, Levin is really a genius. He can talk even though he’s just 3 months old!
Guess those sparks everyone saw were no joke after all. And the sounds we heard from her belly during pregnancy look like they were real.
We keep saying he’s a prodigy, but this is insane!

Kevin exhaled a shaky breath. The memory of that faint voice, calling Mom, Dad, echoed unbidden.

Sometimes, at night, he crawls toward the door and waits there, as if expecting someone. I sit with him until he falls asleep.

Kevin’s jaw clenched. His hand hovered over the next letter, as if stalling. But he kept reading.

He asks many questions about you and Callista. We tell him all your crazy adventures, how strong you are, how beautiful his mom was.
He’s very proud of both of you. We take turns telling your stories to him.
We tell him many stories and tales of the world, but his favorite is always your adventures with her.

A dry laugh caught in Kevin’s throat. It stuck there.

He barely knows me. And still... proud?

Kevin rubbed his eyes again.

He has your eyes. Same stubborn spark. When he doesn’t get what he wants, he tries again. And again. And again.

Levin started saying good night to you and Callista every evening. He looks at the stars and says, Good night, Mom. Good night, Dad.
Then he tells me, They will come back after saving the stars.

Kevin’s heart twisted. His breath stuttered. It wasn’t the stars that needed saving. It was us, he thought. I should never have let go of him.

He asked me today if heroes get lost. I said sometimes they do, but they always find their way back.
He looked sad and said, Then maybe Mom and Dad are very lost. I should wait longer.

..........

By the time he reached the last batch of envelopes, his gaze lost focus. The seal crumbled beneath fingers that barely felt it.

Hey Kevin. You should probably come back now. Levin was drawing again today.
His drawing is... lonely. He drew us all as a family, but in the picture, he’s standing alone.
I asked him why. He said everyone else is happy, but him.
He said he wants to see you and Callista.

Now, he stands at the Guild’s front door. Every passerby he sees, he asks them, Are you Mom? Are you Dad?
We asked him why he waits and asks everyone. He said, Mom and Dad are outside saving the world.
I need to be here when they come home. I’m also afraid that Mom and Dad won’t recognize me, so I will ask them first instead.

We told him, Why don’t you go play with the other kids? We will call you when your parents come home.
Then he told me something I wasn’t sure how to answer.
Do they not love me? Why did they leave for so long and never come see me?
I see other kids with their mom and dad playing together.
I don’t want to play with them. I want to play with Mom and Dad.

Kevin’s hands covered his face. His chest convulsed with silent sobs.

Yesterday he told me, I think I know the answer, maybe I was bad.
Maybe that’s why they didn’t come home yet.

Kevin’s breath caught on a sharp gasp. His whole body shook. T
he letter slipped from his grip, joining the others on the floor.

You were never bad. Never unwanted.
I was the one who left, the words screamed in his head.

Kevin, three months from now is Levin’s first birthday.
He asked us if you and Callista would come back to sing the song. We tried to distract him, but he keeps practicing the song alone.
He told me that if he sings it really good, maybe you and Callista will like his present and come back.
When we asked what present he meant, he said it was his song.
He would sing it really good for both of you.
That was his gift.
He’s still waiting by the door.

Kevin, you really need to come back soon. Since last week, he stopped asking everyone. He just stares at the road, sitting in a chair.
It’s snowing now. We told him to come inside, it’s cold. But he refused. We told him it’s warmer in his bedroom.
He said, I’m alone in my room. My room feels the same as outside here.
Then he whispered, maybe I shouldn’t wait anymore.
Maybe Mom and Dad already forgot me.

Kevin collapsed. The forge’s warmth felt colder than the snow Levin had endured. The letters tumbled onto the floor. And there, in the dim glow of the forge, the First Ember wept alone. He no longer knew how to forgive himself. He sat there, folded beneath the weight of a truth too long denied, a guilt too long carried, the weight of all he had left behind.

He had run to find her.

Left the one person who needed him most.

And so, with weary steps and heavier heart, he turned toward the only road that mattered now. No excuse left to give.

It was time to go home.

***

Kevin returned to the Guild. When he arrived, snow drifted through the air, soft and pale. Snowflakes fell slow and silent, vanishing against stone and sleeve. The courtyard lay dusted in white. There, he saw a small boy with soft red hair, finer and lighter than his own, bright against the cold.

Yet unmistakably his.

Levin barely looked up. He was playing with a small pebble outside the Guild’s front door. When he noticed Kevin, his tiny hands stilled.

“Mister?” the boy asked softly.

Kevin’s voice failed him.

“Why you crying? You hurt?” Levin asked.

Kevin just stood there, unable to speak.

“My dad never cry. Big people no cry,” Levin said, watching him with worried eyes.

Then he added, voice smaller. “I no cry too. I want be like Dad. When hurt, no cry.” A pause. His fingers fidgeted with the pebble.

“I wait long. I no see Dad. I no see Mom.”

Kevin’s chest clenched. He wanted to reach out, to hold him, to say something that would make it right—but the words tangled in his throat.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry, son.” Kevin’s voice cracked.

Levin blinked, tilting his head. His tiny fingers reached out and tugged at Kevin’s sleeve.

“Son? You want to be my dad Mister?”

Kevin’s breath hitched. He could not speak. A sharp gasp he could not hold back.

There, Kevin knelt in front of him, bursting into tears.
The man once feared by all—entire kingdoms paid respect just to stay on his good side.

Now broken into pieces before the son he had left behind for thirteen months.