Chapter 482 - 483: Take Care.

Chapter 482: Chapter 483: Take Care.

At a loss as to what’s going on, Loac takes the ring. It feels the same as it always does, and even though it had only been gone from his hands but minutes and he was the one who’d cast it aside, he’s relieved to have it back. Whatever happens from here on out, it’s not his anymore. And his uncle seems to know that, somehow.

It doesn’t feel terrible, that he does.

"...Who are you and where’s Gurdet?" It’s the only explanation. This just makes Uncle chuckle, expression pinching at the corners like somehow the question has made him sad. Loac’s not sure when the last time he remembers seeing his Uncle sad.

"...I know we haven’t had the best of relationships, Trent," he tells him, sounding subdued, and surprisingly old, and Loac would think he sounded apologetic except that he’s never heard him sound like that before. "...You’ve been in pain all these years, and I stood by and let it happen. And that was wrong of me. You were just a boy, and I should’ve protected you."

And before his very eyes, Gurdet Horang bows his head.

Ever since Loac was small, Gurdet has had this way of talking that kind of feels off. No matter what comes out of his mouth everything he says feels like it has extra layers meant only for himself; always too light, too innocent, too insincere. Fake, even when he’s being for real, like he doesn’t want the people listening to know one way or another whether he’s feeding them truth or lies.

But this feels different. Like he wants him to know.

And he sounds full of regret.

"...I want you to know that I’m truly sorry for not being the uncle you needed."

It’s the first time Loac remembers his uncle apologising to him. And for some reason the longer they stand there; his uncle stooped low and unmoving before him, the more his eyes burn and his hands shake, and as his jaw tightens he kind of wants to hit something to make the feeling go away. Uncle must be able to tell, but as he slowly rises from his bow, he steps in anyways and lays a hand on his shoulder. For the second time, Loac doesn’t hit him and doesn’t shrug him away. Instead, his shoulders sag, like somehow the light touch quells some of the tempest threatening to burst out of his body.

"...Bongo will handle what he can, so you make sure to have a good night out with your friends," Uncle tells him softly, "...And when the time comes, I trust that you’ll get Khobi to where he needs to go."

"...I will," Loac mutters miserably, shoulders drooping even further like Uncle probably knew they would. It suddenly feels like his hand is all that’s left to hold him up. " Obviously I will ." All Khobi had ever had to do was ask and he would have helped him leave. Why should now be any different, nevermind that all the while Loac had been selfishly hoping, selfishly praying to gods he didn’t even believe in, that he would never ask.

"Good," Uncle says, and he does that weird thing with his face where it scrunches up and the corners of his mouth start to pull tight. It looks almost like a smile. It makes him look very human. Which shouldn’t be all that surprisingly, seeing as he is one, but even though there’s something strangely reassuring about it, Loac’s not sure what there is to smile about. Then, despite the half foot difference in their height, his uncle reaches up to give his chin a light nudge; just enough so that he can look him directly in the face. It’s something he used to do when he was small, when Ma was around to do the same thing. Something he hasn’t done since then.

It makes Loac feel very young again.

Young, and oddly small.

"Ah," Uncle decides, lips twitching as he peers into Loac’s face. He’s not sure what he must see there to make him smile like that; to say what he says next. "...There you are."

Loac doesn’t understand why his vision is starting to blur; why his jaw aches so much from how tight he’s got it strung.

"...Take the path that makes you happy, my dear boy," Gurdet tells him evenly, and when Loac meets his gaze properly, he’s not sure what to make of the expression he finds there; a familiar mixture of pride and long-suffering affection. Ma used to look at him like that. "...Gods know you deserve at least that much. And while it may mean nothing coming from me; whatever it is you choose, Trent, know that I’m very proud of you. And I’m sure your mother is, too."

The burning in his eyes is getting worse and Loac doesn’t know why. And for a second there, it almost looks like Uncle’s are stinging, too.

"...Uncle Det?" Loac finds himself saying, confused by the gesture, the words, and the fondness that they convey. But Gurdet just chuckles to himself, and fumbles with the rims of his glasses as he withdraws, like he’s just as surprised. But his gaze lingers, tracking across Loac’s features like he’s seeing him for the first time and is trying to commit his face to memory.

"You really do look so much like her, know you?" he remarks, the nostalgia to his words touched with disbelief, like he can’t quite believe he hasn’t seen it before. And suddenly Loac’s face feels like it’s cracking; feels like his skin is splitting open and the storm he’s been carrying inside him is breaking through. It doesn’t feel like one of those nasty winter gales though; it feels like the relief of a summer downpour, the kind that comes when the earth needs it most, and leaves the world behind it fresh and green.

"...And if you still feel like breaking something," Gurdet adds with a small chuckle, eyes soft and oddly conspiratorial as he turns away, "...There’s a collection of very expensive pots on the next floor that I’ve always found tragically pretentious." And just like that, Uncle’s mask has fallen right back into place. Or maybe not quite entirely, because when he glances back; giving him one last, lingering look, his eyes are a little red and it almost looks as if there are tears beading in the corners of his eyes.

He’s still smiling though, in that moment not so much Gurdet Horang, nor the King of Crade, but instead just...Uncle Det.

"Take care, sweet nephew."