A Father’s Love

“Jeryth, I forbid you to leave!”

“Don’t try it, Father! My mind is made up. There’s no point anymore.”

“I won’t let you, son! Please!”

Jeryth closed his eyes, the sound of his father’s voice cracking sending shock waves of aches through his heart. He turned and viewed him. Jerom… his father. He kneeled before him.

“Father, I love you. But you know that I will not deter from this.”

Jerom sighed, the tears being held back. His hand rested gently on the back of his son’s head, fingers setting lightly into the hair. After a long and silent moment, he removed his hand. Jeryth promptly stood and walked away into his room, and firmly shut the door and locked it.

He had peace, here, though it would be short lived. He quickly undressed down to his undergarments and moved over to an old wardrobe. He laid his hand on the door, sliding his fingers down the face of it to feel the smoothness of the wood. He pressed gently against it and the wardrobe popped open to reveal his Blade armor, something he hadn’t worn for nearly a year.

Despite being kept in a wardrobe, the armor shined with an uncanny luster. Still beautiful, he thought. Each piece was made from a metal that not even he knew the name of. All he knew was that each time he wore it, he felt invincible. Tyrande had it made for him all those years ago. Tyrande… she deserved a good bye from him. He owed her that much and more. He took his time as he took the armor from its racks, equipping the pieces one by one. Upon finishing, he made his way over to the vanity in his room. He chuckled at himself.

“You look good for your funeral,” he said quietly to the reflection. He stepped away and slid open the drawer in the wardrobe which held his cloak. He clasped it to the pauldrons and shut everything as he had found it. Only one thing remained now. Jeryth turned and eyed the dual kaldorei blades mounted on the wall. Relics, he knew. He removed one from the mount and unsheathed it. As he got used to the feeling of the blade again, he closed his eyes, letting the ringing of the metal echo in the room with each swish of the blade. He brought it to his face and mouthed a prayer before sheathing the blade again, and throwing both on his back.

Jerom looked towards the door as it creaked open, Jeryth stepping out once again. He sighed as he walked towards his son. Jeryth said nothing as he bowed his head, Jerom promptly kissing it.

“May Cenarius and Elune watch over you, and guide your hands and feet, and keep your wits sharp.”

“Thank you, Father.”

And Jerom would never see his son from that day.