It was an awkward ride for Zeratron as he sat next to his father, Chris Christian, inside the limousine. Not many words were exchanged between the two during the drive. The man who exiled his own son—a son who was still grieving over his mother’s death—just turned up at his school after five years. What could he say to him?

Chris Christian appeared content with looking out his tinted window, observing the distant landmarks of the city. For Zeratron, it seemed like they were riding for hours once they finally arrived at their destination: the Olde Hardires Tavern.

Once they were parked, the halfling driver opened the door for them and the High Priest and his son exited the limo. There was a striking resemblance between the two, but the stark contrast of Zeratron’s scarred head and eyes of crimson compared to the High Priest's immaculate appearance made it easy for people to believe that they were not at all related.

Thankfully for Zeratron, the paparazzi didn’t follow them, and Chris Christian told the driver to take the limo elsewhere so it wouldn’t make their presence in the tavern too conspicuous. The driver obeyed and drove out of the parking lot right as Zeratron and Chris Christian entered the tavern.

The tavern was cramped, crowded, and dimly-lit by candlelight. Despite this, it had an undeniably rustic charm, even with it being positioned in the middle of a modern city. Bordered by stone walls and topped with a high-beamed roof with thatched edges, it genuinely looked to be a structure made in ancient times. Due to the low light, neither the patrons nor the workers paid much attention to the two that entered.

They both took their seat in a booth across from each other. Chris Christian took time to fully look around the legendary tavern, soaking in the old-time atmosphere. He spotted the dim profile of the gargantuan head of a dire bear mounted on the far wall. There was also an old, rusted skillet along the wall where they sat and a longbow without its string farther down.

The candle that glowed at the center of their table emanated a soft warmth between them, but it did not do much to lighten Zeratron’s mood.

“I have heard many things about this establishment,” Chris Christian said to his son. “Legend says that the Heroes of Hardires themselves frequented this very building in their time.”

“No.” Zeratron was quick to point out. “The original tavern was destroyed centuries ago during the Eastland Civil War. The owners claim that they salvaged some of the remains of the structure and used them to build this one, but I’ve heard that it’s not true and only the skillet hung up on the wall above us is from the original tavern.”

“Embellishing the truth to make things sound more appealing… They do many things different here than what I’m used to in Xerenia,” Chris Christian said thoughtfully. “I am also not accustomed to seeing dwarves and gnomes so frequently. That is a sight that will take some getting used to.”

“Speaking of that. I’m surprised to see you have a halfling driving you around, what’s the deal with that?”

“Tasher Littlemann is a good and honest person, and one of very few halflings faithful to the Grandfather of Light.”

“That’s right, your almighty Ephyreon has a bit of trouble tolerating people of different faith in his land. I should know that most of all, right father?” Zeratron said.

Chris Christian frowned at his son. Though human faith was diverse compared to other races, Ephyrism was by far the biggest among them. Piercing Light City—which many say is the greatest city ever built—was made by the humans of Xerenia to honor Ephyreon. That grand city was built five millennia ago and still stood strong, greatly resembling what it looked like upon first creation.

Before Chris Christian could respond, a young waitress came by to take their orders. It took her a second to recognize the High Priest of Piercing Light City. Once she did, she yelped with astonishment and the two got into a ten-minute conversation about how she was a devout follower of Ephyreon and that she had read every book authored by Chris Christian about the faith.

Chris Christian smiled and nodded and listened to everything the waitress had to say. He was an immensely popular figure, mainly to anybody who worshipped Ephyreon. Men admired his devout faith and insane workout routine while woman gushed over him for pretty much the same reasons.

Though he was an older man, many found him to be very handsome. His massive arms that were too muscular to fit in an ordinary priest’s robes drew women in like moths to flame. The fact that his wife (Zeratron’s mother) had passed on gave many the hope that he may marry again one day. Though he had been asked countless times about the possibility of re-marriage, he always had the same answer: that he never knew what Ephyreon had planned for him.

While the waitress rambled on and on to Chris Christian, Zeratron quietly stared at the flame that danced around the wick of the candle. At last, the waitress finished gushing over the high priest and took their orders, never fully looking over at Zeratron and never fully not looking at Chris Christian.

“May Ephyreon bless you,” Chris Christian said to the waitress. She nearly knocked herself off her feet while Zeratron rolled his eyes.

“And… And may Ephyreon bless you a thousand times, Mr. Christian!” She turned and walked away in a daze, almost bumping into another waitress who was carrying a tray full of food.

“I hope you don’t think that you escaped answering that last question,” Zeratron told his father once they were alone again.

“It is something you should have remembered from your teachings as a child. Ephyreon is the grandfather of all creation—of the world, of the heavens, of the mortal races and even the lesser gods whom many choose to worship instead of the true and almighty.”

“There’s no proof to that,” Zeratron shot back. “Just because it was written by someone on a slab of stone a long time ago does not make it an undeniable truth.”

“Son, why do you continue lying to yourself?”

“Lie?” Zeratron blurted and gave a humorless laugh. “You seriously want to talk about lies? You told everyone that I ran away while in truth I spent two whole years homeless, wandering aimlessly through forests and mountains, knowing not whether I would live to see the next day. I had to fight off countless creatures that wanted to devour me.” He pointed to his head, where the prominent scars glistened in the candlelight. “It was only by a miracle—not by Ephyreon, not even by Zeraphea, but common compassion for a fellow being—that I managed to be saved and found a home in Hardires.”

“I would not have needed to lie to the very queen herself had you done as I asked. You were supposed to stay put in my retreat on the outskirts of Killmar until I had figured out the best course of action. I am very sorry for what happened to you; I truly am, but you ran away into the wilderness on your own accord.”

“You really thought that I would just stay in some hideout in the middle of nowhere? It seems that you didn’t know me as well as you thought. It was very hard and frightening for a twelve-year-old boy, but I do not regret running away, not for a second.”

“Things were bad for me as well. In such a short span I had lost the two things I held most dear: my wife and my son. I exhausted all resources trying to find you, and once I finally discovered where you were, I made sure to have a few trusted men and women—your principal being among them—to make sure you were looked after. I even sent you the finances necessary for you to live a comfortable life here in your new home.”

“And you think just because you gave me money that I should forgive you? I didn’t need your money and never did. I survived the untamed wilds of the Eastlands with only my two hands. Forgiveness is something that won’t come easily after what you did to me.”

“Believe me when I tell you son that exile was the only option. There were members of the clergy that wanted to see you executed. You know that I couldn’t have allowed such a terrible thing to happen. However, there is no denying that you did attack innocent people using dark arts that were greatly feared and forbidden among our people. There was no way for you to escape a harsh punishment.”

“But it was an accident, I could have explained myself—”

“No, you couldn’t,” Chris Christian raised his voice, but immediately caught his emotions and lowered his head as well as his voice. “You were a child then, and in many ways you’re still a child now. Ever since that day, I have worked tirelessly to make things right. It has taken me years to process my appeal to Queen Brigid, but I’m happy to say that it’s finally done,” Chris Christian smiled brightly at his son, which threw Zeratron off guard.

“It is all done; I have gotten everything in order, and with the queen’s blessing this nightmare has finally come to an end for us both.”

Zeratron’s eyes widened; a chill went up his back as he realized what his father meant.

“Yes, this is the real reason I have come. To tell you personally that you can now come home, my son. Not only that, but The Exorcist Abbey has offered to cleanse you of the dark powers you’ve been forced to live with all these years. Once that happens, you will be eligible to enter the Holy Order of Praxus.” Chris Christian leaned forward in excitement. “Do you know what that means, son? You can fulfill your dream of becoming a paladin!”

Zeratron was speechless, but Chris Christian continued.

“Do not worry anymore; I have it all planned out for you. Once you’ve graduated high school here in Hardires, you can come back to Xerenia—to your true home in Piercing Light City—where you will be exorcised, blessed, and reborn anew. After that, we’ll immediately sign you up for the Praxus Training Academy, where you will have the chance to become what you always dreamed of.” Chris Christian’s eyes grew moist as he stared at the candle, which started to burn dark and low. “I still remember the great parade on King’s Avenue. You were just a small child sitting on my shoulder as you watched in absolute awe the armored paladin regiment marching in perfect formation. The wonder on your face was limitless. After the parade, you were infatuated with the ways of the paladin. You wanted nothing else but to become one when you were older. When that terrible night came, I truly thought your dream had died, and was greatly saddened. But now, with Ephyreon’s blessing, that dream is alive for you once again! Tell me, how do you feel?”

Zeratron didn’t respond for a few minutes, but Chris Christian waited patiently for his son to process all the wonderful information he had given him. Once he finally responded, however, it was not what Chris Christian expected.

“You know, father, since you were not around these past few years, I had to look elsewhere for figures to look up to and learn from. An unlikely source of inspiration was Skinnos, one of the Heroes of Hardires. He was a Necroknight, a user of dark magic like myself, but he used his powers for good. I have grown accustomed to using these dark arts that you and many others view as a curse. I don’t see why instead of being cleansed of them; I can use my powers for good as well, just like he did.”

“I am well aware of who Skinnos was, but heroes of that caliber only come around once every millennium. He was able to control his dark powers and use it for the good of the world, yes, but he is a very rare exception. Most followers of Zeraphea succumb to her darkness and are controlled by evil.”

“But I have not.”

“Christopher, you know full well that you can never become a paladin as long as you possess Zeraphea’s darkness.”

“That’s not my name anymore, and have you thought for one second these past five years that my ‘dreams’ may have changed, that I am no longer the little kid that sat on your shoulder?”

A grimaced look of emotional hurt shot over Chris Christian’s face, but it disappeared as soon as it came. It was the High Priest’s turn to be speechless. Zeratron caught the look and felt something he had never felt before: a pang of regret.

Before anything else could be said, the adoring waitress had returned with their dinner. She placed the gourmet burgers and cups of wine carefully on their table. On their plates, massive, juicy meat patties sizzled between two toasted buttery buns.

Besides the Heroes of Hardires, behemoth burgers were the pride and joy of the city. Legions of outsiders—young and old, rich and poor—flocked to Hardires just for the chance to try one for themselves. Once the intoxicating aroma hit their nostrils, it was extremely difficult to keep from taking a massive bite. Once that first bite had been taken, it was downright impossible to not eat the whole thing!

Neighboring cities tried to match or even imitate the immense flavor of behemoth burgers. Some came close, but none ever matched it. It was a secret recipe passed down from a long line of tavern owners since ancient times. It is believed that the Eastland Civil War may had partially been started as an attempt for the city of Arbires to steal the recipe. Though the war ended up destroying the original tavern, Arbires failed to obtain the secrets of behemoth burgers, and the recipe remained safe within the city.

The two dined in silence. Zeratron ravaged through his behemoth burger, fueled by both his hunger and the weight of everything his father—who suddenly appeared after being absent for most of his teenage years—had told him.

“This was quite a delectable dinner. I can see now why you’re fond of this cuisine,” Chris Christian said as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. The comment threw Zeratron off. He was sure that his father would follow up on what he said earlier that obviously affected him, but to his surprise, it wasn’t brought up again.

After Chris Christian paid for the dinner and left a generous tip, he reached into his satchel and pulled out an odd-looking device Zeratron had never seen before. It looked like a black brick with rows of buttons on one side. It had a retractable antenna on top that Chris Christian pulled up. After pressing a few buttons, he put the brick up to his ear.

“We are finished, Tasher, come meet us in the parking lot.”

Right on time, the limo pulled back into the parking lot right as they exited the tavern. It was very near dark by then, with only the faintest glimpses of the dying daylight peeking through the horizon.

“What was that thing you used in the tavern?” Zeratron asked once they were outside.

Chris Christian reached into his satchel and held up the bulky contraption. “It’s a new communication device that’s able to connect with any telephone on the continent. It is a new kind of phone, actually, one you can take anywhere with you. Only a small number of people own these, mainly of wealth or prominence or high government officials. It was quite awkward at first, but I am slowly growing fond of its use.”

Tasher Littlemann got out and opened the rear limo door for the High Priest.

“I will be returning to my hotel tonight and then leaving for Gungannon on the morning. Is there any place you would like my driver to take you?”

“No thanks, father, where I’m heading is not far. And I could use the walk.”

“Very well. I am looking forward to seeing you do battle tomorrow. Though you may use the powers of darkness, I could never forgive myself if I never saw one of your matches.”

“Do what you want; it doesn’t make a difference to me,” Zeratron said.

“I will be there,” Chris Christian stated and then got in the limo. “Take some time to think about the offer to return home. It is something that would make me—and your mother—very happy.” The High Priest said right before Tasher closed the door.

Zeratron stood alone in the parking lot and watched as Tasher drove his father away before making his own exit on foot. With hands in his pockets, he headed towards the bright lights of downtown Hardires.

Zeratron just had an afternoon he would never forget. His father arrived out of nowhere and offered him the chance to have his old home and life back, but it’s unclear whether Zeratron truly wants to go back. As the night closes in, he is left with many thoughts and emotions to contend with just before his match against Gungannon. Is he mentally prepared for what lies ahead? Find out next time on Clubs and Stubs!