What now? That question still lingers around Avalel's mind as he sits up, restless and wide awake long after his companions have fallen asleep. Ever since that revelation, he just can't lull himself to sleep, the vision seeming to replay in his mind every time he closes his eyes. That scene, so peaceful and joyful, yet inflicting so much pain on him. Why did Dad… no, Faresoenn… Why did he lie? he ponders. Had it not been for the Anapadeia, that same weapon he despised, he would've lived under this lie, assuming the title of the “son of Faresoenn”.

But here he is, bearing an identity he had just uncovered, no, revealed. How can he, ignorant of what was even the Achien Empire, all of a sudden take on the hated title of “son of Stasibel”?

He thinks of the words spoken from Ipela when they first came to Thille months ago: For whoever is discovered with it… they are to be executed on the spot. As if wielding the Anapadeia isn't enough, the sword itself has to thrust upon an identity he still cannot comprehend or accept. Just how much trouble have you caused, Anapadeia?

He sighs, looking at the faces of his friends, deep in their sleep, his remaining two pillars of trust. Don't take them away from me as well. Tarak: the child of a forbidden relationship, his mother betraying him and his father. Kavlina: killing her father with her own hands, helplessly witnessing her mother’s death. Even the killing of those innocents she mentioned… Just how can they bear such a burden? Avalel realizes. If anything, shouldn't they have broken down from all that mental strain long ago? Why am I so weak?

Just then, a breeze. Not the freezing, rattling winds of winter, but a warm, slightly ticklish air gently flowing past. This softness… he reaches to touch the floor, but instead he feels the blanket of grass ruffling against his palm.

“It’s been a while, Avalel.”

Avalel suddenly feels his body freeze in place, unable to even budge. Slowly, a shadow creeps up his body, as if grabbing its prey, until it stops at the neck, almost as if it’s choking him. Struggling, Avalel tilts his head upwards, and facing him is the mysterious cloaked shadow, its features concealed behind a cloud of smoke.

“Say, this must be the first time I called you by name, isn't it?” it says.

“What brings me here this time?”

“I figured you need a breath of peace and calmness,” it answers, relaxing its stance.

“As if,” Avalel stands up, the memories of their previous encounters etched deeply in his mind.

“It’s now the beginning of yet another year, yet the war still rages on,” it sighs, “It’s still a long way to go until the conflict can end.”

How fake. “Surely you haven't appeared just to talk about the war.”

“No, this is precisely what I want to talk about, Avalel,” it emphasizes, “You saw firsthand the horrors of war. You fought in a battle as one of its many pawns. Don’t you wish to take on a more significant role? Don't you wish you could use that power and avoid more tragedies like yours?”

“Don’t mention it,” Avalel whispers, struggling to maintain his composure.

The figure pauses. “Let’s play a little game,” it suggests. “Pretend you and a small group of people are captured. On one side are complete strangers, people you have never met before. On the other side are your companions. Your captor gives you a choice: either stay silent and he’ll kill your companions, or you’ll request that the larger group of strangers be killed instead. What will you choose?”

Avalel is silent. This is a scenario he had never imagined, yet there is a sense of familiarity in it. He does not want to kill, of course, yet at this cost?

“Why is it so hard to answer?” the figure asks, “You’ve made that decision twice already.”

“I said don't mention it,” Avalel threatens, clenching his fists, fully realizing the meaning behind it.

“So you realized,” the figure says calmly, “Wouldn’t it be better if you were able to somehow overpower your captor? Then you can perhaps save everyone.”

“Power in the form of a bloodthirsty sword?” Avalel questions, “That is my captor, not my savior.”

“How smart,” the figure compliments, “Yet time and again, you rely on the power of the sword. In the end, you are still a coward.”

“I… ”

“Let me teach you this: no matter how strong you become, you will find yourself returning back to the Anapadeia. You are captured, bound by it, after all. Just like your father and ancestors before you.”

“Wait,” Avalel suddenly notices, “Just who are you?”

“You finally asked the right question.” Gradually, the smoke dissipates from the figure, and to Avalel’s surprise, it transforms into the figure of a tall, handsome man, his features clean despite the blood splattered on his face. His hair is a neatly combed mat of brown, while his dark eyes seem to stare directly into Avalel's mind. Just like four years ago, the bloodstained white cloak again appears, covering much of the man's body and clothing. To Avalel, it is as if a corpse had been brought to life.

“Do I look familiar, Avalel nai Stasibel?” it asks.

The man from that vision. The man whom he read through his journals. The man known as Stasibel.

“Of course,” Avalel responds, trembling, “Father.”

But why? Why would he reveal himself now? To rub salt into his wounds? He could only stare at Stasibel, struggling to even stand still with his shaking legs.

“You are confused, aren’t you?” Stasibel notices, “Confused as the day when you learned your identity.”

“Why…”

“Why would I reveal myself only now, you may ask?” Stasibel responds, “Let me ask you a question: would you have believed me if I claimed to be your father four years ago?”

“Why did you decide to appear to me in a dream four years ago?”

“Is it a problem for a father to see his son every once in a while?”

“It was a mistake on Stasibel's behalf,” a soft voice chimes in, and the spirit of the Anapadeia materializes next to Stasibel, “He allowed your subconsciousness to enter this realm when he was still unstable.”

“What?”

“You’ll understand soon enough,” the spirit says, “Avalel, you are still young, and have much to learn.”

“Let me ask you another question,” Stasibel says, “Why do you despise us?”

“I do not wish to be controlled, yet twice, twice I was forced to give in even my consciousness to the Anapadeia. Is that not enough of a reason?”

“Yet the world is defined by those who control and those who don’t,” the spirit argues, “The ones in power will control the ones who aren‘t. Those who resist this system simply fade away and die with much regret. It is that simple.”

“To have power equals greater means to protect those you cherish,” Stasibel adds, “Yet even then, fate can still take it away as it pleases.”

“You’re saying I should seek power?” Avalel asks.

“Yes. To protect yourself, your companions, and your environment,” Stasibel confirms, “I do not want you to repeat the same mistakes as I have.”

“Power, power, power… Do you mean I am forced to seek it until the day I die?”

“You want to be freed from our control, do you not? You want to protect your companions, do you not?” Stasibel replies, “How will that be possible if you stagnate at your current level? Your martial prowess is limited, nevermind your mental strength or even your status in your environment. How can you even survive if you do not seek more?”

“You do not understand!” Avalel shouts, “I’ve had my taste of your so-called ‘power’, and what did I see? Blood flowing out of my hands. The dead staring at my eyes, as if cursing my very existence. It’s just… disgusting!”

“You are a good child, Avalel,” Stasibel says, “Faresoenn has taught you well. But do you realize that an individual without power is helpless? You are my son, Avalel. I cannot bear to see you suffer, all just because of your stubborn refusal to accept the unchanging rule in our world.”

“There is no point in convincing him with words alone, Stasibel,” the spirit states, “Show it with your actions. Then he may have a slim chance of realizing the truth.”

“I guess I have no choice,” Stasibel sighs, “Avalel, I'm afraid you have to realize the difference between the powerful and the powerless… through force.”

The formerly beautiful landscape rapidly begins to dim and grey, like a heavy fog descending onto the landscape. The figures of Stasibel and the spirit seem to fade into the fog, disappearing from Avalel’s sight. Uncontrollably, a sense of fear begins to surround him, his sight narrowing from anxiety. Just what are they planning…

A hit on his chest, knocking him flying. As he falls, another violent blast from below. Then another. And another. Tossed around like a ragdoll, he feels the bones in his body crack and break, no sound coming out of his screams of pain. Finally, he crashes onto the ground, his limbs dislocated, his features disfigured. He could only gasp and gargle, feeling his own blood drowning his lungs.

“Now do you understand the difference between the powerful and powerless?” Stasibel looks with pity.

“You are still too weak, young one,” the spirit states, “Without the sword, you are nothing but a naïve boy.” Drifting forward, it forms a barrier around Avalel, halting the pain in his body. In what looks like a reversal of time itself, his limbs shift back into place, the blood flows out of his mouth, the broken bones reattach themselves. It is as if Avalel had simply tripped and fallen into the ground.

Avalel staggers back up, his body still fazed from such a sudden attack and just as surprising of a heal. Just how skilled are they?

“Do not shy away from power itself,” Stasibel advises earnestly, “Even if it's just in the form of physical strength, power can and will serve you for much of your life.”

“I, the Anapadeia, am not your enemy,” the spirit adds, “You have this weapon at your disposal. Use me as your tool to protect your companions. Given enough time, you may be able to pick up some of my power as naturally as you breathe.”

“... No,” Avalel refuses, “I am not a killing machine. I will resist this trap that you call ‘power’. After all, isn't it the lust for power that drove Nasition to kill you, and now, me?”

He still doesn’t understand yet. “If you insist,” Stasibel says in disappointment, “then I can't force you…”

“One day,” the spirit warns, “One day, you'll regret your decision. Then you will simply be attracted to power all the same, but with an increased, dangerous fervor.”

“Then may that day never come,” Avalel says as he stares at the sky.

“My son…” Stasibel calls.

“You are my father, but you are not Dad,” Avalel coldly scoffs, “As if you can claim your son after sixteen years.” Slowly, he fades out of the realm, a bitter smile on his face.

For a while, Stasibel stands still, staring at where Avalel was, his body reverting to a figure of smoke and shadow. I wish I could see his growth over the years.

“Do you think he even took one word of advice?” the spirit asks.

“Even after that severe beating, he’s as stubborn as ever,” Stasibel laughs, “I can't say if I'm proud or frustrated of such a son.”

“Why did you use such strong magic just as a demonstration?”

“So he may see his own weakness. In life, I had a frail body, but I managed to go far with my simple thirst for power.”

“Yet you know perfectly well the same power has cost your own life, and with it, your beloved family and your empire. You were too focused on yourself, that you neglected the ones you thought were most loyal to you.”

“I did not realize it at the time, but I was corrupted by that thirst, thinking I was trying to save the Empire when, in fact, I was just trying to preserve and expand my power, as my ancestors have done. If Avalel can accept this power early on, then perhaps he can learn to control it earlier.”

“You just don't want him to repeat what you've done, do you?”

“Not just me, but the mistakes of Nasition and Faresoenn as well.”

“What if he loses one of his dear companions?”

“... It’s not difficult to imagine.”

“You love your son, don't you?” the spirit suddenly asks.

Silence, but Stasibel instinctively brings his cloak to his hidden face. “Perhaps I do.”