Chương 114: Chapter 071 A Hunter In The Sky

Jack and his father left the city just as the heat of the morning sun burnt away the last curls of fog clinging to the fields. By the time they reached the edge of the safe hiking grounds, the air was sharp with dew and birdsong, and the traces of chimney smoke from Lundun had long faded behind them. William patted Jack on the arm as they moved along the well-trodden path that wound between budding oaks and tangled hedgerows.

"You know you didn't need to bring your weapons here, Son?" His tone was teasing, yet the raised brow that followed carried the weight of a father's concern. Jack adjusted the strap of his pack and let the bow shift against his shoulder. Beside it hung his quiver, and at his side his dagger and mage's wand, each strapped into place. He rejected whatever manipulative response [Rogue's Tongue] offered.

"I know, Dad. But I want to get used to carrying them. Feels right to keep them close." He wasn't lying; they were now a part of him. No longer just a broken scribe, he was becoming something more lethal. William gave a rare chuckle and shook his head, the silver streaks in his dark hair catching the light. His own pack was lighter, filled only with a sketchbook, charcoal, a rolled blanket, and a small bundle of food.

He hiked not for survival but for fitness, for the fresh air, and to fill the pages of his notebooks with poems and drawings of foxes, meadow pipits, and wildflowers.

"Always prepared," William murmured.

"I can't fault that. Though if I see you draw your bow on a rabbit before I finish sketching it, I'll never forgive you." Jack laughed.

"I'll let you have the first shot then." He had no plans to use the bow for hunting, though. They walked in comfortable silence, the crunch of their boots softened by moss and pine needles. The morning was alive with the hum of insects, the trilling of skylarks overhead, and the rustle of unseen creatures darting through the undergrowth. A squirrel dashed across the path and shot up a tree trunk, pausing for a heartbeat to scold them from the safety of an oak branch before vanishing into the leaves.

Father and son both chuckled at the silly display and continued on their way. Jack drew in a deep breath, savouring the smell of damp earth and crushed grass. Hiking had always been his father's pastime, not his. In his previous life, he had avoided these trips with excuses of homework, studying, or simply not wanting to slow his father down. He remembered the way his dad would sometimes pause at the door on Sunday mornings, pack slung over one shoulder, giving Jack one last chance to join him.

And he would always shake his head, too tired, busy, or indifferent. Only after his father's death had he taken up the habit himself, wandering the countryside alone with a sketchbook, chasing a closeness to a man he could never see again. After returning to the city to assassinate Viscount Greaves, he'd drawn trees his father might have once drawn, sat on stones he imagined his dad had rested upon, and told himself the silent moment was shared.

And now, impossibly, here he was: sixteen again, walking beside his father, with the chance to be part of those mornings he once threw away. For him, it was more than a hike; it was a chance to fix something broken within. William slowed his pace, letting his fingers brush over the textured bark of an old oak as if greeting an old friend.

"See this?" He pointed to a patch of bark scarred with claw marks.

"Fox cubs practising their climbing skills. They won't get high, but they'll try. Nature's stubborn like that." Jack leaned closer, studying the marks.

"You notice everything, Dad." His father shrugged, though there was pride in his voice.

"When you walk slowly enough, the world speaks. Most people hurry and miss it." They pressed on, the path leading them up a gentle slope where the hedgerows gave way to open meadow. Jack breathed in deeply, the scent of damp earth mixing with the sweetness of wild thyme and wildflowers. Butterflies flitted between purple knapweed blossoms, and a skylark shot upwards in a frantic spiral of song. William stopped to sketch, dropping his pack and crouching on one knee.

With a swift hand, he captured the arch of a hare's back as it bounded across the meadow, his pencil moving with confident strokes. Jack stood nearby, watching his father work, the memory of years lost pressing against his chest. I was such a fool. He had never appreciated how much his father loved these quiet moments. When his father tucked his sketchbook away and stood again, he looked at Jack with a smile.

"You've got an eye for detail, too. Just takes patience, Son." Jack nodded, his throat tight with emotion. In his past life, he'd learned patience the hard way, as a broken man wandering alone through forests and hills with only his sketchbook for company. To walk here now beside his father was like rewriting a page he had once torn out and discarded to the winds of time. The trail carried them farther uphill, where the breeze grew cooler, and the city was little more than a grey smudge on the horizon.

Jack let the weight of his weapons sit comfortably against him, but for once, they felt less like a burden of survival and more like companions on a journey that mattered. For his dad, it was simply another Sunday hike. For Jack, it felt like the most important walk of his life. They pressed on, the path cresting a rise that offered a wide view of the countryside. Beyond the next hill, a distant river gleamed like a ribbon of glass, and above it a kestrel hung in the air, waiting for a careless mouse.

William stopped again, pointing with his charcoal-stained fingers.

"There, look at that. A hunter in the sky." The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Jack shaded his eyes and stared upward, casting [Eagle Eye] to get a close-up view.

"Wow. It's amazing." The bird hovered still, the beating of its wings hidden by the distance, until it folded itself into a sharp dive. Somewhere in the grass below, its prey's fate was sealed.

"Effortless." William scribbled words and sketches tumbled together across the page. Jack let his bow slip against his shoulder, feeling its weight, and for a moment, he thought of the hunts that lay in his future. The noble's deer hunt and blood ritual with Greaves was a week away, if he didn't avoid it somehow. The battles he knew would come beyond that to protect his life. He thought of how different his father's hunt was, one of sketches and words, not blood and death.

I'll never waste another chance to walk beside him. His thoughts were interrupted by a man's voice.

"William!" the man called.

"It's good to see you. How's the family?" Jack turned to see an old man he recognised. His mouth dropped open as the spell scrolls shopkeeper headed over. What's he doing here?

"Arnold," William replied.

"Everyone is doing well." He turned to Jack and pointed.

"This is Jack, my eldest boy." The old shopkeeper chuckled as he arrived.

"You finally convinced him of the joys of nature?" William returned the chuckle and shook the man's hand.

"No, nothing like that. Jack volunteered. How's your family?" Arnold's eyebrows lifted.

"It's good to meet you again, Jack." He offered his hand.

"They're doing fine." He replied to William.

"One of my grandchildren just started at the Academy. We're so proud of her." With confusion, Jack shook the man's hand.

"Pleased to meet you." He racked his memories. I'm sure I've only met him in the previous timeline? The old shopkeeper smiled.

"I met you a few times when you were about this size." He held his hand out at waist height. Jack nodded. Right… No selling spell scrolls at the shop without a decent disguise.

"Jack starts at the Academy tomorrow," William added. Arnold frowned.

"I thought he planned to become a scribe?" He looked at Jack.

"Change of plans." Jack didn't want to go into detail. The old man's eyes brightened.

"You and Alexandra should become friends. It can be rough on commoners like us at the Academy with all the young nobles attending." He patted Jack on the arm.

"You'd be doing an old man a huge favour if you kept an eye out for her?" William answered first.

"Of course he will." He patted Arnold on the shoulder. He looked to his son. Jack nodded.

"Of course. I don't know anyone at the Academy, so it would be good to see a friendly face in amongst the…" He almost said noble bastards, but stopped himself.

"…strangers." Arnold smiled and pulled out a small notepad not unlike William's. He flipped to a blank page and wrote something down. In the process, Jack spotted sketches and notes of wildlife and landscapes. Is that how they know each other so well? Arnold tore out the page and passed it to Jack.

"This is Alexandra's details. She'll be glad to see a friendly face. Thank you, Jack." He took the page, folded it, and placed it in his inner jacket pocket.

"It's no problem." Arnold pulled out his pocket watch.

"Look at the time. I have to get back… I've a client picking up a dozen [Chronos Sphere] spell scrolls in a few hours. Another rush order." He looked at William.

"Are you sure an old man can't convince you to craft a few scrolls in his spare time? The pay is good." A dozen of the m. Jack's eyes widened. That's got to be blood mages. He wondered if it was Viscount Tides' circle or Viscount Daelrath's. William chuckled and shook his head.

"I have so little time with the Royal Library and family. I'm sure you'll find more scribes in the future." Arnold sighed.

"Well, it was worth a try." He turned to Jack.

"It was good meeting you again, son. Call in at the shop if you're ever in need of art supplies or spell scrolls, and I'll give you a ten per cent discount." Jack smiled.

"Thanks, I might just do that."

"You never offer me a discount?" William complained with a grin. The old shopkeeper laughed.

"Well, I'm not trying to bribe you into keeping an eye on my youngest granddaughter." With that, Arnold waved them goodbye and headed down the sloping path, his laughter fading with each step. They continued their hike. The path curved through a meadow where purple thistles and wild mint grew thick among the grass, and the steady hum of insects filled the morning air. Jack crouched before a patch of wild mint, pulled his dagger and began cutting.

"I bet Mom would like this." With Anna's herb garden damaged by the inquisitors, she'd be short on fresh herbs for a while. William smiled as he pulled out his sketchpad and drew his son harvesting wild mint. As the sun climbed higher, casting the meadow in warm light, they stopped beside a flat stone and sat to share a drink of water and a small snack. William leaned back, catching his breath, his smile easy and unguarded. Jack sat beside him, sketchbook open across his knees.

He'd begun a rough outline of the rolling fields, careful to avoid using his scribe skills. Every line he drew was imperfect, human, and his alone. The smell of crushed wild mint and warm earth drifted up with the breeze. William watched the sketch forming.

"You've got your mother's patience." Jack smiled.

"You always said patience was the difference between a scribe and a scrawl." William laughed.

"Hmm, your grandfather said that to me the first time I ruined a vellum page. You never forget the sound of an old man sighing as if you've personally offended the Muses." He paused and pointed towards the valley where a thin plume of chimney smoke rose from a cluster of farmhouses.

"When I was about your age, your grandfather used to bring me out here. Said a man should learn the language of the wind before he learns the language of words." Jack nodded, though his chest tightened. He'd forgotten that story, forgotten how peaceful his father could be when he wasn't buried in scrolls or weary from work. As they sat, the breeze shifted, carrying the faint jingle of metal. Jack turned his head and spotted a small roadside shrine half-hidden beneath ivy.

A worn stone disk marked with Tyche's twin coins symbol rested in its alcove, a few old copper pieces glinting in the shadow. He rose and brushed away the leaves.

"A shrine to the Goddess of Luck." William followed his gaze and smiled.

"The old paths are full of them. Travellers leave a coin to keep storms and bad luck away." Jack reached into his pouch, withdrew a copper coin, and placed it on the stone.

"Can't hurt to try." He closed his eyes. You ignored me once, Tyche. Maybe you'll listen this time. Give me a little luck to keep them all safe. When he turned back, William was watching with quiet amusement.

"Superstitious already? Maybe there's hope for you yet." They shared another laugh and returned to the stone. The sun had grown fierce, painting everything in gold and shadow. For once, there was no urgency. Just a father and son—one seasoned, the other reborn—walking the hills and leaving marks on paper that the world would forget, but that they would remember. As they packed up to leave, Jack glanced once more towards the shrine.

The sunlight caught the coin he'd left, and for an instant, he thought it shimmered before the light faded. He blinked, but the coin was still. Probably just the wind or something. Still, he smiled.

"Come on, Dad. Let's head home before Tyche changes her mind, and it starts to snow and hail." They both chuckled as they headed home after sharing a morning enjoying what the world had to offer.