Atop the Mountain

Chapter 7: The Shield

Raihan often wakes up in the middle of the night. He always has, and he can never get back to sleep straight away. He learned that a long, long time ago. When he was younger, he'd wake up and go to the kitchen, get a cup of water, and wander around the house until he grew tired again. Sometimes, he'd find Basil, sitting in a chair and reading by candlelight.

"I didn't want to wake your dad," He'd say, then pat the seat next to him.

Raihan would sit, sipping his water, and listen to Basil talk about the plot of whatever book he was reading at the time. Both his fathers had always preferred histories, though Aspen also dabbled in biology. Raihan's friends never understood how he could find that interesting, but Raihan couldn't understand how they didn't find it interesting.

Regardless of how interesting he found it, though, he'd always grow sleepy long before Basil did, and he'd go back to bed, leaving his father to do his quiet reading.

Now, the house is empty when he wanders. Sometimes, he sits in the chair that Basil used to favor, sipping his water quietly. It helps, just a little bit.

He's had a lot more sleepless nights over the past few weeks, since he started hearing the howling more frequently, and every night since his encounter with Zamezenta. The great wolf's presence haunts him. He feels like he cannot deny the invitation, no matter how doomed he may know it to be.

Maybe somewhere, deep down, he wants to go, but-

Raihan doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to leave his father.

He can never sleep deeply, worrying that he may receive yet another message- one he cannot ignore.

He decides to be a bit daring with his choice of beverage this time, opting for a rather bland tea. The warmth pools pleasantly in his chest and belly as he takes small sips on his walk to their seating room. He loves the way the old wood creaks under his feet, quiet enough that he seldom hears it in the daytime. It feels familiar, almost comforting. This is the only part of the house that was untouched by the fire, all those years ago. Just this one room. It feels like a piece of his past, which he knows probably sounds pretentious, coming from a twenty-one year old.

At first, he doesn't see Aspen, and when he does, he nearly drops his tea.

Aspen is curled in Basil's old chair, fast asleep. The collar of his shirt is damp and rumpled, and Raihan frowns when he sees that he's clenching his jaw in his sleep again. He sighs and places his teacup down on their side table- which is a shabby wooden piece that Raihan had made with Milo when they were no more than thirteen. The legs are uneven, the wood unfinished, but Basil had always insisted that it was his favorite table. It wobbles when he rests the cup on it.

"Dad," Raihan whispers, squeezing Aspen's shoulder gently. "Dad, come on."

Aspen stirs, blinking blearily up at his son, "Mm-" he yawns, then blinks some more. After a few seconds, realization seems to dawn upon him. "Oh- I- I didn't mean to fall asleep here," he lets out a forced laugh, "sorry, 'Han. I'm alright, don't worry." He grunts quietly as he hauls himself out of the chair, wincing as his joints crack.

He says that a lot- I'm alright, don't worry . As if Raihan can ever stop worrying about him. As if anything's been alright since the fire.

He doesn't blame his dad for his mourning, or he tries not to. But sometimes he misses the way things used to be.

"Raihan?"