Drawstone

Hunter would not walk in his father's footsteps. The only thing they would have in common is etherium, constructs, and a last name. It had been a couple of weeks since he last considered the briefcase. He was getting stronger, he was learning more, and that was enough for him. He realized he could forge his own path forward.

Yet, he still couldn't find it within himself to get rid of the damned thing.

Even if he couldn't even stand the thought of his father anymore, these journals were all that remained of Gideon Koar. His last will and testimony, in a sense. Could he just throw that away? Maybe he would keep the briefcase around as a reminder, a symbol. What that symbol represented, he didn't know. Maybe it meant being careful who you trust and admire. Who and what is he fighting for, and why?

He wondered if he was lying to himself. Maybe, deep down, he did want to read those journals. It was a temptation he'd have to watch. It would be far too easy to give into it — especially when he considered his lacking AR to be one of his biggest flaws. Instead of bringing it to Barnum, he could leave it here, under his bed. Maybe someone would find it and open it, reading its dreadful contents. Maybe Oberon Enterprises would find within those pages a treasure-trove of knowledge, just as he expected Trey had wanted all along.

All they'd be doing was showing him more of what he already knows. The world he was stepping into was one where there would be no one that he could trust. Everyone is going to have an agenda.

It'll be like an entire school full of David Nettles.

He only needed to survive that sort of environment for three years. Three years of studying, crafting constructs, and getting the shit kicked out of him in exchange for the rest of his life. Worse case scenario, he holds the Oberon's name and makes a decent life for himself. Best-case scenario, he'll be on a ship headed outworld in order to explore the universe.

Either way, he wins.

Since his studying and tutoring sessions were done, he would have the next two days to himself. He planned on getting around to designing and creating the improved battery, and experiment with shaped Force fields. He would lose track of time, barely sleep, and then wake up from his manic fugue-state, already halfway to the academy.

It was going to be great.

Stewart found him later that afternoon and informed him that Trey was requesting his presence for dinner that evening. Hunter affirmed that he'd be present and looked forward to trying on some of the new clothes that Stewart had bought for him after taking his measurements. Hunter had decided that if he had access to money, he might as well spend it. And why not spend it on looking good?

Stewart had asked him what he had in mind, and Hunter told him to get whatever he thought would be best. The old steward snorted and accepted the request. To Hunter's pleasant surprise, the current fashion seemed to lean towards the old-fashioned. He looked like an aristocrat from a century ago with his gold-trimmed vest, which he wore atop an intricately stitched dress shirt.

His dress pants and shoes were more of a modern style, and the whole assemblage reminded him of the mansion itself — a mix of old and new. He had a few such suits, and Stewart assured him that the combination had a quality to it that transcended the various trends of fashion, which is what brought Trey to incorporate it wherever he could.

Hunter was glad he hadn't been in charge of selecting his own wardrobe. He wouldn't have done half as good of a job.

Hunter caffeinated before dinner, unless he wanted to risk falling asleep mid-meal. The last few weeks had drained him to a point that a single night of good sleep couldn't quite fix. He felt it would take time to get back to normal, whatever that meant these days.

They held the dinner relatively early, which Hunter appreciated. It meant that he'd have time to study at this workstation for a few of hours during the late afternoon and evening.

The dining room Trey had selected was closer to the centre of the mansion and lacked the grand views he'd come to expect. What it lacked in windows, it made up for in an impressive amount of portraits adorning a significant fraction of the wall space in the room. A large, ornate chandelier hung from above, its glow bathing the room in a yellow glow — or at least it appeared so. If he were to guess, it was an effect of the intricate golden designs painted between the portraits scattering the light. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was taking him a while to adjust to the atmosphere the effect created.

They showed Hunter to his seat across from Aera. Trey was at the head of the table to their right. Hunter was glad he hadn't assumed wrong and overdressed for the occasion. Trey acknowledged his appearance with a nod.

"You're adjusting well to your new role, I see," Trey said, as the house staff entered the room with dome-lidded trays. Aera made a polite sound of agreement. They both took their napkins and placed them on their laps. Hunter followed suit, having grown used to the ritual. He didn't understand why they wouldn't just use them like normal people did. He figured it was another eccentric habit of the social elite.

Trey reaching for food was the sign that Aera and Hunter could follow suit and fill their own plates. Hunter was starving, so he didn't mind piling on as much food as he could handle, and a bit more that he would end up taking to snack on throughout the rest of the evening. Aera looked that the pile of food he'd made for himself and muttered something, but Hunter couldn't make it out. Neither could Trey.

"What was that, love?" Trey asked Aera.

"I said he's worked up quite an appetite," said Aera, without missing a beat.

Hunter almost snorted, but he kept his composure as best he could, hiding his intense frustration by a taking a large bite out of a croissant.

"He sure has!" Trey said. Hunter had to wonder at the source of his enthusiasm. A hyper-abundance of coffee, maybe?

"Hunter, Aera was just telling me about the progress you've made. Despite your doubts, it looks like you've come a long way in a short three weeks. I hear you have also performed adequately during your academic catch-up," Trey said.

Hunter shrugged. He wondered how Aera illustrated their tutoring sessions to her father. He imagined there was more protest on her part about the necessity of their meetings. The look on Aera's face as Trey spoke seemed to imply that he was leaving out a few things.

Hunter felt tempted to outright to tell him what he really felt about his time with Aera, but he'd already committed to trying to keep his relationship with his patron as cordial as possible.

"She said that? Thanks, Aera," Hunter said, turning to Trey, "She has such a busy schedule, we never had time to talk after the sessions. I'm curious about what she thinks about my progress."

Trey waved his hand at Aera, an invitation to speak.

"Hunter showed remarkable fortitude. I'm impressed by his persistence and commitment to improve," she said. She even seemed to mean it.

If she was making any subtle insults, he couldn't find them. It doesn't mean they weren't there. Maybe it was something more directed towards him? She could be saying that he was great at taking a beating.

"All credit goes to the coach," Hunter laughed. "She knew just how far to push me."

Aera raised an eyebrow in response, probably wondering whether she should take his comment at face value as well.

"I knew you two would get along," Trey smiled before taking another bite. They were all silent for a while. Maybe Trey didn't realize just how awkward this dinner was becoming.

"You know," Trey said, "I'm so impressed by how this brief experiment has gone that I'm tempted to make it a regular thing."

Hunter froze while cutting into some steak. Aera faced her father. Neither of them spoke.

Trey seemed oblivious to their reactions, his eyes captivated by the dissection he was performing on his own plate.

"Yeah, the more I think about it, the more it appeals to me. I see no disadvantage of having you both bond further, and Hunter, you've clearly benefited from your time under Aera's tutelage. I mean," Trey flexed his arm, but he was still holding a fork, and a piece of meat fell on the floor. He didn't seem to notice. He used the fork to point at Hunter. "You seem to have put on a couple of pounds of solid muscle mass. How do you feel?"

Sore, Hunter wanted to say, but he paused and thought about his answer. Trey was exaggerating. Hunter saw himself in the mirror every day — he was as match-stick thin as ever. Except for a few points, especially in his legs, and maybe his abs, where he could swear that he saw a small bit of growth or increase in definition.

"I've noticed some improvements," Hunter said.

"And do you think you're ready for the Academy?" Trey asked.

No, Hunter thought.

"As ready as I'll ever be," he said. Trey nodded, satisfied with the answer.

"What are you going to do with the rest of your time before you both leave for the Pacific Shield?" Trey asked.

"I had some ideas during the competition that I've been wanting to experiment with," Hunter said.

"Oh? Care to share? I told you about how well Hunter did at the competition, didn't I?" Trey asked Aera.

"You did, yes," she said.

Trey turned to Hunter, waiting for him to elaborate. Hunter didn't want to, but it would feel weird if he said nothing.

"I wanted to try a new battery design, and I'm interested in learning as much as I can about shaped force fields."

Aera cleared her throat.

"Are you alright?" Trey asked her. "Something to say?"

"No, nothing," Aera said, "I'm fine."

Trey turned back to Hunter.

"I used to love listening to your father ramble on and on about his ideas. I never understood much beyond the absolute basics, which didn't account for much. But a man driven by a vision, by passion, by devotion, that is something worth being around. It's like a fire, and you can't help being lit up as well. Passion is contagious, Hunter," Trey said, his voice growing quite sharp near the end.

Hunter marvelled at the man's ability to work himself into a fervour. It was almost like a rage, yet it didn't sharpness of anger. His eyes seemed to hold the very flame he was talking about.

"I'll try to remember that," Hunter said. He wasn't sure how to respond to the sudden intensity Trey displayed. He belatedly realized trey had mentioned his father.

Hunter almost wanted to tell him about the journals.

Almost, but not quite. It would be a bad idea for many reasons. First of which was the fact that he wasn't sure he wanted to destroy the man's view of his oldest friend.

The second reason was the still silent-but-faint possibility that Hunter's usefulness to the man would cease once he got his hands on all of Gideon Koar's remaining work. Hunter needed his value to be perceived as potential; a potential for Trey to continue to invest in and mould to fit Oberon Enterprises'—and the Oberon family's—highest interest.

He'd love to see Aera's face when he told her he had in his possession a potential method of accelerating the growth of AR, but the cost wouldn't be worth the prize. Even if it promised to revolutionize the way people lived.

The increase in longevity alone would be enough to change society forever. The increase in strength would help people take full advantage of that longevity. That was all based on the condition that the method itself didn't require some depraved sacrifice of human life. Who knows what depths his father had sunk to in order to fulfil this obsession?

Hunter shook his head. He had lost what remained of his appetite. He waited for the other two to finish, and Trey finally dismissed them. Hunter almost got lost trying to find his way back to his room, having never visited this part of the mansion before. A steward pointed him in the right direction.

Sunset was still about an hour away when he returned to his room. He sat on his bed and thought about what was to come, and what he'd gone through over the last little while.

He was surprised that he hadn't given up. There were a few times over the last few weeks where he'd felt tempted. Aera was almost too much to handle, and cramming years' worth of education day after day had taken a mental toll as well.

Not to mention he was having nightmares about the museum. He'd asked about getting in touch with Sly, but apparently he was taking a vacation.

More had happened to Hunter in the last month than he'd been through in the last decade, and he didn't know how he was holding it together. If he had to point to any single source for his apparent fortitude, it would be a stubborn unwillingness to deviate from the path he'd set himself on. He saw the stubbornness for what it was, but he saw no reason to question it. He was charging head-on into uncertainty, and the circumstances just kept reinforcing his bull-headed momentum.

He kept telling himself that he'd made it so far in such a short amount of time, he might as well keep going. If things continued they way they had been, he'd make it through the next few years just fine.

Of course, there was also the possibility that he wasn't holding it together at all, and that he'd already snapped. Maybe he was one more tutoring session away from turning homicidal.

After all, it had happened to his father. What's stopping it from happening to him as well?

He had a flashback to the final round of the competition. David Nettle had asked him if they needed to worry about Hunter turning out to be like his father.

Hunter remembered what he'd said out of complete reflex. He remembered the intent behind it, that he'd only been joking.

I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

But what if there was something else under the joke? What if there was a part of him had wanted to hurt David, and the people like him, who had made his life harder than it needed to be?

That's when he realized he hadn't been honest with himself up to this point.

The price his father made others pay to complete his work was not the only reason Hunter resisted his inheritance. There was something else that was eating away at the back of his mind, a question that he hadn't felt ready to face yet.

What if the Internal Arts was the reason his father became so twisted in the first place?

What if it caused him to become just like his father?