Ludger’s frown deepened. That did sound like the family.
Still, before he could say anything, Arslan added, “To avoid them getting hurt too badly, Elaine already taught them Healing Touch.”
Ludger blinked once. Then frowned harder.
“They learned that already?”
Arslan nodded. And he looked more worried than pleased. That part said enough by itself.
Normally, teaching children a healing skill that early might have been something to celebrate. Talent was talent. Early growth was useful. A strong foundation made later development easier.
But Arslan clearly wasn’t seeing it that way. Which meant the problem wasn’t only that they had learned it. It was why they had learned it.
Because if Elaine had decided it was safer to teach the twins healing already, then that meant they had reached the point where simply watching them wasn’t enough anymore. They were active. Curious. Reckless in the way children could be when surrounded by strong people and convinced that effort was just part of daily life.
Ludger looked ahead again, expression unreadable.
“I see.”
Arslan let out a quiet breath.
“I’m not happy about it,” he admitted. “Not because Healing Touch is bad. But because it means they’re already moving in that direction.” His hands tightened slightly. “I wanted more time before any of this started feeling normal to them.”
Ludger understood that. More than he wanted to. The problem wasn’t just skill use. It was normalization.
Once children started seeing training, danger, injuries, recovery, labor, and constant improvement as ordinary parts of life, it became difficult to separate them from that path later. They didn’t think in terms of burden yet. Or cost. Or what it meant to grow up inside a place where strength solved so many things.
To them, it was probably simple. Everyone around them trained. So they trained too.
Arslan shook his head faintly. “I keep telling myself they’re just children playing around.”
“But they’re not only playing,” Ludger said.
“No,” Arslan admitted. “They’re not.”
That answer settled between them for a moment. The road carried them forward while Ludger thought about it. Healing Touch that early… That was fast.
Not impossible. Not in their family, and not in a place like Lionfang, where mana use, skill talk, and practical training were part of the air people breathed. But still fast enough to be concerning. Skills learned too early could shape habits early too. Good ones, sometimes. Bad ones too.
“They hurt themselves often?” Ludger asked.
“Often enough,” Arslan said dryly. “Nothing serious. Bruises. Small cuts. The occasional fall.” He grimaced slightly. “Enough that Elaine decided it was better for them to know how to fix the smaller damage instead of letting them cry, hide it, and then go right back to doing the same thing ten minutes later.”
That sounded exactly like something Elaine would do. Practical. Slightly terrifying. Ludger frowned again, though this time more thoughtfully than before.
Because talent in children was supposed to feel hopeful. Instead, this sounded like the first quiet sign that the world around them was already pulling them in. Ludger was quiet for a few moments after that.
Then he asked, “Are you worried that because of that, they’ll end up in danger sooner rather than later?”
Arslan didn’t answer immediately. The question was simple, but the silence that followed wasn’t. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than before.
“I want them to live a normal life for as long as they can,” he said. “At least until they’re old enough to defend themselves properly. Old enough to make their own choices and understand what those choices cost.”
Ludger listened without interrupting. Arslan kept his eyes on the road as he continued.
“I had that chance,” he said. “More or less.”
A humorless smile touched his mouth for a moment.
“And I wasted a lot of it being an idiot.”
Ludger glanced at him.
Arslan let out a breath through his nose. “I was a brat. Selfish. Thought mostly about what I wanted, what I felt like doing, what annoyed me, what interested me. I didn’t think much beyond that.” His expression flattened slightly. “And I made a lot of mistakes because of it. The women that I made cry are a lot a part of the mistakes I made.”
The admission came without drama. That made it feel more honest.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“I had time to be reckless,” Arslan said. “Time to be stupid. Time to grow into myself badly before life started demanding more from me.” He paused briefly. “Not everyone gets that.”
Ludger stayed silent.
Arslan’s hands shifted lightly on the reins. “That’s part of why I let you to follow your own path from so early on.”
That made Ludger look at him again, though he still said nothing. Arslan continued anyway.
“You had already started making life work when it was just you and your mother. Before I learned the truth.” His tone was steady, but there was something heavier sitting under it. “By the time I entered your life properly, you weren’t really in a place where I could just shape you from the beginning. You were already moving. Already adapting. Already trying to carry things you shouldn’t have needed to carry.”
The road stretched on ahead of them while those words settled between them.
“I figured,” Arslan said, “that forcing you too hard in one direction after that would do more harm than good. So I watched. Intervened when I had to. Tried to support where I could.” His jaw tightened faintly. “Maybe that was right. Maybe it wasn’t. But it was the best decision I had at the time.”
Ludger didn’t answer. Not because he disagreed. Not because he agreed either. Mostly because he didn’t know what there was to say. He had never been a normal child. Not really. Not in the way Arslan meant.
There had never been a version of his life where things were simple enough for that. No stretch of easy foolishness. No time to stumble around carelessly and trust that someone else would absorb the consequences. Even early on, the world had already been something to read, weigh, and survive.
So when Arslan talked about wanting that kind of normality for the twins, Ludger understood it. But not personally. More like he understood the shape of an idea that had always belonged to other people. Arslan glanced at him after a while, maybe expecting some kind of answer.
Ludger gave him none. And eventually, Arslan looked back at the road, seeming to understand that silence was probably the only response he was going to get.
After a while, Ludger finally spoke.
“We’re already doing enough to make sure they’ll be protected,” he said. “And with mother around, it’s unlikely they’ll grow up too stubborn and reckless.”
Arslan blinked once. Then a short laugh escaped him despite himself.
“Yeah,” he said. “We can leave that part to Elaine.”
Ludger kept his gaze on the road ahead.
“The important thing is to let them follow their own path,” he said. “Not block whatever possibilities their lives end up offering them.”
Arslan listened quietly.
“Learning how to defend themselves,” Ludger continued, “and learning a bit of magic shouldn’t hinder them. If anything, it should make their lives easier.”
That was the part that mattered most. Strength wasn’t a chain by itself. Neither was skill. What trapped people was when others decided those things gave them only one way to live. Ludger didn’t think it had to be like that.
If the twins learned how to fight a little, heal a little, use mana a little, then that didn’t mean they had to become warriors, adventurers, or guild figures. It just meant they would have more tools. More ways to protect themselves. More options when life stopped being kind.
And life usually stopped being kind sooner or later. So letting them learn wasn’t the problem. The problem would be forcing them into a shape before they were ready to choose one. Arslan was silent for a few seconds after hearing that. Then he nodded slowly.
“That’s true.”
Ludger glanced at him briefly. “You don’t sound fully convinced.”
Arslan let out a breath through his nose. “I am convinced. I just…” He searched for the words for a moment. “I know that once children start walking in a direction, people around them tend to start expecting things.”
That was true too. Talent created pressure. Early ability created assumptions.
And in a place like Lionfang, where strength and usefulness were seen every day, it would be easy for others to look at the twins and start imagining what they might become before the children themselves even understood what they wanted.
Ludger’s expression stayed calm.
“Then we make sure expectations stay where they belong,” he said. “On the adults.”
Arslan glanced at him again.
Ludger continued in the same even tone. “Let them learn. Let them grow. Let them choose later.” He paused briefly. “As long as no one starts deciding their future for them, it’s fine.”
That answer made Arslan go quiet again. Then, after a moment, he laughed softly under his breath.
“You really do make these things sound simple.”
“They are simple,” Ludger said. “People are the ones who make them complicated.”
That got another small laugh out of Arslan.
“Fair enough.”
The conversation eased after that, the tension thinning little by little as the road carried them onward. The concern didn’t disappear entirely, but it settled into something more manageable. Because Ludger was right. Knowing how to heal a bruise, use a little mana, or defend yourself with a stick didn’t ruin a childhood. If anything, in a world like theirs, it gave children a better chance of keeping it.
Arslan let the silence breathe for a while longer, then suddenly flicked one hand as if throwing the entire previous discussion off the side of the road.
“Enough with the serious topics,” he said. “Let’s talk about something more interesting.”
Ludger glanced at him. “That already sounds suspicious.”
Arslan ignored that completely. “Let’s talk about you. Your life, Luds.”
Ludger raised an eyebrow.
His father rarely called him that outside the house. Almost never, really. It was probably deliberate. Calling the vice guildmaster of the Lionsguard Luds in public would ruin a certain amount of carefully maintained dignity. Or at the very least, confuse people who expected a colder image from someone who spent half his time organizing expansion plans and the other half crushing whatever was stupid enough to stand in the way.
So hearing it now told Ludger two things. First, Arslan was in a very relaxed mood. Second, this conversation was about to become annoying.
Ludger already had a bad feeling about where it was heading. He didn’t say that out loud, mostly because it wouldn’t help. His father had the terrible habit of taking resistance as encouragement whenever he thought he was being clever.
Arslan rode on with the kind of expression that only appeared when he was about to become a problem on purpose.
“You’re already at that age,” he said casually. “And you’re my son.”
Ludger’s eyes narrowed slightly. Arslan grinned wider, clearly noticing and choosing not to care.
“And yet,” he went on, “you aren’t out there chasing skirts. Not even a little.”
There it was.