“you think i want to be me? i don’t want to be doing this. i don’t want to teach, i don’t want to have the emotional capacity of an orange, and i don’t want to have to be the one that has to discipline you and teach you how to do this so you don’t have to go to the guard academy, but here we are.” he caught his breath, words overflowed akin to a waterfall. he had said too much, but at the same time, it might’ve been what zenix needed to hear.

dale would’ve been a better teacher. red would’ve been a better teacher. but the duty had fallen to him, when he could barely remember anything other than perfection. zenix deserved more patience, more time, and more experience doing this.

“first try?” the words were quiet, but the man was seething. this? this was patience. this was unwavering patience that he had offered for too long, compared to his own training. “i’ve given you time to get it right, i’ve given you chances to work with it, and yet you continue to ignore what i say and act like it’s my fault you won’t work to understand a concept.” his words grew louder as he continued, balled fists clenching.

“you haven’t been punished for not getting it right, you’ve been told what you’re doing wrong, and ways you can fix it.”

he was going to kill zenix. maybe not entirely true, but it was the first thought that popped into his head he was going to kill this child for disregarding eerything he had done, and the work he had put into creating things for him, because he didn’t want to train, or deal with the criticism he got.

a flash of blade before the sword is shoved back into its sheath. he wouldn’t be the man that had turned him into the one seeking perfection today. he could let it go.

unless his mouth got the best of him.

“if you leave it here you aren’t sleeping in the house.”

“pick up your sword.” firm words with steeled eyes. his hands lay where they were a second ago, everything besides his lips as still as they could possibly be. it was irrational, he knew, to be this upset, this F R U S T R A T E D with  the teen, but enough had been enough.

if he was gong to leave, the least he could do was take care of the things that had been created for him. this included the sword that now lay at garroth’s feet. inhale. exhale. the knight couldn’t take this personally. 

it couldn’t be personal. it couldn’t be something that was a personal flaw on his part, it couldn’t be that zenix hated him. or hated everything about this.

“then you can leave.”

grit teeth and closed eyes were his response. the knight’s grip tightened on his sword, his posture straightened, and he knew there that if he didn’t control himself he most likely wouldn’t have a son. a deep breath. an exhale.

he stood, grip still strong on the hilt of his sword. his eyes remained closed, and he continued his mantra of needing to control himself. garroth wasn’t about to lose it for this utter lack of respect or understanding, no.

zenix would understand what he was told. and he would get right back into his position. a swift movement and garroth sheathes his sword at his side, hand settling again firmly on the hilt, free hand laying in a fist at his side.

“i dont think you understand a single thing I’ve told you. if you want to be recognized for trying, maybe you should find something else productive to do, where something that isnt perfect can’t get you killed.”

the tone didnt go unnoticed by garroth, but he couldn’t acknowledge it exactly. a screaming fit wasn’t the goal, and he had already had to calm himself down. he could ignore it, for now.

the knight settled into the familiar stance, arms loose, grip firm as he unsheathed his sword. it was a comfortable weight in his hands, and eyes closed as he settled. shoulders square but not tense, arms ready for movement. zenix was focused, yes, but wasn’t anticipating things.

‘loose isn’t slouching.’ the words came out as a whip, slapping harshly against the boy’s efforts. however unintended it was, it was a painful sound. they were harsh, critical, and denying the fact that he had even tried.

             a sharp ache in his chest, and he can’t breathe. this hadn’t happened in dreams before. furrowed brows settle on his forehead until panic starts to set in, hands starting to grasp at his throat.

            black filled his vision, but he didn’t feel skin underneath his hands, instead something softer. a gasping breath, and he digs his fingers into the soft object, ripping it away. his eyes flickered open, sight settling on the intruder. this was real.

             this was real. 

             the other person was pushed across the room, a harsh shove and his panic causing him to sit back against the headboard.

           the sound had penetrated his dream, furrowed brows betraying the concern. while he lay motionless, on the bed, sleep still consuming him, his mind played tricks. 

           creaking floors, and a dark tunnel, his footsteps slowly following the walls. it continued to narrow, light beginning to dim as the creaking got louder. it was strange. the dream had occurred before, himself able to make it further and further down into the tunnel, but the creaking was new, and unexpected.

           perhaps it was a sign of something to come? he had never used dreams before as a way of revealing something, and even now he wasn’t going to, but the addition of the creaking was strange. even how the light at the end began to flicker, was strange. a frown, and he walks forward, the flickering starting to end, and his own breathing, he noted, began to stutter.

            this wasn’t right.