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They are on a run.
They are in danger.
The assassins who annihilated them are still on their heels, and Ron, the next Patriarch of the Molan household, is afraid. Afraid that he's son won't make it, he's young child who's not even a teen yet will go on before him.
The hunters are now being hunted, and he doesn't know what to do. He's afraid that they won't make it and fall victim to the enemies' blade like their family.
He should've been stronger. If only he were stronger, then this wouldn't have happened at all.
Ron is not a religious person, but he's begging all beings up above for them to spare his only son. The most precious gift from his wife. His to nurture and protect, and provide for.
Oh, how the might have fallen.
The night is still young, but the two are exhausted.
6 days and 7 nights, with constant action and little to no rest, causes a toll on their body that their adrenaline can no longer support.
It's difficult to keep their eyes open because they are so, so tired.
Hiding in a cave somewhere far from society, their temporary refuge gives them the slight reassurance that they will not die tonight.
{Pitter patter pitter patter}
It might be dangerous to remain in a location, but Ron personally thinks that going out on a stormy night is more dangerous. Yes, the loud sound and flashing light can hide their presence, but it may also give them unnecessary problems that they cannot handle with their current situation.
The winds, in particular, are howling, the hail is unforgiving, the lightning is fast and blinding, and the thunder that follows is way too loud.
Ron cannot let his only son get sick.
Ron bundled his Beacrox with the few pieces of cloth that they managed to bring with them in their spatial bag. His son is shivering with the cold of the night.
{Pitter patter pitter patter}
The sound of the droplets is a pattern that he focused on. If he didn't, he might lose his mind.
He needs to focus on something that is not his flaming hatred of those people who murdered his people.
{Pitter patter pitter patter}
His son is cold and shivering, but the night is still young.
{Pitter patter pitter patter}
Will they survive? Will they make it?
Ron hopes that his son will be able to survive. He hopes that he can save his son.
But can he confidently say that his son will be able to keep his sanity? Will they remain sane?
{Pitter patter pitter patter}
The sound of nature lulls his son to sleep, but Ron knows better.
His Beacrox is still alert.
{Pitter patter pitter-
SPLASH!!!!}
Ron stood up with his dagger drawn, hands on his son's waist, prepared to haul him on his shoulder and flee on a moment's notice.
His son is wide awake, hands on his father's shoulder, already knowing what his father will do if the situation calls for it.
With bated breath, they await the danger that they knew would come.
Beacrox hugs the spatial bag that holds their ratio of remaining food and a few bandages and salve. He holds it tightly as he knows its importance.
"Molan Patriarch-nim"
Ron sent his dagger flying to where he heard the voice.
"So vicious."
Ron clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. He's frustrated and stressed, what with the one-sided battle they've been through.
"Show yourself"
It might be stupid, he might be foolish, but he trusts his 5 senses, instinct, and intuition. It's telling him that there's only one human hidden within the foliage.
A man in his early twenties came out, he's wearing a dark brown coat, his hood hides most of his face, and both of his arms are raised. The universal sign of giving up.
Ron stared at the man.
"Meow~"
"Mrow~"
Ron heard a cat's meow. Funny enough, the sounds seem like they're making fun of them, making fun of their situation.
"We mean no harm."
We?
No.
His instincts have never failed him before.
Wait.
Ron let his eyes go to the sound of the cats.
'Are they perhaps Cats?'
"Hee hee, Gramps so hostile Human, it's so funny. Don't worry, Grampa, we mean no harm."
A sound of a child is what he heard somewhere near the man in front of him.
'What is the meaning of this? Are we surrounded? Why can't I feel their presence?'
"Relax and rest, Ron Molan. We will protect you and your son."
And then red fog appeared. He tried to cover his son's mouth, but Beacrox was already unconscious, his eyes snapped to the stranger, and he couldn't hold back the tears of frustration, anger, and desperation from leaking.
The last thing that he saw was red strands of hair peaking underneath the hood, the calm and warm reddish-brown eyes, and the pale face of the man in front of him.
Against his will, his eyelids fell, and he unwillingly succumbed to slumber.
Ron woke up with a start.
Memories or dreams?
He's not really sure.
Red hair and reddish-brown eyes.
That is the only thing that he can remember.
Ron remembered waking up in an inn somewhere far from a city beside his son. He remembered the bandages that covered their body. He remembered the medicines and potions that were on the bedside table. He remembered a simple satchel that was placed near him containing gold coins, fresh clothes, blankets and pillows, high-grade potions and materials that they needed in order to survive. He also remembered a note.
[The Henituse territory is a great place.]
He remembered.
Red hair and reddish-brown eyes.
The late Countess has the same features, but she does not know anything about their situation.
Her son is too young to be the same stranger he met.
Ron stood up, fixed his bed, took a bath, put on his clothes, and fixed himself for the brand new day.
His mental list of things that he needs to fulfill is quite long, but working as Cale Henituse's butler is a job that he'd never exchange for anything.
He brewed his liege's morning tea and climbed the stairs to go to his Young Master's room.
Ron saw the former Supreme Commander on his bed, still asleep at this hour, just like always.
Ron can see a bundle of red and silver fur hiding the red hair and pale face. He can also see a huge lump of black scales nestled at the young man's stomach.
Ron pulls the blinds open, letting the morning sunlight envelop the whole room.
"Grampa~ five more minutes, please."
The youngest out of the 4 whined, an action that this child will never admit to doing.
"Grampa nya~"
Hong grumbled and rolled off Cale's nostril. On stood up and walked away from Cale's comfortable and warm face; she then plopped down on a pillow.
Ron watched as the four children squirmed and rolled and grumbled and whined.
A wonderful and gentle spectacle that he will never get tired of watching.
He smiled, a real smile.
Ron watched as his puppy, Young Master, shivered even though his face was currently full of black scales.
Cale lifted the black bundle of joy off his face and stared at the man in front of him.
"Good morning, Ron."
Red hair and reddish-brown eyes, pale face within the hood of a coat.
Ron blinked, and the vision vanished.
"It is indeed a great morning, Young Master."
Ron can't really remember how they survived; he can't really remember what happened between the trip to the cave and to the inn, but what's important is that they survived.
Maybe he's getting a bit too old and too emotional, but Ron believes that Red means home, salvation, and the fire that burns the threats while keeping the precious treasures warm.
Red hair and reddish-brown eyes with a pale face underneath the hood of a coat.
Ron believes that living is the best.