Chapter Text
Skulduggery, the husband, the father.
Imara, his wife, his warrior.
Aidan, their son, their little spark.
The sun was setting and sent streaks of pink clouds across the blue sky. It was still warm from a rare day of uninterrupted sunshine, and the birds sung their last song before bed. Patches of purple Bluebells lined the forest path Skulduggery rode along, and the many cherry trees filled the air with the sweet smell of their delicate white flowers.
Imara always called it the kinder winter, spring. When the snow melted and the green grass finally showed again. When the warmth let the trees and shrubberies open their buds and coat the floor white for a second time that year. But this time with soft petals instead of harsh ice.
Skulduggery’s heart jumped when he thought of her.
Her face had been bloody at their first meeting. It had been on the battlefield of a horrible fight against Mevolent’s forces. The pale-yellow rocks of Italy’s coast had been painted red that day. But Skulduggery had not paid any attention to the death around him, he had eyes only for his saviours, for her.
The Ottoman Sanctuary had come to their aid and with them had come the love of his life. The dark waves of her hair had blown in the harsh breeze blowing from the sea against the coast as she had sliced through her enemies with powerful golden streams of energy bursting from her hands.
He chuckled to himself. If memory served him correctly, it had been Ghastly who had given him a shove to bring him back to reality. But the damage had been done, Skulduggery’s heart had been struck, and he had fallen in love with the fierce warrior.
Later that day, while everyone had been tending to their wounds and soldiers had exchanged stories, one more gruesome than the other, Skulduggery had asked his warrior for her name. Imara, she had said with a soft smile.
Skulduggery and Imara had married during year’s kinder winter, and the trees and shrubberies had covered the fields white as the birds had sung their wedding march. It had been a new start for the both of them and soon, their little spark, Aidan, had entered their lives.
He had not even noticed how he changed from being a soldier that volunteered for each and every suicidal mission to being a husband that spent the better part of the years following the birth of his son at home.
But one summer night, when a thunderstorm had crashed against their cozy cottage, and Aidan had snuck into his parents’ bed to calm his fear and they had cuddled together, Skulduggery had realised.
He had looked at Imara. The flickering orange light of a lone candle on their bedstand had bathed her in a soft glow. Her strong facial features had been calm and relaxed, the dark waves of her hair spilling across the pillows. Skulduggery had played with a curl between his fingers watching her chest rise and fall, her skin dark against the rose satin sheets.
He had looked at Aidan. His son had lain curled against his mother’s side, his little face finally relaxing during sweet dreams after having his brows furrowed in fear for so long. Skullduggery had shuffled closer, letting go of Imara’s hair to run his fingers through his son’s unruly curls that reminded him so much of his own.
Imara had opened her eyes at the movement, and her lips had curled into that soft smile Skulduggery had learned to love so dearly. She had lifted her hand to put one of his untameable curls behind his ear, her skin soft against his face. The thunderstorm had finally moved on, the faraway rumble muffled by the solid stone walls of their cottage. I love you, had her warm brown eyes said to him into the silence and he had answered with a kiss, taking her hand and intertwining their fingers.
It had been then where Skulduggery had realised he had left the battlefield forever. He had turned his back to the violence of war and taken off his armour to give all his love and time to his wife and son.
Over time, he had stepped down from his duties as a soldier and limited himself to a consulting position. And he had not been the only one. Everyone felt that change was in the air and victory was close.
The latest assembly of the Resistance, Skulduggery was just returning from, had ended in celebration instead of the usual stern faces. Spirits had been high and he was glad he could return home with good news.
Skulduggery sighed as he finally neared the edge of the forest. Soon he would arrive at home and greet the neighbours, fellow sorcerers, in passing. Soon he would have a grinning little Aidan running up to him, barely giving him time to hitch up his horse, while Imara would laugh, running after her son to catch him again. Skulduggery could hear their laughter as clear as a bell in his mind. He smiled.
The forest spat him out onto the windswept field and Skulduggery’s heart dropped.
Dirty black smoke was sinking its claws into the soft pink sky, and the cold wind carried shouts and screams over from the small village, his home. He dug his heels into the sides of his horse. It reared and bolted forward.