Book of Days: September 10, The Gate of Tolbradora

Yivin stepped through the gate of Tolbradora and took his first steps outside the only lands he had ever known. He had never expected to make the pilgrimage, had never thought things would go that far, but it seemed he had disappointed his father for the last time.

Perhaps he had been too idealistic. After all, it wasn’t as though his father had made any secret of his displeasure, nor shown anything but scorn for every attempt Yivin had ever made to try and please him. He’d changed everything about himself, even down to his appearance, all to keep reminding his father of all he had lost, but nothing ever seemed enough.

In the end, it was a friendship that was the unforgivable thing. Friends with a member of an allied nation, though they were new allies and no one really expected it to last for long. This, however, his father could not forgive, and Yivin did not know enough to know why it was not allowed.

He resembled his mother. This, he knew from a drunken but honest answer given late one night, was his crime. She had died when Yivin was but a child. He barely remembered the funeral, knew only that he’d been sported away to stay with relatives for years, until they impressed upon his father the impropriety of leaving him so. Upon returning, his father took one look at him and it seemed as though his entire world had shattered, and he would not look upon him again.

So Yivin had changed. His hair colour altered, his eyes changed, anything and everything he could do to make him resemble his father more than his mother, he did. It was enough his father could stand to be in his presence, but no more. It was nothing he could control, at least not more than he had already done, but at least he understood. He could, intellectually, see why his father would be caused pain.

But the friendship? He did not know why this was wrong. He didn’t not know why this, at long last, was the excuse to banish him from his father’s kingdom, and at last permanently from his sight. But he had been banished, more than that, he had been erased. He would be forgotten. If he were to return, to seek out his friends even though he could not step within his father’s borders ever again, none of him people would know him, even if they were to meet on the allied streets.

He could, he supposed, have remained. Taken the offered shelter with his friends now, rather than what might be years later, but he could not. For he realized, once he had been cast from his home and forced to fend for himself, that he was no one. Without the desperate need to be a son his father could accept, without the person he had made himself to achieve that aim, he was nothing. It had consumed all he might have been before, and now he did not know who he was.

But he had been erased, and there were observances required. He would walk beyond the lands he knew, and in doing so, perhaps he would find himself. He did not believe he had been lost forever, even though that might have been what his father wished.

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by | Sep 10, 2021