Ren's parents remained seated, their hands intertwined in nervous tension. The chamber was silent, save for the faint hum of the magical wards embedded in the walls. The President watched them calmly, patient yet unwavering.
Ren's father's gaze drifted to the polished black desk, tracing the patterns of gold veins that shimmered like frozen lightning. Every instinct in him screamed against the decision… against sending his son into the hands of the state. Yet, deeper in his chest, a gnawing fear whispered: if not now, it could be too late.
His wife pressed a hand against his arm, her fingers trembling. "He's still so young," she murmured. "How can we… give him away?"
He swallowed hard. "I don't know… but he's not just a boy anymore. We saw it. We saw what he can do."
The President's voice broke the momentary silence, calm and deliberate. "You are not handing him over out of fear. You are granting him a future, a chance to survive and to master what he has become. Understand this: the world will not wait. Those who notice Ren's power will act. Every day he remains untrained is another day of danger."
Ren's father exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing fractionally. "And you… promise to guide him? To teach him control?"
The President inclined his head. "I will do more than teach him. I will show him the paths he must take, protect him from those who would destroy him, and ensure he grows into what he is meant to become. But you must trust the process. Control comes only with guidance, discipline, and understanding. That is what I offer."
Ren's mother looked down at her hands, tears brimming, reflecting the golden light of the chamber. "We only want him to be safe," she whispered.
The President's gaze softened imperceptibly. "Then give him the safety of knowledge and training, not the illusion of comfort. Darkness cannot be ignored; it cannot be caged. It must be mastered."
Silence fell again, heavy and thick. Ren's father finally lifted his eyes, meeting the President's unwavering gaze. "Very well. We… entrust him to you. But… we must see him again. Often. We cannot simply… disappear from his life."
The President's lips curved faintly. "You will be informed. Visits will be possible. But you must accept the limits. He will not be your child in ignorance; he will be a young man under guidance, and sometimes that requires distance. Understand this, and there will be no regrets."
His mother's voice trembled as she nodded. "We… understand."
The President's gaze softened fully, though his authority never wavered. Again he spoke "Then it is settled. Tomorrow, arrangements will be made. Your son will join those capable of guiding him, shaping him for the trials ahead. You have made the choice that will preserve not only him, but the balance of the world."
Ren's father exhaled, a mixture of relief and sorrow weighing upon him. He knew the truth in the President's words: the path ahead for their son was unavoidable, and their obedience was not merely submission, it was protection.
The President's hands rested lightly on the desk. "I will ensure his safety, his training, and his future. But never forget: he is no longer just your son. He is a turning point in the world, and every decision you make now ripples far beyond this chamber."
Ren's parents remain silent, hearts heavy yet resigned. The weight of responsibility settled upon them, but beneath it lay a fragile hope: that their son, in the hands of one capable, would grow stronger, wiser, and survive the storms to come.
The chamber outside the President's office glowed softly under the evening light. The sun had long dipped below the horizon, leaving the city of Elaris awash in amber and violet hues, its towers glittering like scattered gems.
Ren's parents had not moved far from the meeting, still processing the weight of the conversation. The air felt heavy, charged with both magic and the invisible pressure of responsibility.
Then the President's voice came, calm, measured, almost gentle:
"You have traveled far this evening. You have borne burdens that few could comprehend. Before the night passes, I insist you take dinner."
His words were simple, but there was an unexpected warmth beneath the authority. It was an invitation, yes, but also a gesture of courtesy, perhaps even empathy.
Ren's mother blinked, surprised. "Dinner… with you?" she asked softly.
"Yes," the President replied. "There is no ceremony tonight. No ministers, no guards, no protocol. Just food, conversation, and the time to collect your thoughts."
Ren's father exchanged a glance with her. Both had expected stern lectures and formalities. A dinner, informal, after such a summons, was… unexpected.
They were led down a corridor lined with soft lights and floating crystals. The hum of wards softened here, the atmosphere almost domestic, yet still unmistakably the home of one who commanded nations.
The dining hall opened before them, surprisingly intimate. A long table of polished mahogany stretched under soft chandeliers, and the faint scent of prepared food drifted in the air, mingled with the faint pulse of mana that seemed to coat every surface.
"Sit," the President said, gesturing toward the chairs. "Eat. Speak, if you wish. Listen, if you must. Tonight is for recovery, not decision."
Ren's parents hesitated for a moment, then seated themselves, the tension in their shoulders easing fractionally. For the first time since the summons arrived, the world seemed less like a storm pressing upon them and more like a momentary harbor.
The President spoke softly, almost conversationally. "The world you know, the city you call home… it moves and breathes differently at night. Magic and mortal lives intertwine quietly, away from the eyes of the public. It is in these hours that true understanding is possible."
Ren's mother's hands rested on the table, the warm glow of candlelight reflecting in her eyes. "You… make it seem almost… peaceful," she murmured.
The President's gaze softened faintly. "Peace is rare. But tonight, we can afford a moment. Tomorrow, the path resumes, and nothing will be as it is now. But tonight… you may simply be parents, and I may simply be a man who wishes to see the family of the boy who carries the world's attention intact."
Ren's father exhaled, finally allowing the weight to settle a little. Words failed him, yet he understood. In this brief reprieve, he could gather strength, find clarity, and prepare for the trials the next day would demand.
The President's hand rested lightly on the table, fingers steepled. "Eat. Rest. Talk to me if you wish. The night is ours, but dawn will bring duty again. And with it, the future of your son."
And for the first time that evening, the parents allowed themselves to feel something beyond fear, fragile hope, tempered with caution, and the knowledge that, at least for this night, they were not alone.