"But my dream is to go to Gold Bloom Academy," Beth said. "And for that, I need, at minimum, an A-grade Talent or Awakening."
Lariat smiled wryly. The urge to dash her hopes and dreams faded into obscurity. It had been almost sixteen years. Surely, they had forgotten about him by now. Most of all, the thought of caging Beth forever due to his past mistakes churned his stomach. With a light sigh, he gestured for Beth to lean forward. She rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips as she obliged. Lariat kissed her forehead and wiped a bit of sauce from her lips with a napkin.
"You'll have an S-grade Talent. I believe in you," Lariat said.
"Don't make me blush," Beth teased. "Now you're just raising the bar even higher. It's okay if I do it my way."
She crossed her arms, feigning playful anger. Lariat excused himself, leaving her to smolder, cough, and laugh. The clinking of ceramic plates filled his ears as he climbed the stairs. Guided more by muscle memory than intent, he found himself in his room. Closing the door behind him, he collapsed onto the bed. With his back against the mattress, he stared at the ceiling, awe-struck and lost in thought.
With all the effort his weary bones could muster, he dragged himself upright again. Walking over to the cabinet on the left side of his room, he placed his hands on it and channeled his internal energy. A faint glow lit up a series of runes, tearing space apart. Reaching into the rift, he pulled out a small pendant. A droplet of water fell onto it—no, a tear.
The pendant was a magical artifact from one of his many excursions into uncharted territories. It had the ability to mask the true strength of an Awakening or Talent. A useful tool for those who needed to hide their identities. Lariat hesitated. If he gave Beth the pendant, she would likely wear it as a keepsake to remember her mother. But, at the same time, it would cut off her path to Gold Bloom Academy—or any first-rate institution, for that matter. Her dream? Gone.
Lariat's thoughts churned, his mind poking at every possible angle. He was torn. Letting her grow into her dreams was his deepest desire, but the cost could be unbearable if her identity was exposed. He wasn't the man he used to be. The injuries he had sustained all those years ago had left him unable to wield even a fraction of his true strength.
Could he protect her when the time came?
He fell back onto the bed.
Jasmine, what would you do? he thought. If you were in my shoes? She's our little girl. Of course.
He sighed. He'd let her shine. He couldn't bear the thought of burdening her with the consequences of his mistakes. No. He wouldn't be a good father if he did. Repeating past failures wasn't the way forward. With another groan, he dragged himself from the sinking comfort of the mattress, tossed the pendant back into the portal, and closed it.
The whirling blue light that lit the second floor felt clearer under the weight of his decision. The tension that had gripped him for so long receded, retreating into the depths of his ever-present paranoia, forgotten and left behind. Lariat rarely regretted his final decisions—unless fate itself forced his hand.
"Beth, come. There's something I want to show you," Lariat called as he made his way downstairs.
He reached for his coat hanging on the rack by the door. Hearing her prompt reply, he opened the door and stepped outside to wait for her. The moon's pale glow bathed the surroundings, tinting the bright green grass with shades of blue. Lariat quite enjoyed the night. Sunlight and bright lights weren't his preference; hiding in those required more careful maneuvering. But at night? Under the cover of darkness? He was untraceable.
"Yes? You called me?" Beth asked, closing the door behind her as she stepped into the chilly outdoors.
Lariat turned to look at her. The white fur coat she wore, paired with the silk dress, made her look so much like her mother. Her pure white hair cascaded over her pale features, brightened only by the swirling gold in her eyes. Her chubby, button nose still hinted at the childishness her mother never had, but Lariat knew that would fade with time. Every passing day made her resemble Jasmine more and more, and nothing he could do would stop it.
He smiled, the warmth reaching his eyes and adding subtle life to their dull gray hue.
"There's something I wanted to tell you," he said. "But not in there."
Gently, he took her wrist and guided her to a large tree in the backyard. Two rocking chairs sat beneath its sprawling branches, facing the endless expanse of bluish-green grass. The craftsmanship was awful, but Lariat had once fancied himself an expert when he made them. The lies he had told Beth when she was younger were too many to count. At least he was proud of this one.
"Have a seat. Let's look at the stars," he said.
"But I want my blanket," Beth protested, stomping over to the rocking chair.
"You can sleep later. This is important," Lariat replied, settling into his chair.
Though its hard texture made his bones ache, he allowed the gentle rocking to wash away his unspoken words. He flashed a pained smile at Beth before turning his gaze to the star-filled sky. It had taken him over fifteen years to gather the courage to say what needed to be said. Each year it became harder, and today was no exception. Every fiber of his being rebelled against the words, but he knew Beth needed to hear them.
"Elizabeth," he began. "You know that I love you, right?"
A breeze picked up, rustling the leaves above. Beth raised an eyebrow, wondering what nonsense her father was about to spout. He hadn't called her by her full name in years. She turned to look at him, but his attention remained fixed on the stars.
Mist escaped Lariat's mouth like dragon's breath. "I've hidden so many things from you. The truth..."
He choked on the words. How humiliating. He had lived for over a thousand years, yet he couldn't summon the courage to speak the truth to a fifteen-year-old—soon to be sixteen. Would Ranch even respect him if he ever learned of this moment?
"I've done a lot of bad things before you were born. Our bloodline—your mother's bloodline—has offended many people," he said, his baritone voice trembling. "I don't want you to shine because my past will come to snatch you away. So I want you to make a choice."
"What do you mean?" Beth asked, snapping awake from her feigned defiance. She realized far too quickly that, for once, her father was being serious.