Glyffe? An orphan?
That meant… no grandparents. No family line on his side - at least not by blood. Somehow, that realization made the boiling hot room feel much colder.
I stared at my now unfamiliar father. Just how difficult had his childhood really been? Raised without a family, carrying the name of an orphanage because he never knew his own. Even his first name.. was that chosen for him too?
So Frostworth wasn't his surname. It was Silvia's.
That explains it. The Frostworth absorption technique—she passed it to me, not him. She's the one from the main family. Not Glyffe. Silvia was the noble. Glyffe was...
"What... an orphan?" The words stumbled out before I could stop them.
Glyffe gave a sheepish smile. The kind that said, guess the cat's out of the bag. Silvia, by contrast, was unreadable. Calm. She must've already known.
The pieces clicked. But more questions kept forming.
If Glyffe was truly orphaned... what exactly was his relationship with Stox? Were they bound by blood, or something else?
"Yes," Stox said, arms folding as he leaned against the counter. "I suppose you might not know what that really means. Some children come into this world alone. No mom. No dad. Just a cradle in a crowded room and a name someone else picked for them."
I tried to organise my thoughts, still thinking about what Stox had said earlier.
"The Far East? But isn't that..." I asked slowly. I was close to something. Some truth on the edge of memory. "Isn't that...?"
"Dwarven territory," Stox finished, nodding. "You're right. Your father was a lone human boy raised in the land of dwarves."
A heavy silence followed. Not sad, exactly. Just... full.
Stox's voice had changed. I could hear the years in it now. This wasn't just a little story to him. It was something that had lived inside him for a long time.
Dwarven territory. I didn't know much about it, only what I'd read in textbooks. The pinnacle of craft and invention. Advanced in every way, except maybe socially.
The population was ninety-six percent dwarves. Humans and elves made up the remainder, but neither were particularly welcome. Especiallynot elves. Dwarves stuck to their own.
Exclusory.
And in the middle of that, one lone human boy.
Being an orphan was hard enough. Being an outsider among an entirely different race? That was another kind of isolation altogether.
Glyffe… you really had it rough.
I thought back to my past life. I didn't have parents either. But I had my aunt and uncle. Two people who gave up their dreams to raise me. I wasn't alone, not really.
But Glyffe? He didn't have that.
And yet, here he was. My father. Kind, strong, warm and funny - despite everything.
To come out of that kind of childhood and become the man I know? That's strength I can't even begin to understand.
Stox hadn't even finished his story, but already I could see the outline of a past that Glyffe never talked about. He wouldn't have told me any of this until I was older. Till he thought I was ready and mature enough to handle it.
But I wanted to hear it now.
And there was still one more thread pulling at me. Stox's earlier words.
"You only know half the story."
I sat straighter.
Whatever Stox had to say, I wasn't going to miss a word.
"Glyffe was one of those orphans. And a handful, too. Mischief magnet. Broke more things than he used and mouthed off to every dwarf who tried to raise him."
I blinked, trying to picture it. My father, Glyffe Frostworth, as a rebellious child among dwarves.
"He eventually ran away from Proxia Orphanage," Stox continued, his voice steady. "Being the only human in a dwarven orphanage? He never quite fit in. Even among orphans, he stood out. And only for the wrong reasons."
He paused for a beat.
"Homeless, hungry and desperate. He turned to stealing. Not just food but swords, too. From my own blacksmith shop."
Stox gave Glyffe a side glance, shaking his head.
"The worst part?" He exhaled through his nose. "He thought I didn't notice."
Glyffe rubbed his chin, opting to stay quiet. It looked like he knew better than to interrupt the story.
"He'd swipe a blade from me, take food from nearby stalls, then head for the edge of the Great Evergreen Forest to hunt monsters. He'd come back and sell what he could of their remains."
My eyes lit up. He hunted monsters? That's so cool! I looked at him with fresh admiration but Glyffe just shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. Not proud of it, clearly. Silvia giggled softly, amused by the contrast between my excitement and his shame.
"Mind you, he was just a kid. Only managed to take down slimes and the odd goblin. Easy prey. Everyone had more goblin hides than they knew what to do with." Glyffe nodded. He knew this all too well.
"But since we saw how hard he was working, the orphanage staff and I bought his drops for triple the going rate."
"You what!?" Glyffe suddenly burst out, voice sharp with disbelief. The outburst startled all of us. He looked genuinely floored.
Stox smirked. "You didn't really think slime cores were worth that much, did you?"
He didn't wait for a response.
"Third time he came to steal a sword, I caught him red-handed. Told him I wouldn't let it slide anymore. Gave him a choice. Work under me—honest pay, meals, a roof, and he could keep the swords. Or refuse, and I'd send him back to Proxia."
He let that hang in the air a moment.
"I wasn't going to keep overpaying for slime cores and goblin teeth to keep him alive. I'd go broke."
Glyffe stayed quiet, listening.
"After a day to think it over, he accepted. But only if I let him take days off to hunt. I agreed, on the condition he didn't go too deep into the Great Forest."
I leaned in, stunned. So Stox hadn't just helped him. He'd practically saved him. And Glyffe hadn't even known the half of it.
Stox folded his arms, gaze drifting slightly. "That kid had caused enough trouble stealing from half the district. I had to go around cleaning up after him."
"Huh?" Glyffe blurted unconsciously.
"I paid every stall and staff member he stole from. I promised to cover the damages with interest if he slipped up. Over time, they stopped bothering to chase after him. They knew I'd handle it. In fact, some shop owners started looking forward to their extra compensation."
He gave Glyffe a wry look. "When he started working for me, he already had a reputation. None of the shopkeepers would sell to him. I had to convince them he'd turned a new leaf."
He paused. His voice softened.
"But I knew from the beginning. He was a good kid. Just… cornered."
Glyffe stood motionless, jaw tight. He wasn't saying anything, but his silence spoke a thousand words. His eyes stayed low, unreadable.
"To settle things properly," Stox said, gentler now, "I filed the paperwork. Adopted him. Let the orphanage know he was in good hands."
At that, Glyffe froze completely.
"For eight years," Stox went on, "we worked and lived together. I taught him the forge, what little I knew of swordsmanship… and how to live like a man, not a stray."
He looked over at Glyffe. He wasn't accusing, just being honest. "He thought I needed a worker. But I never did. I just didn't want to watch a kid waste away in the streets."
Eight years. Stox had taken him in, raised him, shaped him. All without asking for a word of thanks. Glyffe's debt to Stox was one that he could never repay even if he spent the rest of his life trying.
I stared at the old man with newfound respect. Everything he'd said about Glyffe not knowing the full story… it was true in ways none of us expected.
Sometimes, a single kind person in the right place can change everything.
If not for Grandpa Stox, Glyffe might've never made it out of the dwarven slums. I probably—no, definitely wouldn't be here.
I glanced over at my father. He still hadn't moved. His eyes shimmered slightly, moisture collecting at the corners.
A heavy silence settled over us.
But it wasn't an awkward one.
It was the kind that filled the space where when? words weren't enough.
"Thank you, Grandpa!"
"You did hear what I said, right, kid? I'm not your Gran—
"No. You are." I cut him off. "If you aren't good enough to be Dad's father… no one is."
Stox blinked. For a moment, he looked like the words knocked the wind out of him. Then he gave a small, crooked smile. "Heh. You really are his son. That stubbornness… he had it too."
He paused. Voice quieter now.
"…Thank you, kid."
Behind me, footsteps. Glyffe walked past without a word. His hand briefly brushed mine. It was cold and trembling. I turned, catching a glimpse of his cheek. A single streak traced down it, glinting.
Stox's eyes shimmered, but he held back. Instead, he looked at Silvia. And without a word, she understood.
An arm slipped around my shoulder and nudged me gently toward the door.
"Aww, come on, Silvia," I whined. "It was just getting to the good bit!"
She chuckled. "The good bit? When did you become so nosy?"
I grinned.
"Listen, Reno," she said, her voice shifting to her motherly wisdom mode, "Men can be weird about crying. Sometimes they need a space where no one's watching. Especially kids."
I nodded, slowly. She wasn't wrong. When I was older, back in my old life, I hated crying in front of people. Some things carry over between worlds.
Still, I got it. Glyffe and Stox deserved their own moment, without us hovering around.
As we stepped out, I glanced back.
They were hugging.
I squinted and just barely caught Glyffe's whisper: "Father, I'm home."
Stox's reply came softer, but sure: "Welcome back."
My chest swelled with something unspoken. It was their moment. A real one.
Outside, a soft breeze greeted us, carrying the faint chime of Melodia glass beneath our feet. The central plaza lay ahead, sun-bathed and serene. I let my eyes drift to the usual focal point: the fountain.
Except this time, I noticed something different. Petal-like carvings fanned out from the fountain's base, etched into the stone floor like a blooming flower. From above, I bet the whole thing looked stunning.
"So…" I started, stretching the silence, "How long do we have to wait for their reunion to end?"
"As long as it takes." Silvia's tone was calm, but firm. Like she meant every word.
Glyffe really did luck out with her.
I shuffled a little, my hands shaking in my pockets. "Hey, is it just me, or are there barely any young people in Butter Town?"
Silvia hummed thoughtfully. "It's not just you. Most folks here are older. There aren't many jobs or adventure guilds nearby, so when kids grow up, they leave."
"Ohh. So it's a kind of retirement town?"
"Exactly. People settle here, not start here."
"But still, never mind kids..." I frowned, "Even babies are rare. I've only seen, like, one."
"That's because we're in the wrong part of town," she explained. "Most kids play in the inner or outer districts. It's louder, messier, more fun."
Fair enough. Kids do tend to flock to the loud, chaotic parts of town when they play. We didn't really explore the outer or inner districts, though. After I got 'lost', none of us were exactly eager to explore.
"Central's more peaceful. Less… chaos tag."
"Chaos tag?"
"You don't wanna know."
I chuckled.
"Oh, and right now," she added, "kids around your age should be at pre-scout lessons."
"Pre-scouts?" I tilted my head. "What's that?"
"Pre-scouts is like a training sch—
"Uwaaaaaah!"
"Bwaaaaaah!"
We froze.
The wailing was coming from the blacksmith shop.
Our eyes met.
"Pfft."
We both started snickering uncontrollably.
"So much for privacy," I whispered.
"I told you men don't like to be seen crying," Silvia smirked. "I didn't say anything about being heard."
We laughed until our stomachs hurt, and then, just like that, the crying inside faded.
"When we go back in," Silvia said, wiping her eyes, "Just pretend you didn't hear a thing. Their pride couldn't take it otherwise."
"Sure thing, Mama."
Just then, the door creaked open.
Glyffe stepped out, throat cleared, face composed.
"Ahem. You both can come back in now." Glyffe held the door open. What a gentleman.
Both Stox and Glyffe had red eyes. I noticed, but I didn't say anything. Some things are better left untouched.
The tension from earlier was gone. It felt like they'd finally said what needed to be said. The words that had been stuck in their throats for years.
I was happy for them. For both Glyffe and Stox. You could tell they'd always cared, even if they'd forgotten how to show it. I wondered what they'd talked about.
"I've been meaning to ask, Grandpa... are you a dwarf?" I couldn't hold the question back any longer.
Stox paused. "You're a sharp one, huh? Wondering why someone my size was in dwarven territory? Even after I said Glyffe was the only human in town?"
He'd nailed it. I'd been wondering that for a while—why a guy who looked nothing like a dwarf was living in dwarf country. I thought dwarves were all short. Not eight feet tall.
"I'm a dwarf," he said. "But a mutant."
Simple words. Heavy meaning.