“They've accepted me,” Dusk said to anchor the letter's contents. He had opened it as fast as the letter opener would allow him. All but tearing it instead of cutting it with the small blade. The contents were simple. They had reviewed his case and deemed his request valid. “It's accepted.” Dusk looked up at Sage; he drew in a breath on his pipe and stayed quiet. It was over. "It's accepted." Dusk repeated it, setting the tone for what it meant.

“Sorry, as a parent, I find this a little sad.” Sage said, bringing the pipe down from his mouth to inspect it. “It would break my heart to have any of my kids do this.”

“The only scars your kids bear are the ones they created themselves.” Dusk said, his voice quiet. Sage had seen his scars, and he had too. Sage was his required agent to file for the disavowing. Dusk hadn't been shy about sharing that information with Sage. It was his only way out, after all. His all-or-nothing move

“Your father,” Sage started, then, with a shake of his head, corrected himself. “The Duke tried.”
Did he think so? Duke thought about it, and yes, his financial aide was helping him right now. He was grateful for that. He stepped in when he got home to stop his siblings. Yet, not once had he stopped his mother... Dusk shivered and buried any and all thoughts of her in the deepest part of him. He wanted to move on from them and her.

“I'm sure he did his best.” Dusk offered the hall master the best choice of words he had. Dusk put the paper and documentation of his new last name, Wooddancer, away in his storage. It was time for him to leave. He picked up the teleportation token that he left on the table. The token held more weight than the wood would allow. Not physical weight but emotional one. It was his ticket out of here, one he had been waiting on since he was eight years old. Ten long years are coming to an end. No coming to a start.

“I should get going.” Dusk grasped the token in his hand so hard that his fingers were turning white. “They did recommend I come right away.” He was not going back into that house because, from today forward, he was not a Black, but his own family—the Wooddancers. The idea was freeing. It was more than an idea now. He was free.

“True, and we wouldn't want you here once they receive the news.” Sage sighed and rubbed his eyes. Dusk didn't envy him that, but it was part of his job. Dusk never doubted that he could do his job, because he did it. He did it very well. Sage was also honored. Otherwise, he would have given Dusk right back to the Blacks when he first asked for his aid in the disavowing. Despite it being a part of a hall master's duty to aid troubled children,

“I am supposed to have twenty-four hours.” It gave the dissident time to leave the area. No one disavowed their family and expected peaceful partings. Only the most extreme cases got permission to disavow. Of course, being part of a noble family, nothing would be straightforward. Dusk closed his eyes for a moment, of course. Dusk thought with pain throbbing his head. Seeking freedom was never simple.

“We're lucky that the Black family are not morning people.” Sage said, flatly telling Dusk without saying it outright. He was not getting the grace period. Not surprising, the Black family was both respected and feared. There's nothing like getting on their good side by sneaking information to them. His mother, the Duchess, held a great deal of pride in her family's legacy. Having him leave and disavow would stain the family name.

“We shouldn't take the Black family's nocturnal nature for granted.” Dusk grimaced at the words his—no, he reprimanded himself—the Duke had spoken to him that morning. Came out of his mouth; it was close to eating mud. It felt so wrong, slimy, and filthy. Dusk's mouth twisted and was pulled into a straight line. He may have been the kindest, but that didn't mean repeating his words had to feel good. Dusk needed to get to the teleportation gate fast.

“I timed my entrance.” In stepped Sage's wife, dressed in a pale white and yellow martial arts gi. The outfit suited her and fit her narrow frame well. Sage went straight to his wife and tangled himself in her loose blond curls before leaning in for a kiss. That his wife stopped with two of her fingers. Thank the laylines.

“Ah, Chamomile.” Sage sounded more like his own son than a grown man. Dusk could admire their dynamic. The Duchess and Duke were close and very much in love. Given how they were all over each other. They also tried to kill each other as a sign of love. Dusk felt that didn't happen with Sage, and Chamomile. Honestly, he didn’t understand love, or the right or wrong why of it. Dusk had no real interest in it; love and its tangled web were a future issue. Right now, it’s making him a bit uncomfortable.

“We don't have time; a certain rat was seen making his way into the Black Estate.” Chamomile said, wiping the happy smile from Sage's face and taking the color away from Dusk's skin. Chamomile helped her husband with the hall master's task. She held no title; she had everyone's respect. Her way with people had them telling her things they wouldn’t bother mentioning to anyone else. Her network was her strongest point.

“Off we go.” Sage tucked the pipe into his own GI and ushered both his wife and Dusk out the door. “I'll run interference.”

“I'll get Dusk to the teleportation gate.” Chamomile said, blowing her husband a kiss. “Ginger is playing with the library's children's group.” He caught it in his hand and placed his palm on his mouth before shooting it back. The whole thing was a bit much for Dusk to witness, but manners kept his tongue still.

“Dusk Wooddancer, I would wish you luck, but I know you don't need it.” Sage placed his hand on his chest and gave Dusk a small bow. He is Dusk Wooddancer, not Dusk Black, not Lord Dusk, just plain old him. Dusk didn't get to thank him. Sage's back was already disappearing with his speed. Running to deal with the rat. Human greed is a horrible thing, Dusk grimaced. Thinking about it and his mother's reaction... He could feel his stomach acids turning and tunneling a hole in his stomach.

“Let's go,” Chamomile said, placing a hand on Dusk's shoulder. Breaking free of his own growing horrors, the token in his hand grew damp with sweat. Forming a pool in his cupped palm.

“Yes,” Dusk answered with a husky voice; he couldn't tell what he was feeling at the moment. There were too many emotions battling it out in his heart. Fear that the Duchess might try and stop him, or at least get revenge for disgracing the Black name. A disavowing letter made the gossip mill run wild when a noble child received it. When that noble was a Black. It was a timber structure that was set on fire, and everyone wanted to see it burn. At least once.

“I can't keep pulling you forever.” Chamomile said, blinking, that Dusk hadn't even noticed. They had made it outside the hall, and they had come a long way, too! Almost to their destination, in fact. He was never in his right mind when the threat of seeing the Duchess hung over his head. Only a few more moments, and that threat would be gone. Even a duchess couldn’t reach her hand across a country’s border.

“My apologies,” Dusk said, watching her pale fingers leave his wrists. She and her husband had helped him a great deal this past year. He was here, making their last moment more strenuous. Taking a deep breath and sucking in all the fresh air he could, Dusk released it and nodded to Chamomile. “Truly,” Dusk added, feeling the old sensations of shame rising up his face and wrecking his insides.

“It's fine; we're not too far from the teleportation gate.” Her voice went soft, and her brown eyes had a gentle turn to them. She had given him a lot this past year; she felt sorry for him. He relied on that sympathy to get where he is today. That fact made Dusk ate at him when he tried to sleep at night. “Ah! There it is.” To spite her earlier claims, she took him by the hand and dragged him to the city's only teleportation gate.

It was a simple, white, embedded stone circle. Small words engraved on it in a clockwise fashion. That helped activate the magic needed to teleport. Without a token, it wouldn't work; it was an elaborate chalk drawing. With it, the pattern lit up and activated the magic needed to teleport. Amazing, Dusk thought. Soon, he would be in a place surrounded by that kind of magic. A much better suit than this martial arts-driven country.

“Thank you for all your help; please offer my thanks to your husband as well.” Dusk turned and gave her a deep bow with his hand on his chest. It was the most formal bow he knew, reserved for royalty or those who had done him a great life favor. The two of them were more than qualified for the latter.

“Always so serious,” Chamomile said, very much like her husband. Pulling Dusk from his bow and into her arms, hugging him with a tight grip. Dusk didn't know what to do. He stood stiff in her arms. She smelled like her namesake—sweet and gentle. It was an odd contrast to her tight grip on him. Still, he would have fled from her if he could have. Hugging gave him an itchy, uncomfortable feeling. Dusk was not used to them at all.

“Try, try, and keep your heart open.” Chamomile asked of him, letting him go. She fussed with his hair. There was no way his hair was out of place. Dusk let her do it, watching her hand while it stroked his bangs back to where they were before she touched them. When she finished, he took a step back before feeling more at ease. “I don't want to hear about you being alone all your life.”

“I-” Dusk's body reacted before he knew what had happened. He ducked back when her hand came up to his face. Logic told him she was only reaching to touch his face. Knowing her, she was going to pat it with a gentle hand. Dusk had seen her do it with her husband. He hated it when this happened. He was possessed by the past. What he saw wasn't Sage's sweet wife.

What came rushing at his head was not the hand offering kindness. Instead, it was pain. An image of the duchess towering over him came to haunt him, sending his body into a single deep shudder. In fear, his mind learned to freeze. When he couldn't hide. With the undercurrent energy of the Black family not liking his disowning, he felt a little stressed.

"Sorry," she said, taking back her hand and holding it to her chest. With her head down, she looked sad. Sage once said women could be more sentimental than men. Not that he ever witnessed this, at least not until now. Not wanting to see her cry, Dusk coughed into his free hand. He knew she wouldn't hurt him, but that didn't stop his body from reacting like it did. Dusk doubted she didn't have some idea why he was disowning the Blacks. Still, it hurt his chest to hurt her.

“I will keep your words in mind,” Dusk presumed; she worried he wouldn't marry. At eighteen, he was too young to even consider it; most married around fifty or so. Not everyone was like her and Sage. That felt inappropriate for the moment to bring that up, and he did still feel bad about earlier. He decided to not say anything about it.

“Swear it?” Her eyes narrowed in on him. Dusk trembled at the pressure she exerted. Dusk thought with a bit of amazement at the three-sixty of her emotions. Did she want him married that badly? His thoughts on the matter were very different from hers, and he knew the weight of a vow.

“I vow to find a partner by the time I'm fifty.” A hot burst of energy burst forth from him when he made his vow to her. A feeling that, no matter what your talent, came when you made a vow His wording was a bit vague; that was how the smart did their vows. Being too detailed could make it too hard to keep the vow and even more deadly to break it. He was leaving Redneval for the first time in his life. Not die from a foolish choice of words while making a vow.

“Not what I was hoping for,” Chamomile said, tilting her hand with a smile that made her damp eyes sparkle. “More than I thought I was going to get.”

“Consider it an act of thanks for you and your husband's help.” Besides, Dusk had vowed to find a partner, which could mean a variety of different things. For example, Dusk wanted a pet that could be his partner.

“It's best to buy yourself a title when you get to Donmiad.” She shook her head and brought her hand up to stop. Dusk hoped they were happy tears. “You'll never pass for a commoner with your behavior.”

“I'll do that,” Dusk said, nodding. Buying a title was easy enough if you had money. It would dip into his funds, but he had already been thinking about it. Her advice only brought the decision out of the wavering place he had it in. "Goodbye," Dusk said as he walked into the circle, bowing. Light engulfed him, taking the token that once lay in his closed hand.

“Dusk!” A female voice that sounded all too familiar cut into the light. He saw Chamomile's eyes widen the moment the light took his sight and swept him away.