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Baras gasped and turned to my father. My father remained impassive, the same strange glimmer flickering in his eyes.
“What are you saying, Anton?” he asked.
I took in a deep breath. “What I am saying is that I, Anton Myers, firstborn son of Krygor Aldriss, solemnly declare to you, Clan Leader Aldriss, and as witnessed by Clan Elder Baras, that I officially renounce my clan, effective immediately.”
The pounding of my heart was deafening. My father refilled his glass. The sound of the liquid pouring down disturbed the eerie silence. Leaning back in his chair, my father swirled the amber liquid in his glass. He didn’t drink… yet.
“And so, Anton Myers, firstborn son of Krygor Aldriss, it will have taken you twenty-eight years to complete Ghabrak. It was about time.”
What?
“Clan Leader!” Baras said, turning to my father.
“Silence, Baras.”
“But you can’t…”
“I said silence!” my father shouted. “Do you dare pretend to tell me what I can or cannot do with my own blood?” His eyes leveled Baras with a menacing glare. “Anton has renounced the clan. Your duty is done. Now remove yourself, and leave me with my son.”
Shaken, Elder Baras bowed and swiftly entered the lift. I looked at my father, bewildered.
Ghabrak? I achieved Ghabrak?
This rite of passage allowed young Braxians to become men. Most completed it between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one. It was the sire who set the conditions the son must meet to prove himself worthy to bear his father’s name. Those conditions normally revolved around the vocation of the clan. Warrior clans would have combat achievements, while farmer clans focused on agricultural, production, or transformation knowledge. However, the father didn’t communicate the conditions to the child. Attaining it without guidance was proof you had reached the necessary maturity to earn manhood. Half-breeds didn’t receive Ghabrak.
“You wanted me to leave the clan,” I whispered, hurt.
“Yes,” my father said before downing his drink, “but merely as a consequence of completing Ghabrak.” I frowned in confusion, making him chuckle. “I wanted you to stop being a victim, Anton. Braxia made you a victim. You defied every odd, survived the impossible, rose far beyond anything I could have ever dreamt for you. And still, you bowed to Braxian law while it whipped you like a dog.”
I felt gutted. Braxia indeed made me a victim, and I allowed it.
“I was trying to make you proud,” I said.
“Whatever made you think I wasn’t already?”
He put the glass down.
“I was always proud of you, Anton. Do you think I would have faced so many challenges for allowing you to live if I didn’t want you? If I wasn’t proud of you? You are my firstborn and my greatest achievement. Until your woman walked back into your life, I despaired you would die a slave to Braxia.”
I drowned in a maelstrom of emotions. My eyes burned and my vision blurred. I struggled to swallow down my tears. A man didn’t cry. I wouldn’t shame myself this way before my father.
“But on Jeruna, you were so angry…”
“I was beyond angry,” my father grounded out. “I was livid. But it was never with you. That should have been your moment of glory. You achieved at such a young age what no other Braxian achieved before. And they robbed you of it.”
So many misunderstandings.
I had been convinced my father wanted to banish me, like every other clansman. That the only reason he hadn’t was because of my Hive project.
“I never doubted you would succeed, Anton. You always succeed.”
“Thank you, Clan Leader. I—”
“Father,” he interrupted. “You can call me Father.”
Once more, I blinked away the tears before they emerged. “Thank you, Father.”
He smiled. I couldn’t remember the last time he smiled at me. I cleared my throat.
