The Epic of the Discarded Son-Chapter 40: Family Reunion

He was scared.

And this time he couldn’t dress it up with humor. No clever internal monologue to hide behind. No sarcasm to soften the edges. Just fear.

After all, he was about to meet his father. And the fear—he could taste it.

And honestly—that was fair.

He was about to walk into a room with his father. The same father who’d thrown him into a pit of snakes. The same father who could kill him without blinking.

And after the mess he’d made—the attack, the bodies, the chaos—there were going to be questions. The kind you don’t walk away from if you answer wrong.

’Does he know who I really am?’

’Does he know it’s me?’

The not knowing was the worst part. If his father knew, then this was an execution. And if he didn’t, it was an interrogation. Either way, one wrong word and his head would be looking up at him, which he would like to avoid.

He thought of many options. But running wasn’t one of them.

Not this time. He was tired of running. Tired of hiding behind fake faces. This time he wanted to walk in there. Stand in front of the man who threw him away. And make him look.

And maybe see his mother. He could barely remember her face. Which was fine. She was just as bad as his father.

’Thank you, Rei, you’re awesome as always.’

The diary had given him something unexpected. A detail about his father. Small but important. The kind of detail that shifts the ground beneath a conversation before it even starts.

He placed Ari on his shoulder. She coiled there, small and steady.

As he was about to leave through the door, his eyes drifted to the bed. Nora. Still fast asleep. Peaceful in a way the world didn’t deserve to see.

He walked over. Leaned in. Pressed his lips against her forehead—gentle, barely there, like anything more would wake her and he wasn’t ready for that conversation.

She stirred. Just slightly. A small sound escaped her lips. But her eyes stayed closed.

His throat tightened. His vision blurred at the edges.

"I’ll see you soon." It came out as a whisper. Cracked. Quiet. The kind of promise that costs everything to make. "And this time, I’m not going to leave you."

"Let’s go, Ari."

Together they walked toward the main house. Each step heavier than the last, the ground itself trying to hold him back. Like the island knew what he was about to do and wanted no part of it.

He stopped in front of the iron gate. Guards filled every corner. Dozens of them. Eyes tracking him with the kind of suspicion usually reserved for wild animals and people who’d recently killed a lot of other people.

Which, to be fair, he had.

His gaze drifted to the man standing beside the door. Big. Armed. Trying very hard to look intimidating.

"Open," Shiro said softly.

Ari raised her tiny head from his shoulder and hissed. Small body. Massive energy. The sound came out like a promise wrapped in venom.

The guards opened the doors without a second thought.

’Good girl.’

He stepped through.

Foot soldiers lined both sides of the path. Standing rigid. Silent. Eyes forward but watching him from the edges. The kind of stillness that only comes from being told ’don’t move, don’t speak, and definitely don’t die.’

Next to them, the lieutenants. Bigger. Harder. Hands resting on weapons they were clearly hoping to use.

And at the front—the captains.

All ten of them. Even the newly appointed ones who’d replaced the four the masked group had killed and the one he had killed. Fresh faces filling dead men’s shoes and trying not to look like they knew it.

Shiro kept walking. Steady. Unhurried.

And as he moved, his disguise fell away. Like shedding a skin he no longer needed. His hair bled white from the roots.

His eyes shifted—dark to crimson. His true face surfacing for the first time in front of every person he wanted to eliminate.

The reactions came all at once.

Luca’s jaw tightened so hard Shiro could hear his teeth grinding from ten feet away. His eyes burned with a fury that went beyond professional. That was personal.

Richard froze. Mid-breath. His mouth opened—then closed. Whatever he was about to say died on his tongue. His eyes went wide. Not with anger. With the look of a man watching a puzzle complete itself and hating the picture it made.

Darius grinned. Not the polite kind. The unhinged kind. The kind that said ’I don’t fully understand what’s happening, but I’m thrilled about it.’ His fists clenched at his sides—not from anger, from excitement.

Ana hadn’t moved. Hadn’t flinched. That smile—that infuriating, all-knowing smile—sat on her face like she’d been wearing it since the day they met.

’I knew you were special.’

The rest of the captains and lieutenants watched in silence. Calm. Measured. Some with arms crossed. Some with hands on hilts. But none of them looked surprised.

They looked aware.

Like they’d been waiting to see which version of him would walk through that door.

And a few of them, just a few, were grinning.

Halfway up, two men blocked his path.

They didn’t step in front of him. They were already there. Like they’d been waiting since before he was born.

Big didn’t cover it. These men made Darius look like a child’s drawing of a strong person. They towered over him—over everything—wide enough to block the path entirely. Their eyes were calm. Patient. The kind of calm that only comes from knowing you could destroy anything in the room without raising your heartbeat.

And their mana—it rolled off them in waves so thick it was almost visible. Heavy. Dense. Suffocating. Far beyond anything the captains carried. These two existed on an entirely different level.

One of them moved.

Without any warning. A massive hand shot toward his shoulder—toward Ari.

’No.’

His body moved before his mind gave the order.

One second the giant was reaching. The next, his face was kissing the ground. Shiro’s foot pressed into the back of his neck. His arm wrenched behind him—pulled so far back that one more inch and the shoulder would pop clean out of its socket.

The giant didn’t scream. Didn’t struggle. Just lay there. Eyes wide. Trying to process how he’d ended up on the floor.

"Try to touch her again. I dare you."

The second giant didn’t hesitate. His fist came down like a meteor—fast, heavy, aimed at ending this in one shot.

Then the thick wooden gate of the main house exploded open. Blown off its hinges by something invisible and absolute.

The air changed instantly. Like the atmosphere itself had been seized by something enormous and squeezed. The pressure crashed down on everything, on the guards, on the captains, on the giants, on Shiro, like gravity had tripled in a single heartbeat.

Breathing became a fight. Standing became an achievement. Even thinking felt like pushing through mud.

The second giant’s fist stopped mid-swing. Frozen. Not by choice. But by command.

"Go." The giant’s voice was cold. Flat.

Shiro released the man’s arm. Stepped over him. Walked through the main gate.

And stopped.

Before him was a courtyard. Open sky above. Walls on every side. A world hidden within walls—private, sealed off, built for someone who didn’t want the outside looking in.

A small waterfall trickled down smooth stone in the far corner, its sound soft and constant, like the compound had its own pulse. Trees lined the path—placed with quiet intention, some bearing fruit that hung low and heavy. The sweet scent of flowers drifted through the air so gently it almost felt like a lie. Like something this peaceful had no right existing in the same space as the man who owned it.

’Was this place always like this?’

The path led to the main house. Traditional. Wood. Not stone like the others. Unique. Old in a way that didn’t mean neglected—it meant sacred. Every beam polished. Every panel maintained more than their own kid.

His foot hit the first wooden step.

It creaked.

And the weight of everything tripled. The air crushed down on him. His legs burned. His shoulders screamed. Every step toward that door felt like dragging himself through deep water with chains tied to his ankles.

’This is just his presence. He’s not even trying.’

Then his foot crossed the second threshold.

Everything vanished. The pressure. The weight. The suffocating grip on his lungs. Gone. Like stepping through a curtain into a different world entirely.

Still. Quiet. Normal.

Eerily normal.

And there, behind a veil of white cloth, seated in silence—were his father and mother.

He stood before them. Posture calm. Hands at his sides. Mind clear.