Saturday dawned with a quiet normalcy that belied the storm raging within Jim. The soft glow of morning light filtered through the curtains of his modest apartment, casting gentle shadows on the worn furniture. Outside, the city stirred awake in its usual slow, unassuming rhythm—a stark contrast to the chaos of Jim's inner world.
In the small kitchen, his mother bustled about, preparing breakfast with a hopeful energy that had once filled their home with warmth. Today, she had plans for them—a rare Saturday outing, a chance to recapture some semblance of normalcy. As she set the table with mismatched plates and a well-worn teapot, her voice was gentle, yet carried the unmistakable weight of maternal concern.
"Jim, darling," she said, placing a steaming mug in front of him, "I was thinking we could go out today. Maybe take a walk in the park, have some lunch together. It's been so long since we spent a proper day out, just the two of us."
Jim forced a smile as he accepted the mug. His eyes flickered with the familiar conflict—on the surface, he played the part of the dutiful son; inside, his mind simmered with dark thoughts and the ever-present hunger for vengeance. Yet for now, he would hide his true self, if only to keep his mother from worrying even more.
"Yeah, Mom," he replied softly, his tone even and measured. "That sounds nice."
He pushed back from the table, deliberately careful to smooth his expression into one of calm. Today, he wouldn't allow any remnants of his darker urges to surface. He would wear the mask of normalcy—if only for a few precious hours.
Later that morning, they stepped out into the bustling city. The air was crisp, filled with the hum of weekend activity. Neighbors chatted on sidewalks, and children's laughter bubbled from nearby playgrounds. Jim's mother looked content as they walked side by side along the familiar streets, her hand occasionally reaching out to squeeze his in a loving, unspoken reassurance.
As they made their way toward the park, Jim maintained a steady rhythm, careful not to attract attention. Every muscle in him ached to be on the hunt, to feel that surge of power that defined his true self. But he suppressed it, burying the feral urges deep within his chest, hidden beneath the calm exterior he knew his mother believed in.
In the park, families picnicked and joggers passed by. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of tall trees, and the world seemed to exist in a perfect moment of mundane beauty. Jim sat on a weathered bench beside a small pond, his mother settling next to him with a small bag of sandwiches. Her eyes, always searching for the son she remembered, were filled with cautious hope.
"You're smiling today, Jim," she observed quietly, her tone light. "I haven't seen that in a while."
He chuckled softly, a sound that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I guess I'm happy to be out with you, Mom." He kept his gaze fixed on the shimmering water, careful not to let any hint of the violence inside him show.
For a while, they simply sat in companionable silence. His mother talked about small things—the new café that had opened, the good weather, memories of past outings. Jim listened, nodding and offering brief, polite responses. It was a delicate performance, one that required all his restraint.
At one point, a group of rowdy teenagers passed by, laughing loudly and jostling each other on the grassy bank of the pond. One of them made a careless remark about "weird kids" and "freaks" in a tone that was more playful than hateful, yet in Jim's heightened state of sensitivity, it struck a nerve. His pulse quickened, and a flicker of his inner darkness flared—his eyes narrowed for just a split second.
His mother noticed the change, her gaze softening with worry. "Jim, are you alright?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. In that moment, his facade nearly cracked.
He swallowed hard, forcing his expression back to calm. "I'm fine, Mom," he replied, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue. "Just a little tense for nothing." He quickly diverted his gaze to the distant trees, focusing on the mundane details of the park—a child's kite dancing in the breeze, an old man feeding pigeons. Anything to distract himself from the surge that threatened to overwhelm him.
For the rest of the outing, Jim fought the relentless pull of his darker nature. He smiled when his mother laughed at a silly joke, nodded when she pointed out something pretty, and even managed to share a few light-hearted moments. Yet beneath the surface, every heartbeat reminded him of the hunt still awaiting him, of the relentless search for the father who had abandoned him.
As the afternoon waned, they made their way back home. The sky was painted in soft hues of orange and pink, and for a moment, the world felt gentle—if only temporarily. In the quiet of the car ride, his mother hummed an old lullaby, a melody that once soothed the troubled child he had been. Jim closed his eyes briefly, letting the memory wash over him. It was a taste of normalcy he knew he'd soon have to abandon.
Back at the apartment, as soon as his mother retired for the evening, Jim's mask of normalcy began to slip away. The silence of the night was a different realm—a realm where the hunter awakened and the delicate façade of the son dissolved into shadows.
He sat in his room, alone, the echoes of his mother's loving words mingling with the darker, insistent whispers of his true self. In the quiet solitude, his thoughts shifted once again to the hunt—his father, the unanswered questions, the need for retribution. The brief respite of the day was over; the night belonged to the Dragonblooded.
Yet even as the darkness surged within him, a small part of him remained tethered to the memory of his mother's gentle smile—a memory that was both a source of comfort and a painful reminder of what he had lost. And so, as the clock ticked toward midnight, Jim steeled himself for the inevitable return to the hunt, knowing that while the day's fragile normalcy had ended, the hunt for answers, and for a father who had forsaken him, was just beginning once again.
End of Chapter 9