I WILL FOLLOW YOU TO THE GRAVEYARD

My Father's Secret

Chapter Thirty: My Father’s Secret

"Hello, son."

Exodus froze, but only for a brief moment. Instinct kicked in, and his broadsword, glowing with emerald runes, swept through the air as he dashed across the ruined armory. The hooded figure remained still, simply raising a hand.

Clang! Exodus’s sword met an unseen barrier, sending a shockwave through the chamber. Dust drifted from the ceiling, causing several paladins to lose their footing. Seeing this, Lyra unsheathed her frost-daggers.

"Exodus!" she called out, but he was focused on breaking through the barrier. A thin crack appeared, and the stranger smiled.

"You still lead with your left shoulder," the stranger observed. Exodus narrowed his eyes, adjusted his grip, and angled his sword to slip under the barrier, aiming for the stranger's throat. The stranger moved with precise calm, catching Exodus's wrist. A cold sensation shot up Exodus’s arm as he was hurled across the room, slamming into a stone pillar with enough force to crack it. He landed on one knee.

“That temper,” the stranger remarked quietly, “You got that from your mother.” Exodus stood slowly, the mention of his mother striking a chord. No one had spoken of her since his resurrection. His grip tightened around his sword.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

"You know who I am," the stranger replied.

“No.” Exodus raised his blade. “I know the face you’re wearing.”

The stranger's smile faded for the first time. Lyra stepped beside Exodus, warning him not to be swayed.

“You’re Lyra Moonwhisper,” the stranger said, turning to her.

“How do you know my name?” Lyra demanded.

“I know everyone who walks beside him,” the stranger replied, his gaze returning to Exodus, “And everyone who will eventually die because of him.”

Lyra’s expression hardened. “Try me.”

Exodus advanced. “You said you’re my father.”

“I said hello, son.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“No.” The stranger slowly lowered his hood, and the room seemed to chill. Exodus recognized the face—older, more scarred, but undeniably familiar. The sharp jaw, deep-set eyes, and the scar from beneath the left ear to the collarbone—a scar he remembered touching as a child.

“Father…” The word slipped out before he could stop it. The stranger's eyes softened briefly. “You remember,” he said.

Exodus's sword lowered slightly as a memory surfaced: a small room, rain tapping on a wooden roof, a young Exodus beside a dying fire, and his father kneeling in front of him. The memory blurred, replaced by another: "The dead don’t always want to remain dead."

“What happened to you?” Exodus asked.

“I went where you eventually went,” his father replied.

“The Graveyard?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To find the truth.”

“And what did you find?”

“Something worse than death.”

Silence filled the armory until General Viktor stepped forward. “Everyone, lower your weapons.” Though hesitant, the paladins obeyed.

“You know him,” Exodus said to Viktor.

“I know the story,” Viktor replied, his jaw tight.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“I protected you.”

“From what?”

“From becoming what your father became.”

The stranger laughed bitterly. “You were never protecting him.”

Viktor’s face hardened. “I was protecting the kingdom.”

“No,” the stranger said softly. “You were protecting the lie.”

The room grew colder as the mark on Exodus’s palm began to burn. He looked down to see the grave symbol surrounded by six faint lines. One glowed red.

His father noticed. “They’ve found you.”

“Who?” Exodus asked, but his father didn’t answer. Instead, he asked, “Do you remember how you died?”

The fragmented memories of Exodus’s death—blood, a battlefield, seven figures, a blade through his chest—surfaced. “I remember enough.”

“No,” his father said quietly. “You remember what they wanted you to remember.”

“What does that mean?”

“The gods didn’t kill you because you were powerful. They killed you because you discovered the Doors.”

Lyra shot a questioning look at Exodus. “The Doors?”

His father nodded. “Six ancient entrances. Six places where something from beyond this world can cross into ours.”

Exodus glanced at the sealed Fourth Grave. “And the grave?”

“Was never supposed to open.”

“Yet it did.”

“Yes.”

“Because of Darius?”

His father shook his head. “No. Because of you.”

A chill ran through Exodus. “My resurrection?”

“Your return disturbed the balance.” His father pointed to the chasm. “The moment you returned from death, the first Door recognized you.”

“Why?”

His father looked away. “Because you’ve opened it before.”

“That isn’t possible.”

“You were there.”

“When?”

“Before you died.” A memory hit Exodus: a battlefield, smoke, bodies, seven figures, and a massive black door. His hand pressed against it, the mark burning in his palm. The vision shattered, and Exodus staggered. Lyra caught his arm.

“Exodus,” she said.

“No.” He pulled away, breathing heavily. “I would remember.”

“You were made to forget.”

“By whom?”

“The same people who killed you.”

An explosion suddenly rocked the armory. Black mist poured through the eastern corridor. “Form ranks!” Viktor commanded. The paladins raised their weapons, and one soldier fired into the mist, only for the light to vanish, followed by a scream. Silence.

The darkness crept forward until Exodus stepped forward. The mark on his palm pulsed, and the mist paused before retreating.

Lyra turned to Exodus's father. “What was that?”

“The first messenger,” he replied.

“Messenger for what?” Exodus demanded.

“For the ones who have been waiting for you.”

Exodus frowned. “Who?”

Instead of answering, his father reached for Exodus’s marked hand. Exodus hesitated but allowed it. The world vanished, replaced by darkness. Six enormous doors surrounded him. Five were sealed; one stood open to a red sky and thousands of shadows. Seven figures stood before the open door. One turned, saying, “Kill him before he remembers.” Exodus recognized the voice.

The vision shattered, and he gasped back to reality.

“You saw them,” his father said.

“Yes.”

“Then we have no time.”

“For what?”

“The first Door is open.”

The mark on Exodus’s palm flared, and a second line began to glow.

“No,” his father said, stepping back.

“What?”

“The second Door.”

A deep bell rang from the fortress and then another. Six bells in six directions. Exodus lifted his head. His father looked to the horizon.

“They know you’re alive.”

“Who?”

“The ones who killed you the first time.”

“Let them come.”

“They aren’t coming to kill you. They’re coming to make sure you never remember what you really are.”

The fortress shook as something struck the sealed Fourth Grave. BOOM. The paladins readied their weapons. Lyra moved closer to Exodus, and Viktor watched the floor.

Exodus looked at the mark on his palm, unsure if his greatest enemy lay outside the Graveyard or had always been a part of him.