The rejected son of Alfa

The village of Nyanda was cradled in the arms of towering hills, a place where traditions were as old as the stones that paved its narrow paths. In the heart of this village stood a house made of dark timber, its walls weathered by time and storms. Inside that house lived Alfa-once a warrior, now a farmer, but always a man feared and respected.

Alfa was known for his silence, for the way he walked like a shadow and worked like a machine. His hands were thick with calluses, his eyes sharp like flint, and his words rare as rain in drought. People didn't question him-they admired, obeyed, or avoided him.

But behind that iron presence was a man hollowed out by something he never talked about.

His son, Kael.

Kael had left ten years ago, and Alfa had not spoken his name since.

---

The last time they had faced each other, the world had felt like it might explode.

Kael had been seventeen, too clever for his own good, as Alfa often said. He asked questions, challenged rules, and dreamed beyond the fields of Nyanda. Where Alfa saw pride in labor, Kael saw a cage of dust and silence. He read books from wandering traders, drew strange symbols in the dirt, and spoke of music and art as if they were food.

And then, the final straw.

Kael came home one day wearing robes from a foreign land, a crescent moon embroidered across the chest. He knelt before Alfa, not in submission, but in declaration.

"Father," he said. "I no longer follow the old gods. I've found truth in the teachings of the South. I believe in peace, in light, in the unity of all souls."

Alfa had stared at him, unmoving.

Kael continued, his voice trembling. "I don't want to live in a place where we speak with fists and kneel before ancestors who never answered."

Alfa rose slowly, his shadow stretching across the floor. "And what of our blood? What of your mother's name? You throw it away?"

"I honor her with truth," Kael said. "Not fear."

That night, Alfa took his son outside, under the tree where generations had been buried. He handed him a small bag of coins and a knife.

"You are not my son," Alfa said, voice cold and final. "Go find your truth elsewhere. Here, we are bound by what came before."

Kael left without looking back.

---

Years passed.

Kael's name faded from village tongues. Some whispered he had joined the priesthood. Others said he had become a wanderer, lost in foreign lands. Alfa said nothing. He worked the land, repaired roofs, taught the sons of others to fight, and returned home to an empty house.

But the silence grew louder with time.

On his wife's deathbed, she had asked, "Will you call him?"

Alfa only kissed her forehead and whispered, "He chose his road."

Her eyes had filled with tears. She died with her hand reaching for something-or someone-not present.

---

It was the sound of footsteps that broke the pattern of Alfa's life.

One morning, just before the sun touched the fields with gold, a traveler arrived. He wore gray robes, his face hidden beneath a hood, and a small satchel swung at his side.

Alfa stood outside, sharpening a hoe. He looked up but said nothing.

The man removed his hood.

Kael.

Older now, his beard trimmed and speckled with gray, his eyes both fierce and weary. He had the air of someone who had lived a hundred lives in one.

"Father," he said.

Alfa returned to his work. "I buried your mother under the tree."

"I know," Kael said. "I came to see her. And you."

Alfa kept sharpening the blade, the rhythm sharp and deliberate. "You have seen us. Now go."

Kael did not flinch. "I've been gone ten years. I have stories. Pain. Joy. And questions. But no one left to ask them to but you."

"I have no answers for strangers."

"You named me."

Alfa stopped. "I named a son who honored his blood. That boy died in robes of strangers."

Kael stepped closer. "You think I rejected you. But I never did. I just chose another way to live."

"You call that living?" Alfa spat. "Worshipping words over earth? You left your mother to cry every night!"

"I wrote," Kael said quietly. "Every week. You never let her see them, did you?"

Alfa didn't respond.

"You hated that I changed. But change is not betrayal. You taught me to be strong, but strength isn't always fists. Sometimes it's walking away from a path that breaks your soul."

Alfa turned, his face red with restrained fury. "You speak of soul-but you forget where yours was forged. Under my roof. With my sweat. My teachings. And then you threw it all away."

Kael's voice cracked. "I was suffocating here, Father. I wanted more than anger and discipline. I wanted to breathe."

"Then go breathe elsewhere!"

"I did. And I returned. Because for all your rage, you are still my father. And I still carry your blood. Doesn't that mean anything?"

The wind picked up, bending the tall grass. Birds stirred in the trees, unsettled by the tension.

"You came back because your truth failed you," Alfa said coldly. "And now you seek warmth from the fire you abandoned."

Kael shook his head. "No. I came back because I forgave you. And I wanted to see if you could do the same."

Silence stretched between them. The hoe in Alfa's hand slipped to the ground.

"Forgiveness?" Alfa murmured. "You think that's a thing I wear like a cloak?"

"No. I think it's something you've never allowed yourself to feel."

Alfa turned and walked toward the tree behind the house. Kael followed.

They stood before the grave. A simple stone marked her name.

Alfa knelt and placed a hand on the soil. "She died waiting for your voice. Every day, she stared at the road. She lit a candle for you every night."

Kael knelt beside him. "I lit one for her in every temple I passed."

Alfa looked at him. For the first time, his eyes showed more than anger. Pain. Fear. Regret.

"I didn't know how to love you when you changed," Alfa whispered. "I only knew how to mold. To build. To fight. Not... to understand."

Kael placed a hand over his father's. "You don't have to understand everything. Just don't turn away anymore."

They sat like that for a long time.

When they rose, something between them had shifted-not fully healed, but no longer bleeding.

---

Kael stayed for three days.

They did not speak of gods or traditions. They did not argue about what had been or what might come. They ate meals in silence. Alfa showed him the fields, where the soil still remembered Kael's small feet. They repaired a section of the fence together. They sat on the porch at night, listening to the insects and the wind.

Before Kael left, he stood by the path and turned back.

"I'll write again," he said. "Will you read it this time?"

Alfa stared at him, then gave a small nod. Barely visible, but real.

Kael smiled. "Goodbye, Father."

As he walked away, Alfa called out-not loudly, but with a weight that stopped Kael in his tracks.

"You still bear my name. Kael Alfa Nyanda."

Kael turned, tears in his eyes.

"And you still bear my heart," he said.