Four

"You have to hold the sword this way, Zion!" Annoyed, Zion looked at Paul and set down the heavy sword he had been holding for hours. "I thought you came from an aristocratic family. Why can't you just hold that sword and swing it with force?"

"Then do it yourself! First of all, I don't have a family! Secondly, I never said I came from an aristocratic family. I just said that I'm a successful man now!" For the first time in twenty-six years, Zion raised his voice and spoke his mind.

"Oh, come on, you're a man-"

"Paul." A threatening voice came from behind. It was Paul's wife. His face immediately changed. His long, angry face turned into an awkward smile, as if he had been caught doing something wrong. Well, he was indeed doing something wrong—forcing Zion to do something he had never done before, shouting. Is he insane?

"Hi, hon. I was just teaching this child what he needs to learn." Zion almost felt sick. He was old, but it was disgusting to see men act submissive when their wives were around. I mean, they are the head of the family; they should show who's boss.

"Teach him with passion, don't shout at him," Con approached them and picked up a stick near Zion. "Zion, look at this," he stepped back as she waved the stick in a graceful manner. If it were a real sword, she could really wield it. "You just have to wave like this, like you're dancing, and your sword is your guide. You will go where the sword wants you to go."

Oh, I see. Just like dancing. "Can you try it again?" Conny is better at teaching, calm and composed, like the old man Zion used to work with for six years. He never heard him shout even once. He would teach you with love and passion. Unlike this Paul, he's like a dragon let loose from its cage.

"Well, I guess I can give it another shot."

Conny smiled at him, "Remember, Zion, the sword is but a tool. It is the heart and soul of the warrior that determines victory or defeat."

With that, Zion felt a rush of unknown and vivid memory.

Zion found himself standing in a vast courtyard bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. The air was filled with the sound of clashing blades and the shouts of training soldiers. As he looked around, he spotted a figure approaching him with purposeful strides.

It was Taliya, his master and mentor, a woman of formidable skill and wisdom. Her presence commanded respect, and Zion felt a surge of reverence and nostalgia as she drew near.

"Zion," Taliya's voice was firm yet gentle, carrying the weight of years spent honing her craft. "You wield the sword with grace and determination, but there is more to mastering the blade than mere technique."

Zion bowed respectfully before her. "Master Taliya, I seek to understand. What more is there to learn?"

Taliya's eyes held a depth of knowledge that seemed to reach into the very soul of Zion. "The sword is an extension of oneself, a reflection of one's inner strength and resolve. To truly master it, one must learn to harness not just physical prowess, but also the power of the mind and spirit."

Zion nodded, absorbing her words like a parched land drinking in rain. "I understand, Master. But how does one achieve such mastery?"

Taliya placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch imparting a sense of calm and purpose. "Through discipline, dedication, and a willingness to look within oneself. The journey to mastery is not an easy one, but it is a path worth walking."

As she spoke, the courtyard around them seemed to fade away, replaced by a serene landscape bathed in moonlight. Taliya's form became a silhouette against the shimmering night, her voice echoing in the stillness.

"Remember, Zion, the sword is but a tool. It is the heart and soul of the warrior that determines victory or defeat."

He blinked, returning to the present, but the echo of that vision lingered in his mind. It was a stark contrast to his current reality, where he felt out of place and burdened by the weight of his age and circumstances.

"Zion, are you alright?" Conny's voice broke through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present moment. He looked up to see her concerned gaze, her eyes reflecting the warmth and compassion he had come to appreciate.

"I'm fine, just lost in thought," Zion replied, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The vision had stirred something within him, a longing for a past he couldn't quite remember but felt deeply connected to.

As he sat there, surrounded by the remnants of their meal, Zion couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his story than he had ever known. And perhaps, in uncovering that story, he would find the answers he sought about who he truly was and where he belonged.

After the strenuous training, finally, they could eat. The tension in the air was palpable as Zion, Conny, and Paul sat down at the table. Each had their own reasons for the strain: Zion, exhausted from the day's physical exertion and hunger; Conny, trying to maintain a sense of harmony in the household; and Paul, perhaps feeling defensive about his role in the situation.

"Hey, slow down. There's still plenty in the kitchen. Eat if you want," Conny called out, her voice gentle yet firm, trying to get Zion's attention. He was too focused on his hunger after being deprived of food for nine hours to pay much heed to her words. Every fiber of his being craved sustenance, and he was not in the mood for patience.

"Blame your husband. He said it was training, not a hunger strike, you monster!" Zion couldn't contain his frustration, jabbing his fork, which still had a piece of egg on it, in Paul's direction. His irritation was palpable, fueled by a day of physical exertion and an empty stomach.

Conny's soft laughter filled the air, a soothing counterpoint to the tension in the room. "Go ahead and eat, Zion. There's no need to hold back."

"Where's Anya? Why isn't she here? Is she on a diet?" Zion inquired, puzzled by Anya's absence. They usually ate together, and her absence was notable, especially in the midst of this confrontation.

“Why are you looking for my daughter?” Paul's stern gaze was unsettling, but Zion refused to be intimidated. He wasn't a child to be cowed by a mere look. His gaze met Paul's with a steely resolve, refusing to back down.

"I'm interested in your daughter, for goodness' sake. We're practically the same age. Stop with your nonsense, Paul," he managed to keep his tone controlled, despite his annoyance. It was distasteful to engage in such discussions, especially over a meal.

"You can't seem to shake off the illusion that you're old. And when you talk to us, you act like we're the same age. You're just a schoolboy," Paul shot back, his words laced with condescension.

"Excuse me, Paul. I'm a successful forty-four-year-old businessman. Don't tell me what to do, you moron!" Zion's voice rose slightly, a hint of indignation coloring his tone. He refused to be belittled or patronized, especially in matters that concerned his age and status.

"What the! Hey, you're in my house. I'm the one feeding you. Watch your words, little fu-"

"And you should watch yours, too. Eat your meal. I'll just check on Anya in her room. She's probably up late reading, borrowing a book from Stella's library. Enjoy your meal in peace, you two!" Conny's voice was calm yet assertive, a clear indication that she was not going to tolerate any further escalation of the situation.

With that, Conny gracefully left the kitchen and headed to Anya's room. Zion watched her leave with a sense of admiration. She had a calming presence, a quality that was sorely needed in the midst of the tension that hung in the air.

Zion glanced at his food. It had been a while since he had last eaten mashed potatoes with berries and sauce. Since he was a kid, he had always eaten fast and alone. He hardly knew what it was like to eat with someone, let alone in a situation fraught with tension like this.

"Eat those. We can't afford to buy fancy food like you expect. This house is all we have. So eat it if you don't want to go hungry," Paul's words were sharp, a reminder of their reality. Zion nodded silently, acknowledging the truth in Paul's words. They were living in a modest home, and luxuries were few and far between.

"You know what, Paul," Zion dropped his fork and knife and leaned back in his chair. "You're so judgmental. I'm not sure if you're just full of yourself or if you don't trust anybody easily."

Paul raised an eyebrow. "And it's always none of your business. Shut the f*ck up."

Zion just shrugged. He reminded him of someone he knew. That's how he talked to him, despite the fact that he could bring him down or order him around. They ate in silence but not in peace for the whole ten minutes. When Conny and Anya came back, Anya looked exhausted, her eyes a bit puffy. She had a book tucked under her left arm, which Zion assumed she had been reading before Conny called her.

"Are the two of you done?" Conny asked, starting to clear the table. Zion finished the last bite of his potatoes and nodded. He was surprised when Paul did the same. Conny just nodded and began clearing the table. "I'll take care of this."

"Ma, Pa," Anya addressed her parents, drawing Zion's attention. "Why don't we go on a family picnic? It's been a while, right?" A family picnic. Zion had never experienced that before. Not that he was saying he wanted to. He was just acknowledging that he hadn't experienced it.

"Sounds good. We can go tomorrow. We don't have training with this kid," Paul replied, still helping Conny clean the table.

"I told you, I'm forty-four!" Zion insisted, but Paul remained unfazed, sticking to his argument that they were not far apart in age.

"Whatever, kid," he persisted, much to Zion's annoyance. Ignoring him, Zion was about to leave when Anya called out to him.

"Hey, Zi, you're coming with us, right?"

"No, why would I?" Instead of agreeing, he said, "It's called a family picnic for a reason, right?"

"Well, you can join us if you want," but it felt more like 'You'll be joining us whether you like it or not.'