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In a desperate attempt to get Father's attention, to earn her pride, Lyney had begged to spar with her.
"Please," he tugged at her sleeve. "I wanna show you how much I've improved since last time."
She made eye contact. He was good at reading people... Except for her. Father was a mystery. Unpredictable. Her dark eyes told nothing. She did not have visible pupils to contract or dilate, and when even Lyney's poker face would falter, hers was intact.
"Very well." She stood up from her chair. "You and your siblings shall meet me at the ruins this evening."
The ruins. The same ruins she had previously bested him, Lynette, Freminet, and the Traveler. Father must have assumed he'd go with a group... Considering she alone won against four people.
How unusual for Father to be wrong.
"No, Father. I'm going by myself."
For a brief moment, he could have sworn her eyes widened. Or perhaps he was imagining it.
"Are you certain?" she questioned.
"Yes." Lyney stood up straighter, pushing his shoulders back and puffing his chest out just slightly. "I'm certain."
"You will not win," Father warned.
Lyney almost shrugged, but he refrained. Too casual. It would make her believe he was not serious.
"Perhaps I will. But I'll last longer than before. Something you can surely be proud of."
Father looked him up and down, her scrutinizing gaze piercing through every inch of him, as if looking for a reason to say otherwise.
"We'll see."
That evening, Lyney showed up to the ruins first, wearing a pair of black boots made for agility of movement. A pair of tight black pants, so Father had no extra fabric to grab onto, should she resort to that. A dark red button down, to look presentable. His blond hair was tied back, to keep his vision clear.
His Pyro Vision was attached to his belt loop, glowing bright orange like the setting sun. Finally, he held a deck of throwing cards, which he was shuffling absentmindedly while he watched his surroundings, waiting patiently for Father to arrive.
Lyney spotted her silhouette in the distance, and he tucked the cards away in his pocket. He stood with his shoulders back and his arms to his sides as she approached.
"Father," he greeted.
She gave a slight nod in response, expression unreadable as always. She wore her usual attire, including the six-inch heels that made Lyney's feet hurt just to look at.
He smiled, pulling his cards back out of his pocket. "I hope you're prepared."
"I will reiterate, you will not win this."
"No, but like I said, Father... I may not win, but I'll last longer than I have before. My current record is one minute, thirty-seven seconds." He grinned, baring his fangs to her. "Think I can make a hundred seconds this time?"
"Perhaps." Father drew her scythe. "I'm not counting on it."
Lyney's confidence faltered, his smile faded. But he forced a wider grin as he pulled a stopwatch from his pocket, tossing it across the battlefield to her.
"Make sure to stop it when you beat me," he reminded.
Father hummed, holding the stopwatch in her hand. She turned it over in her blackened palm, as if examining for flaws in the device's outer casing. She narrowed her eyes at the Grin-Malkin Cat sticker on the back—Freminet had made it himself, Lyney was very proud of him. A spark of anger lit in his heart at Father's expression, her silent thought of "how childish" written on her face. But she turned back to him, holding the stopwatch tight in her hand.
"Your time starts..." A pause to give him a moment to prepare. "Now." She clicked the button.
Lyney did not hesitate. He shot a flaming card right at her. She blocked it with a Pyro wing, tucking the stopwatch in her pocket.
He did not feel discouraged. Instead, he darted around her, keeping ample distance between them to get some ranged attacks in. He shot a few more cards at her, which she effortlessly blocked.
Time to find a better strategy.
As Father moved forward, he tucked the cards away, rushing at her. She swung her scythe, he ducked under the blade (which was facing the wrong way so she would not kill him) and darted behind her.
Lyney grabbed her ponytail, yanking her towards him as hard as he could.
That surprised her.
He used that moment of hesitation to his advantage, trying to tug her to the ground. If he could pin her down, and keep her pinned down for three seconds... He would win.
His first win.
Father, however, was still stronger than him, and was able to wrestle him off of her back, getting him in front of her again.
He landed a punch straight to her chest, causing her to stumble back ever so slightly.
"Resorting to more primal methods, are we?" she taunted, using her free hand to aim a punch in retaliation.
Lyney dodged, having predicted that outcome. As the scythe swung at him again, he grabbed it, holding tight to the pole and tugging. Would it disarm her? Absolutely not, her grip was stronger. Would it keep him up for longer? Yes. That was all he needed.
She tried to shake him off, but his grip was strong, too, and he did not budge.
"Hmph." She threw the scythe to the ground, sending him along with it.
He hissed as he landed on the concrete, but quickly got up, her scythe in hand.
Lyney pointed it at her, a grin spreading across his face. "And now, you're disarmed."
He swung it at her, but she snatched it right out of his hand. That grip strength of hers...
"Now you're disarmed," she retorted, sending him flying back to the ground with the pole of the weapon.
He groaned as he hit the concrete once more, and she did not give him time to get up. Father quickly dropped the scythe, getting on top of him to keep him down.
Lyney tried to punch her, but she grabbed his throat with one hand, squeezing so hard he could not breathe.
His lungs had merely half a breath in them, and he instinctively tried to draw in more air, but her grip was too strong. His hands shot up to hers, trying to remove it from his neck. His legs kicked, but could not hit her, as she was straddling his hips.
She gripped his neck tighter, keeping him pressed against the ground.
"Three," She counted aloud, pulling the stopwatch from her pocket. "Two."
Lyney continued to attempt to remove her hand, but to no avail.
"One."
Click.
Father let go of his neck, and he instantly relaxed, gasping loudly for air. His hand traced over his throat, where he was certain bruises would form. Father got off of him, picking up her scythe and looking at the stopwatch as she stood.
She did not ask him if he was okay.
"One minute... Fifty seconds," she read off the stopwatch.
One minute, fifty seconds... One hundred and ten seconds. He beat his record by thirteen seconds.
"A hundred and ten!" Lyney exclaimed, standing up on shaky legs. Half his fringe had fallen from his ponytail, covering his right eye again. The sun had set further while they sparred, casting a dim light over the surroundings. "That's a new record!" he grinned proudly, expecting the emotion to be contagious.
Her face did not change.
"I... I did good, right?" Lyney asked, now uncertain. Was she still not proud of him, after all of that?
Father's eyes narrowed. "You could use some improvement."
"But I did improve!" he exclaimed, fixing his hair back into the ponytail. "I'm better than last time. Acknowledge it!"
She scoffed, handing the stopwatch back to him. "You are not playing to win. You are playing to not lose for as long as possible. And there is a major difference."
"Both are useful!" Lyney retorted, tucking it back in his pockets. "Sometimes you just need extra time, whether you're waiting for- for backup, or looking for an escape..."
Her eyes narrowed again.
Lyney dropped the smile. "Father? Are you proud of me?"
She did not answer.
After all of that, she somehow could not find it in her to say "yes."
That spark of anger from before was burning brighter, morphing into frustration. Into rage.
"I fought you with my bare hands," Lyney growled, brow furrowed. Father's expression remained neutral, only serving to fuel his anger. "I was able to fight you for almost two whole minutes, barely even using my Vision, and that means nothing to you?"
"You're angry," she pointed out.
"No shit," he hissed. "I practiced. I practice every day, because I hope that one day I can be half as strong as you are, and you can't find it in your heart to acknowledge that?"
"I did acknowledge it," she stated. "And watch your mouth. I do not appreciate such foul language coming from you."
"I do not appreciate the fact that you won't tell me you're proud of me!" he exclaimed, clutching his heart with one hand. "Have I not done enough?"
"You have done a lot," she said in a neutral tone. Closer to what Lyney wanted, but not nearly close enough.
"Then say it."
Father looked him up and down, as if debating whether he was even worthy of hearing such words from her.
She determined otherwise.
Father turned to face the path she had originally come from, beginning to walk away.
"It's getting dark," she warned. "Head home soon."
"So you're just going to leave?" Lyney asked. "Just like that."
She did not respond, continuing to leave the ruins—leave him.
"LOOK AT ME!" Lyney screamed, dropping to his knees on the concrete. His voice ripped through his lungs, leaving his throat raw in its wake. "LOOK AT ME, GODDAMNIT!"
Father turned back around to face him. Her eyes narrowed in disapproval at the sight of her son, on his knees before her like he'd been reduced to a mere beggar.
"WHY WON'T YOU JUST FUCKING SAY IT!"
She blinked, eyes returning to normal. "There's nothing to say." Father turned away from him. She resumed walking back home. Walking away from her own son.
Lyney cried out, getting back onto his feet and running after her. He blocked her path and grabbed her coat, clutching it so tight his knuckles went white.
"Say it," he begged. "Say it once and I will never ask again."
Father didn't open her mouth.
He hissed, gripping her coat tighter. "Say it. Tell me you're proud of me," he spoke through gritted teeth.
"What possesses you to think I will indulge such pathetic behavior?" she scolded.
Pathetic.
Father had taken a verbal knife and stabbed him in the chest, but he did not back down. It was a stab, yes, but it was not a fatal one.
"Pathetic?" his voice shook. "How am I pathetic? You're pathetic! You're the one who refuses to say four words! Four! 'I'm proud of you!' Say it!"
"No."
No? After everything he'd done for her, Father had the audacity to say no?
"ACKNOWLEDGE ME!" he pleaded, angry tears streaming down his face. Had he been crying this whole time? Or had this just started? "PLEASE!"
Arlecchino shoved him off of her, tossing him to the earth like he were nothing. He caught himself, grunting in pain as his hands hit the hard ground.
"You will learn not to beg for validation from your superiors." The Harbinger strode off, finally leaving him behind.
"How can you call yourself 'Father' when you refuse to say the things that fathers are supposed to say?" Lyney asked, but Arlecchino did not even acknowledge him.
Fine. If that's what she wanted.
He lay there, sobbing loudly into the concrete floor that had once been a building. Now it was reduced to nothing but ruins and dust, just like Lyney's spirit. The sun had almost set, and it was getting dark. Perhaps he would not return home, perhaps he would simply curl up right here to sleep.
He knew Arlecchino would not come looking for him if he did.
"I hate you," he whispered to the open air, angry tears still streaming down his cheeks. Nobody would hear him, not even Arlecchino, but that didn't matter. He was certain she already knew. "I hate you."