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Chapter 8
A New Soul

“It’s okay,” Gwen whispered. She helped gather the bald man’s things.

“Why does he have a sword?” He turned to Arthur urgently. Of course, the man of the house wasn’t the one with the answers.

“It’s completely safe.” Gwen assured as she put the smaller bags into Lompt’s overly relaxed arms.

The mesmerist couldn’t help but stare wide-eyed at the boy who just sat cross legged with the black sword on his lap. “By all of God’s reasoning, how is this safe?”

“We were told to integrate him into our family as if he was our own son, right?” Gwen put more bags into Lompt’s arms. “Our own son has his own sword. Come on,” she looked toward the boy. “Smile at him, he’s our guest,” she said to the boy.

The boy barred his teeth, opened his lips slightly and curved the edges of his mouth to form a very awkward smile, like he had never used those muscles a day in his life.

“I…mmmm,” the boy hummed and looked to Gwen to see if they had a name for him yet.

“We haven’t decided yet,” she took a grudging gander at her husband who stood by the door. They finally met eyes even though it was in a threatening manner.

“Alright. Well…” Lompt entered the room, oddly stepping over a few pieces of broken pottery. Slightly curious he turned to Gwen who simply returned a smile. It was at that point he decided not to even ask. Instead he turned his subsequent attention to the boy. The boy didn’t budge a tiny bit. Instead, he still cracked that awfully awkward smile. “Do you talk?” Lompt asked the boy as he took out the long poles.

The boy nodded.

“If you could,” Arthur interjected, before getting interrupted by Lompt stabbing a large pole into the wooden flooring, in a completely different spot from the previous night.

“Nevermind,” Arthur grunted.

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