Arko Cade & The Magic Hunter

Prologue

   "Mama who is my father?"

   Eliza choked on her rice.

   She whipped about immediately, head snapping towards the small boy who'd spontaneously materialized by her side with a cartoonish pop, dispersing a rain of magical glitter about them as if it was somebody's birthday party.

   "Oh my God..." She gasped, frowning as she swatted around herself, "How many times do I have to tell you to never come at people out of thin air?"

   "I'm sorry, mama." He mumbled, hair drooping as he hung his head, having gone shy. He smelled of sunshine and muddy shoes, the little lampin on his back already soaked through from playtime.

   "It's so rude and it's — wait, what did you say?"

   "I said I'm sorry."

   "No — 'yung una." Eliza grumbled, the very first thing he'd said having taken a while to properly register in the hollows of her chest. Suddenly everything went quiet, save for the grandfather clock in the nearby sala which rang its song and chimed once. Even the birds outside seemed to mute themselves in wry anticipation. The air thinned with unexpected tension, as if egging her on, You heard what he said. You just wish you hadn't.

   "Who is my father?" Arko asked again, shocking emerald eyes gone wide with innocent wonder. He'd yet to know where the color came from, and likely expected an answer now.

   Eliza's heart stopped. While the seven-year-old's cleverness had always given her pride, with it came a ravenous curiosity that had quickly become too sharp for his own good.

   "Sus, Arkael." She scoffed, feigning indifference to save time as she rushed to compose a response he'd find compelling enough, "Where'd that question even come from?"

   The boy began fumbling with his thumbs uncomfortably, rocking back and forth from heel to toe, knees gone wobbly, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Well, at school the kids always ask me who my father is. And Igo says everyone has a father, and that he knows who mine is, but he refuses to tell me. So who is my father?"

   Eliza pressed the bridge of her nose as a dull ache began to build there, a consequence of her increasing worry. "Honey, you know Iñigo loves causing trouble, I'll have to have a word with his mom about that..."

   "But it's true, isn't it?" Arko interrupted quickly. "Everyone must have a father, so who is mine?"

   There was a pause. A moment of hesitance far too long to be casual as Eliza stuffed her mouth with more rice and began a fake search for buko juice in a panic. Arko's eyes narrowed.

   "Is Ninong...?"

   "What!? No!" Eliza scowled, making a strange noise that seemed equal parts snort and grunt, "That's so... No! No."

   "But everybody says it's Ninong."

   "Well who's everybody?"

   "Grayson..."

   "Oh please, that little fashionista is hardly everybody."

   "...And Beau, and Hugo... and Scarlett." He blushed madly, now, all the way to the ears.

   "Well those three should know better," Eliza sighed, impatiently, then nearly laughed, "If Mio was your father, you'd be their cousin."

   "I know."

   "And you don't think I would've told you something like that, hm?" She wiggled her brows suggestively.

   Arko thought of Scarlett. Of her dark eyes and her pretty dresses. Her raven hair blowing in the wind, only to fall down her back again in a pin straight row. Of her voice — the way she spoke English, accented and posh, or French like her father, breezy and fluid, or Japanese like her mother, low and precise. She knew Tagalog, too. Bits of it. He'd been teaching her and she always listened so closely. If they were cousins, the world would be wrong and misshapen and he'd feel sick for it. They couldn't be.

   "Besides," Eliza's eyes widened, and she near-laughed, "You don't look anything like Romeo!"

   Arko quirked a brow, naughtily, "I look more like Mio than you."

   She gave him a once over, and then glanced at her own arm, tentatively. It was only a matter of time he point out the difference.

   "Mama, please," Eyes of unnaturally stark green and a mischievous glint in them, "Please just tell me."

   Heart stopped, breath hitched in her throat, Eliza eventually mustered up the bravery to respond —

   "There is no father — you have no father, Arko."

   "But —"

   She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and spoke as matter-of-factly as she could, "Mama made you all by herself. With complex Spells, lots of practice, and constant, consistent prayer."

   Arko frowned. "But mama, magic cannot create life, only enhance it."

   Eliza bit her lip. Those were her words, laced with a sliver of blame and thrown back at her without knowing how it stung.  Too clever, indeed.

   "Well, you are the product of my greatest love, Arkael." She settled, truthfully, "You know that mama is very strong, and that people have always wanted to take that strength from me. But I decided to put all that strength elsewhere — that's why your eyes are the brilliant colour of mama's magic. And why I love you beyond measure."

   "I don't get it." He grumbled.

   "Maybe when you're older, I'll bore you with the details."

   Then a dull pause filled the air, Eliza with nothing left to say, the only sound audible between them being that same clock, ticking on and on, and far too quickly for her liking.

And from between those tiny lips came the whisper, an admission of clear disappointment. "I have no father," Arko murmured.

   The slight fracture in his voice made Eliza's heart tremble in melancholic resentment. She stared, mesmerized as ever by those eyes — a reflection of her greatest sorrows, happinesses, and that tremendous, exceptional love. She took him in her arms, cradling his head gently while muttering, "You have mama. You will always have mama, anak. And I will spend the entirety of my life doing my absolute best to make sure one day, that will be enough."

   Fearing he'd made her upset, Arko looked up at her and wrapped his arms about her neck, resting his head on her shoulder. Then managed a small smile and whispered back —

  "But you will always be more than enough."