Grandpa Hardman's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Hardman stepped out of the bunker for the first time in a hundred years. The sun hit his bald head. His cane sank into the dirt. A few paces from the door sat an old wooden bench, soft and gray with age. He lowered himself onto it and pulled the notebook from his coat. One name. No town. No trade. No face. He stared at the shaky ink until the letters blurred. A name alone was nothing. He could walk in any direction and walk forever. Small feet thumped up the path. Baby Daniel climbed onto the bench beside him, bottle in hand. "You sad?" the baby asked. Hardman tapped the page. "Don't know where to start, little one." Daniel frowned hard. "Use a looky-glass. Daddy got one." Prince Danny came soon after, the lens already in his hand. The glass shimmered, runes glowing along its rim. "Found it in the treasure rooms," Danny said. "It reads what plain eyes miss." He passed it down. "Hold it over the name." Hardman lifted the lens above the page. The ink moved. New lines bloomed under the glass — faint marks beside the name, a small drawn shape of a chest with iron bands, and a single word beneath: hidden. A place. A hiding place belonging to a man who had hidden for a very long time. Hardman closed the notebook. His bones still ached. But now he had a direction. He stood up from the bench, leaned on his cane, and took his first true step toward the name.