CHAPTER 6- New Era

Miguel turned towards Grandpa, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and discomfort.

"Well of one Peter came late, and Malachi had to deliver the eulogy."

Malachi, looking a bit pale, was too nervous to tell Gramps the truth.

Miguel leaned forward in his chair. feet, awaiting Grandpa's reaction.

Grandpa's sharp eyes, filled with the wisdom of countless years, settled on Malachi.

He uttered a thoughtful "Hmm," before breaking into a knowing smile.

"I'm not even surprised.

Your father was Enoch, after all."

Miguel seized the opportunity to tease, his tone turning playful.

"So Gramps, Dad was your favorite, wasn't he ?"

Grandpa snorted loudly, flapping his lips in a mock show of indignation.

"No, I didn't have favorites.

I love all my kids equally."

Malachi couldn't hold back his smirk, his skepticism evident.

"Sure," he replied, drawing out the word.

"Boy!" he exclaimed, the word dripping with affectionate reprimand.

Laughter filled the room, a rare moment of joy amidst the somber occasion.

But the laughter was abruptly cut short when Grandpa started to cough, a deep, wrenching sound that seemed to shake his entire frail form.

Malachi's smile vanished as he watched Grandpa intently, his concern growing with each ragged breath.

Grandpa's hand, trembling slightly, covered his mouth.

When he withdrew it, he stared at his palm for a long while, his expression darkening.

Malachi's senses picked up the faint, metallic scent of blood lingering in the air.

His heart pounded as his eyes met Grandpa's, a silent exchange of shared worry.

Miguel looked over with concern etched across his face and asked, "Gramps, you good?"

Grandpa waved his hand dismissively, his voice gruff but reassuring.

"Yeah, I'll live."

Yet, Malachi felt a deep unease.

His senses, always sharp, were picking up subtle signs that contradicted Grandpa's words.

The slightly sour smell of sweat that clung to Grandpa's clothes, the faint pallor of his skin, and the slight tremor in his voice all painted a different picture.

"Now, here's the deal," Grandpa said, his voice dropping to a serious tone. He shifted in his chair, locking his hands on the desk, his intense gaze locking onto Malachi and Miguel, making their stomachs clench.

"I need you two to attend a soiree on my behalf. It's crucial you represent our side of the clan."

"My legs... well, they're not what they used to be," he said, and Grandpa chuckled, patting his leg.

Malachi, already wary of the prospect, frowned.

"A dance party, Gramps? Why?"

Grandpa chuckled softly.

"It's a ball celebrating our country's rise as a powerful nation, marking a significant turning point in our history."

A victory, you might say."

He paused, letting the significance of the words hang in the air. "And it has to be the two of you."

Miguel, ever the eager one, grinned. "Gramps, you don't need to explain further.

We're in."

Malachi, however, remained hesitant. "But why us?" he pressed, his brow furrowed.

Grandpa's eyes narrowed, a spark of anticipation gleaming within them.

"Because," he said, his voice steady but laced with urgency, "I need you both at this soirée. It's essential.

There are critical matters to address and important connections to forge, and I have complete confidence in you two to navigate it wisely. This isn't just a party; it's a strategic gathering. I'm counting on you to be my eyes and ears, ensuring everything unfolds as it should. Consider this your initiation into the family's future."

His voice dropped to a near whisper. "This is a crucial social engagement, and your presence is vital to the family's success."

He paused, his eyes drifting toward the window, taking in the estate's expanse.

"Take Deon with you," Grandpa said. Malachi looked up at him, questioning, "What?"

Don't want to give him another reason to hate you."

Malachi looked at Gramps with a surprised expression, eyebrows raised slightly in intrigue.

"Oh, you knew?"

Gramps chuckled, the sound rich with age and wisdom. "I may be old, but I ain't cold."

Miguel barked out a laugh, gesturing with his hand in confusion.

"What does that even mean?"

Gramps looked at him with twinkling eyes. "When you grow some more, you'll understand."

Then Miguel leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Talk to Mal about growing."

Malachi's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

Miguel hesitated, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips.

"Hm? Did you say something?" he deflected, trying to mask his earlier comment.

Shuffling closer, he lowered his voice, his words deliberate and heavy with meaning.

"This is more than just attending an event. The island needs to witness the emerging generation of Shaka's.

Our people are searching for hope, and they need to see you both—our future—standing proud and strong."

Grandpa's gaze was intense as he spoke. "This is about a new era for enlightened humans who will carry on our legacy. Your presence symbolizes unity and strength, proving our spirit thrives through you."

"This goes beyond any individual—it's about our future as a united people. And that, my children, starts with you."

A hint of mischief sparkled in his eyes as he glanced at Malachi.

"You can even bring your 'friend' along," Grandpa suggested, his tone loaded with unspoken meanings.

Malachi's brows furrowed. "I don't have a girlfriend," he replied, bewilderment lacing his voice.

Miguel snapped his fingers, a grin of realization spreading across his face. "Oh, you mean Bianca!" he said with a teasing gleam in his eyes.

Malachi's cheeks flushed with a mix of frustration and embarrassment. "She's just a friend, not my girlfriend," he insisted, the words tumbling out defensively.

Grandpa's smirk broadened, his voice rich with sarcasm. "Just a friend, huh? And I suppose that makes me a rocket scientist."

Before Malachi could respond, Grandpa's expression softened, and his tone turned wistful.

"You know, it reminds me of when your Grandma and I..." Grandpa started with a nostalgic smile.

Malachi quickly interjected, "Grandpa, we get it. You and Grandma were young and reckless. Spare us the details."

Grandpa deflated slightly, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. "Well, alright, alright," he murmured. "I just thought I'd share a few stories, maybe put you in on the game a bit."

As his words trailed off, a heavy silence settled in. Malachi stared at his feet, feeling a knot of tension forming in his chest.

Miguel, ever the quieter one, sat beside him, his eyes downcast.

Finally, Grandpa broke the silence, his voice thick with emotion.

Gramps looked up, his voice heavy with emotion. "I miss my son.

I miss him terribly," he murmured, as a tear slowly snaked down his cheek.

Malachi and Miguel exchanged a glance.

There was a shared understanding in their eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the elephant in the room, the grief that lingered like a heavy fog.

Miguel, reached for Grandpa's hand.

"We miss him too, Gramps," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Malachi nodded, his voice catching in his throat.

He wished he could say more, could offer his grandfather some comfort, but the words wouldn't come.

All he could do was sit there, in the quiet, with the weight of their shared loss pressing down on them.

To be continued.…