Chapter 118: The Weight of Love

The temperature dropped gently, like autumn stealing into summer. Not the bone-deep cold of vengeful spirits, but something softer. Familiar.

Arthur's hand trembled on the Resurrection Stone.

"Arthur?"

His mother's voice. Exactly as he remembered—warm honey over morning tea.

"Son?"

His father. That subtle Welsh accent bleeding through, the one he'd never quite managed to polish away.

Arthur opened his eyes.

They stood before him in shimmering translucence, as vivid as they had been that final morning. Sarah's eyes that could spot a lie at a thousand paces. Richard's crooked smile that had sealed deals and solved problems with equal ease.

"Mum. Dad."

"Oh, my beautiful boy." Sarah's ghostly hand reached for his face, stopping just short. "Look at you. All grown up and carrying the world on those shoulders."

"Still trying to do everything alone," Richard said, a familiar note of fond exasperation in his voice. "Some things never change."

The words Arthur had rehearsed for years tumbled out in a rush. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. The market tips, the investments—I made you targets. If I hadn't been so eager to live the life of a rich kid, to—"

"Stop." Richard's voice carried CEO authority. "Stop right there."

"But—"

"Arthur Hayes." Sarah's voice cracked like a whip. "You were a child. A child who loved his parents so much he tried to give them the world. The only thing you're guilty of is loving us."

"The information I gave you—"

"Was a gift," Richard interrupted. "Our brilliant boy, always three steps ahead of everyone else, wanting to share his insights with us. How could that ever be wrong?"

"It got you killed!" Arthur's voice broke, the words escaping in a strangled hiss.

"No." Sarah's voice turned fierce. "Greedy men with guns killed us. Men who would have found other reasons if not for the money. That's on them, not you."

"I should have been more careful—"

"We should have been more careful," Richard corrected. "We were the adults. We knew sudden wealth brought problems. Security, discretion—that was our responsibility, not yours."

Arthur shook his head violently, fists clenching as if he could squeeze the guilt from his soul. "I knew the world was dangerous. I knew! I should've protected you."

"Stop." Richard's tone carried the same authority that had once made boardrooms fall silent. "We need to have a conversation we should have had while alive."

Arthur froze. "What do you mean?"

Sarah's smile was tinged with sadness. "We knew, darling. From the beginning."

His breath caught. "Knew what?"

"That you were… different." She gestured faintly, as if words couldn't quite capture it. "Our not-yet-ten-year-old predicting market trends like he'd seen the future. Understanding things no child should. Watching people, places—always cataloging, always calculating."

Arthur's chest felt tight. "You knew?"

"Parents know their children," Richard said simply. "We knew you weren't… ordinary. And we didn't care. You were our son."

"And you never said anything?"

"What was there to say?" Sarah smiled. "You were our son. You let us love you, tuck you in, tell terrible jokes at breakfast. That was everything."

"We figured you'd tell us when you were ready," Richard added. "Or not. It didn't matter. You chose to be ours. That was enough."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with years of unspoken understanding.

"I killed them." The confession came out flat. "The men who murdered you. All of them."

His parents exchanged a look that needed no words.

"We know," Sarah whispered. "We watched."

"Are you disappointed?"

"We're sad," Richard admitted. "Not disappointed. Sad that you felt you had to carry that weight."

"We would have preferred you chose differently," Sarah said softly. "Found peace instead of vengeance. But we understand why you couldn't."

"They were monsters—"

"Yes," Sarah agreed. "But hunting monsters changes the hunter. You're so young to carry so much blood."

"I couldn't let them live." Arthur's voice hardened. "I couldn't."

"We understand," Richard said gently. "Just promise us you won't become what you fought against. Don't let your humanity slip away."

Arthur nodded slowly. "I promise. I'll keep my mind… my soul intact."

"Good." Sarah's smile was watery but real. "Now tell us about this wizard business! Our son can do actual magic!"

The change of subject was deliberate, parental manipulation at its finest. Arthur let them guide him to safer ground.

"One of the strongest alive," he couldn't help bragging. "And I'm only twenty."

"Still so young," Richard marveled. "All that power, and barely started living."

"I've lived plenty—"

"You've achieved plenty," Sarah corrected. "That's not the same thing. When's the last time you did something just for joy?"

"I... the business brings satisfaction—"

"Satisfaction isn't joy," Richard said. "When did you last laugh with friends? Real, belly-deep laughter?"

"I have friends. Daniel—"

"Your business partner who calls you Mr. Hayes," Sarah interrupted. "Winky, who worships you. Aurora, who still sees you as her former charge."

"They're friends—"

"Name one person you'd call at three in the morning just to talk," Richard challenged. "Not for help, not for business. Just to hear another voice."

Arthur opened his mouth. Closed it.

"That's what we thought," Sarah said sadly. "Oh, darling. You've built such impressive walls. But walls keep out love as well as pain."

"It's safer—"

"It's not living," Richard said firmly. "Son, you're treating life like a game. Gain power, defeat the enemy, level up, find the next challenge. That's not how it works."

"Then how does it work?"

"Messily," Sarah said. "With mistakes and laughter and heartbreak and joy. With people who matter more than power."

Arthur bowed his head. "I don't remember how. After you died, I just… shut down that part of myself. Only when I'm strong enough to protect those I love can I…"

"There's no such thing as strong enough," Richard said softly. "There will always be someone stronger. The point isn't to be invincible. It's to be human."

Arthur felt the fight go out of him. He slumped back in his chair, knowing they were right. He had known it all along.

"Why can I still call you?" he asked. "Why haven't you moved on?"

"How could we?" Sarah asked. "Our brilliant, lonely boy achieved everything except happiness. We can't leave until we know you'll be okay."

"I am okay—"

"You're functioning," Richard corrected. "That's not the same thing. We want to see you living before we go."

"With someone special," Sarah added with maternal determination. "Speaking of which, Aurora's lovely—"

"Mum, no." Arthur actually laughed. "She's like a dumb big sister. Anything else would be incredibly weird."

"Fine," Sarah sighed. "But you need someone. Someone who sees past the walls to the man behind them."

"I don't have time—"

"You have nothing but time," Richard countered. "You're twenty. Brilliant, powerful, successful, and completely alone. You don't have to be."

They talked for hours after that. Arthur told them everything—the Phoenix Group's success, his magical feats, his brushes with cosmic powers. They listened, pride and worry mingling in equal measure.

"The Ancient One sounds terrifying," Sarah said after hearing about Kamar-Taj.

"She is," Arthur agreed. "But kind."

"And Carol Danvers? Aliens?" Richard shook his head. "When I said I want you to expand your horizons, I meant maybe join a football fan club or something."

Arthur chuckled. "Well, I don't watch football."

"Maybe start," Richard said.

They shared stories, jokes, and memories. For a few precious hours, it was almost like having them back. Almost like being whole.

But even ghosts grow weary.

"We should go," Sarah finally said. "This isn't right, keeping us here."

"I could call you again—"

"No." Richard's voice was firm. "You can't, and you won't. This was goodbye, son. The one we never got to have."

"But—"

"No buts," Sarah said. "We'll be watching, waiting to see you live. Really live. But no more conversations. The dead and the living shouldn't cling to each other."

"What if I need you?"

"You don't need us," Richard said. "You never really did. You're stronger than you know. You just need to let others see that strength isn't all you are."

"Promise us," Sarah insisted. "Promise you'll try. Make friends. Fall in love. Make mistakes. Be human."

"I promise," Arthur said, meaning it.

They began to fade, the Stone's power waning.

"We love you," they said in unison. "We're so proud of who you've become. Now become more."

"I love you too," Arthur whispered.

And they were gone.

He sat alone in his study, the Resurrection Stone cold in his palm. No tears—he'd shed those years ago. But something in his chest had shifted, loosened. A weight he'd carried so long he'd forgotten it wasn't part of him.

His parents had known he was different. Had loved him anyway. Had died without blame or regret.

And they wanted him to live.

Arthur set the Stone aside and poured himself a generous measure of firewhisky. Outside, London glittered with possibilities he'd ignored for too long.

"To living," he toasted the empty air. "Whatever that means."

Arthur sat alone in his study, the Hallows on his desk suddenly seeming less like keys to ultimate power and more like childish trinkets.

His parents had given him one final gift. A new mission.

His next great quest, it seemed, wasn't to master Death.

It was to master living.