The study was quiet, the kind of silence that carried weight. Nolan sat at the head of the table, his fingers tapping idly against the polished wood. Across from him, Edwin and Alex sat side by side, their expressions unreadable.
Nolan exhaled slowly. "I know you’ve been leaving the castle a lot, Edwin. And taking Alex with you."
Edwin met his gaze evenly. "Yeah. And?"
Nolan leaned forward, his voice steady but edged. "You told Alex it’s not weak to have problems with bullies."
Edwin didn’t blink. "Because it’s not."
Nolan’s eyes flicked toward Alex. "You’re a ferret, Alex. And you got bullied by a rabbit?"
Alex’s ears twitched, but he didn’t look away. Edwin spoke first. "And? Does that make him weak?"
Nolan leaned back, studying them. "A noble ferret shouldn’t be outmatched by prey. It’s disgraceful."
Edwin’s jaw tightened slightly. "Strength isn’t just about who wins a fight, Dad. It’s about knowing when to stand your ground—and when to walk away."
Nolan scoffed. "That sounds like an excuse for weakness. When I was your age, we fought until we won."
Alex hesitated before speaking. "I wasn’t walking away, Dad. I was losing, over and over. Walking away wasn’t even an option."
Nolan folded his arms. "And now?"
Alex took a breath. "Now I’m learning that fighting isn’t just about throwing punches. It’s about knowing how to win—and when not to fight at all."
Nolan’s expression darkened. "And what happens when someone doesn’t give you a choice? When backing down means losing everything?"
Edwin’s voice was calm but firm. "Then you fight. But not because you’re expected to—because it matters."
Nolan scoffed. "You think words will change how the world sees you? That a rabbit will ever respect a predator who loses?"
Edwin’s stare was unwavering. "Respect isn’t about fear, Dad. It’s about how you carry yourself after failure. Maybe it’s time we stop letting the world decide what that means."
Nolan’s smirk was slow, condescending. "Strong words for a rabbit too dumb to understand consent."
Edwin’s fingers curled into fists against his arms, but his voice remained steady. "That’s a lie. And you know it."
Nolan shrugged. "Just calling it like I see it. You put too much faith in prey understanding fairness. At the end of the day, instinct wins. It always does."
Alex, who had been quiet, suddenly spoke. "And what if instinct is just an excuse?"
Nolan narrowed his eyes. "Excuse for what?"
Alex swallowed, but his voice didn’t waver. "For cruelty. For making sure people like me never get a chance to be anything more than weak."
Edwin exhaled slowly. "And this whole idea that rabbits don’t understand consent? That’s the kind of thinking that keeps everything broken. You think prey don’t understand boundaries? How do you think we survive?"
Nolan frowned, watching them both carefully. "You’ve spent too much time thinking you can change the way things are. You don’t get to dictate how the world works, Edwin. You don’t get to decide what’s fair and what isn’t."
Edwin leaned forward slightly. "And you do? Without Mom even being part of the conversation? You make these decisions about my life like she doesn’t exist."
Nolan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond immediately. Alex watched his father’s expression shift, the flicker of something like hesitation passing through his eyes before it hardened again.
"Your mother has nothing to do with this." Nolan’s voice was low, firm, but Edwin wasn’t backing down.
"She has everything to do with this." Edwin’s voice was sharper now, cutting through the stale air in the study. "But you don’t ask her. You don’t even talk to her about me. You just make your judgments and expect me to accept them."
Nolan exhaled heavily, his jaw clenching. "You always were stubborn. Just don’t come crying to me when the world proves you wrong."
Alex followed Edwin out of the room, his expression unreadable. Nolan remained sitting, staring at the empty space they left behind, feeling the weight of their words settle in the quiet.
Nolan leaned forward, his gaze sharp and cold. "Your mom was a worthless mining slave that needed a predator to plant his seed."
Edwin’s breath hitched, but he held his ground. His fingers curled into tight fists at his sides. "Say that again."
Nolan smirked. "What? You don’t like hearing the truth? She was prey. She had no real choices. You wouldn’t even exist if someone stronger hadn’t decided she was useful."
Alex's ears flattened, his face darkening. "That’s enough, Dad."
Nolan scoffed. "You don’t get to decide what’s enough. This is reality, Alex. Edwin wants to act like he can rewrite the way the world works, but he forgets where he came from. You don’t get to pretend you’re equal when your very existence proves otherwise."
Edwin’s voice was eerily calm, but his eyes burned. "You think that just because my mother was forced into this life, that defines me? That defines her?"
Nolan leaned back, crossing his arms. "It’s not about what I think, Edwin. It’s about the truth. You can argue all you want, but the world won’t see you any different."
Edwin took a slow breath, steadying himself. "You don’t get to use her suffering as a weapon. You don’t get to decide who I am. And I don’t care what the world thinks—because I will be different."
For the first time, something flickered across Nolan’s expression—something unreadable.
Alex exhaled, his jaw clenched. "You say we can’t change anything, but you’re terrified, aren’t you? Scared that we will."
Nolan’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing.
Nolan let out a slow exhale, his smirk growing sharper as he leaned forward, his voice dropping lower, almost mocking. ""You hate the predators, but you know as well as I do that if that ferret jacked off instead, you would have been dead sperm on the ground." He let the words hang in the air, his eyes gleaming with something between amusement and cruelty."
Edwin’s breath shuddered, but his expression remained hard. He turned toward the door. "You don’t control me. And you sure as hell don’t get to control her memory."
Nolan looked to Edwin “You still can't argue Edwin, that ferret needed to rape your mom because if he didn't Alex wouldn't even have a brother and I sure as hell wouldn't have to be arguing with you, man up boy.”
Alex stared at his father, disbelief written across his face. "Isn't that mean? You basically just told your son that he should be happy that someone hurt his mom."
Nolan’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before returning, though not as sharp. "It’s the truth, Alex. The world doesn’t care about feelings—it cares about survival."
Edwin, still standing near the door, turned back, his voice low but firm. "That’s not survival. That’s just cruelty."
Nolan leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "You both act like your emotions will change reality. They won’t. The world is what it is."
Alex shook his head, his tail flicking behind him in frustration. "No, Dad. You just use 'the world' as an excuse to be awful. There's a difference."
Edwin clenched his jaw, then turned fully toward the door. "We don’t have to listen to this."
Alex hesitated, glancing back at Nolan one last time, hoping for something—anything. But his father’s face remained unreadable, cold. Finally, he turned and followed Edwin out, leaving Nolan alone in the heavy silence.
