The next day, just after the sun had barely risen over the capital city, I was roused from my sleep by a gentle shake. Groggily, I opened my eyes to find Father standing beside the bed, his face lined with a mix of weariness and something that looked like determination.
"Will, we need to go now," Father whispered, his voice low, as if he didn't want to disturb the quiet. I glanced over at Chris, still sound asleep beside me, her small body curled up under the blanket. Her hair was splayed out on the pillow, and she looked so peaceful that I almost didn't want to leave and just watch her.
"Where?" I asked, still half-asleep, rubbing my eyes to clear the morning blur.
"To the House Quarter," he answered, his voice steady but carrying a hint of urgency.
Oh, that's right. I'd almost completely forgotten about it. The House Quarter—a place I had heard about but never imagined we'd actually visit. It was one of the four great noble houses, and now, it seemed we had business there.
"Okay," I said quietly, carefully sliding off the bed to avoid waking Chris. She shifted slightly in her sleep but didn't stir. For a moment, I just stood there, watching her breathe softly, her face untroubled and serene. The sight of her made me want to protect this peace for as long as I could.
Father and I tiptoed out of the room, and as we descended the stairs, the soft creaking of the wooden steps echoed in the early morning quiet. When we reached the inn's lobby, the innkeeper was already up, wiping down the counter with a cloth. Father approached him, speaking in hushed tones that I couldn't quite make out. After a brief exchange, Father tossed something to the innkeeper—a flash of silver that caught the light briefly before the innkeeper deftly snatched it out of the air. A silver coin, no doubt it is for protecting Chris while we're gone. We don't want to repeat what happened in the past.
With our business at the inn concluded, we finally stepped outside. The city was slowly coming to life; vendors were setting up their stalls, and the streets were still mostly empty, save for a few early risers. The crisp morning air was cool against my skin, carrying the faint scent of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery. As we walked, I noticed we were heading in the opposite direction of where Chris and I had explored yesterday. This side of the city felt more refined, with tall, imposing buildings and well-maintained streets.
After about fifteen minutes of walking, we reached our destination—a large, extravagant house near the city walls. It was a mansion surrounded by iron fences that gleamed in the morning light. The house itself was grand, almost intimidating, with tall windows, intricately carved stonework, and lush gardens that were meticulously kept. It reminded me of Carson's house, but this one was even more extravagant, exuding an air of wealth and power that made me feel small.
Two guards stood at the gate, their stern expressions softening slightly when they saw Father. But Father's reaction was quite the opposite—his face tightened, and I could see his body tense up as if he were holding his breath. He twitched slightly, his nervousness obvious. Father had always been a man of few words, but seeing him like this was strange. I couldn't help but wonder what kind of place we were about to enter.
As we approached, Father spoke quietly to one of the guards, showing him a small card from his pocket—a sign of his affiliation with the House Quarter. The guard examined it carefully, then gave a curt nod before stepping aside and signaling to his companion. The gate creaked open, and we were finally allowed in. The other guard fell into step with us, leading the way to the house. His heavy boots thudded against the cobblestones, a rhythmic sound that matched my own anxious heartbeat.
When we reached the front door, the guard pushed it open, revealing an expansive hallway that smelled faintly of lavender and polished wood. A woman stood waiting for us—a beastkin with red hair and feline features. Her cat ears twitched slightly as she took us in, her expression shifting from welcoming to annoyed the moment she recognized Father. She was dressed impeccably in a butler's uniform, and despite her irritation, she exuded an air of strict professionalism.
"It's just you; what do you want?" she asked, her voice laced with thinly veiled disdain. Her cat-like eyes glared at Father, clearly not pleased with our presence.
Father's posture stiffened, and he managed a nervous smile. "I have something to talk to Lord Alaric about," he said, trying to maintain a respectful tone.
"You caused another trouble?" the beastkin woman asked sharply, crossing her arms over her chest. She tapped one foot impatiently, her tail swishing behind her in irritation.
"No, that's not it," Father replied, his voice strained. He didn't try to argue; he just looked tired, like someone who had dealt with this kind of treatment many times before.
The woman eyed him for a moment longer, then let out an exasperated sigh. "Follow me," she said curtly, turning on her heel and leading us up a grand staircase. The hallway we walked through was lined with paintings and elaborate decorations, each piece probably worth more than our entire house back home. Everything about this place screamed wealth, and I couldn't help but feel out of place.
At the end of the corridor, we stopped in front of a massive door, intricately carved with the emblem of a hawk clutching a sword. The beastkin woman knocked firmly. "Lord Alaric, William is here," she called out, her voice echoing slightly in the vast hallway.
From inside the room, a deep voice responded, "Come in."
The beastkin woman opened the door, revealing a large, opulent office. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with thick, leather-bound volumes, and a grand desk stood by the window, bathed in the soft morning light. Behind the desk sat a man—Lord Alaric. He was imposing, with sharp features and a calculating gaze that seemed to weigh everything and everyone in his presence.
The moment Father saw him, he dropped to his knees without hesitation. It was almost instinctual, like he'd done it a hundred times before. I hesitated for a second, feeling awkward and unsure, but when I saw Father bowing so deeply, I followed suit, lowering myself to my knees beside him. The polished floor was cold against my legs, and I kept my gaze down, not daring to look up.
The man sitting at the desk near the window slowly rose from his chair, his movements deliberate and imposing. Lord Alaric was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a finely tailored coat adorned with gold embroidery that hinted at his high status. His presence filled the room with an unspoken authority, and as he walked toward us, I could feel the air grow heavier. He had sharp, hawk-like eyes that seemed to pierce right through you, and there was a cold, calculating quality in his gaze.
"Lord Alaric, it's nice to see you in good shape," Father said, his voice trembling slightly as he tried to maintain a respectful tone. I could sense the fear behind his words, masked by a forced politeness.
Lord Alaric's expression didn't soften; instead, he looked almost irritated. "Quit the flowery words; they don't suit you," he snapped, waving his hand dismissively as if swatting away an annoying fly. His eyes then flicked toward me, narrowing slightly. "So, this boy is your son?"
"Yes, he is," Father answered, his voice subdued. I could feel the tension in the room rising, like a string pulled taut, ready to snap at any moment.
Lord Alaric shifted his attention fully to me, his intense gaze locking onto mine. "Stand up, boy," he ordered, his voice carrying an authority that left no room for disobedience. I swallowed hard and did as he commanded, rising to my feet. I tried to keep my posture straight, refusing to let my nerves show.
As I stood before him, Lord Alaric didn't speak immediately. He just stared, his piercing eyes boring into mine as if trying to read every thought in my head. For a moment, it felt like the entire world had shrunk to just the two of us, locked in a silent battle of wills. Despite the knot of anxiety twisting in my gut, I refused to look away. If he was testing me, I wasn't going to fail. I met his gaze head-on, unflinching, even as the weight of his stare threatened to crush me.
After what felt like an eternity, Lord Alaric's lips curled into a faint, satisfied smile. "This boy has guts!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with an odd mix of amusement and approval. "Normally, when I stare at someone, they'd avoid my eyes because of the pressure I emit, but this boy didn't even blink and just stared back." His smile widened, and for a brief second, the coldness in his expression softened, revealing a hint of genuine admiration.
My heart pounded in my chest, but I forced myself to remain calm. I didn't understand why Lord Alaric seemed so pleased, but I knew better than to show any sign of weakness.
"William," Lord Alaric continued, turning his attention back to my father, "your son would make a fine subordinate of the House Quarter too." His tone was casual, as if he were merely discussing the weather, but the weight of his words hung heavy in the air.
Father's reaction was immediate. His face twisted into an expression of despair, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and helplessness. Without warning, he fell forward, pressing his forehead to the cold, polished floor. His voice was choked with desperation as he pleaded, "Lord Alaric, that's what we came for. I plead to you, please don't involve my son here."
The sight of my father on his knees, groveling before this man, filled me with a surge of anger and sadness. I had never seen him so broken, so utterly powerless. He was the man who had always seemed strong to me, even in our worst times, and yet here he was, begging on the floor like he was worth nothing.
Lord Alaric's brow furrowed, genuine confusion flashing across his face. "Huh? Why?" he asked, almost as if Father's plea was incomprehensible to him.
Father raised his head slightly, his eyes brimming with a mix of pain and regret. "I can't take it to see him doing that kind of work," he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "I just can't…"
For a moment, Lord Alaric just stared at him, his expression a mixture of disbelief and mild irritation, as if he couldn't fathom why anyone would refuse such an 'opportunity.' His gaze flicked between Father and me, scrutinizing every nuance of our expressions.
"William, I already heard about what happened in Craud," Lord Alaric said, his tone growing colder. The mention of Craud sent a chill down my spine. Father's whole body tensed, his eyes darting to the floor in shame.
"You used my name to escape the crime you committed," Lord Alaric continued, his voice like ice. Father's shoulders slumped further, and I could feel the weight of guilt pressing down on him.
"I'll overlook it if you let your son work for me," Lord Alaric added, his words carrying the finality of a judge's verdict. It wasn't a request—it was a command masked as an offer, and the underlying threat was unmistakable.
"T-that's—" Father tried to speak, but his voice faltered, caught between fear and defiance.
Lord Alaric cut him off sharply. "If you still don't want it, then right here, right now, I'll arrest you for the crime you committed." The threat hung in the air like a guillotine, ready to drop. Father's face went pale, his expression sinking into utter despair. He looked utterly defeated, his body trembling as he struggled to find the right words.
I couldn't stand it any longer. Seeing Father like this, broken and desperate, was unbearable. I clenched my fists, my mind racing. I couldn't let him suffer because of me—I had to do something, anything, to change this.
"Please let me do it!" I blurted out, stepping forward and bowing deeply before Lord Alaric. "I'll be one of your subordinates." The words spilled out of me before I could even fully think them through. My heart pounded in my chest, and I could feel Father's shocked gaze burning into the side of my face.
"Will?" Father gasped, his voice filled with confusion and fear. He looked at me as if he couldn't believe what I had just said, his eyes pleading for me to reconsider.
But I didn't look back. I kept my head bowed, determined to stand by my decision. If this was the only way to save him, then I would do it. I had to be strong—for both of us.
Lord Alaric's grin widened, clearly pleased by my response. "That's what I want to hear! You really have guts," he said, his voice brimming with satisfaction. "I'll contact you when I have something I need you to do, and of course, I'll compensate you well." His tone was almost jovial, as if this were some grand game he was winning.
Father's expression twisted with a mix of gratitude and anguish, but he said nothing more. The power dynamics in the room were clear—there was no arguing with Lord Alaric.
Lord Alaric waved his hand dismissively. "Now, get out of here; I have something I need to do," he said, turning back toward his desk as if we were nothing more than a minor distraction in his day.
After that, Father and I left the room, our footsteps echoing faintly in the long hallway. The door closed behind us with a heavy thud, like the sound of a fate sealed. Outside, we were greeted by the stern, watchful eyes of the lady beastkin, her ears twitching slightly as if picking up on our every movement. Her arms were crossed tightly, and she leaned against the wall with an air of impatience, tapping her foot quietly on the marble floor.
She glanced at Father, her eyes narrowing before settling on me. I could feel the weight of her gaze, a mixture of disdain and curiosity. She clicked her tongue in annoyance, her ears flicking back in irritation.
"Are you done?" she said, her tone sharp, dripping with barely concealed contempt. There was no hint of politeness in her voice, just raw annoyance. It was clear she saw us as nothing more than pests disturbing her routine.
"Yes," Father replied, his voice hollow, still heavy with the despair from our encounter with Lord Alaric. His shoulders were slumped, and he seemed lost in his thoughts, barely noticing the hostility directed at us.
I couldn't stand the tension between them. It felt suffocating, like being caught between two opposing forces. I needed an excuse to clear my head, if only for a moment. "Ah, can I use the toilet first?" I asked, trying to sound casual as I addressed the lady beastkin. But I could tell she wasn't thrilled about my request.
She stared at me, her eyes cold, as if silently scolding me for even daring to speak. Her expression was stern, as if she wanted to tell me outright to know my place, but instead, she simply sighed and pointed down the corridor.
"The toilet is at the end of the left corridor," she said brusquely, barely bothering to hide her irritation.
"Thank you," I said, though I doubted she cared to hear it. Without waiting for a response, I walked away, leaving Father and the lady beastkin alone. I could feel her eyes boring into my back as I moved, as if she expected me to cause trouble even in something as mundane as finding the restroom.
I reached the end of the corridor, relieved to have a moment to myself. The hallway was dimly lit, with shadows stretching across the stone walls, creating an eerie and oppressive atmosphere. I finished my business and began to make my way back, my mind still buzzing with everything that had just happened.
As I walked, I passed by a balcony that overlooked a small courtyard. There, bathed in a soft beam of sunlight, stood a girl with long, flowing blonde hair. She looked to be around my age, maybe a bit younger, her delicate frame adorned in a simple yet elegant dress that fluttered slightly in the breeze. She was gazing intently at a single flower placed before her on the balcony railing, its petals a deep crimson, contrasting starkly with her pale complexion.
Is she Lord Alaric's daughter? She seemed so lost in her own world, her expression calm yet distant, as if she were contemplating something far beyond the flower's fragile beauty. I paused for a moment, watching her, but she didn't notice my presence—didn't even turn her head. It was as if I were invisible to her, just another shadow passing by.
I decided not to linger and continued walking, leaving her to her thoughts. As I approached the spot where I had left Father, I noticed his shoulders still sagged under the weight of whatever guilt or fear he was carrying. The lady beastkin, however, had disappeared, leaving only the faint echo of her sharp words behind.
We left the mansion in silence, the weight of our conversation with Lord Alaric hanging heavily between us. The crisp afternoon air did little to lighten the mood. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden hue over the streets, but to me, everything felt muted and gray. I could sense Father's unease, the way his eyes darted around as if he were searching for answers that weren't there.
As we walked, Father finally broke the silence, his voice strained and full of worry. "Why did you volunteer to be his subordinate?" he asked, his eyes searching mine for a reason he could understand.
I looked at him, feeling the weight of my decision settle in my chest. "It's because I don't want you to get arrested," I said simply. I could see the conflict in his eyes, the mix of pride and sorrow that warred within him. "And you also said that they're good nobles, right?"
Father hesitated, his expression pained. "Yes, they're a good noble house," he admitted, his voice heavy with the burden of the truth he had kept hidden. "But even good people need to dirty their hands sometimes to do what is right." His gaze shifted away, as if recalling memories he wished he could forget. "And the one responsible for those dirty works was me."
His words hung in the air like a heavy fog. I'd always seen Father as a protector, someone who would do anything for his family, but now, I was beginning to understand the cost of that protection.
"Did that mean you already killed many people?" I asked quietly, my voice barely more than a whisper. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, but I needed to hear it from him, to know the truth of the man I looked up to.
He nodded slowly, the admission weighing him down even more. "Yeah, many criminals," he answered, his voice distant, as if each word pulled him deeper into a past he wished he could change.
So that's why he was so afraid when he killed Conrad in front of us. He's not just scared of the act itself but of what we might think of him—of the secrets he's kept hidden in the shadows. He feared that we would see him not as a father but as a monster.
I looked at him, seeing the lines of worry etched deeply into his face. "So why did you tell me your secret work now?" I asked, wanting to understand why he was suddenly being so open, why he was letting me into this darker part of his life.
Father sighed, the sound filled with resignation. "Lord Alaric might order you to do something like that too," he said, his voice low and filled with regret. "I want you to be aware of the things he might ask of you, the kind of work you might be dragged into."
I clenched my fists, determination swelling inside me. "Don't worry, Father," I said firmly, meeting his eyes with all the resolve I could muster. "I promise you, I won't kill anyone."
Father looked at me, and for a moment, the shadow of a smile tugged at his lips, though it was tinged with sadness. "Thank you, Will," he said softly, his voice breaking slightly. It was as if a small weight had been lifted, but the burden of our circumstances still loomed heavily over us.
We continued to walk, the inn where Chris was still sleeping growing closer with each step. Yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that things were only going to get more complicated from here.