The days stretched into an interminable blur, marked only by the faint rays of sunlight that crept through a narrow air vent high in the prison wall. Each day, the light would trace a slow arc across the damp stone, a fleeting reminder of the world beyond the cold, oppressive confines of his cell. Nathanael sat in silence, his back against the wall, his eyes closed as he focused on the rhythm of his breathing. The barely edible slop and the strange, bitter drink they brought him once a day were barely enough to sustain him, but he refused to let his body or mind weaken. He waited, patient and calculating, as the hours turned into days.
The monotony was broken one morning by a sudden commotion outside—a cacophony of hooves clattering against cobblestones, the creak of carriage wheels, and the sharp, authoritative voices of men barking orders. Nathanael's eyes flicked open, his gaze drifting toward the vent as if he could see through it to the source of the noise. He considered the possibilities: perhaps a visiting noble, or maybe an envoy from the capital. Whatever it was, it was unlikely to concern him. He closed his eyes again, retreating into the calm of his thoughts.
But the peace was short-lived. The sound of heavy boots echoed down the hallway, growing louder with each passing second. Before Nathanael could fully rouse himself, the cell door clanged open, and a bucket of icy water was hurled at him, drenching him from head to toe. He gasped, his body jerking upright as the cold shocked him awake. His eyes snapped open, and he found himself staring at a group of men who were decidedly not the usual guards.
At the forefront stood a towering figure, his presence commanding and unmistakably noble. His hair was a fiery red, long and unbound, cascading over his broad shoulders like a cascade of flame. His face was rugged, marked by a jagged scar that ran from his forehead down to his right cheek, narrowly missing his eye. His build was imposing, his frame muscular and broad, reminiscent of a warrior who had seen countless battles. Behind him stood several well-armored retainers, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, their eyes sharp and vigilant.
The man's gaze swept over Nathanael, scrutinizing him with an intensity that felt almost physical. After a long, tense silence, he spoke, his voice deep and gravelly, like the rumble of distant thunder. "Are you truly a child of Greinthsion?"
Nathanael met his gaze without flinching, his expression calm but resolute. "I am."
The man's eyes narrowed slightly, as if testing the truth of the statement. "And which lady is your mother?"
Nathanael's jaw tightened, but he answered without hesitation. "Amélie Greinthsion."
For a moment, the man said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then he gave a curt nod to one of his retainers, who stepped forward and unlocked the cell door. The guard who had been standing nearby—a man who had taken particular delight in taunting Nathanael—sputtered in protest. "What do you think you're doing? That's the mayor's prisoner!"
Before the guard could say another word, one of the retainers moved with lightning speed, drawing his sword and pressing the blade to the man's throat. "Shut your mouth," the retainer growled, his voice low and dangerous. The guard froze, his face pale, and said nothing more.
Nathanael rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate, and stepped out of the cell. The air outside felt different—lighter, freer—but he had no time to savor it. His attention was fixed on the man before him, the one who bore such a striking resemblance to himself. The fiery hair, the strong jaw, the air of authority—it was like looking into a distorted mirror, one that reflected a version of himself he had never known.
The man studied him for a moment longer before speaking again. "I am Augé Mignard," he said, his voice carrying a weight of history and unspoken meaning. "Older brother of Amélie Mignard, whom you likely know as Amélie Greinthsion. Your mother."
The words hung in the air, heavy with implications that Nathanael could scarcely begin to unpack. He had known, of course, that his mother had a past—a life before she became the Second Lady of Greinthsion. But this man, this warrior with his scars and his retinue of soldiers, was a piece of that past that Nathanael had never anticipated.
Augé's gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained stern. "You've got her eyes," he said, almost to himself. Then, with a gesture to his retainers, he turned and began to walk down the hallway. "Come. We have much to discuss."
Nathanael followed, his mind racing with questions but his steps steady.
*****
As they emerged from the manor's dungeon, the dim, oppressive air of the underground gave way to the sharp, biting chill of the open courtyard. The manor's attendants, their faces pale and their eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and fear, watched in silence as the unlikely procession made its way through the grand halls. Nathanael, still damp and disheveled from his imprisonment, walked a step behind Augé, his uncle's towering figure cutting a commanding presence that seemed to part the sea of onlookers like a blade through water. The retainers, their armor gleaming faintly in the pale light, flanked them on either side, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, their eyes scanning the crowd with a vigilance that brooked no dissent.
It wasn't long before the mayor himself appeared, his face a mask of obsequious charm as he hurried forward to greet Augé. He bowed deeply, his posture almost comically exaggerated, and introduced himself with a flourish. "My lord, it is an honor to welcome you to our humble town. I am the mayor, serving under the esteemed Earldom of Mignard. How may I be of service?"
Augé regarded the man with a gaze that could have frozen fire. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in the air was palpable, like the moment before a storm breaks. "Your retainers," he said at last, his voice low and measured, "are poorly trained. If I were you, I'd see to that. Unless, of course, you'd prefer your head to fall off."
The mayor blinked, his smile faltering for a moment before he forced a nervous laugh. "My lord, I assure you, my men are more than capable—"
Augé raised a hand, silencing him mid-sentence. He turned and began to walk away, the mayor trailing behind like a chastised dog. But then, just as they reached the center of the courtyard, Augé stopped. He held out his hand, and without a word, one of his retainers placed a sword in his grasp. The blade gleamed in the sunlight, its edge sharp and unforgiving.
The mayor's eyes widened, his mouth opening to protest, but it was too late. Augé swung the sword with a speed that defied comprehension, the blade slicing through the air with a sound like a whip crack. The mayor's head tumbled from his shoulders, his body crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap. The courtyard erupted into chaos—attendants screamed, retainers drew their weapons, and the air was thick with the scent of blood and panic.
Augé, his expression as calm as if he had just performed a mundane task, bent down and picked up the mayor's head by its hair. He turned to Nathanael and his retainers, his voice carrying over the din. "Follow me."
Nathanael, his mind reeling but his body moving on instinct, fell into step behind his uncle. The retainers formed a protective circle around them as they made their way through the manor gates and into the town square. The townsfolk, drawn by the commotion, gathered in a loose circle, their faces a mixture of fear, confusion, and hope.
Augé climbed the steps of the town hall, the mayor's head dangling from his hand like a grotesque trophy. He held it aloft for all to see, his voice booming across the square. "This man," he declared, "has been removed from his position for crimes against the people of this town. His corruption, his greed, his cruelty—these are the reasons your lives have been reduced to misery. As the Earl of Mignard, I take responsibility for allowing this to happen. From this moment forward, I will oversee this town until a new mayor, one worthy of your trust, can be appointed."
The crowd erupted into a cacophony of emotions. Some cheered, their voices rising in a chorus of relief and gratitude. Others wept openly, their tears a mixture of joy and sorrow for the suffering they had endured. A few, emboldened by years of pent-up rage, shouted accusations at Augé, their voices trembling with anger. "Where were you all this time?" one man cried. "You let this happen!"
Augé raised a hand, silencing the crowd once more. His expression was grave, but there was no defensiveness in his tone, no attempt to shift the blame. "You are right," he said, his voice carrying a weight of sincerity that seemed to quiet even the most vocal critics. "I failed you. I allowed this man to exploit you, to strip you of your dignity and your hope. For that, I am deeply sorry. But know this—I will not rest until this town is restored to what it once was. I will not leave until you can look to the future with pride, not despair."
The crowd's anger began to ebb, replaced by a cautious optimism. Nathanael watched from the steps, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of what he had just witnessed. His uncle's actions were brutal, yes, but there was a method to the madness, a calculated ruthlessness that spoke of a man who understood the weight of power and the cost of failure.
As the townsfolk began to disperse, some still muttering among themselves, Augé turned to Nathanael. "You're wondering why I did this," he said, his voice quieter now, almost conversational.
Nathanael nodded slowly. "It's… not what I expected."
Augé's lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "Sometimes, the only way to fix a broken system is to break it further. This town needed a reckoning. And sometimes, the only way to earn trust is to show that you're willing to bear the consequences of your mistakes."
Nathanael studied his uncle's face, the scars that spoke of battles fought and lessons learned. He wasn't sure he agreed with the method, but he couldn't deny the results. The town, for the first time in years, had hope. And for now, that was enough.