Arthur Bethonen's eyes snapped open.
The morning sun barely crept through the wooden blinds of his cramped room, casting faint stripes of gold across the dust-filled air. His body ached from last night's training—his father's way of "preparing him for the future." He groaned, rubbing the soreness from his arms before swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
The wooden floor was cold against his bare feet. He exhaled sharply. Another day of pretending. Another day of training to be something he didn't want to be.
Outside, the town of Gallows Edge was already awake. The sounds of merchants shouting, metal boots clanking on stone roads, and the distant clatter of chains being dragged to the gallows mixed into a familiar morning song. It was a Law-controlled town, where justice was served in public executions, and the strongest decided the fate of the weak.
Arthur hated it.
A knock came at the door. Then, before he could answer, it swung open.
"Arthur. Get dressed," his father's deep voice commanded.
William Bethonen stood in the doorway, his uniform pressed and pristine, the silver badge of a 4-Star Law Officer gleaming on his chest. His face, once full of warmth when Arthur was a child, was now hardened like old leather. A man who had long since buried his emotions beneath duty.
Arthur didn't move. He just stared at his father, the man who had stayed with the Law even after they killed his wife. His mother.
William sighed, stepping forward. "We're patrolling the southern district today. There was a brawl last night. A minor outlaw." He paused, eyes narrowing. "Don't make me repeat myself."
Arthur clenched his fists. His father never asked. He only commanded.
"Why do you still work for them?" Arthur's voice was cold, cutting through the morning air like a blade.
William didn't flinch. He had heard this before.
"We protect people, Arthur," he said simply.
Arthur scoffed. "No. You protect the ones who can pay."
A tense silence followed.
Arthur watched his father closely, searching for even the smallest flicker of doubt in his eyes. But there was nothing. Just the same unshakable belief in a system Arthur knew was rotten to its core.
"I won't become like you." Arthur stood up, his voice steady. "I won't be your damn replacement."
William's jaw tightened. He stepped closer, looking down at his son with the weight of a man who had already lost too much.
"No," he said softly. "You'll be worse."
Then, without another word, he turned and walked out.
Arthur stood there, rage boiling in his veins.
His father was wrong.
He wouldn't be worse.
He'd be free.