“You should see your face right now!” Finnian wheezes. He holds his sides as more giggles erupt from his throat and get the betters of him. “You look like you’ve seen a dead man!” The warlock pauses to consider his own statement. He frowns. “Oh, wait, maybe you actually have—”

Hector’s eyes widen. “Impossible!” He gasps. “There is… no way; I have taken your life, you should not even be able to talk right now!”

“Hm?” The Warlock hums. “Did you really, now?”

“Yes!” Hector cries, as he motions to the Warlock with a swift, gesture of his arm. “I felt the blade come into contact with your skin! Your bones!—as I plunged it into your heart. You cannot tell me you are still living after such a thing, when you previously claimed magic could not bring the dead back!”

The room falls silent.

Hector’s lips part. His brows furrow with anger as he comes to the realisation that perhaps the man lying before him, who is now covered in red, was not being as honest as he’d allegedly said. “You lied to me.” The Knight’s hands ball into fists. “You lied, and you’ve made an even bigger fool out of me! I knew I couldn’t trust you—nobody can! You’re just like they say! You trick people, and you lure them out of the village to end their lives, then—”

“Woah,” Finnian holds out his palms and shakes them before the Knight. “Hold on for a second there, Sir Knight. I’ve done what now?”

Hector faces the other way. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He purses his lips together. “I’m not falling for this again.”

Finnian rises to his feet. He winces as he wraps his fingers around the dagger’s handle and pulls it out of his chest.

The Warlock’s shoulders slump. He sighs, then mutters inaudible curses under his breath, before he finally huffs once more and says: “No matter how many times I do this, it still hurts quite a lot…” Finnian clears his throat. A grimace forms against his features as he looks Hector’s way. “Can I just tell you one thing?”

Hector rolls his eyes. His arms tense by his sides. “Go ahead.”

“I know you say I tricked you, which,” he chuckles, “is fair, because, well… I did!—However! Weren’t you on the verge of doing the same? I don’t think you’re being fair with me, Sir Knight.”

“But—”

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“But?”

“You lied! You had no intention of showing me your hospitality, even from the beginning. The proof is right here.”

Finnian scratches at his head. He looks to Hector, then at the ceiling, and groans. “Am I really going to explain myself to someone who’s just attempted to murder me?”

Hector turns around. He takes a step forward, then starts to stomp back toward the exit.

“Hey!” Finnian cries, as he tumbles off the bed, and almost slips in blood he knows isn’t his anymore. “Where are you going?”

Hector comes to a halt. He takes a deep breath. He looks over his shoulder. “I’m going home,” the Knight declares.

Finnian’s eyes fly open. He runs over to Hector, until the two are facing each other, and his hands are frantically shaking in the air once more. “No, no, no—you can’t do that!”

“Oh?” Hector raises a brow. With his hands rested on his hips, he glances at the warlock. “And why’s that?” he asks.

“Because!” Finnian whines, “I know you! You’re a vicious man! You’ll alert them all!”

Hector rolls his eyes once more. He takes a step to the side, in order to avoid the Warlock. Then, he tries to walk out the door. “Nonsense,” he tells Finnian. “I’m merely going to sleep in a proper bed, and eat in a kitchen finer than yours.”

But Finnian blocks his path again. “I don’t think that’s what you’re going to do.” He frowns. “I’m willing to bet two of my arms—and perhaps even a third one that I could grow back!—that tomorrow morning, I’ll have a whole army of idiots like you swarming my cave, should I release you, Sir Knight.”

Hector snarls. He shove’s at Finnian’s chest. “Move, witch,” he snaps, as he attempts to force his way through. “I have no time for these games.”

Finnian—much to the Knight’s dismay—shoves back. “No,” he tells Hector. “I won’t move. It’s not because you don’t understand my world, that you have to treat me like I am some animal to be hunted! I refuse to let you go—I absolutely refuse, Sir Knight! I was minding my own business, and you came into my home, and disrupted the peace of my humble abode! If you aren’t ready to accept the consequences attached to your acts, then I’ll just have to make sure you do so myself!”

The Warlock reaches into his pocket for a dagger.

Hector sees red. He stomps his foot and looks down on his foe, who is a quarter his junior in size.

The Knight raises his fist and readies himself to strike Finnian in the face.

But Finnian avoids the blow. He spins the dagger around in his hand to distract his opponent, then brings his leg out to trip the Knight.

The Warlock watches with a delighted grin as Hector’s back—that has been weighed down by the chainmail he wears—hits the ground.

The Knight’s eyes widen. He coughs, as hard stone collides with his spine. He parts his lips with an intent to shout at the Warlock—however, any time Hector might have had to reply is stolen from him as Finnian kicks him in the face and snorts. “You tried to kill me, Sir Knight.”

The Warlock hooks his fingers around the nape of Hector’s shirt. “Do you truly believe I can trust any of your claims, after that?” He drags the Knight out of his quarters, and back into the room serving as his Arsenal, where he had once kept Hector’s legs plunged deep within cold stone.