††† Siegfried †††

As Siegfried finally managed to take a shaky breath, a miserable cry of sorrow left his throat. Guilt and helplessness descended upon him like a suffocating cloud of desperation. He closed his eyes shut, tried to brace himself against the darkness in his heart.

Siegfried thought he could hear himself whisper 'I'm sorry', although he couldn't even feel his jaw moving.

And again, "I'm sorry," now louder, deeper— croaky.

"I'm so sorry, my boy." Sieg opened his eyes again, starring open-mouthed at Bolverk, who embraced him fiercely. "I had to make sure 'twas you - I didn't know any other way. I'm sorry," the older man said, his voice once again steady, reassuring… alive.

"I— you were—"

"I'm okay Sieg, I'm sorry I deceived ya."

"But the blood—" Siegfried started again.

"Just a scratch. I feigned death to witness your reaction. To see if yer still yerself. It shouldn't be. Goes against everything we believed. But I've no doubt now."

At last, Siegfried returned the hug with a laugh of relief, nearly stabbing himself behind Bolverk's back as he forgot about the bone-blades. "You damn old fox!" He yelled, not a trace of anger in his tone. "It was wrong, there was a way to prevent it, and you found it, sly old man."

"Who was wrong?" Bolverk asked as they parted again.

"Forget it — doesn't matter now."

"Right," the veteran guard breathed, his gaze laden with worry. "As glad as I am that yer not a changeling, we have to think of a solution… and about what this implies on a grand scale."

Over his emotional turmoil, Siegfried had not spared a thought about that. What did it mean — him changing part of his body without becoming an actual changeling and losing his very self?

No one knew precisely how a changeling came to be. Some thought them as shapeshifters that ate and afterwards impersonated their victims. Others claimed they were vengeful spirits from the depths of hell, possessing the body and destroying the soul in the process.

"There were several cases reported with changelings that claimed to have not changed in mind, just like you," Bolverk helped his thoughts along, "claimed to still be human so they could lure you in and stab you in the back, as the priesthood taught us in their wisdom" he added grimly.

"Then what about the others?" Sieg countered. "Trish, who killed Agnar, the reptile guy who slew several guards or the muscle freak that attacked me after murdering an unarmed civilian?"

"What would people do if they found that they have changed and will be hunted down for what they are?" Bolverk asked, a sever frown creasing his forehead. "They would either beg or fight for their lives."

"It can't be. There must have been hundreds of incidents since the first was reported two decades ago. Other people would have thought of it before us."

Bolverk lowered his gaze to the table. "I have." His voice was heavy with regret. "But I never had proof, and more importantly — I never sought it. I didn't want it to be possible. I wanted to keep faith in the priesthood."

He paused, avoiding Sieg's eyes as if in shame. His voice was heavy with regret as Bolverk opened up.

"A good fifteen years ago, my old division came about a young lad crying on the street in the gloom of the evening. When we drew near, I saw that his posture and pace were strange, as if he didn't know how to walk on his own legs. And I saw two tiny horns sprouting from his forehead. The priesthood had indoctrinated us for every eventuality... so when that boy walked toward us, I didn't hesitate.

"Only when he looked into my eyes with that unbelieving gaze as my sword pierced him did I ask myself why he didn't attack at the last moment. If he wanted to lure me into dropping my guard, he should have tried to kill me at the last moment. Still, it could have been that I was just faster than he expected, and ultimately, I decided to trust in the priesthood of Akali instead of my own judgment."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Bolverk took a deep breath as if to psych himself up for the words he would speak. "There are no changelings, Sieg. There never were.” A shadow, deeper than any Sieg ever saw on his mentor, clouded Bolverks face. “I've killed an innocent child that day."

"If what you say were to be accurate, then not only the people who changed but also their victims... Agnar and maybe even Hall's family—"

"Would all be unnecessary sacrifices to the purge that our... holy leadership is conducting." Bolverk shakily ended the sentence in Siegfried's stead.

"But why? For what goal did Agnar have to die?" Sieg uttered the words with renewed outrage. The mocking speech of the priest at his friend's funeral still fresh in his memory. "I have to put an end to this."

"We have to put an end to this, boy. I've done wrong to many people, pretending to myself that it was right to do 'cause I couldn't stomach thinking otherwise. No more," Bolverk swore. "But first of all, we need to get ya out and to safety. Can't stay here for long. Can ya retract those blades?"

Siegfried stared at the bones jutting out of his palms as if he saw them for the first time. "I nearly forgot," he laughed half-heartedly. "I am a freak too now, ain't I?"

He ignored the disapproving look of the older guard and inspected his new appendages in detail. The blade was a brilliant white, the length of a short sword but thinner, and the material was definitely far harder than any bone should be. The skin where it connected to the palm wasn't cut but shoved aside and hardened. It felt surprisingly natural.

"Ever heard of a bone that can block a steel blade like that?" Sieg asked.

"Can't be bone. That glossy white colour reminds me more of teeth. Not yellow ones like mine, mind you, but yours, for example," Bolverk chuckled.

"Teeth break too easily."

"Break out from ya mouth, yes, but the tooth itself is harder than stone. Take that material on a scale of your blade, and it could fit. Wouldn't hold against better-forged steel, though."

Siegfried stared at both blades for a while. He tried moving one with the fingers of the other hand, but they wouldn't budge. "Well, shit. They won't move at all... if I'm stuck with those things visible, there is no way I can go out of here."

"I don't believe it's easy like Trish with her spider parts or that lizard. I'm not an expert, but I've known about many different changl— people who changed. Those who had permanent, visible… adjustments had one thing in common. They looked natural. Claws, fur, horns or teeth like a wolf — all had the natural form of some kind of animal. Even then, some could change that form further or revert it at will.

"Yer blades aren't natural at all. They took the form of something yer mind is accustomed to — yer sword. I think ya accidentally formed them as the first thing that came to ya." Bolverk propped his chin onto a fist, brows furrowed in thought.

"I didn't envision blades of bone, teeth, or whatever else, coming out of my hands. How should I know how to retract them?"

"That might just be it. Yer body tried to protect ya, and yer subconsciousness added the form of yer sword! Try not to think about how to retract them but think of how yer hands looked before that. Just keep that image in mind and let yer body do the rest."

Despite showing his scepticism clearly on his face, Siegfried closed his eyes and followed the advice. He slowed his breathing and focused on nothing else but the picture in his mind. He visualised every crease and callus on his hands until he felt a strange tug on his skin. It slowly intensified to a forceful pull as if someone pinched his whole palm together, and after a dozen slow breaths, the feeling stopped, and Siegfried opened his eyes. There was not even a scar left.

"Ya did it, boy!"

"Huh, seems like you're still good for something, old man," Sieg replied with a grin.

"Ya cheeky brat!" Bolverk laughed. "Now, before anything else, ya should get back to the barracks. Lay low while I take care of Rik here until he wakes up. We meet at the barracks after I explained everything to him. I know what to say, but it's easier if yer not around for that part."

"Right, I'll meet you there."

"Tell Brady upstairs that I need the room another half hour, will ya?"

††† Siegfried †††

After relaying the request to the tavern-keeper, Siegfried left the small establishment — still in deep thought. Back in the narrow alley, a young woman gasped as he nearly walked into her.

"Sorry, miss, I wasn't looking where I was going," the equally surprised guard apologised. It was unusual for him to space out like that.

"Oh, 's not a problem, Sir Guard, nothin's happened," she answered with a heavy dialect, sounding as simple as she looked. Everything about her from the brown linen tunic to the plain facial features was unremarkable.

Save for the look of recognition in her eyes, that was. It was just a flash of change in her gaze that sparked with a degree of intelligence that betrayed her way of speaking.

Siegfried decided that he might just be overthinking things. After all, he wasn't in the best mental shape right now. Dismissing the brief encounter, the guardsman continued walking the street for a few minutes just to stop abruptly a second time.

Another unforeseen confrontation waited before him, but it would be much more dreadful than the last. Standing with crossed arms as if he had been waiting for someone, the man with the mirthless expression they saw earlier that day blocked the passage.

In the long, red mantle, he gave off a pressuring air of overwhelming finality. As if he impersonated the glowing red heat of the all-consuming fire that would swallow any heretic soul it came upon.

An enforcer.