Demi Paramountess Stanfleda had mixed feelings about returning to her grandfather's Soutfel estate.

On the one hand, Stanfleda was ready for a break from her studies after the past months at the university. She wanted to see her mother and father again, and she hadn’t seen her friends in almost half a year. Paramountess Stanfleda missed the quiet of the country and the occasional gatherings where she would see her cousins and friends from the surrounding regions.

On the other hand, leaving her new friends was hard. Stanfleda knew she would see most of them again in a few months but wished to bring them all with her. That was implausible, of course. No doubt, most of them felt the same way about going home.

The most significant factor lingering on her mind was that Erik would be at the estate. She knew she could expect his continual, relentless, dull efforts to win her attention. She knew her twin brother would love for her to marry his best friend and such a renowned duelist, but she didn’t like that Erik treated her like some game he had already won.

Paramountess Stanfledda briefly looked across the carriage at her three travel companions. Her cousin and best friend, Demi Paramountess Akelda, reclined in the pillows of her upholstered seat with her eyes closed. Based on her breathing, Stanfleda assumed she wasn’t sleeping. Paramountess Akelda’s handmaid, Ellen, stared stoically out her window. Stanfleda’s handmaid, Sara, giggled to herself with her nose in a book. The distinction as to which attendant was assigned to which Paramountess was immaterial as both companions served both paramountesses almost interchangeably. Despite their station differences, all four women were bosom sisters and dearest friends.

The carriage dipped suddenly, causing a spike of vertigo in Stanfleda’s stomach. The carriage was one of the new artifact air carriages that hovered several feet above the road. It was supposed to maintain a near perfect level while in motion.

“Good Kel, what was that?” Sarah cried.

“Do you have to shout, Sarah?” Demi Paramountess Akelda, Stanfleda’s cousin and best friend, chastened through closed eyes. “You’re loud. I could sleep through a highwayman attack better than through your noise.”

“I am sorry, Paramountess,” Sarah apologized. As a handmaid, the apology was expected, but as a lifelong friend, she could have gotten away without it. “I figured that we might actually be under attack. I thought these carriages weren’t supposed to ride so roughly.”

Akelda snorted, but somehow still in a ladylike way. “And who would have the audacity to ambush a guarded convoy so close to my grandfather's home?”

“The Rowan’s,” Stanfleda muttered.

Akelda looked at Stanfleda evenly. “They wouldn’t dare!”

“You know that’s not true, cousin,” Stanfleda said. “They’ve attacked the manor once already. I hear known Roof Runners have been spotted in Soutfel to make another attack.”

Sarah’s eyes glistened in excitement at the idea. “That would be so exciting, don’t you think? Guards and bandits fighting, those two dreamy Rowan boys smitten by our beauty and in love…”

Lady Standfleda had learned to filter out Sarah’s silly fantasies. The two Rowan boys were the Alreds’ enemies. The girl read too many romance books in a perfect waste of the free university tuition that came with being a paramountess’ handmaid.

The carriage shuddered again.

“Kel, maybe we are under attack!” Sarah cried.

To ease her mind, Stanfleda looked out the window. Several workmen were digging and stacking sandbags to restore part of the road that the storm the previous night had washed out.

“Relax, Sarah,” Stanfleda said. “It’s just flood damage on the road; workmen are repairing it.”

Sarah frowned in disappointment.

Breaking from the conversation and for lack of anything better to do, Stanfleda casually glanced out the window.

“Hello,” she said mostly to herself when she saw him. Drawing the shades open, she practically stuck her head out the window to get a better look.

A man stood apart from the other workers on a hill. He had the light gray skin of a Sharderin, though not as dark as usual. He had long, peppered, and wild matted hair, which he wore pulled back into a thick ponytail. He even had tattoos on his chest and side, but she couldn’t tell what they were. He was a wildman, and he worked like it. His sculpted body was tense and glistened in sweat.

“What is it, cousin?” Paramontess Akelda asked.

He attacked the ground like a savage. Or perhaps like a man in the desert digging for water.

“I think I found the son of the Frezvac himself,” Stanfleda chuckled.

“What? No, you lie. Let me see,” Paramontess Akelda demanded, dropping her usual feminine poise.

She was sitting on the other side of the carriage, so she climbed past Ellen and Sarah, rousing many objections from the handmaids as she did.

The man threw his tool away and dropped to his knees, heaving in deep breaths. His hands shook as if in pain. He looked down at his trembling hands, disgusted.

“Woah,” Stanfleda expressed at his outburst, happy Sarah couldn’t see. If she saw the display, it would have reduced her to gleeful squealing.

“Make way, Stanfleda,” Akelda whined. “I want to see.”

They passed right in front of him when he looked at Stanfleda. His teeth bared in a bestial growl, his brow furrowed. Stanfleda recoiled slightly, half expecting him to charge the carriage.

When he saw her looking right at him, his eyes widened, and his jaw dropped, revealing abruptly boyish features behind his feral mask.

Stanfleda couldn’t believe it, nor could she help it. She blushed, and she pulled away from the window. She felt her face heat up. The workman’s face clung to her mind stubbornly.

“What is it?” Sarah asked. “I want to see.”

Akelda, who had taken her look, pulled away with a laugh. “You were not joking, were you, cousin?”

Stanfleda wasn’t listening. The man looked dangerous.

Sarah pushed past, forced her way to the window, and squealed with delight, her head still out.

“Sarah!” all three cried as they pulled her back into the carriage.

“He is perfectly gorgeous! In a most dark and mysterious sort of way.”

Akelda smiled subtly as if to agree.

“That is to say, at the house, we have men, but that, that was a man! I don’t think I have ever seen a body so beautiful.”

“Sarah!” they all cried again.

“How perfectly shallow,” Akelda chastened.

“Do you wish to start a scandal?” Ellen demanded. As always, Ellen didn’t want anything to do with such immature frivolities, which made her and Sarah unlikely friends.

“Don’t tell me that you were not thinking the same thing, you liars!” Sarah insisted.

Akelda smirked by way of confession as Sarah began to fan herself.

Ellen stiffened in her seat. Always proper and mature, Stanfleda could tell she regretted not seeing the workman who unknowingly found himself the center of their attention.

“Did you want to see, Ellen?” Stanfleda asked slyly.

The handmaid stiffened despite herself.

“Don’t deny it,” she prodded.

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Ellen remained silent, and Stanfleda took that as the answer. “That, dear Ellen, can be arranged.” She smiled mischievously. “Coachman!” she called, almost loud enough for the coachman to hear.

All three of their giddy faces turned to dread, “NO!” they all cried.

“What?” Stanfleda protested, “You don’t want to take him home? Perhaps keep him as a personal house servant?”

They all broke out into a fit of laughter, genuinely enjoying the moment.

Their laughter quickly died, but the workman's dark eyes clung to Stanfleda’s mind. They masked rage and pain.

Quickly, she stuck her head out of the window again and looked back after him. The figure, now distant, was still on his knees, still looking her way, looking at her.

Quickly, she pulled herself back in.

She shook her head. She was being ridiculous. He was just a corpse workman.

What did Niklas just see? It looked like the face of God herself. The first Mother to look at him through the artifact-powered horse-drawn air carriage. She was young, but something about her drew his eye, causing him to look after the air carriage long after it passed.

Niklas shook his head. He shouldn’t spare the random Mother another thought, especially a Relrin Mother he would probably never see again.

Lill had said only the elite of the Relrins used air carriages. He knew no high-class Relrins beyond Wilbur or the two men who claimed to be the Rowans.

Niklas growled, banishing the carriage of mothers from his mind. He didn’t deserve a distraction; he curled his hands into fists, and the stinging intensified. He had torn them in more than a dozen places.

Why did he pull Esther? She was not just a Mother. She was his friend. At least, he thought she was. He tried to push her face out of his mind, but he kept seeing how she looked at him from the ground.

Niklas doubled over, still on his knees. He curled his fingers into his matted drone hair and grabbed it in a tight fist. Niklas rocked back and forth as though he could somehow soothe his self-hatred.

What’s happening to me? He thought bitterly. This isn’t like me. Everything changes with every day I stay here.

In Pit Two, Niklas had always seen himself as equal to his fellow Sharderins. As a child, The priests and elders taught him that Sharderins were better and worth more than the Relrins.

And now that he was here, he carried the belief with him, the way he had treated the workmen at the mill, the way he handled Esther.

Esther. I’m so sorry.

He groaned again. He was far ahead enough that no one would hear him.

Niklas took everything from the Relrins as though he somehow deserved it. Like he was something special, he had changed in Soutfel. The drone was prone to anger, pride, and unpleasantness. He wondered if these changes were the real him or if they were just the manifestation of med withdrawal.

Niklas could barely remember his mother, his actual mother, the one who gave birth to him. But he wondered what she would think if she could see him now.

What about Gyva? He had offended yet another one of her daughters. Were Relrin women daughters of Gyva?

He looked up at the bright blue sky as though he had expected to see Gyva’s disapproving face frowning down at him. Maybe the Sharderins were wrong. Perhaps he didn’t know Gyva. He couldn’t be sure what to believe when he knew there was at least another version of his religion. Maybe both tribes were people created by the same gods. Perhaps he needed to stop worrying about caste and creed.

Niklas was nothing special; life was meant for everyone, not just him.

He couldn’t continue to live the way Pit had programmed him. He had to change, adapt, or continue to feel like everything was working against him.

What am I living for? Who am I living for?

To work and fight like a Drone.

I am a Drone. The words possessed Niklas' mind like a familiar but unwelcome guest. My mind and body belong to the clan; my sweat, blood, and dreams are only for the clan. I work, fight, and die for the clan. I think not for myself but to execute the directives given to me by the clan. I long for death in battle so Valor can be on me and the clan.

Was that why he was in Soutfel? He had not executed any clan directives, had not given the clan much thought, or even expressed any concern for it, and somehow, he was okay with that.

His only concern had been for Edgar.

Edgar. My family.

The thought of the word family broke through his mind. Edgar was his family, and the zealots had driven him away.

Why did the single-word family feel more real than the combined concept and glory of the clan and valor?

Lill, Tord, Frode Ivar, young Rasmus, and little Trygve. They understood. They were the only real family Niklas had seen, and he wanted that. All Niklas had done was disappoint and lie to them. They had welcomed him and asked nothing in return.

Niklas had a family now; he was going to live for them. He was not an animal, and for the first time in his life, Niklas decided he wasn’t a Drone. He was a man, and it was about time he started living like it.

Niklas was the last workman to come in. He must have remained on that road for hours after the final workers stacked their tools and went home. He found the will to get up and return to the compound when the sun started to go down.

Worried that he might run into Esther or Robin, he ran past the common ground to the Sommerfeldt’s. He didn’t know what to say to Esther had he run into her.

He opened the door to see the whole family gathered. Six pairs of eyes turned to him as he stepped into the light. They looked at him in silence, waiting for an explanation. No doubt Ivar had told them about Esther.

“I uh…” Niklas started.

“You what?” Lill demanded. She didn’t sound happy.

“I messed up.”

Lill snorted as she got to her feet, planting her hands on her hips with a huff. “You messed up? Niklas, I’ll tell you right now. I know you may be a pagan. But here, we don’t push women.”

Niklas bowed his head in shame. “That’s not how we treat women where I’m from either,” he said.

“Good. I wouldn’t think so. I’ll be honest. I expected–”

“Wait!” Frode cut in. “What did you just say? I mean, about women, where you come from?”

“Look,” Niklas started. “I don’t know why I did the things I did. Things are not the way I expected them to be. I have no valor and so many new feelings. I’m learning how to live.”

“Niklas, what women are there where you come from?” the old man asked, refusing to drop the subject.

“I want to talk,” Niklas said in a low voice, “but I don’t always know how.”

No one moved, but Frode nodded in apology. “Just try.”

Niklas nodded. ”I’ll tell you everything. I’ve done nothing but lie and use you. But I need your word that you will not tell another living soul.”

They regarded him curiously.

“If rumors spread, they’ll send someone to dispose of me and anyone who knows. This information is dangerous. If you want to know who I am, swear on your god, Kel, that you’ll keep what I have to say secret.”

One by one, they nodded.

Niklas took a deep breath. “Pit forest isn’t haunted.”

“Hah,” Ivar barked victoriously.

“What do you mean it isn’t haunted?” Lill demanded. “You should know firsthand the place is crawling with demons who kill all who enter. You’ve seen them.”

Niklas shook his head. “There are no demons. The Sharderin people live.”

“Well, of course, we live. We’ve been scattered throughout Relgar. We all know that the plague only killed the women.”

“No,” Niklas said. “The Sharderin society exists as a whole. They all live deep in Pit Forrest. We’re the reason some call it the forest of death.”

“You mean it’s not because of the bandits and demons which haunt it?” Frode asked. “What about the wall of demons?”

“We exterminated the bandits two decades ago. We are the demons; we use illusions, wear masks, and are all trained killers. We don’t let anything that gets into Pit live.”

The table fell silent.

“When you say society, how many are you talking about?” Frode asked, his eyes hopeful.

“Thousands. I’ve never seen us all together. We have three cities in the trees.”

“And the women?”

Niklas shook his head. “I don’t know. They keep their numbers secret. It could be as few as twenty to as many as hundreds. I have only ever seen two.”

“They live,” the old man said in wonder, his eyes growing moist. “Then surely we must join them.”

“Listen, Frode,” Niklas objected, “the Sharderin tribe you knew is not the same clan that exists today. The second you step foot there, they will steal your sons for war and your daughter for worship. If you went to Pit, they would take your family.”

Frode was taken aback. “It’s not the way I remember things.”

“Things have changed,” Niklas said, pulling out his reaper's blade and flicking the switch. The Sommerfeldts cried out in surprise as the trinket transformed into a weapon.

“What is this devilry?”

“The last twenty years, we have been preparing for war, developing new weapons, and programming soldiers.”

“Why?” Tord asked uneasily.

“War, it’s in our blood.”

“No,” Frode insisted, “Sharderins were artists, not fighters; why do you think the genocide worked so effectively?”

“It didn’t,” Niklas countered, “and after a lifetime of preparation, we changed.”

“Preparing for what?” Ivar asked.

Niklas looked at him. “Retaliation.”

They all grew pale.

“I know you enjoy peace now, but it will not always be that way. One day, the shadows will pour out of the forest of death and establish a new era. It’s written in our scripture. The version of our scripture that I know.”

“Boys, go to bed,” Lill insisted.

“Ma!” Rasmus whined.

She shot him a fairy glare, and the two boys submitted, skulking to their room.

“I am a Drone,” Niklas explained. “Like a worker and a basic fighter.”

“So that’s how you whipped those sawmen and staged a gambling pit?” Ivar said. “You’re a soldier.”

“We are all soldiers,” Niklas said. “I was banished for committing the worst of sins.”

“Niklas,” Lill’s voice grew concerned, no doubt, as she recalled his current crimes. “What did you do?”

“I looked a woman in the eyes.”

“What does that mean?” Lill asked, confused.

Niklas looked her in the eyes. Of late, he was able to do so without shame or reserve. “As I sit here looking at you, I did to one of our Mothers.”

“You were banished for looking a woman in the eye?” Frode asked, surprised. “That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”

Niklas shrugged. “Gyva worship says it’s just. Our women are sacred.”

“So that’s why you were so scared when you first saw me?” Lill realized.

Niklas nodded.

“So you won’t go back?”

“Oh, I will,” Niklas said. “All I want is to go back to my brother. I need a place to stay until I can remove this scar.” Niklas pointed to the mark on his face. “It’s the mark of banishment.”

“Hence your need for 2000 cesh?” Ivar said.

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” Niklas said, “And you have been so kind to me. No doubt you feel like you are living with a stranger. I have betrayed your trust and expectation in more than one case. I have never had a family, not a full one like this. It has always been my brother and me, but I’m begging you. Please let me join the Sommerfeldts, at least until I can go back.”

The Sommerfeldts looked at each other in silence.

Niklas felt a momentary spike of panic as he waited.

Finally, Lill spoke up, “Why, of course you can stay!” she huffed. “Not like me to put out those in need.

“He can?” Ivar asked half sarcastically.

With lightning speed, Lill smacked Ivar on the head with a wooden spoon. She hadn’t been holding it a moment before. Niklas made a mental note to find out where she kept it.

“I mean, of course, you can,” Ivar whined, rubbing his head and looking at Lill with a sour look.

“One condition,” Lill said, growing stern.

“What?”

“You make things right with Esther. The poor girl is going through so much already, and now she thinks she lost a friend.”

Niklas nodded. “I will.”