Part 1: The Fall

Seven Days Earlier

Kal was furious. At the end of his rope. Had had enough.

He unclenched his fist, suddenly aware of how long it had been that way. The entire walk to Safehaven, Brightholme’s capital city, probably. Tiny trickles of blood dripped from his palm.

It started as just another morning, Kal waking up to find his mother crying again. In the kitchen this time, trying to hide it. Smiling when she saw him, wiping her nose with her shirt sleeve. “Oh, good morning,” she said, her voice quivering slightly beneath her chipper veneer. “Do you want some breakfast?”

Kal didn’t know what it was about this morning that was different, if anything at all. Maybe it was just the last straw. One time too many. But he clenched his fist and slammed it on to the table. His mother frowned, her cheerful facade dissolved.

“Kalvin…”

“No!” he yelled. Then grimaced and said, softer, “Sorry, Mom. I’m just tired of seeing you cry every day.”

“Oh, it’s not every day, silly,” she said, then turned and walked towards the door, apparently already done with the conversation. “I need to get some eggs. For breakfast…”

Kal watched her go. They kept chickens for as long as he could remember, his entire 18 years. But like everything else on the family farm, they were dwindling. At last count, there were only seven left, most of which had stopped producing eggs with any reliable consistency.

His mother was a good farmer. Much better than his father had been. It came naturally to her, while for him, every day had seemed like a struggle. Like whatever lesson he learned yesterday would be forgotten today.

It wasn’t for lack of effort. His father had a lot of flaws, but work ethic was not one of them. But when you don’t really know what you’re doing, a high work ethic can find you spinning your wheels in the mud rather than moving forward.

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His father struggled, and the farm struggled with him. It went on this way for years, his father doing his very best, his mother picking up the slack where she could. All of which led him to embark on the all or nothing venture that eventually broke them.

How he got the Ferkle plant into Brightholme at all was a mystery Kal didn’t want to think about. Few people ever left Brightholme willingly, the horror stories of what lay beyond the mountains and over Old Mother having been drummed into them since they were children. Yet somehow, his father got his hands on some.

He replaced all their crops with the Ferkle, a sweetly sour fruit not found anywhere in Brightholme. So rare it would be considered a delicacy, had he been able to grow it successfully. But he hadn’t.

Kal’s mother had gone along with it, quietly supportive. Kal could see through it, though, see her fear and mounting despair. She knew it wouldn’t work, knew the Ferkle plant needed a warmer, almost tropical environment to grow. But he was so desperate, so sincere in his belief.

When it inevitably failed, they were left in dire straits. The farm could have been self-sustaining; that was his parents’ original goal when they first arrived in Brightholme, asking for entry. They pledged to abide by the simple rule originally laid down by the Godknight himself: live in peace. Which obviously included… don’t steal from your neighbor’s farm.

Which is what his father did. Desperate, scared, watching his beloved wife and child struggling to keep warm. Struggling to eat, to find enough healthy livestock and what remained of their old crops.

He snuck onto the Cupellas’, who had always been kind and generous neighbors. Dug up a small row of corn, nestled in the midst of their long, vast cornfield. Not much; just enough to feed his family for a few weeks and maybe plant a few stalks of their own. Get things going again.

The Cupellas had so much of it, they wouldn’t even have noticed it was missing. Worse, if he had simply asked them, they surely would have given it freely, without hesitation.

And he was caught.

If it had been the Cupellas themselves who had caught him, they might have looked the other way. But it was a random pair of patrolling Peacekeepers who found him, stumbling out of the cornfield, his arms overflowing with corn and stalks, looking as guilty as guilty can be.

Soon after, he was sent downriver. There was no appeal process, nothing they could do. He had committed a crime, had been caught, adjudicated, and thus, had been banished.

That was a year ago. Kal, who had once hoped for more from his life, was forced to double and triple his efforts on the farm. His mother retreated into herself, trying to hide her heartbreak and despair. Growing weaker and more frail with each passing day. Crying every morning, every night.

All of which led to this morning, this day, this moment. Kal, furious and at his breaking point.

It was time to confront the Godknight.