“Annoying bitch,” Kaius muttered as he yanked on his boots, his voice low and rough, echoing faintly in the quiet room.
The lumber yard wouldn't run itself, and Marcus was expecting him for the morning shift. Steam rose from the washbasin as he poured hot water from the kettle, the cedar-scented soap was a small luxury he allowed himself. He splashed water on his face, letting it run down his neck, washing away the last remnants of that unsettling dream. In the clouded mirror above the basin, his reflection stared back at him.
His features were sharp, with dark circles under his eyes, and three days' worth of stubble that he really should do something about. "Later," he muttered to his reflection, running a wet hand through his tangled black hair in a futile attempt to tame it.
His work clothes hung from a peg near his bed. He pulled on the worn leather pants first, the material softened by years of use, followed by a fresh undershirt. The cotton was rough against his skin, but it was better than the alternative. As he fastened the leather vest over his shirt, his fingers brushed against the series of notches he'd carved into the inside of the collar.
The heavy boots came next, their soles patched multiple times but still sturdy. He'd need new ones soon, but these would do for now.
Last came the arm guards – not the ornate military ones he'd once worn, but simple leather bands that protected his forearms from splinters and sawdust. As he tightened the straps, he caught a glimpse of dark scales rippling beneath his skin.
“Not today,” he muttered, grabbing his tools and stepping outside. The chill of the morning air bit at his face, and he had to take some time to adjust his eye to the mist before he could finally see through it.
"Today's going to be one hell of a day," he thought, squinting against the howling wind as the snow whipped around him in relentless flurries. The edges of his vision darkened as his eyes slowly began to glow as he made his way towards Marcus's lumber yard.
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The frigid air of the winter storm bit into Fafnee's skin as she approached the towering gates of the palace wall. Her cloak whipped behind her, caught in the wind like a banner. Her boots crunched against the snow-covered path that led to the massive iron gates, her companions following suit as the guards standing at attention slowly opened the gates to allow her entry, offering a salute just before she stepped inside.
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As they moved, her gaze drifted over the sprawling grounds, the snow falling heavily across the stone path, while the palace loomed above its tall towers piercing through the dark against the slate-gray sky.
“Let’s make this quick,” she muttered, barely loud enough for her guards to hear.
The doors swung open with a quiet groan as they entered the main hall. Warmth enveloped them, instantly warming their bodies from the intense cold that was biting into their skin from outside the palace.
The sound of hushed voices echoed through the vast hall, the flickering torchlight casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to stretch across the stone floor.
At the far end, elevated upon a dais, stood the throne of King Aldric, its majestic frame gleaming in the dim light, flanked by his court of councillors, concubines, and wise sages. And beside him, on a throne nearly as grand as his own, sat Queen Vanessa, her posture regal, her gaze cold and calculating, matching the silence of the room.
“Report,” he commanded with a gruff, almost dismissive voice.
Fafnee took a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking. "He refuses, Your Majesty. Kaius will not return to the army. Not for you, nor for the kingdom.”
A murmur spread through the council, some faces hardening, others filled with frustration. But the king remained silent, his expression unreadable, his fingers tapping slowly on the armrest of his throne.
Queen Vanessa's voice cut through the murmurs, smooth as silk but laced with a sharp edge. Her piercing gaze settled on Fafnee, leaning forward slightly, her hand resting on the gilded armrest of her throne. “I wonder,” she continued, her tone almost too measured, “if our dear Kaius truly believes he can run from his responsibilities — or if he simply needs a stronger... incentive to remember where his loyalty lies.”
“Or perhaps,” Chancellor Reimar's deep, gravelly voice cut through the tension, “Our friend at the lumber yard has forgotten the cost of breathing free air.” The king's chief advisor rose slightly from his seat, his words measured but heavy. “The crown's generosity is not without its price. And debts, Your Majesty, must always be settled. That man was forged in service to this kingdom. His very existence is bound to the crown. Does he truly believe he can simply walk away?”
"How quick you are to speak of debts, Chancellor," Queen Vanessa’s lips curled into a faint, serpentine smile. "A harsh term for a man who has, no doubt, spilled more blood for this kingdom than most sitting here today." Her tone was soft, but the sting of her words left a palpable unease in the room.
Reimar turned his piercing gaze toward her, his posture stiffening. "Spilled blood, yes," he replied sharply. "But such actions demand recompense. If we allow deserters to dictate their own terms, then what stops others from following his example? Forged by war or not, Kaius is no saint, Your Grace.”
"Enough. This is not the time for petty squabbles. Fafnee," King Aldric addressed the warrior before him, "tell me plainly—what does Kaius intend to do with his refusal?”
Fafnee hesitated, her jaw tightening. “He says he intends to live quietly, far from war and politics. He... he made it clear that he has no desire to serve under the crown again.”
"And his condition?" the king's voice was quiet now, dangerous. "What of that?”
Fafnee's hand unconsciously moved to the hilt of her sword. “The scales are spreading, Your Majesty. And his eyes…” She paused, remembering the ghostly glow she'd seen during their conversation. 'He's fighting it. But for how long, I cannot say.
……
………..
End