“H-How?! When did you get all these discs?”

Sacriel looked at him contemptuously. “I’ve always had them. Before I, my father guarded these, and his father before him. Even your mother knew. This is House Harruputz’s power.”

Fain stepped back, instinctively, bewildered by what he was hearing. “That doesn’t make sense. Why even bother running your businesses and giving loans?” There was another thought that Fain didn’t voice. If Mother knew, why didn’t she tell Father. Or did she tell him and neither of them trusted me enough… Did Lyra know all along as well? He looked back and saw a mirrored look of confusion on her face. I guess not.

Sacriel’s contemptuous gaze dissected him. His crossed his arms and lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper, leaning back against a wall as if it was the most comfortable position in the Circles. “I care not for money, you sniveling child. It’s about power, control, and influence. Using these worthless discs, I can unite Molanter under one strong rule-mine.” As he said this, he raised his thick meaty hand and grabbed a browning, a week of meals for some, and flipped in the air as if it was worthless.

Fain took another step back, raising his hands placatingly. Sacriel seemed close to dropping his veneer of sophistication completely. “Uncle, look around. You have all the power you could want. You’re the richest man in Molanter. Ancients, probably in all the three Circles.” Sacriel anger did not fade as Fain had expected. This should’ve been his warning that he had misjudged the situation. Boldly, he trudged forward with his argument. “Use this wealth. Help me save Molanter. We can unite the city and lords together.”

Sacriel’s regarded him coldly. He was practically a statue at this point, face austere, blue eyes intensely focused. “You are just like him you know,” he whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“Cataran, boy. He offered me the same deal, so high and mighty. His house, yours now, has always held all the power. So weak, naïve and yet controlling the fate of Molanter.” The man couldn’t help but to let envy show through his voice.

Fain was thrown aback. He had seen many unappealing traits in Sacriel, however, envy was not one. “What do you mean? I have come here pleading for your help. My house is struggling to stay above water and the farms are withering.”

Hearing this didn’t seem to surprise Sacriel. A hint of compassion softened his features. “Maybe you really are just a fool, Fain. A scared child overwhelmed by the task his parents left him. Maybe this is Senna and Cataran’s fault. And mine.” He took a breath and eyed Fain again, seeing him for the first time. “Discs are useless without a use, child. Give a man the choice between the last disc in the city or the last loaf of bread. What will he pick?”

Fain waited, saying nothing. He was both unsure whether Sacriel wanted an answer and what that answer was. There were a lot of factors to consider. Could the man use the disc to get more food? Did he already have food stored? This didn’t seem to be a good time to ask Sacriel to clarify, so he kept his mouth shut. It was perhaps his first good decision of the day. An awkward few heartbeats of silence settle into the room.

Sacriel gave an exasperated sigh. “He will take the bread. Coin is a proxy to give people access to food, cloth, and so on. If there is no food left my coin becomes worthless. The people will use it as sling fodder while they siege every keep. To control the people, and the other high lords, I need to control the food supply.”

Fain saw where he was going with this. In hindsight, it should’ve been a fairly easy conclusion and Fain was by no means the idiot his uncle thought him to be. He whispered, “The Evergrowth. You want my Evergrowth.”

“Not just Evergrowth. I want the secret behind Evergrowth. What is it? Where can I find the ingredients? How do I make it? I want all of it.”

The mere thought of Sacriel with that power over Molanter terrified Fain. He could see it now-a tyrannical empire where Sacriel would rule by limiting food, using it to strong-arm the people to his will. Maybe he thought too little of the man, but it was too great a secret to risk. It was too much power for anyone to have, even himself. Once, he had tried to share it with Lyra, feeling crushed by sudden responsibility after his father passed. She had stopped him from revealing, telling him that it was his burden to bear-his duty, his treasure. Fain had eventually realized that she was right. It was his legacy to guard, at least until he found a better protector for it. Sacriel was not that man.

“I can’t do that.”

“Think carefully. I am offering you anything you want. Money to fund whatever it is you want to do. You can have the entire contents of this vault. Go and hire scholars. Finish those starmaps you love. Live the life your parents never lived long enough to give you. Leave Molanter.” He paused. “I’m throwing you a rope here Fain. You aren’t made for this. Neither was Cataran, but he never seemed to realize that. Just take my offer and go live your life.” He spoke almost gently, but the greed in his eyes gave him away. He seemed to think that he was a Snapper, and Fain was the innocent creature resting in his jaws. But no, Fain saw through this. This was never an option.

“I said no, Uncle. This was a mistake from the start. I’ll find another way. Let’s go, Lyra.” He turned to leave and Lyra did the same, still eyeing the room cautiously. Sacriel looked genuinely disappointed. He was now looking at Fain with a look he had never expected, pity.

“I knew you wouldn’t take it. Cataran’s stubbornness is a curse to you. I hope that Senna is Witness to this. I gave you a chance even after everything. Now my conscience is clear.” He snapped his fingers and the two guards pulled the vault door shut. The door gave the same creak as before when it closed. The guards, looking a little tired from the effort of pulling the enormous gateway, pulled out wicked swords, made entirely of metal. Sacriel pulled out a metal dagger of his own. They all walked imposingly towards Fain and Lyra. She looked at him and Fain shook his head slightly. This doesn’t need to end in bloodshed.

Four guards surrounding Fain. A particularly large man with the characteristic leather vest raised his sword towards Fain’s face. He shifted backwards to move away from it and felt a cold pinprick on the small of his back. He turned to see another guard, a lithe female with an evil smile looking straight at him.

“Take another step backwards if you would please lordling. I love this part.” She crooned tauntingly.

The heavyset man in front of him shook his head in mild annoyance. “Enough Vivy. On your knees lord. This doesn’t have to turn ugly yet.”

The feline woman behind him harrumphed, but he did feel the sword at his back retreat. Fain had never been in a situation like this before. He wondered, very briefly, if fighting back was the right option. Surely, they wouldn’t kill him. But what could he accomplish in the face of four armed gaurds. He slowly sank to his knees, shaking arms resting on his lap. Dammit stop shaking! He was a damn coward and he knew it. A real lord would’ve done something here to protect himself and his people. His people! The feeling of the cold metal at his back and almost made him forget Lyra was here too. He turned to look where she was.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Two guards were trying to get her to kneel as they had Fain. She stared back at the man in front of her, seemingly unperturbed by the metal just a hand’s length from her face. She was eerily a still, trapped between the sword at her face and the knife the other guard held to her back. “Kneel woman. NOW!” the man in front screamed, spittle flying all around. Fain felt a flash of envy at her courage, but that was immediately swept away by the wave of concern. He knew Lyra, she wouldn’t kneel. The man was asking the sun to stop burning. Please, Lyra. Just this once. She did not. Instead, features unchanged, she slowly raised a hand to her face to wipe the flecks of spit that had landed on her cheek.

Then, in a nonchalant tone, she said, “This probably isn’t the first time you’ve asked a woman to do that. Unfortunately, like all the rest, I’ll have to decline.”

She’s insane. As amusing as Fain would’ve normally found the remark, now he felt nothing but horror. The brute in front of her looked confused. Then, after taking a few moments to process, a look of anger replaced the confusion. He roared and swung the butt of blade, also made a shining metal, at her cheek. Lyra stayed where she was. The hilt collided with her face with a sick crunch. The impact literally threw Lyra a few steps across the room. She lay on the ground, unmoving.

Then, after the longest moment of Fain’s life, she placed her hands against the floor and slowly pushed herself up. When she rose, he saw blood flowing from a mean looking split on her upper lip. In addition, her cheek had already begun to turn a dark, angry purple, as had the area under her eye. She finished getting up and brushed off the bottom of her dress, now marred with black streaks.

“Maybe you need a different approach to courting. I can’t imagine this has proved successful in the past.”

The man charged her angry, edge of the sword raised to swing. Lyra raised her hand in front of her, hair beginning to darken to a slightly deeper shade of red.

“St-Stop!” Fain shouted, surprised to hear his own voice. “Lyra please. Just kneel. Don’t do for them, do it for me. I’ll... I’ll handle this.”

The charging man stopped. The interruption seemed to stop his moment and give him a moment to control himself. Lyra looked at Fain appraisingly. He could see her internal debate. She thought she could fight her way out this. Not even a Wick could take on six armed guards though. Finally, something gave within. She nodded silently, brushed off the dust on the ground beneath her, and knelt. Even with the four guards still surrounding him, Fain breathed a sigh of relief.

He held on to this fledgling sprout of courage and turned to address Sacriel, who still standing looking down at him imperiously. “What’s the meaning of this?! You can’t expect to assault another house lord without the other lords intervening. There will be a price for this Sacriel!” This came out much less confidently than Fain intended, his words interrupted by panicky, hitched breaths.

He gave up on the threat. More pleadingly, he continued, “Let us go. We can etch this off as a moment of bad judgment. Just stop this.”

Sacriel’s mouth curved down in a grimace, like doing this actually pained him. “It seems you weren’t listening Fain. You and your wench won’t leave here. And the other lords won’t care as long as I come out with the secrets of Evergrowth.” He walked up to Fain, oozing confidence and control with each step. Fain hated the man, but a part of him wished he could be like that. Sacriel shooed away the guard in front, the heavyset man who had stopped Vivy, and stopped within a hand of Fain. He pulled out a wicked looking dagger of his own. It looked much like the guards’ but ended with a much sharper hook and held a yellow gem embedded in the hilt. Out of the corner, Fain could see Lyra eying the dagger, with eye swollen almost completely shut, with genuine fear.

“Y-You know that I can’t- I won’t- give that to you. Don’t be insane.”

Sacriel leaned down and held the hooked end of the dagger under Fain’s chin, the point forcing him to look up at those icy blue eyes. “This is a torturer’s dagger. I expect you will become quite familiar with it in the days to come. First, your servant will be tortured. If that isn’t enough, you can have your own turn with it. I will get the Evergrowth eventually. Make it easy. Tell me now.” He paused, the same look of pity crossing his face. Silence permeated the room, each second making it more and more clear that Fain wouldn’t speak. Sacriel’s features returned to their normal flatness and he wordlessly pushed the dagger up, causing beads of blood to begin to run down the edge.

Fain felt incredibly cold. It was as if his blood has stopped flowing altogether. In fact, he would’ve been sure that was the case if not for the sight of it dripping off of Sacriel’s evil dagger. He wanted to break so badly. He could tell Sacriel, in exchange for their lives. If Sacriel was not willing to spare Fain, he could surely be convinced to let Lyra go. Who would believe an assistant anyway? That thought was almost enough, but Fain remembered the night his father told him about the secret of Evergrowth.

It was the night before he had left on his own expedition to secure more and explore the surrounding land. He had always know there was a chance that there would be no return. So he had called Fain to his private study.

What I am about to tell you is a burden you shouldn’t have to bear. But someone must. If the day comes when I cannot, it will be your curse alone. I trust you, son. I trust that you are the man for this. One who will protect this secret with all your power.

The memory sparked defiance and strength in Fain. His father had believed in him. He wanted to find a way to get Lyra, and ideally himself, out of this, but Lyra would never approve of giving in like this. That much was clear from her earlier display. He followed suit.

“Rot with Decay. You’re a pathetic, heinous excuse for a Lord and you will never have that secret.” He saw Lyra nod slightly in approval, though her face was still wracked with concern and her hair was begin to rise and darken.

Sacriel didn’t look surprised. He didn’t even look that angry. Instead, he went completely cold again, seemingly exhausted from the small concern he had shown earlier. He rose and turned away. “Beat some sense into the fool. Give him a taste of what’s to come.”

Vivy looked elated. “Can we cut him. Just a little?” she asked, like a child asking for an extra serving of dessert.

The apathetic reply echoed back, “Just don’t kill him. Not without the Evergrowth.”

Fain had expected some build-up, or perhaps more taunting. A small part him still didn’t believe there was any real danger. People didn’t just kidnap and stab lords. Apparantly, no one had taught Vivy that. Without any of the sadistic jeering that the woman displayed before, she whipped her arm back and stabbed Fain directly in the right shoulder. She dug the small knife in as deep as it would go and then yanked it out. It was stained completely red when it left Fain’s shoulder.

It was, in fact, so sudden that for a second Fain felt nothing. Then it hit him. He fell over, clutching his shoulder trying to stop the bleeding and began wailing. The part of him that was concerned with anything except the pain-a very small part- felt ashamed. The rest of him just felt the agony from the pain and, even worse, the shock and terror about what was happening. His world was spinning and he couldn’t focus on anything except his arm. His halted breathing rang around the room, rapid but still not enough for his screaming body.

In a moment of clarity, he turned to try to see Lyra. If they would do this to him, someone they needed, Ancients only knew what they would do to her. He saw her and was briefly distracted from the pain. Her hair would always darken and rise with her emotions, but this was different. It had turned a scarlet red, richer and brighter than the blood dripping around him, and was waving around her wildly, like a flame in the wind. The air around her started steaming, waves of heat visibly emanating from her. The guards took a step back in shock and started yelling something to the others. Fain couldn’t make it out.

Then, Lyra exploded in a pillar of flame. The two guards closest to her were thrown back, the metal hilts of their swords blackened and seared to their hands. The pair screamed in anguish, sounding far more pained than Fain himself earlier. Something that Fain wouldn’t even have believed possible a moment ago. Lyra rose from her kneel elegantly, her dressed burned away revealing pristine bands of some shimmering white cloth wrapping her chest and her legs, down to the knee. Somehow the garb seemed even more refined than the dress that hid them. Flames wicked off of Lyra’s entire body, leaving the cloth unmarred. She stepped forward and the guards screaming intensified. The side of the closest one’s face began bubbling and blackening. Lyra looked down, and then without a reaction, looked back up. She walked casually, as if she wasn’t literally on fire, towards Sacriel. Taking each step as if she was strolling through the keep’s gardens.

Fain’s vision began to swim, the whole vault was much hotter and it wasn’t helping. The edges of his vision grew spotty and black, the spots multiplying. Before he passed out, Fain heard Lyra utter a menacing sentence to Sacriel.

“Time for a long overdue lesson, Sacriel.”