Kinler leaned against a building in the market square of Dorgen, standing, breathing. Anemone was helping Meru stack supplies in his stand. The large, muscular man seemed quite welcoming now that he knew them. Kinler could take credit for his and his wife’s opening up, but that wasn’t Kinler’s style. It was rarely anybody’s fault alone for their prejudices.

How could it? Like a warrior who leaned too heavily in style, you criticize them even a little, and they get offended, and soon after, defensive. You can’t bring anyone to a different conclusion to a matter, but you could definitely lead them there. By knowing Anemone and Kinler, Meru and his wife started to understand, and their understanding was owed to themselves most of all.

Kinler appreciated them for their hospitality and offered them seven gold coins, two more than he’d handed them on their first night bunking in their house. Their faces lit up as sweet as candy when they counted the coins.

For now, Kinler meditated. The ride ahead of them was long and draining. Now that they didn’t need to make time, they could return without haste. But even then, nobody wanted to turn a five-day trip into a six-or-seven-day trip.

Kinler closed his eyes, taking in the nature of his surroundings. Birds were chirping, horses carried carts, and wheels rolled over the gravel roads. Meditation eased his mind, freed him of his doubts. It was as much spiritual as it was a coping mechanism. Kinler had worried a Gem God’s share when he was younger, but when it came to standing up with all the stress as weight, he couldn’t even get to his two feet without crushing under pressure.

Meditation chipped away at his stress, allowing him to stand tall and proud. It permitted him to move when he otherwise couldn’t. It took years to appease his mind with all the bloodshed. In Dork City, Kinler had painted their beautiful fields with boiling blood, yet that act neither terrified him nor sated him. It was normal.

In a few weeks, Kinler thought. He looked at Anemone lifting boxes of fruit, bringing it to Meru’s stand. I have to train six youths in the art of war. Only two have killed before, and Anemone has only killed one in self-defense.

A massive ridge parted between Kinler’s generation and the one he would teach. Kinler grew up having war everywhere, but his students, they’d been too young to participate, let alone comprehend a war.

Kinler hoped that they would be well prepared when they were asked to lift their swords and use them. But he worried more about the mental trauma than their ability to kill physically. His agents were talented, well versed in many, many separate fields of war. But they were all children underneath.

Kinler, like his students, wasn’t born to be a warrior. He served as a slave. He wasn’t raised to kill but later joined the path of a soldier. When he killed, unprepared, it fucked him up. Real bad.

Perhaps that was a rash perspective to have, but since long before the Gemkind Wars up until shortly after Ranun’s Rebellion, Valoria had known little more than war. Nobles were born with silver spoons in their hands, while the rest had steel knives that grew into a sword.

Ranun made the world softer, and that might be a good thing. But softness didn’t bode well with warriors. Ranun put Kinler in charge of the youngest, softest agents he had to offer him. But Kinler had trained modern Colors, and even without war, they had as much skill as generations before.

Kinler opened his eyes, leaving his thoughts tucked away in the back of his mind. He was already making assumptions, and he only truly knew one of his agents well enough to judge.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an older man with a weird posture. His skin was pale-white, though he was shiny with sweat. His large biceps showed under his sleeveless, gray top. He likely originated from Gleon.

Kinler walked over to the man, stepping over a small metal fence. The man stood in a small field dressed in graves. Dorgen didn’t seem to tend to their graveyard, and though there was plenty of green grass, flowers sprouted all around the yard. The most common one was the purple flower, anemone.

On their trip into Dork, her eyes drifted every time they rode past. The anemones danced here in the cemetery, waving back and forth with the chilly morning wind. The man in front of one particular grave stood statue-solid, his short graying hair lifted though did not conform to the gust. As Kinler approached his side, his weird arched gesture made sense to him now.

Kinler caught a whiff of river water, drenching the man’s clothes. A sour smell, though Kinler looked past it.

His hands pressed together, palm to palm, finger to finger, pointing up and past his lowered forehead; the Prayer of Hannan.

“Thank the Gem God that it’s a beautiful day today,” the man said. He opened his eyes and shifted them to Kinler. He pulled his hands apart and brought them to his sides. He straightened his back and looked at Kinler with a smile. “I think he smiles upon me. I’ve visited this grave sixteen times, and it hasn’t rained once. It may be coincidence, I understand, but the sunshine and beautiful fields tell me I should be happy, despite how dark the feelings are.”

Kinler nodded, lost for words. He eyed the gravestone, Civilia, it read. No last name like the other gravestones, nor the date of her death. The year ‘385’ printed on her tombstone, forty-one years ago?

If this man visited the grave every year after her death for sixteen years, and Kinler subtracted that number from how old Civilia would be if she were still alive, he got twenty-five. “Do you pray before your daughter?”

The man nodded. Kinler looked at the sign and realized that today, Autumn Fifty-fifth, was Civilia’s birthday. So every year, for sixteen years, this old man visited his daughter on her birthday.

“You came all the way out here from Gleon?” Kinler asked.

“No, I came here from a trip I had in Wargon,” the man said. “The name’s Herm, by the way.” He offered his hand, which Kinler politely shook and introduced himself.

Wargonians were also a tad light in skin tone, but his strong jaw and buzzed facial hair were signs of his Gleonish nature. Then, after consideration, he seemed quite familiar…

“But you’re Gleonish, right?” Kinler asked. The name was on the tip of his tongue.

“Why is that?”

“Well, excuse me, but your skin.”

Herm grinned. “Oh right! My skin, yes. But before I answer you that, can you tell me what it’s like living in Lyce?”

“Well, actually, I’m not—” Kinler stopped to an ever-rising eyebrow from Herm. “I get it. But your name seems oddly close to another. Herm… Herman Benoble!”

Herm laughed. Herman Benoble was the King of Gleon. Or… not? These days, it was hard to tell if he remained king or if his son took over. “I get that a lot. But honestly, I’m just a man visiting my daughter.”

Kinler nodded.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Steps hopped the fence behind him. Kinler turned, and Anemone hurried up to him without respect to the graves. It would be something he had to teach her. He quickly apologized to Herm for her reckless approach. “She’s a little ignorant about certain etiquettes, and I’m unsure if she even knows what graves are, to begin with.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright,” Herm said.

Anemone approach, looking up at Kinler. “We finished up.”

“Very good, we’ll leave here soon,” Kinler said.

“Ahh,” Herm said. “So you are from Lyce after all.”

Kinler shook his head, not playing to his joke. “No, we came from Soucrest.”

“Ahh, Soucrest! A wonderful place nowadays. And if you’re Kinler, that must mean…”

Kinler nodded. His name had reached far during the rebellion, but he was surprised that it stuck around. The Blue Bladesman had slain many in his earlier days, and his skill lived up to that expectation, only he’d been on the down-low ever since the war ended.

Anemone’s eyes questioned Kinler on who this man was. She knew it was wrong to ask that right in front of the man, but yet she didn’t dare to ask Herm herself.

“Anemone, this is Herm. Herm, this is Anemone.”

“Anemone, huh?” Herm lowered down. His eyes were steady, if not analytical. “That’s a wonderful name.”

What are the odds? The dates lined up well. Sixteen years ago, Herm’s daughter died? That seemed about as old as Anemone. It can’t be. The coincidences that would need to happen are too large to be simply that.

Anemone nodded awkwardly.

“Did your mother name you that, or did your father?” Herm asked. That was a question beyond odd and dug a little too much. Many wouldn’t answer such a direct question like that, but Anemone didn’t find the question inappropriate, so Kinler didn’t protest.

“My… uh… father?” Anemone said. Her nervousness was explicit, as her eyes couldn’t stay still, snapping back and forth between Kinler and Herm.

But it was Ranun who named Anemone. Perhaps under pressure, she choked. Or, maybe it was easier to lie than to say that the King of Soucrest of all people named her.

“Well, he has good tastes,” Herm said, standing straight again, looking at the grave.

Kinler reached into his satchel and pulled two pellet treats, giving them both to Anemone. “Go to the horses, give them each a treat for me. I’ll be there soon.”

Anemone nodded, turning away. She trailed off, Herm sighing beside Kinler.

“You seemed quite infatuated with Anemone, was there something you wanted to say?” Kinler asked. Perhaps a little too on-the-nose. “She was born somewhere in Dork, though she only found her way into Soucrest recently.”

Herm smiled, shaking his head.

It seemed to Kinler like he didn’t want to answer. Usually, Kinler would let that be. But the intrigue overpowered him, so much so, he just had to investigate.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking, how did your daughter die?”

Herm looked to Kinler, solemn. A face that said, “that’s personal.” He sighed, looking down at the gravestone once again.

“She died, fighting for her daughter. And she was killed for her bravery. Her husband self-exiled, and now, I’m unsure whether or not he’s still alive. Or the child.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kinler said. He noticed his hands formed the Prayer of Hannan again; his hands were rumbling, like a force stronger than his strength pushed them against each other. “I applaud you for your intensive faith. I know some men who had given up their faith after such an awful thing happened.”

“I pray for it keeps me sane,” Herm said, taking a long, heavy breath. Then, the man smiled again, and his composure returned to its earlier calm. “Besides, it’s not all bad. There are signs pointing to why not to have faith. But, then again, some signs point to why faith exists as well.”

“Forgive me,” Kinler said. “But can you tell me what one of those signs are?”

“Take my daughter, for instance,” Herm explained, a saddened, beautiful-happy grin. His eyes turned, his face twitching as he looked not at the grave but the patch of grass in front where the body was buried. Like the others, Civilia’s grave had flowers over the top. “She died sixteen years ago for her daughter. But in the end, I come to finally find out that she was buried under her daughter’s embrace all along.”

His words were cryptic, but Kinler was quite certain now. This “Herm” fellow had a relation to Anemone, one he was trying to reference but not admit. Kinler, unsure of his motives, didn’t question them. He seemed to have an air of relief around him like he found something he’d been searching for a long time.

“Is there a reason you aren’t being straight with me?” Kinler asked.

“No reason other than a gut feeling I should not,” Herm said. He pulled his hands apart again. “I’ve been all over the world, far from only Valoria. My life spent traveling; I learned just how small the world really is.”

“You should tell her,” Kinler said, growing annoyed by the man’s friendly, mysterious demeanor. “What if you’ll never see her again?”

“Again, it’s a small world,” Herm grinned. “But I’m afraid now is not an appropriate time to do or say anything personal. When the time is right, I’ll tell her everything.”

Kinler frowned. The man was likable but illogical. So visiting your daughter’s grave isn’t personal but informing your daughter’s daughter of your existence is?

“I ask of one favor to you, Kinler, the Blue Bladesman. Protect her. She joins my son and my faith as the only things alive precious to me. You don’t know how relieved I am to find out she’s alive and in Soucrest’s hands of all places. I can move now, unworried. When the time comes, you’ll understand why I can’t be there for her now.”

Kinler looked at him flatly. He spoke as if he was somebody important.

But he stared back at Kinler, pleading. “Please,” he said, “don’t tell her. I started my path after my daughter’s death, but it has grown too important and too massive of a project to get distracted.”

“So she’s a distraction?”

Herm sighed. Before his daughter’s own grave, he went to his knees and begged. “From one man to another, I promise I will come to her when the time is right. You don’t know how much I have to tell her. I need time.”

Then why don’t you tell her?

“I’m visiting Ranun Spring soon, and I can reveal more then. For now, I ask you to trust me, put your faith—no matter how much or how little—in mine.”

“Did you plan this?” Kinler asked.

“No,” Herm said. “I had no idea either of you would be here. I simply visit my daughter’s grave every year on her birthday.”

“This seems too… perfect of a scenario.”

“If the lack of rain is the Gem God smiling upon me, I take this as a wide grin,” Herm beamed. For an older man, his body was refined. A few years older than Symond, perhaps, but quite muscular despite his age. “For now, please, take care of her. You can speak of me to Ranun, but nobody else. Trust his judgment in whether or not to let you in on what I’m doing.”

Kinler nodded, though the man irked him. “Fine. I will be bringing this up to Ranun, though.”

“Very well, he is a good friend of mine. He’ll understand and reassure you my intentions are well.”

Kinler shrugged. He’d see about that when he returned. Speaking of their return, Anemone was probably growing bored waiting for him. He turned, but before he left the graveyard, he called out to Herm, “Would you like to send us off?”

The old man smiled, walking up to him. “You’re more merciful than your stories tell. But I’m afraid I must pass.”

Merciful? Kinler thought, climbing over the fence. He helped Herm hop over. He thought of the Slaughter, the worst day of his life, his first day holding the Blue Blade. No, that word doesn’t fit me. Not at all.

“Why not?” Kinler asked, offended. “It’s like you don’t even care.”

Herm put his hands together in prayer. “Please,” he said. “I… can’t watch her leave. Not after… her.”

Herm’s eyes turned desperate to the tombstone. For a second, Kinler thought Herm would break down and cry before him, seeing his pouting lips twitch. “I’ve lived every day since she left, abandoning everything important to me, my crown, my kingdom, my son… And now, recently, I’ve finally found some returns for everything I sacrificed.”

Kinler stood unsure what the hell Herm was talking about. Why should he have to go to Ranun when Herm could explain it to him right here?

Herm grabbed Kinler on the shoulder, holding him tight as he stared into his eyes. Kinler saw an overbearing pain and suffering, sincerity of the highest degree. “Know that I’m sorry. I… can’t be there for her now.”

Kinler removed Herm’s hand from his shoulder, dropping it back to his body. He turned around without a word and walked away.

When he got back to the horses, Anemone already strapped into her mare.

“You ready?” Kinler asked.

Anemone nodded.

Meru stood by, and Kinler shook his hand before climbing on his horse.

“We’ll be leaving now,” Kinler said. “Thanks for your hospitality. You’ve been tremendous hosts.”

Meru nodded. “The pleasure is all mine, honestly. Stop by again if you’re in town.”

Kinler smiled and drove her horse forward. Anemone waved behind as she left, and Meru, who had been so apprehensive at the start, waved back joyfully.

“We’re going home?” Anemone asked.

“Yes,” Kinler said. He felt a sudden weight on his heart and a wave of guilt around. Who was this Herm guy, and why was he hiding? Why rob Anemone of the only family she had left? No. Fuck that; Kinler wouldn’t allow it. Kinler grew up without a family, and it was part of why he accepted Ranun’s proposal of opening an agency. He had grown lonely and sought the comradery that came with.

If it was only for now, then Herm might as well not exist yet. If he can’t come forward himself, then he didn’t deserve her in the first place, and Anemone didn’t deserve that type of family either.

Kinler took a fresh breath of air, and with confidence, he said, “We’re going home.”