Fahon's head pounded like it was being squeezed by a vice. Despite the painful inconvenience, the verdant forested hills of Central Ophan were a sight to behold. Clouds in the sky covered the Twins, refracting crimson on countless billions of water droplets. Great wind turbines dominated the tops of the hills, turning in slow circles.

Spotting the countryside was the occasional homestead. The homes were built in the post-colonial style, squat bunker-like concrete complexes with domed roofs covered in lichen or grass. They had facilities surrounding them which could produce what a family needed to survive.

The country workers were hardy, independent citizens. Many owned great-tiered vertical greenhouses, growing to produce year-round. Livestock farms were rare in Central Ophan, but they had a smattering of dairy farms with cows grazing in great open meadows. Rural life was challenging, but it could be satisfying.

Arik slept on the seat across from him, curled in a ball. A ripping snore, a smidge too loud, woke him, and he rose, eyes groggy. They both had been in and out of sleep for twelve hours. It was close to noon.

Arik suggested they get food. After about another half hour on the highway, they found a village. Larger settlements, such as this, usually were close to essential resources. This one sat where two rivers met. Flanked by two massive suspension bridges, one on each side. It had a sizeable electric dam, creating a sprawling freshwater lake occupying an entire valley. The lake was designed to facilitate freshwater fish hatcheries.

After crossing the suspension bridge, the cybermind veered off the highway. Arik found a general market. A franchise, the sort owned by big-city Worker Sect corporations. You could get whatever you needed: food, homewares, sporting goods, furniture, and clothing, among other things.

Vehicles were parked in orderly rows. People in earthy rustic clothing with many utility pockets pushed carts filled with goods.

Arik went inside, and Fahon tinted the windows. No one could see him inside. A dull half an hour later, his cousin returned with a few paper bags, plopping onto the seat. Despite his swollen lips, he had cleaned himself in the bathroom, and his face was no longer bloody.

Checking the mirror, Fahon looked horrible, with a dark bruise on one cheek, the other sliced open, and a streak of dried blood on his chin. Dozens of minor nicks and cuts covered his forehead, chin, and ears, encrusted in dried blood.

"I got you some clothes," Arik said and tossed him a bag.

He carefully looked inside. It contained a white shirt, a dense black colonist-style jacket with six large pockets, black slacks, and brown leather shoes. Not his uniform, but it would do. He changed quickly and cleaned his face with sanitary wipes Arik had also bought.

"Salad." Arik produced a thick paper box. "Because you eat like a forty-year-old woman trying to watch her weight."

Fahon opened the box to a presentation of leafy greens, fresh vegetables, and chunks of grilled chicken. He poured a tart dressing all over the salad and dug in with his fork, crunching away happily. In his condition, he needed healthy food like this. It would help him recover faster.

Meanwhile, Arik produced a roasted chicken, ripping off large chunks, skin and all, and dipping them in a savory sauce.

Commanded by voice, the cybermind drove away from the market and set course to the highway. The two ate silently for a long while.

"People in the store seemed worried." Arik sucked chicken grease off his fingers. "Whispering about the 'assassinations.' Plural."

Fahon swallowed hard on a mouth full of greens, lowering his fork. Arik pulled out his comm, scanning the headlines.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Sovereign Elohon Drakk was assassinated last night in Gressi. Knight Commander Crin Haloran wounded," Arik read aloud. He handed the comm over to Fahon as if the device were burning his hand.

"My father was staying at a hotel in Gressi. "Fahon scanned the article, skipping the exposition. "He was with Knight Commander Crin. They were attacked on the balcony having a drink. My father died of a head wound from a Phasematter projectile. Crin was badly wounded pursuing the assassin."

Arik raised a quizzical brow. "Crin tried to stop the assassin. Huh, here I thought he was a slime who would have let your father die in a heartbeat to seize power. I didn't see this coming. Maybe he's not involved after all."

Fahon read article after article, quiet as they rode, expression growing darker with each passing moment. Kormel was a prime suspect, recorded on the guard's body cameras. The enforcer apparently also had disabled the camera network before attacking Fahon.

He can avoid their wrath long enough to vanish by sparing me and keeping my fate uncertain.

Most of the speculation pointed to the assassinations being an attempt by the Syndicate at decapitating the Ophani government. Others implied the Free States government was to blame. All suspected Fahon had been taken captive and were expecting a ransom.

He handed Arik back his comm and sat in silence. Icy cold shock, horror, and grief washed over him. The frigid chill penetrated his new jacket. He shuddered. The windows were up. The temperature this time of year tended to be around ten degrees, not one.

He sunk in his seat, grief hitting him like a brick to the face.

Father, thank you for coming to my initiation. I'm sorry, the last time we spoke was an argument.

Elohon held grand expectations of his son, but it was because he believed in him. Fahon knew it was how he cared. For Fahon's entire life, his father prepared him for Sovereignty, provided the best education, and ensured all needs were met. He even allowed Fahon's martial training, despite disagreeing with it. All families had conflict and turmoil. It didn't mean they stopped loving each other.

Fahon would never talk to his father again. Get to say he loved him. The pain of the notion gouged deep into his heart. One of the best men Ophan ever produced was gone, taken early, in what should have been a long life and reign.

Fahon couldn't sit in Whitestone ruling the nation, knowing his father's killer was out there. An assassin could come after him at any time. Fahon wouldn't be the victim. It was better to be the hunter than the hunted. If you had an enemy, you studied them, found their weakness, and eliminated them. It was the way of the warrior.

"The look in your eyes," Arik said, voice graver than usual. "I don't like it."

"My father was killed." Fahon's voice dripped with acidic rage. "Tried to have me killed too. Arik, I will find them. I won't stop until-"

Arik interrupted, "We put them in chains."

Fahon winced. Arik had a point.

Do I want to kill in revenge?

He could have killed Kormel but had held back at the last moment. Argent Knights were Warriors, not murderers.

Justice was not revenge. Knights upheld the laws of Ophan. They were expected to embody virtue and were seen as paragons of society.

And he here was, a Knight and now the new Sovereign, contemplating vengeance. It went against everything he represented.

Fahon was clenching his fists, fingernails digging deep enough to draw blood. The confines of the vehicle closed in, trapping and suffocating him like a coffin.

Mother will be alone in the dark. Thinking we're both dead. She was now responsible for burying his father.

Anger could blind him if he let it. He recalled his mother's lessons, her kind guiding voice. She taught him to manage his emotions and to always find calm, a vital ability for a leader to learn early on.

He loosened both clenched fists and forced a relaxing exhale.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Like she taught him, a deep inhale followed by a slow exhale. He had to clear his mind of the turmoil. He closed his gray eyes, fresh oxygen filling his lungs. His angry heart was like a volcano, spewing lava into the ocean of his mind.

I should approach this rationally. I will return mother. I promise. Once I find justice for us.

"You were right earlier." Arik set his nearly finished meal beside him on the seat. "Kormel is the only one who knows who is behind this."

Fahon nodded. It was the only thing that made perfect sense at this point. Having an objective was better than being lost and confused. "We go after him. Make him tell us."

Arik slumped back uncomfortably. "I don't like this Fahon. Kormel defeated you. Are you certain you want to fight him again?"

"He caught me unprepared. I wasn't ready for him. Next time I will be. Like you said—Kormel will go underground. Maybe together, with your friends, we can flush him out."

Arik wiped his hands with a napkin. "Maybe. Going after him is going to be dangerous. I have a plan, though. Just trust me."

Fahon rubbed his temples, straining against his concussion headache. "I don't have much choice."