“It is told that hundreds of years ago, even before all seven kingdoms worked together, there was a ruthless attack on Maneland. 

The entire kingdom fell, and only the young prince and a handful of his loyal men were able to escape what was once their home. 

Now, the young prince was very wise for his age. He knew that their enemy was too strong for him and his men to take on alone, so he traveled all across the world and gathered the most powerful leader from all six other kingdoms. 

But you have to remember, they weren’t the ‘Boundlands’ yet, like we know today. Back then, the people from the desert plains of Subatan were only roaming raiders, led by a ruthless warlord. And the Pelago Republic, that was just a group of nomad pirates.  

So, by the time all six of these leaders were gathered, their differences quickly got the better of them, and their armies almost started fighting each other. Almost. It was the young prince of Maneland himself, who calmed everyone down, and united the people. With the strength of all seven kingdoms, they rode back to his home to reclaim it. I’ll be honest with you. Even though every kingdom had combined their power, it still was a very, very hard battle to win. By the time they’re finally done, almost none of their warriors are still standing. But…They won. 

All seven kingdoms together had defeated their enemy, and so from that day onward, they decided to keep combining their strength and help each other out. And so, each of the seven leaders signed the Contract of Balance. That's the reason we still live in harmony today.”

Peter is hurdled down under the low roof of the attic room. When he finishes his story, he eagerly awaits his son’s reaction. The seven year old boy has his bed sheet pulled up to his nose, with only his dark hair poking out. He looks back at his father. Peter knows it’s not like his son to keep quiet after a story. Although Richy never interrupts his stories, he usually has plenty of questions saved up by the time they are over. Impossible questions too. 

Peter sees how the wonder in his son’s eyes turns to a slight frown. “What’s on your mind?” he asks.

Richy stays still for a short moment, before lifting his chin above the covers. “If all of the seven kingdoms worked together, then who were they fighting?” he asks.

Peter smiles at his son, and puts one hand over the cover on his shoulder. He

rubs the sheets until they’re warm.“You only get one story tonight,” he replies.

“Besides, the candle is almost burned out. “Sleep well, Richy. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

“Please dad?” Richy begs. “I’m not tired yet.”

“Well I am,” his father laughs. “And I need to be up early again tomorrow. Now go to bed.”

Peter extinguishes the candle on the small crate next to Richy’s bedroll and leaves the cold room. The young boy listens to the creaking of the steps as his father climbs downstairs. Alone in the dark attic Richy hears the cold Knothrian winds howling, he can feel them too. He looks up at the gaping hole in the roof. It’s easy to find in the dark because a soft glow of moonlight shines through, partly illuminating the floorboards. He sees snowflakes fall through the hole and softly land right in front of the door. Great, it’s snowing again. He looks around the room, searching for things he could use to plug the hole, but nothing is big enough. He can’t lift the crate up there, and he’s definitely not using his only blanket either.

Richy is rubbing his legs together in an effort to stay warm when he hears plates rattling downstairs. That’s the sound of his father clearing the dinner table. He must be planning to craft something new tonight.  Another tool for his great acts maybe? Then it hits him. His birthday is in two days. He must be making a present! Excitedly, Richy leans over the side of his bedroll, carefully wrapping his blanket around him so his body does not touch the cold floor. Laying sideways off his bed, he peeks through a crevice between the wooden planks, giving him a limited view of the room below. 

A single lantern above the front door is enough to light the small interior of their home. Just as he suspected, his father had put away the two plates in a cupboard, and is making his way over to a crate in the corner of the room. Richy watches him strain to lift it, and place it on the table. His father takes off the leather rag on top, and begins taking out various tools. His father said most of them were for woodworking, but some could be used on metals as well. It was always exciting to watch his father make something special. He remembers the time when he made that wooden box that makes anything in it disappear. Even though his father had shown him the moveable panel multiple times and explained it with great detail, Richy still did not completely understand the illusion. 

Most nights, he would watch his father work on attributes for his shows, and imagine himself among the Royal court of White Hearth, enjoying his father's royal performances in the big castle. But this night was different. Richy was determined to find out what kind of present was being created for him, and looked closely down at the table. However, his father sat down with his back to him, partly blocking Richy’s view of the table. The boy is genuinely surprised by this. That’s where he always sits. And his father always sits at the opposite end. Whatever the reason for it was, Richy now can’t see what his father was working on and gives up quickly after. He crawls back on his bedroll, and after a long time speculating about his present, he finally falls asleep.

In the mornings Peter would usually be up early, gathering everything he’d need that day. Just like any other morning, Richy wakes up to his father rummaging around downstairs. The sun is barely shining, but Richy jumps out of bed and leaves his room. Running down the stairs he looks at the table, but any trace of last night’s work is already gone. His father has put down a loaf of bread in the middle of the table, and he is sitting in his usual spot again. He’s polishing the bells of his hat with a rag when hears his son come down.

“Slow down there, son, you’re either going to your legs, or worse, the stairs.” He says jokingly.

“Sorry.” Richy replies.

His father smiles at him in response. Richy walks down the remaining steps and sits at the table. It’s still a little too high for him. His father reaches for the bread and breaks a portion off. He gives it to his son, who eagerly bites into the bread. His father continues his polishing.

“The hat is the most important part of the uniform, you know,” he starts. “It symbolizes the entire craft. You see the bells? How they shine and glisten… Well this one needs some cleaning, but you get the idea! They draw all the attention, but the little ball on the inside is what makes them Jingle! A jester’s job is just like that: You make sure to distract from where the real magic is happening, and everyone will be left completely amazed!”

Richy looks amazed himself. In the mornings he is always excited to hear about his father’s work. “What are you going to do today, dad?” he responds. “Are there important guests in the castle?”

His father laughs. “Not that I’ve heard. But! There are rumors that next month a delegation from Dihn Munjai will visit the Queen.”

“From the mountains?” Richy asks excitedly.

“That’s right,” his father responds. “There will be scholars and masters present, and your dad might even be called on to perform for them!” .

Richy nods convinced with his mouth full of bread. After his father finishes the polishing, he tells him his chores for the day. 

“Clean up the place and collect some water from the pipeline in the alley. Make sure you’re home by midday to get our rations, the carts are coming by today. You know where the papers are right?”

Richy proudly points at the clay pot on the cupboard. “In the pot.” he says.

“That’s right,” his father responds. “Make sure you put them back there after.” His father adds.

Peter puts on his hat, and swings his satchel over his shoulder. He opens the door and smiles at his son. “Have a good day boy, see you tonight!” he says. 

“Bye dad!” Richy responds.

The door closes and Richy is left to himself. He finishes his bread and looks around. He’d rather read some of his father’s books, but decides to do his chores first. He doesn’t want to be late for the rations, after all. However, a quick look around first couldn’t hurt. He walks over to his father’s crate, and lifts the leather rag from the top. He sees the tools, but nothing else that looks like a present. After digging around the crate he still finds nothing, and eventually puts the crate neatly back as he found it. He figures his father probably took it with him to his work for the day, and gives up on the search. Reluctantly he starts his chores instead. Cleaning is part of his usual routine. It doesn’t entail much more than sweeping the floor and clearing the table. When the room looks clean enough, Richy puts the broom back in the corner and grabs an empty bucket. Before he leaves the house he makes sure the laces on his worn leather boots are wound as tightly as possible. Then he opens the door and steps outside, into the cold morning air. Other than a cart crunching through the snowed over streets, there aren’t a lot of people walking the slums yet. With his free hand he grabs his collar so that it is securely closed around his neck and he closes the door behind him. Luckily the closest pipeline connected to the hotsprings is only a few alleys behind his home. This far from the castle the water is barely lukewarm, but it’s still some of the freshest. When he reaches the backstreet opening when multiple alleys intersect, he sees no one else standing around the metal pipe sticking out from the ground. He pumps the wooden handle until the bucket is nearly filled to the brim with water, which takes him considerable effort. Richy doesn’t mind though, at least he isn’t that cold anymore.

Later that day, Richy is at home reading a book at the table. He’s carefully reading the words he understands in order to piece the story together. It’s about an old legend from the Haku Gili forest, who supposedly possessed a great deal of knowledge. He is pulled from his thoughts when he hears shouting in the streets. Even through the closed doors Richy recognizes the voice of ‘The Breath’, the Queen's royal decree caller. He works for the court too, just like father. But unlike his father, Richy feels that the announcer’s only notable aspect is his foul smelling breath. It must be midday already. Richy puts the book flat down to not lose his page, and goes to take their ration papers from the clay pot. He runs outside and sees three sturdy wagons approaching down the street. They are escorted by city guards slugging through the snow, and one man riding a horse in the front. The man is continuously shouting different things about this week's rations, but Richy doesn’t pay much attention to it. He looks on as the neighbors down the street exit their homes to claim their portion of food from the back of the last wagon. When they come closer, Richy approaches as well. He has to jump to hand his papers to the man in the back of the wagon. Before long the papers are returned with a fresh ink stamp along with a heavy sack of food. 

“Here you go, kid” the guard replies from above him.

The sack lands in the snow with a muffled thud. Richy folds the papers up and puts them in his pocket. He grabs the sack with both hands, and starts tugging it back to his house. The snow makes it easier to slide the rations across the ground, although it’s still quite the task for the young boy. 

When his father returns that evening they talk about his day. Even though his father is tired he is eager to tell Richy about the things he saw at the castle. 

They talk over a bowl of warm stew. “You did a good job collecting our rations today,” his father says. “Did you put the papers back?”

Richy realizes that he had gone back to his book right away, and had forgotten the papers in his pocket. He nervously checks his pocket and is relieved to find the folded papers are still there. He reluctantly lays them on the table and looks at his stew.

“I’m sorry, I forgot...” he mumbles.

His father laughs.

“Don’t worry about it, son,” he replies. “I’m glad you’ve kept them safe all day. It’s just like I said, you did great today.”  

At these words Richy cheers up again and he eventually smiles back at his father. He finishes his soup listening to his father talk about the act he had performed that day. After dinner Richy is sent straight to bed without any bedtime stories, as it was already quite late. Richy doesn't mind because he knows the sooner he goes to bed, the sooner he gets another chance to spy on his present. And so he goes to bed without so much as a peep, wrapping himself in his blanket, waiting on his bedroll until he hears his father clear the table again. First his father goes outside, most likely to get firewood. For a while Richy hears nothing but the howling wind again. He tries to stay warm and to not fall asleep while he patiently waits for his father to return. Just as he is about to doze off, he hears the door swing open. There is some rummaging around downstairs and he hears the sound of logs being placed under the staircase. Before long he finally hears what he has been listening for, the rattling plates. He crawls into position again, and sees his father grab his tool crate. Then he walks over to the cupboard. From high on top he grabs a small cloth sack that Richy now sees for the first time through the floorboards of the roof. That must be it! My present. 

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

However, just after he watches his father put the sack on the table next to the crate, they both hear someone knocking on the door. Who could that be? Richy is annoyed at the sudden interruption and quietly watches as his father goes to open the door. The obstructed view through the wooden planks doesn’t provide Richy with a view of the front door, so instead he turns his head and presses his ear to the cold opening. He hears his father’s voice. 

“Mister Harton, good evening,” he said, surprised. “What can I do for you?”

Richy didn’t recognize that name.

“Peter,” the man said. “The Queen has sent for you. We leave right away.”

Richy recognizes the voice of The Breath immediately. It wasn’t a common occurrence, but sometimes Richy’s father would be called on at night to work at the castle. He was proud that the castle needed his services, but he never liked it when The Breath came to get him. His father would still be tired in the morning, and often his jester’s tunic would be stained with wine after nights like these.

“Ofcourse, Mister Harton,” his father replies. “Let me grab my satchel.” 

“Hurry up, will you. I’m freezing.” The Breath snaps back.

“Apologies.” His father responds.

Right after that, he hears the door close again. It’s quiet. He turns his head back and looks down. The room is empty, but on the table he sees the small sack left behind. He doesn’t take much time to consider his choices, and gets out of bed with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. As he climbs down the stairs he carefully keeps his eyes on the door, although he already knows his father won’t be back until the early morning. At the table, he looks at the door for one last time, before reaching into the sack. His heart is pounding, and his hand touches something solid. He carefully takes it out of the sack, and inspects the object. It’s a carved piece of wood, shaped like a thick circle. On what seems to be the front, his father has carved a depiction of a bell. The same kind as he wears on his jester’s tunic. Richy isn’t sure what he is holding, but he isn’t disappointed either. He puts the wooden object back in the sack, and goes back to bed. He is imagining all sorts of things the gift could be, when he eventually falls asleep.

The next morning, Richy jumps straight up in his bedroll when he hears his father shouting from downstairs. “Richy! Aren’t you awake yet? Come on down!”

Richy takes a short moment to fully wake up, but then immediately realizes what day it is. I’m eight! He throws the blanket off him, and races out of his room.

“Good morning, dad!” Richy yells as he runs down the stairs. 

“Slow down!” His father responds.

Richy doesn’t, and he quickly reaches his father’s chair at the table. His father pads him on the head, ruffling through his hair. “Happy birthday, son,” he says. “Here, this is for you.”

His father hands him the wooden emblem from the table where the rest of his tools are still laid out. It seems like he had been working on the gift until just now, and it looks different from last night. There is now a tight iron circle attached around the edge of the circular wood. There was a small opening in the iron where a string is tied through. His father drapes the string around Richy’s neck.

“This is an amulet that will bring you good fortune,” he says. “You’re eight already, and I want you to wear the family symbol. The symbol of the royal jester of the Knothrian Court. You know what the bell stands for right?”

“Of course!” Richy answers proudly. “They look nice and shiny, but it’s what’s inside that makes it ring.”

“That’s right. You’re a good boy, Richard.” His father responds.

The young boy looks at his amulet, inspecting his father’s craftsmanship. He eventually looks back up at this father with a broad smile.

“Thank you, dad!” he says. “I’m going to become a royal jester just like you!”

He is looking up in his father’s proud eyes, when Richy is suddenly startled by loud slamming on their door the two of them are interrupted by two loud knocks on the front door. A familiar voice belows through the door, but this time The Breath sounds frighteningly angry. 

“By Royal Decree of Queen Johannah, Come outside, Fool!”

“What’s going on, dad?” Richy scaredly asks.

“Go up to your room son,” his father responds, and motions him over to the stairs. “I’ll sort this out. And keep quiet up there.”

“But dad…” Richy starts complaining .

His father interrupts him.

“Just do it. Now.”

Richy hastily climbs the stairs, once in his room he immediately starts spying on the room below. His father is out of sight, but he hears him open the door. As soon as it opens he hears his father’s muffled shouting, and shortly after three city guards come marching in the room. The guards are followed by The Breath, who leans on the table in the middle of the room. He looks around Richy’s home with disgust.

“Search this whole shack!” he yells. “ ….Oh, and I think he’s got a kid. Take care of it.”

“Yes, Sir!” One of the guards responds.

They start picking apart the room as The Breath walks back out of the house. Richy scaredly watches on, in complete disbelief. He knows his father has just been arrested. But why? He’s a member of the Knothrian Court after all. And why are they tearing apart our home? He snaps out of his thoughts when he hears the creaking of the staircase to his room. One of the guards has started climbing the steps, and Richy realizes he too is in danger. Fear makes way for adrenaline, and Richy comes into action. He pulls the crate from his bedroll to the low door of the attic room, right under the hole in the roof he had cursed so many nights before. When he climbs on the crate, he can hear the guard right outside his room. He jumps up with his arms stretched out, and is just able to grab the edge of the hole above him. Just then the door swings open, and the crate in front of it is violently bashed out from under Richy. He quickly pulls up his legs, and sees the guard crawl into his room below him. Richy agilely pulls himself up through the roof, without making a sound. Richy lays down on the snowy roof next to the hole, catching his breath for a moment in the bleak morning sun. He hears the city guards shout something to each other from inside, and Richy decides he doesn’t have the time to rest. I have to go to my spot. Richy slides off his roof onto an adjacent house, from which he climbs further into the slums.

From high up on a repurposed silo Richy is able to see a large part of his district. He usually comes here when the weather is especially good, or when he just needs to get away for a while. But today he’s not here to enjoy the view nor the solitude. Some of his clothes are still wet from the snow, and he’s in the process of wringing out his socks. He can’t focus on the task however, as he keeps thinking about what happened this morning. Why would they come for my father? And treat him like he’s some sort of criminal. It just didn’t make any sense. He looks down in the distance. He originally liked this spot because he has a clear view of his house from here, but looking over now brings him no joy. He watches as the guards are still searching this home, occasionally coming out to throw furniture and other belongings out on the street into the muddy snow. When just about everything is thrown out, the guards finally leave. Richy furiously watches them until they disappear at the far end of his street. Not long after that, his neighbors come out and rush towards the discarded items left in the street. They scavenge through his father’s belongings, like vultures picking at a carcass. He watches them for a while before averting his gaze to the far horizon. He sighs deeply, and feels truly alone.

It’s long past midday and Richy is still on the silo. He has spent the entire day watching their house, hoping for his father to return. Surely they must’ve figured out that they made a mistake by now. Then he notices a change in the streets below. Not just in his street, but from everywhere he can see people are leaving their homes. They all seem to be headed for the inner city, towards the main square. Something is going on, this kinda commotion didn't even happen when the carnival was in town. Richy is done with waiting, and figures that he likely won’t get seen among the crowd. He begins his climb down into the slums to see what is going on. Before long he finds himself among the people, making his way out of the slums. He starts hearing rumors left and right. He hears a woman with a child on her shoulders talk to her husband. 

“There have been arrests all over the city today. But now it seems like they finally caught the right one!”

“I wonder what he did,” the husband replies.”They made quite the spectacle of announcing the execution.” 

At hearing this, Richy cheers up immediately. I knew it! They finally caught the real criminals, and my father will be home in no time. He walks on with a broad smile, and gets just as excited as the other citizens that wanted to see the execution. When he reaches the main square it is already filled with people. Richy pushes himself past the countless legs, and eventually reaches the front of the crowd. They are all gathered around a raised wooden platform in the middle of the square, on which a guillotine has been placed. A man is already kneeling down with his neck on the chopping board, and behind him a row of seven people are waiting in chains. Each of them have a cloth sack over their heads. When Richy inspects the row of people on the platform a great feeling of relief washes over him. None of them are wearing father’s jester tunic. 

Richy sees The Breath standing prominently at the front of the platform, next to the guillotine. He feels his anger from before, but calms himself down with the thought that his father has been proven innocent. The Breath starts loudly shouting. 

“Queen Johannah and the Knothrian Court have decided these thieves will answer for their crimes. Last night this group of bandits attempted to steal Knothria’s royal jewel!”

The crowd expresses their disbelief, and it falls quiet shortly after. The mood seems to change from excitement, to an intense fury. From somewhere in the crowd Richy hears a man shout back. 

“Treason! Take their heads!”

The rest of the crowd clearly agrees, and the people on the square start murmuring again. The Breath raises his saber dramatically and as the silence returns.

“Trespassing on castle grounds,” The Breath continues shouting. “Theft from the Queen, and plotting treason. The Knothrian Court has decided these offenses will be punished by death!”

The crowd cheers as one and Richy gladly joins in on the excitement. It’s because of these bandits that his father got arrested and his home got destroyed. During the continued shouting The Breath swings his saber back down. At his sign one of the guards pulls a wooden lever, and the blade of the guillotine comes flying down. The man's head drops in the basket and his body slips to the floor of the platform. The crowd cheers as two guards carry the body to the side, and the next bandit in line is made to kneel at the guillotine. The sack is removed. It’s a young man, who looks beaten and battered. Richy only gets a short look at him before his head drops in the basket as well. Richy had only seen an execution once before. When his father was at work he had followed the crowd to the inner city, just like today. But that was only one man. This time there were eight of them, and the crowd seemed to grow more excited with every beheading. Richy had never seen this many people cheering at once before. By the time the fifth criminal was escorted to the block, Richy notices that the basket is almost filled to the brim with heads. He could even see some hair sticking out, soaked in blood. The man is forcefully made to kneel, and the sack is pulled from his head.

Richy is standing at the front of the roaring crowd, looking right up at his father. He can feel his heart drop to his feet. What is happening? His father looks just as beaten as the men before him, and is even bleeding from his eyebrow. Peter looks back at his son, and tears start rolling down his face. Before Richy knows it, The Breath swings his saber through the air again. Richy hears the sharp sound of the guillotine blade soaring down, and he sees his father’s face drop down to the basket. It hits another one of the heads and tumbles out. With a loud thud it lands on the stone floor a short distance from Richy before it rolls under the platform. Richy is stunned with disbelief. In that moment he can’t get his body to move. Then he hears the loud cheering around him. The other children at the front of the crowd start to dash under the platform. All of them screaming and laughing trying to be the first to reach the head of his father. One of the guards on the ground shouts at them to get out from under the platform, which they do. The oldest of the children is proudly carrying the head. The whole crowd is cheering him on. Just when the boy comes out from under the platform Richy runs forward and punches him in the face as hard as he can. The kid falls over and the head falls to the ground. The crowd goes silent. Richy screams as loud as he can. 

“Stay away from him! He’s my father! How could you do this?”

He looks around the people. Most of them seem confused, others furious. He hastily scans the crowd for a friendly face, but there are none. Then he suddenly hears the loud voice of The Breath behind him. 

“That’s the boy! Get him! Seize him!”

The city guards around the platform draw the swords and start running at Richy, who panics at the sight. He dashes into the crowd and disappears between the many legs, trying to look through his tears. The guards try to chase him into the dense crowd with drawn weapons, and Richy hears the ensuing chaos behind him as he’s running away. He doesn’t just run away from the main square, but that evening he leaves his home, the slums, and the whole city of White Hearth behind him.