As much as Petyr complained about Windust, even he had to admit that the house he’d lived in for over a decade now wasn’t half bad.

It was a two-story place located at the edge of town, nestled right in the crook of the forest's protective arm, high enough that no flooding, no matter how bad, ever reached them.

The house had been built by one of the local governors that had been chased away by the farmers during their rebellion. Testament to that fact was that there was no wheat field within walking distance, no pigsty and no chicken coop—just a tiny little garden that his father had now taken over for the growing of basic alchemical ingredients.

Petyr saw the warm glow of the two lamps planted by the porch and got filled by a sense of warm welcome. Many might’ve thought keeping those on all through the night might’ve been an invitation to wrongdoers with bad intent. But the truth was, no one in their right might would’ve touched their family. His father had built up a good reputation over the years with the bandits that controlled the town, and they’d make short work of anyone who gave the family trouble.

Just as Petyr emerged out of the shadows onto the light of the porch, Alis stepped out of the house. As always, the sight of her in her natural element, wearing little more than a shirt and a skirt, gave rise to a lump in his throat.

Alis was exactly ten years older than he was, but twenty years younger than his father. She was tall, chocolate-skinned, with warm amber eyes, full lips, a slender nose, and chin-length short hair.

“Petyr!” Alis said upon noticing him, clicking her tongue with narrowed eyes. “I was worried sick about you. Where the hell were you?”

More noteworthy still was the fact that she had one of the most voluptous bodies he’d ever seen on a woman.

Every time he entered a room and caught her bent over it he'd spiral into fantasy for the rest of the evening...

Petyr tried not to let his eyes linger as he climbed up the porch steps. “It’s a long story. I almost died.”

“Died?” Alis winced. “What do you mean?”

He lowered his head and held his hair up. “Here. Do you feel that?”

She raised her fingers and gently probed until she found the bump where he’d been hit. “By the gods, Petyr! What happened?”

For a moment, he considered telling her that it had been Mora. But then, knowing Alis, she might’ve tried to punish the brat herself, and as far as Petyr was concerned, the matter was settled. “I have no idea. Just came flying out of nowhere. Must’ve been one of these fucking kids.”

Alis clicked her tongue disapproving. “Watch your mouth, Petyr.”

Technically, Alis was his stepmother, though she and his father had never married.

In fact, it was difficult to tell if there was even anything romantic between them or if this was simply a beneficial long-term partnership.

“Come on,” said Alis, dropping her hand from his head. “Let’s get you inside. I have something you can put on there.”

Petyr entered after her and closed the door, then came face to his face with his father who was emerging from his downstairs laboratory—the first place the old man set up when they moved in, even before Petyr's damned bed.

“Back already?” he said, winking at him for no conceivable reason. Another little act to drive Petyr insane.

Gregory was fifty-one, slender, with a bald head and neatly trimmed goatee that remained flecked by golden hairs. In another world where he hadn’t gone bald, his slim waist and neatness might’ve counted him among the silver foxes. But that shiny bald dome ensured that’d never happen. That he might someday inherit it was Petyr’s greatest fear in life by far.

“Some children attacked him. They nearly killed him,” Alis went on as they all made their way towards the kitchen.

Petyr slid into the seat the table while his father hovered around him, inspecting him with clinical detachment. “Are you feeling woozy?”

“No.”

“Nauseous?”

“No.”

Gregory shrugged with what seemed like acceptance. “I think he’s fine.”

Alis returned with a small wooden box. The moment she opened it, a smell so rancid hit Petyr that he never barfed his guts out right then and there.

She stuck her finger into the gooey black substance, and before there was a chance for him to react, started to rub against his new bump and into his beautiful hair.

I shouldn’t have said anything, thought Petyr with a grimace.

Gregory grabbed himself a hot cup tea and sat down opposite him at the other side of the small table. “So, how’s your love life?”

“Please don’t say those words ever again,” Petyr snapped viciously. It took all the self-control he had not to whine and moan from the pain of having that sensitive spot rubbed down.

“There we go,” said Alis, mercifully shutting the box back up. “All done.”

Petyr dreaded the fact that that smell would now be attached to himself. He touched the spot and then smelled his finger, wincing anew. Ugh. He would have to wash first thing tomorrow morning.

“You know,” his father began, “I could’ve used your help today.”

“I’m not going to be your work slave.”

“You have to embrace this part of your life, Petyr. You’re a grown man. What are you going to do? I don’t see you laboring in the mines. Alchemy is your heritage. It’s my gift to you as a father.”

Petyr sighed bitterly, nearly collapsing from the soulsucking energy. “That’s why I hate it…”

“This year, whether you like it or not, I expect you to help me out. You already know the basics. You’ll see, Petyr, once you get into the nitty gritty of it, once you understand the substances, once you control them, you’ll never want to stop. It's... it's the most beautiful act ever conceived. An act of pure creation. This goes way beyond paltry poetry and the like, you know. With this, you can actually change the world.”

The pride in that tone made Petyr feel sick. Gregory watched him with a sly little smile that said very little. For a man that was an open book, the inner thought processes of his father could be strangely impenetrable.

It occurred to Petyr that he had a thing to bring up himself. “I’ll start taking it more seriously once we go back," he said slyly. "Once we settle into a new place.”

“Go back?” Gregory seemed puzzled. “Go back where?”

“Home,” said Petyr. “To Astra. You know, the capital? The one we left? Where I was born?”

“Come on, Petyr,” said Gregory as he rose to get more tea. “That’s not your home. You haven’t been there in forever. This is our home. Life has been better for us here than it’s ever been back there.”

Wait, was he serious? Petyr hadn’t brought up this topic in ages; but he always assumed they were all on the same page. That his father was probably just putting money aside until they could go back and buy out one of the nicest buildings in the high quarter or... whatever. Just anything!

“You’re not serious,” said Petyr.

“You may not remember this, son, but we struggled there. I’m not a part of the Alchemist Guild. I can’t work there openly as I do here. Those corrupt crooks don't even allow me to sell my goods legally! Life in Astra is a day to day grind of survival. That’s no way to live.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Petyr's breath hitched in his throat. He stared at his father, mouth dry, chest ight, at a loss for words. The worst part was his face. There was such an innocent expression on his father’s face—as if this were normal! As if this weren’t a total betrayal…

“You said…” Petyr started weakly, trying to find his way, feeling a gush of emotion come over him. “You said we would go back. That’s what you said when we left!”

Gregory’s face softened, but a bit of frustration bubbled up to the surface. “Petyr, that was thirteen years ago, buddy! You were a damned baby still. And yes, I did say that. I only came here because I needed somewhere to lie low until things cooled down. I had no idea Windust would end up working out so well—that we would have such a chance at the good life here.”

It occurred to Petyr now that this was a conversation he probably should’ve had with him years ago. Not now, when he was seventeen, but when he was ten. He should’ve known about this the entire time and acted accordingly.

Instead, it felt like his world was collapsing now, all for no reason at all. Even though nothing had changed, even though nothing could be changed in the past, there was a sense now that the future was entirely up to him, and that if he wanted to leave he’d be on his own, which wasn’t at all a part of the plan.

His heart thudded in his chest. Blood rushed throughout his body, yet it felt icy cold.

Alis was in the room with them, occasionally glancing over; but she sensed the charged energy and kept out of the discussion. She hadn't been a part of their life then. She must not have thought this concerned her one way or the other.

Gregory must’ve sensed Petyr's overwhelming despair, because he shuffled over and squeezed his shoulders. “Come on, Petyr. Why would you even want to go back there? We don’t have anyone there. You’ve got a life here. You’re beloved. There’s enough cheap land that if we work together, you can build not one house, but ten houses. Get yourself ten wives too—I know you love the ladies.”

Petyr could sense the desire in his father to cheer him up, and a part of him almost smiled at the comment about the ten wives, but he suppressed it. He wouldn’t let this slide so easily. This was a deep and complete betrayal of what he thought was an unspoken agreement between them that he’d kept his part of the bargain of for all these years.

Maybe it sounded silly to say aloud, which is why he didn’t say it, maybe it didn’t really make sense… but it hurt. He felt like crying out of frustration.

“You lied to me,” he whispered, rising from the chair.

“Petyr…”

He blinked rapidly before the tears came to his eyes and stormed up to his room.

Perfect. Simply a perfect way to end the day. As if this day hadn’t been shitty enough.

In fact, this was a truly accursed day. Nothing had gone as planned, and his psyche now felt completely shattered.

What was he going to do? Just leave? He had nowhere to go. Besides, he hadn’t planned to leave immediately…

But then what if he just ended up staying forever? He had already let all these years slip by without so much as asking the question of his father. Was he going to waste another decade waiting for the right opportunity to get away?

He sat down on his bed and glanced at the open window. The stars shone beautifully in the sky. He remembered again how Mora shrieked as he threw her and let himself enjoy a dark giggle in the dark. That was delicious, yes.

Petyr could feel that open window beckoning to him.

All he had to do was fold some clothing, toss it all into a bag, take some supplies, and head out.

Or just bother with none of it.

He could just slip out through the window right now and run off into the wide world.

Gregory would no doubt be at a loss, and the thought of making his father worry and panic for real did fill him with a dark satisfaction.

Before the impulse took root for good, the door opened.

Alis popped her head in and raised her eyebrows warmly. “Got a second for me, Petyr?”

“Sure, I guess…”

She closed the door behind her and came to sit next to him on the bed. “You know, you shouldn’t let this bring you down or make you feel badly towards your father.”

“Don’t defend him!” he snarled. “You don’t know what he promised me, Alis. He said—”

“Shhh,” she said, placing an arm around his shoulders. Her breasts pressed into his side, the enveloping hot flesh sending electrifying tingles all throughout his body that ended in a very precise, very humiliating spot. It was doubtful that Alis could ever mean to arouse him on purpose.

And yet…

His gaze flickered to her lips before he could stop himself. Soft. Full. Moist.

And just a few centimeters away.

Why is she doing this? Come on...

The only thing separating the two of them were two insignificantly thin layers of clothing. This was almost cuddling. The heat of her pillowy chest pooled at his side in a way that made him instinctively want to put his lips against her mouth and and suck her hot breath into his lungs.

“You have to think about it differently,” Alis went on. “Consider it another way—you’re almost an adult. Do you want to spend every waking moment wiyh your dad? I couldn’t wait to get away from my parents. Do you see your dream life as going gray working alongside him?”

Her warm brown fingers wrapped around his hand, her thumb gently stroking his open palm. The tingles intensified, and the dread that possessed him before gave way to a soothing energy that instantly replenished his spirit. Petyr gulped dryly. “No…”

“Why would you ever want him to come back with you, sweetie? On the contrary, it’s good that he wants to stay here. It’s not a negative, it’s a positive!”

“And what do I do?…” he said, feeling uncertain. “Just go back alone?…”

“Of course. Take these few years and let him teach you his trade as he wants to. Learn everything there is. Then, Petyr, then—listen! You can go back home to Astra and start your own business. You don’t hate alchemy—you just don’t want to be around your father all day. But that’s what you’d be getting if you want him to go with you to the capital. Isn’t it better that he just stays here, at least a days ride away?”

The way she phrased him got him to chuckle. “Yes, I guess so…”

Alis squeezed him lovingly and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You see? Things are actually great. So don’t be sad. Okay?”

She was wise beyond years—totally right. Why would he want his father there? Petyr could barely stand to be around the guy for more than a few minutes at the time here at home.

His whole dream was to go back to Astra and spend his twenties having memorable experiences.

Fucking the hottest noble girls the capital had to offer.

Indulging in food and drinks he wouldn’t find anywhere else.

Meeting memorable people who could open up new avenues.

There was no place for bald, alchemy-crazed, fifty-year-old Gregory in any of that.

“You’re so right,” he said, taking a shuddering breath. A wave of relief washed over him. Maybe things weren't that bad. “What was I thinking?”

At least I have Alis...

She winked and stood up. “Then my work here is done.”

Petyr winced as her warm embrace slipped away, and he very much wished she could’ve stayed a little longer.

I don't want to be alone right now...

The floor creaked from her light footsteps as she padded over to the door. “Let’s hope that nasty bump heals soon. Good night, Petyr.”

“Good night.”

Then, as she was about to reach the door, he added, “You know I saw an attack today. Out at sea.”

Alis stopped short and turned. “Hmm?”

“I saw this ship. A pirate galleon. It was being followed by a skysail. Then the skysail just obliterated it with this huge cannon. It didn’t make a sound. Just poof. It went from ship to splinters in the blink of an eye.”

Alis listened, bobbing her head, her eyes twinkling with hint of doubt, as if she were entertaining the ravings of of an imaginative child. “Maybe you just got hit a little too hard.”

“Maybe,” he said, thinking it better not to bring up Mora’s presence, which confirmed it all as all too real. “But Soverni ships aren’t typically armed, are they?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “I imagine they have some sort of defense.”

“I’ve never heard of anyone having a cannon that could do that… I think it could level a castle in the blink of an eye, Alis,” Petyr insisted. It didn’t sound like she fully understood what he was describing.

Rather than impress her, the insistence only frustrated and bored her. “Either way, Petyr, these things don’t concern us. We’ve got no business with any of it. That’s why we live out here, by ourselves—peace and quiet.”

“Right.”

Her warm eyes stayed with him for another moment, sensing his restlessness. She pursed her lips, as if hesitating to open a long-buried chest, then said, “The Soverni are a good people. They don’t like war and causing trouble. I had a friend from there once, the sweetest girl I’ve ever known. Very religious. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to help any stranger in need. So if they have this thing you’re describing—then good. Because they tend to be the good guys.”

As if to beg him for release, she padded over and kissed him on the head one last time, whispered, “Good night, kiddo,” then left the room without looking back.

The good guys, huh? I suppose so. That was a pirate ship, after all.

Still, the whole thing still lingered in his mind. Pirate ship or not, why the hell were they all the way out here?

A few minutes later, Petyr slipped out of his clothes and dropped into bed feeling exhausted, but his mind raced in spite of it.

Alis’s words sounded comforting before, but now that he was analyzing them by himself, the whole thing began to seem incredibly dreadful.

So, she and his father weren’t planning on going back.

Which really meant that he was entirely on his own.

And he was supposed to make it… by doing alchemy?

By doing the very thing he hated and had always avoided doing?

Not only that, but she was suggesting that he spend the next few years of his life learning... but all he wanted was to get out of here as quickly as possible before he became trapped.

How many years would it take, exactly? Two? Three? Five? Was he going to leave the place at twenty-five? At thirty?

Who the hell was going to become his friend in Astra when he was thirty? At that point, he truly would be a Windustian and nothing else.

The more he thought about it, the more it became apparent he needed to leave as quickly as possible and stop deluding himself. Deep down, he knew that they were betting on his comfort keeping him from going anywhere.

I’ve spent thirteen years here already. What’s another thirty? Another fifty? Then I can just be dead. Life over.

But to leave now? What would he do? He had no coin. No skills. No idea of where to go and who to seek out. He had nothing.

The more he thought it over, the more hopeless it all seemed.

Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t.

And why the fuck did that skysail just destroy that pirate ship, huh? Those are supposed to be the good guys, just obliterating dozens of lives without even caring who’s on board?

What if some innocent girl was on board as a captive? Or an old man? Or a baby? Pirates took captives all the time.

More important still: What if I was on board?

Good guys—my ass.

At least one thing was obvious. Tomorrow was going to be a whole new day.

The day that I start looking for a way out.