Ben had been sixteen years old.

He’d been in the Hounds unit for nine years, and by then, his low, pond scum level in society had been well ingrained into his being.

It was fine, though. While the men in his unit weren’t quite what some would call friends, they were a source of company. The reason that no loyalty was properly bred largely lay in the fact that they were never in the same unit for longer than a month or two. Additionally, when they weren’t in active duty, they were sent off to perform labor intensive, mind numbing tasks, and were forbidden from talking. Jobs like building a new wall for their barracks, or digging a new well, fixing the roofs… Activities that made the men sweat, be covered in filth, and at the end of each day, collapse into their cots in the large room the units shared.

Though Ben was a little unlike his fellow Hounds in one particular way…

Commander Cross.

The commander was twenty years older than Ben, and it had been him that had ushered the frightened seven year old into the unit, even though recruitment for the Hounds usually only took children five years old.

So while Ben wasn’t always a part of Commander Cross’s unit, he was with him far more than any of his other Hound comrades. As a result, of the man keeping an eye out for him.

And so it was on one fateful night after their unit had located a couple of witches hiding in a hut in the woods that Ben had learned the truth from his commander who had almost become like a brother or parental figure to him…

The Hounds had apprehended the magic users they’d been tasked with hunting down, had successfully restrained them, and had then waited until the king’s army extradited them.

Once that was over? The entire unit finally got to rest, and on this particular occasion? Drink.

Given how rarely such a reward was doled out to inferior beings such as themselves, the unit drank heartily, and all talked with excited wonder about the strange things they’d seen in the witch hut…

Odd sketchings, silly poems, plumes of feathers that were so vivid in color they almost didn’t seem real!

Yet despite the revelry surrounding Ben as he enjoyed the frothy ale in a prime seat by the fire, the stars happily twinkling through the forest foliage, he couldn’t help but notice that Commander Cross wasn’t anywhere in sight. So, grabbing an extra tankard of ale, he made his way to the commander’s tent to cajole the commander into joining them.

Only the man was sitting at his desk already drunk, his face clasped in his hands, his elbows braced on his desk.

“Sir?” Ben called out, noting the usual disarray of the tent—though the disheveled state of the commander wasn’t the norm.

Ben’s eyes lingered on the decanter that barely had three fingers left of whiskey. It looked as beautiful as fresh frost in winter, and he had never seen anything sparkle quite so exquisitely before in his life.

“Hozel!” the commander barked in surprise before standing.

The commander was a big man, but not overweight. He was six foot five, with brown hair he wore tied back in a short ponytail, and somber blue eyes. He had broad shoulders, and it was his build alone that could draw everyone’s attention to him in a room, but there was a certain roundness to his posture, and avoidance when it came to eye contact that helped diminish his presence when his own superiors were present.

“Commander, I brought you some ale…” Ben said slowly, eyeing the glass filled with the warm hued liquor that matched the decanter.

It took the commander half a minute of swaying on his feet to slump back into his seat, a pitying smile on his lips. “Hozel…. You poor bastard. You think of me highly don’t you?”

Ben stiffened. The thin steel handle of the tankard was biting into his hand as he clutched it more tightly. He’d never heard the commander speak so crudely.

“Of course, sir, you… You’re why I’m in the army and not a pet in some noble’s house.”

“Why is the army better, do you think?” the commander slurred while plucking up his glass and staring at the contents.

“I… I have a purpose. I’m serving the kingdom, and I… I can be free one day, and I-”

Commander Cross laughed darkly, anguish blooming as shadows in his eyes“Oh, Hozel. I’ve doomed you. I got you into this awful, horrific mess. You’ve committed more sins than anyone could count at this point. And it’s all because I recommended you to the army. I made them make an exception despite your age…” The commander tossed back the rest of the liquor in his glass, and while he was only in his mid-thirties, he suddenly appeared two decades older.

“I don’t understand, sir. Have I done something…?” Ben’s hands started trembling, and so he risked inching forward to set the drinks down on the desk to avoid making a mess and perhaps to feel a bit more prepared for whatever was unfolding before him.

The commander couldn’t even look at him.

“Hozel. Do you know what that witch couple we captured today allegedly did wrong?”

“Used magic… sir?”

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“Yes. They did use magic. They used magic to help get rid of an insect infestation in the local farmer’s fields. They saved not only the village nearby by sparing the crops, but the jobs of countless others, and now they are going to be burned, hung, or—if they’re lucky? Thrown in the king’s dungeon. Where he’ll use them to his own benefit to strengthen his power.”

“But I thought… That isn’t… No, that’s not it! We-we are the Hounds and we find people using magic that does harm–”

The commander’s head whipped around as he stared up at Ben in bleak amazement.“Why do you believe everything you hear? You were told you were going to the market on your birthday to buy candy with your mother, and instead you were sold. You should know people lie to make others do what they want.”

Ben took a step backward, nausea and a flush of tingling setting him on edge.

“We lie. Everyone in a position of power lies. You’re just another person magically inclined. A bloody dodder. You don’t know enough to be a witch, but enough to be useful to the king.” At last the commander looked at Ben, and it hit him…

The full disgusting truth of the commander’s words.

The commander wasn’t lying or saying nonsense because he was drunk.

“Why hasn’t anyone-”

“The monarchs have been building power for years. Stealing magic users. Bolstering their own reserves… You have no idea how much power they control.”

Ben felt a lump rising in his throat, and he floundered as to what to say or do.

“You were so eager to please others, Hozel. So naturally gifted at seeing the bigger picture. At sensing magic… I thought the army was better for you than carting you off to some noble, or the king’s secret dungeon. Because at least you’d see the outside world, and maybe, like you said, you’d earn freedom on your own. But I think I made a mistake. I think I’ve sold your soul without you even knowing it.” The commander’s unsteady gaze shifted to the tent opening, where the distant sounds of revelry from Ben’s unit could be heard.

“Ben, I’ve heard rumors that the crown prince wants to make magic legal to profit on it publicly. I don’t know if he’s a better person than his parents or grandparents, or if he simply sees the opportunity for filling his coffers. But if it’s true? I’m going to die. They don’t want anyone to remember this part of history, and I don’t want to die without you knowing the truth. Hate me, Hozel. You, more than anyone deserves to.” A sad smile stretched over the commander’s weathered, pale face. “Hate me and blame me, because it isn’t your fault. None of this is. You had no choice.”

Ben couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even twitch. And after a moment, in the stunned, ringing silence, he noticed he was shaking.

“Get out, Ben. Go drink, and forget I said anything. Only remember this if what I think comes to pass does.”

The commander waved his hand, and after stumbling out of the tent on legs that forgot how to work.

Ben couldn’t recall the rest of the night other than the spiral of thoughts that came after the talk.

What could he do?

What power did he have to change a damn thing?

Should he tell any of the other Hounds?

Would they believe him?

Would they care?

Technically nothing was different now that he knew the truth… Not really. Only that he understood what he was doing when he went out with his unit on orders.

But it was different.

And he realized the fact by the next mission, when he felt tears in his eyes after he’d found a girl of eight years old charming mushrooms to make them dance with her. Before he would’ve assumed she’d done something horrible, but now he knew the reality…

He felt sick to his stomach.

The mission after that, he’d found an old warlock who had helped over five hundred women give birth safely, the witch had died while being restrained, and as a result Ben had stopped being able to sleep for months. Before, he would’ve assumed the warlock was using the blood of the children he delivered to do something horrid.

The mission after that? He was violently ill after they apprehended a pregnant woman.

Ben didn’t even know if she was a witch, or if her unborn was simply a dodder.

All he knew was that they’d found the faint wisps of silver over their cottage, and made the arrest.

He was violently ill after that.

It was during those moons after learning the secret of what his unit was used for that he’d picked fights with his comrades, and while there hadn’t been an abundance of closeness before, there suddenly wasn’t even a whisper of amicability as a result.

It wasn’t until he’d met her that things had gotten better.

The woman he still needed to help.

The one he had risked stealing from Oleg for.

He owed her.

He owed her everything. So even though he was free? He had a debt that was bigger than magic hanging over his head.