Moish cupped the still-warm yeast bun in his feet as he leaned against the sturdy exterior of the guardhouse. Foot traffic here had come to a screeching halt due to the constant attacks, which gave him time for the finer things in life. With great care, he withdrew a small knife from his belt and sliced the precious treasure in half. Immediately, he pressed the two halves back together, so none of the steam could leak out.

Like a world-renowned diamond setter, he squinted and removed his ultimate prize from a small bag at his waist: a hunk of aged butter, gleaming golden in the light. Looking at the piece of delicious fat, it was almost impossible to ignore the constant screams from the battlefield. Moish’s arms blurred as he opened the bun, placed the butter within, and then closed the bun back up. For several seconds he just breathed, studying the result intently. The long toes of his feet trembled, worried he would drop it, worried his concern would crush the delicious morsel.

Only after ten seconds passed did Moish allow himself a smile of victory.

Life was good, despite the chaos around them.

“Trutleline pride will doom us all,” Raddeus paced around the edges of the civilian entrance they currently guarded, his eyes wild. Echoes of the melee happening at the edge of the barrier could be heard through all of Homewell, but the walls themselves seemed to pick up the thread of violence and resonate with screams. It had made Raddeus… decidedly twitchy. His legs spasmed with each step. “Without our warning, the casualties would have been catastrophic! We should be treated as heroes! Yet, because we revealed the Captain had abandoned his post, we are being punished-”

“We are kept away from the fighting,” Moish pointed out. He blew on the bun; he wanted it to be warm, but not too warm, so he could savor the rich yeasty flavor of every bite. “They might have bruised their pride, but there are some lines that they will not cross. In a way, this is a reward.”

“We took a pay cut,” Raddeus spun on a fist and started sweeping back in the other direction. “To better suit our new responsibilities.”

Shrugging, Moish decided to ignore the bad vibes being thrown off by the younger Homid and eat the bun. After all, money would get them nowhere rotting in one of the many ditches being dug around Homewell to defend against the Nether assault.

But just as he raised it to his watering mouth, a figure cautiously moved through the gate and glanced around at the interior. Defensive Engravings shimmered briefly under his feet as he passed through the threshold, but didn’t activate; not some Nether spy then. The being was of indeterminate race, although tall, lean, and possessing long, clean limbs. He had wild black hair which framed his face well and piercing green eyes. His left arm appeared artificial, metallic and with a large hole in his palm, but he moved it just as naturally as if it had been flesh.

Flicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Moish lowered the bun. First, they would need to work. The two of them were stationed at the civilian door more to keep people from fleeing the city, thereby weakening the Turtleline lifeseal keeping the Nether forces out, but they still had a duty to inspect all trying to come into Homewell.

“Sir, you do not wear a robe,” Raddeus rounded on the figure, his eyes narrowed. All the anxiety in his body morphed into tension, aimed directly at the new arrival. “Although Homewell isn’t usually a stickler about such things, robes have become mandatory, in light of the Nether’s offensive. Please display your affiliations.”

Moish sighed. You rail against their small excesses against us, but you don’t even notice the large systems of oppression that give them that power…

The black-haired figure shrugged. If he noticed the aggression directed toward him, he didn’t show it. “Unfortunately, my robe was burned away during a fight against a Nether patrol. But I can tell you I came from-”

“You don’t have a spare?” Raddeus leaned forward, weight concentrated in the front of the knuckles. His body posture practically broadcast, ‘I am about to attack.’ Moish wondered if this fool youngling had ever been in a real fight before.

The man smiled without any guile. Suddenly Moish’s hackles began to rise; he didn’t detect even the whiff of an image from this man. His eyes clearly promised he stood there, but no other senses could place him. “There have been a lot of battles against Nether in recent days. And with robes now being mandatory, it’s quite hard to avoid having them damaged.”

“What business do you have in the city?” Moish cut in, Raddeus shot him a shocked look, but he waved a leg. Best not to mess with this strange man. He should have known immediately, considering the fact he was coming to Homewell in a time of crisis. “I will allow him to borrow one of my spare robes if it comes to it.”

“Moish!” Raddeus seemed scandalized.

The man turned to Moish. “I come from the North, looking for a man called Swacc. I believed he should be part of a diplomatic envoy sent to Homewell. I have certain materials that he requires for his work.”

“He will be in command headquarters then,” Moish grunted and gestured back out the gate. After making the promise to lend out the robe, he suddenly regretted the offer. How would his robe fit this man’s undersized arms? “Near the worst of the fighting, a bunch of tents and officious-looking individuals striding around in robes. Maybe shouting orders. You can’t miss them.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Something in the being’s smile sharpened. “I was hoping to greet him away from the chaos of the fighting, where our meeting could be… slightly quieter. Can I-” The man paused then and sniffed. His expression brightened, all the barred blade of his smile vanishing. “Something smells great. Buttered yeast rolls?”

Moish’s traitorous eyes swung down to land on the still-steaming bun he held in his hand. Even just its shape was plump and tantalizing; it was no wonder the black-haired man fixated on it almost immediately. For a second, Moish cursed himself for waiting to long to eat the special treat he had purchased this morning; by now, the optimal amount of heat had passed. With more fleeing every second.

Yet simultaneously, a memory rose to the surface of his mind. His father, his fists so massive he could split open even a Turtleline shell with a single blow, chiding the young child who secreted away his sweets. “Moish, sure, you might need to gobble up less if you share. But you get less fat, too. So cut off your old man a piece, hehe.”

Moish’s legs trembled. “Ahem. A… common bun. But if you are hungry-”

“I can tell someone poured a lot of love into that thing.” The individual’s eyes became almost luminously green. But even then, not a hint of image wafted around him.

Moish practically flinched at such an accurate nose. Suddenly, he regretted assisting this strange traveler who seemed scrupulously self-controlled. He had only made the offer to be polite, yet in the face of such genuine anticipation, he could only tear the bun in half. He stifled a sniffle as a last puff of steam flew up out of the bun. He offered it to the man.

A tear raced down his cheek.

Meanwhile, the stranger took the bun without a thought and ate it in a single gulp. His grin widened and he smacked his lips in pleasure. “Yea, definitely great. I owe you one.”

You owe me nothing, Moish thought. Please just pass through and never darken my doorstep again…!

*****

Swacc’s skin prickled as he walked back through the streets of Homewell to the lodging provided for him by the Turtlelines. The thoroughfares were mostly deserted as the sun set; the constant attacks had begun to take their toll on commerce. And the merchants that remained steadily upped their prices, to match the risk of coming into the city.

Yet Swacc’s attention remained inward. His mind raced. Had he miscalculated? No, that sort of thinking would just weaken his resolve and distract him from the genuine threats on his life. Nether King Hungry Eye was the type of man who pressed his fingers on the scale to repay grudges. Considering the constant warnings his instincts had been pinging over the past twenty-four hours, the enemy approached.

What he hadn’t expected was how harsh the anticipation would be. Even after only a few hours, it already ground against his psyche. Made him doubt himself, flinch at shadows, shaken up the usually smooth flow of his thoughts.

Swacc gestured imperiously and the boy, who had been stopping to kick a stone across the street, hurried to catch up. One of many contingencies, just in case. Well, if anything, this just makes the timing of my vengeance better. I won’t be able to mobilize the Homewell defenses, but the Turtlelines won’t take kindly to a Nether King within their city… and his abilities should be severely restricted…

Clearing his throat, Swacc turned to the other annoyance that buzzed along after him. “Truly, Colonel, there is no need to escort me back to my lodgings. Especially considering… the trying nature of the task we’ve assigned you: capturing Nether Kings alive. I would understand if you wished to retire to your own quarters for a rest.”

The arrogant young colonel smiled indulgently at Swacc and pushed his blue-grey hair out of his face. “You know I’ve been given very specific orders to see to your every need, considering your importance as a guest from Malloon. I would be remiss if I allowed your safety to come into question even once. Forgive my nagging. I will only sleep easy after seeing you safely to your bed.”

Well, fine. One more safety blanket, even an uncomfortable one. Swacc continued striding forward. The sooner they arrived at the destination-

Mid-stride, Swacc froze. Because there, standing in the middle of the sparsely populated street, was the foe he had been waiting for, seeming to belong there. He wore a shabby brown robe and released not even the slightest hint of Nether. But he wouldn’t mistake those piercing emerald eyes anywhere.

Swacc began to sweat, knowing how close they were. Considering the height of the Nether King’s body refining, a twitch would bring his fingers to tighten around his throat.

“Nether King Hungry Eye.” Swacc’s hand twitched. His voice came out as a croak and he hated feeling this weak. He sucked a breath through his teeth and ran through the preparations he had made in his mind. His equipment was covered in tight Engravings. His own image was fully prepared. The child’s ability was still weak, but a strong enough shock should awaken it. In the aftermath, Swacc himself wouldn’t exactly be himself- well, the result was still acceptable. The Swacc Family would thrive, even if his daughter had tossed aside their name.

“Did you say Nether King?” The Colonel gasped and pulled two hatchets from his back. Both relevant figures ignored him.

“Drane Swacc. A brave and foolish slug,” The Nether King’s face twisted with fury. Even with his Nether suppressed by the vaunted Turtleline Holy Formation, waves of formless pressure rolled off his body. Swacc’s certainty that a hand would soon close around his neck grew stronger still.

He stood without moving, yet flickering shadows of imaginary attacks danced in Swacc’s vision. He had to steel himself not to flinch, repeatedly. The Nether King didn’t approach, but his calm words felt like approaching footsteps. “What I don’t understand… is what gave you the confidence to reveal yourself. Not that it matters. For slaughtering and blackmailing your competition, for treating the lives of the people in Malloon as trivia, for endangering my people on the skyislands-”

Swacc tensed, expecting the attack to come. At his side, the useless colonel blinked several times, still holding his weapons.

But Nether King didn’t move. His eyes widened as he looked, first at the child cowering next to Swacc and the Colonel next to him. A strange expression of grief passed over his features; all the aggression in his stance vanished. “The boy… that’s Eliot Swacc, isn’t it?”

Swacc stiffened. How the hell could he be aware of this spawn of an ancillary bloodline?!? Does he also know his ability-

The weight in the Nether King’s gaze grew even more apparent as he shifted to look at the Colonel with the blue-grey hair. “And you… your last name should be Matteo, yes?”