The gnomes in charge of the guild hall construction ran around the building. Some running in and out, some on the rooftop. It was quite the sight when you actually stopped and watched what each gnome did. Some were just gophers, carrying tools and materials in and out of the nearly completed building. Others, the more experienced, obviously, snatched the tools away and banged or sawed away.

Apprentices and masters. Employees and bosses. I stepped into the building proper, dodging out of the way of an oncoming novice gnome crafter hauling a large—large for him anyway, normal if not slightly small for me—plank of wood down the hallway leading to the cafeteria and Rita’s lab. I looked over to the staircase, sitting down on the guild’s front desk. Up those stairs was my destination, Len’s office. My boss’s office.

I wasn't sure why I even began focusing on that particular relationship structure. Maybe Ingrid’s words from the previous night hung in my head. How she worked for my boss. In what capacity didn’t matter much. Just that it was true. It may have been a passing thought last night, but after my subconscious tossed it around in my brief slumber I came to the realization that in fact, just about every relationship I made in Kniyas thus far have pretty much taken on that dynamic. I was told to do something, and I did.

Len told me to join the Legion. I did. Jaren told me to train harder. I did. Daila told me to study more. I did.

It's not as if I hated it, either. I’m not some rebel, some dude who wants to fight the system. Those guys usually just ended up smoking pot in their mothers’ basement, unemployed and alone. It didn’t always end that way, of course, some did pull themselves up by the bootstraps and build something with their own hands. Become the boss, as it were. But not many.

I always thought of myself as one of those people who went with the flow more often than not, finding happiness in the smaller things in life. A really good book, game or movie enjoyed with a friend or even a paramour. That’s it. And I think that’s true for the majority. They were either content or complacent with where their lives were. And I considered myself among their number.

I was never like my grandfather. The man never once had a boss, and authority figure. He was his own authority. “March to the beat of your own drum, Liam. Not others’. Never others’.” He would say, attempting to instill his core values into me. They never quite stuck, though. I wasn’t born with whatever drove him to strive forward for no one but himself. To throw his weight around, to blaze his trail, consequences be damned. An obsession so burdensome in my eyes. And thank God Almighty, he wasn’t evil. I could only imagine the trouble he’d have wrought upon the Earth if he had been, at least when compared to the good he brought. And acts of evil tended to be infinitesimally easier to pull off.

But even living through some of the worst times in Earth’s history, fighting through both world wars, he chose to fight so that he would leave behind something better, on his terms and no one else’s. It was a passion that blinded me and evaded me.

Yet, after last night, I found myself thinking along those very lines. Seeing how the Feral’s lived, how detested they were. How detested I was. I was locked up right after I saved lives, for crying out loud. And I was expected to fight and possibly die for these people. People who couldn’t care less whether I did or not. Who deemed me unworthy of a home or family, purely based on the fact I wasn’t born in the confines of this city. How can I fight and defend such a heinous society? Why should I?

I understood Kniyas was different. This ever looming threat of a horde of monsters coming down and literally destroying everything forced people into making harsh choices. But such inhumane ones and forcing families to live in cramped basements, scrounging for and eating scraps.

It also made no sense whatsoever. They were people that could fight and create. Why would you exile and treat them so? Wouldn’t you want to bolster your forces as much as possible with such a persistent threat on your hands?

So I chose to skip another more than likely fruitless training session with people who wouldn’t take me seriously. To get these questions answered by the only one who could. I closed my eyes and slowly inhaled. Then hopped off the desk and walked up the stairs and through the hallway. I stood before the door, and held its handle. A single bead of sweat dripped down the side of my face.

Click.

I swung the door open. Len sat at his desk, pen in hand, scratching away at a journal. His eyes tilted up; he cracked a grin. “Liam, when did you get here? Don’t you have squad training today? Jaren will have a fit when he finds out a new trainee is slacking off.”

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I slowly walked over to the desk, his smugness irritating me. He was fully aware of my presence the second I walked into the building. I sat down and looked right into the flame mage’s eyes.

“I went to the Gloom last night.” I said, ignoring the usual banter and small talk to get right to the point. Len picked up on my tone quickly, placing his pen down and closing the notebook.

“I know. Wynn told me you went off with Ingrid.” He said in a cheerful tone, that pissed me off for some reason. “Didn’t expect our little city to have a place like that, did you? I’d avoid it, though, your Aura is fine how it is. Plus, we don’t need you racking up debt, either. But on the topic of your Aura, Rita found some interesting—” I slammed my fist on the armrest, cracking it slightly.

“Stop Len. It’s my turn to talk.” He stared back into my eyes, completely expressionless. The chill ran down my spine. After a tense few seconds, Len leaned back in his chair, waving his hand.

”I met with some Ferals last night. I saw how they lived. Forced to hide and huddle around small fires. Then I heard and witnessed first hand how they are seen by the people of this city. Your people came in and ransacked the place, interrogating elders and children for chrissakes. And even…” My mind replayed the terrible event with that antennaed splicer. How he treated and spoke to Ingrid. Heat rose up inside my chest and face.

Len closed his eyes, then exhaled through his nose. “I know. It's awful.”

“No, I don’t really think you do, Len. You’re loved and recognized by this town. Even when the whole of my squad ignored me during training, people still spoke about you. How great you are. Hell, it's probably the only reason why they didn’t outright attack me. Oh wait, one of them did.”

“And you put him in his place.”

“Yeah. And how many more times will I have to? How many other uppity fucks am I going to have to shut up before they see me as an equal? I’ve got the answer. Too goddamned many.”

“Then do so. Do it. Put them in their place.” Len said.

“And for what exactly, to keep up the status quo. So the Ferals can keep being stomped on for no reason.”

Len’s left eye twitched. “Yes, or at least until we can change it for the better.”

I shook my head. “Oh and that’s that is it? I bring it up, and now we’re going to fix it for the better. Screw off. I’m not so naive as to not have seen the manipulation tactics your crew, and you especially, have used on me. Pure 48 laws of power type shit. But I didn’t honestly care. I was having fun and finding some purpose. This guild’s mission. Exploring the untamed Kniyan wilderness sounds awesome and exciting and life changing. And I understood that fighting in the raids was a part of the price for that freedom. But if all that comes at the cost of children starving, then I couldn’t give the smallest flying fuck about any of it.”

“You don’t understand everything about the Ferals. What they did to deserve—”

“TO DESERVE! What the fuck have those children done to deserve this treatment?!” My fist flew through the armrest this time.

Flames circled around Len for a moment, but it didn’t stop me. I held his angered gaze, readying myself to go into Tigris form.

I’ve no clue how long we stared at each other like that. Time either raced by or stayed still for the duration of that staredown, until the flames died down. Len closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead with one hand.

“I’m not lying about wanting to change Laurel. I’ve known about the Ferals' terrible living conditions for far longer than you.”

“Why haven’t you changed anything?!” I shouted back, emotion still coursing through me.

But Len didn’t get swept up in my whirlwind. “Who do you think keeps those flames going in Ranj’s shelters? I’m sure my number one apprentice noticed something similar about those flames.”

A quick vision of the small smokeless fires, powered by small sigils ran through my mind.

“And over seventy percent of my income goes back into them.” Len said. “And you’re right. Deserve was the wrong word. Maybe warrant. I don’t know, it doesn’t matter much. What does matter is that I do in fact understand their pain. Far, far more than you.”

“What is this where you reveal you’re a Feral? That you rose up from the bottom and got to the top.” I sneered.

He shook his head. “No, that’d be a bit too poetic. I am city born through and through. Not Laurelhaven as you know. Tiamantis doesn’t even have a Feral population. Much too dangerous up there. The climate alone is enough to kill the unprepared, not counting the multitude of beasts.”

He leaned forward. “No, the whole Feral business was completely new to me upon my arrival to this city, some twenty five years ago. So please trust me on this.”

I shook my head again. “I need more than that, Len.”

He sighed, then stood up and walked over to one of the windows in the office. “It's a long story.”

“Doesn’t bother me one bit, I’ve got nothing else to do today.”

Len chuckled softly. “But you do, you just don’t see it yet.” He returned to the desk, sitting in one of the chairs next to mine.

“Then let me tell you the tale of the Great Fountain Massacre.”