Oskar was quite young when it happened. He rushed along the hallway. Reaching the treasury, he found the gate had been torn from its hinges. Bewildered, he stopped. The man appointed as his shield took one more step forward to investigate. He peered into the treasury and a blur of motion shot from within the room. He collapsed, and blood seeped out from under his armour.

Pulling his large shield up to cover his face, Oskar took the final step toward the gate as well. A metal projectile pierced the shield. The sharp edge of a throwing needle poked thought the wood at the height of his throat. He threw his torch into the room and it rolled over the floor. The light reflected in puddles of blood and the armour of dead guards. Seeing nothing else inside the treasury, he carefully shifted forward, holding the wooden shield steady. He passed the threshold and paused again, peering into the shadows. He could swear he saw something. He held perfectly still, staring intently at that shadow.

A man separated from the darkness. He was covered from head to toe in black cloth. Slowly but deliberately, he walked straight toward Oskar. Oskar flexed his fingers round the haft of his axe. As soon as the intruder was in striking distance, he lunged. His axe met a parrying dagger, and before he knew it, the intruder was behind him. Oskar ducked just in time. A second dagger met his shield from the inside. Oskar tried to pull away, but the intruder had his dagger, and the shield it was buried in, in a forceful grip. Letting the shield go, Oskar backed out of reach and ended up in a corner of the treasury. The intruder pushed the shield against the nearest wall, pinned it with a knee, and yanked his dagger back out.

“Who are you?!”, Oskar demanded.

The intruder did not answer. He turned his head toward the open gate and suddenly fell to the ground. An arrow soared over him. He tumbled to the side and back onto his feet. When guards passed the threshold, he stabbed the first in the throat and the second in the chest, punching straight through the chainmail. He picked up the fallen guard’s bow and put an arrow to the string, lifting it to aim out of the room. Oskar pushed off from the wall and charged him, but he let the arrow fly before Oskar could stop him. Letting the bow go, he caught a hold of Oskar’s axe with both hands, forcing the axe head away from his body.

Oskar pushed on, pinning the intruder against the wall with the haft. The intruder kicked at him, but he did not relent. After a few more kicks, the intruder stilled, and then shook his head. His mask came loose and revealed a pair of empty eyes. Complete void stared back at Oskar. Fear gripped his soul, squeezed so hard that the air left his lungs. Deep suffering washed over him, memories of blood and carnage which he had never witnessed. Everything went dark. The only thing remaining in his field of vision were the bright white eyes, and the tears in them.

That was when he saw it. The horror invading his mind belonged to the intruder. The man was lost in melancholy. He was miserable. He was terrified; not of death, pain, or punishment, but of himself. He wanted nothing more than to die. He had the means to do it, right there under his tongue, but he was not allowed to use it. Not yet. He was a pitiful creature.

Oskar jerked his head forward, headbutting the intruder hard enough to bang his head against the wall and knock him out. Clasping his hands over his forehead, Oskar groaned in pain. The room spun around him for a moment. When Oskar came to, the intruder had several swords pointed at him. Oskar waved a hand to hold them back, but his guards hesitated to follow the order.

“Back!”, Oskar barked.

The guards finally complied, easing away a couple of steps. Crouching down beside the man in black, Oskar checked his breathing. “He is dead. Inform my father. Get help to clean this up and to bury the dead with dignity. And move the treasury.”

Once all the guards had left, Oskar scooped the unconscious man off the ground and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He hurried down the spiral staircase all the way into the dungeons. Knowing full well that the castle’s own dungeon was no longer in use, he lay his captive down in one of the empty cells, and fastened him with shackles anchored deep in the stone flooring. Tipping the captive’s head back, Oskar reached into his mouth and retrieved the escape. He also stripped his captive, to ensure that he had no further weapons hidden anywhere.

Oskar hurried back upstairs to make sure no one missed him. He reported that he threw the dead intruder into the river in his rage over the carnage. Infuriated by the loss of comrades, no one questioned him on it.

Returning to the dungeon a while later, Oskar saw that his captive had opened his eyes. The empty gaze was fixed on the ceiling. The man lay so still, Oskar wondered if he had died after all. Oskar took a deep breath before unlocking the cell and stepping inside. The man turned his head toward the sound. Oskar avoided the empty gaze, but he could feel something tugging at his soul, urging him to look. Focusing his eyes on the captive’s shoulder, Oskar came closer.

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“Who are you?”

There came no answer.

“You are hollow, right?”, Oskar tired.

The man nodded.

“Who sent you?”

Again, no answer.

“Can you speak?”, Oskar asked.

A shake of the head.

Oskar sighed and sat down well out of reach for the hollow. “What in the world am I going to do with you?”

The hollow finally blinked.

Oskar peered down into the water. It was almost too quiet out here. Only the splashing of the waves against the boat reached their ears. He was still not entirely sure how far they had to row out for true privacy, but he figured that as long a he could not hear the city, the city could not hear him.

“He followed any order. He sat when he was told to, ate when he was told to, shat when he was told to. I had to keep him busy all the time just to keep him from withering away. He barely slept, so I had to get pretty creative at times. Eventually, he said ‘yes’. That was his first word. I started teaching him how to speak. He picked it up quickly. He is like a sponge for information. It was easier from there on. The library kept him busy while I slept.” Oskar huffed a laugh. “One day, a servant asked his name and he said ‘Theodorus’. He claims that I gave him the name, but I am pretty sure he got it from some story.”

“Does Tone know?”, Sylvia asked. “Or Una and Ida?”

Oskar shook his head. “It was before Tone became a guard at our castle.” He met Sylvia’s eyes. “Over the years, Theodorus has become more of his own person. After about two years, he disagreed with me for the first time. It was quite the milestone. He went from being this empty, dark, tormented void to being an actual person with opinions. I saw him grow into a human being. He means a lot to me, so I beg you not to expose him. He has good in him. He did not do any of those horrible things. He was made to do them. He was used like a puppet on strings.”

“I understand. I do not intend to tell anyone”, Sylvia ensured.

“Thank you.”

Sylvia smiled at that. “You are welcome, but truth be told, I have my own reasons for wanting him around.”

“He is fond of you”, Oskar said.

“I know.”

“I mean really”, Oskar emphasised.

Sylvia nodded. “I know. He told me that he loves me.”

Oskar’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “I am glad to hear that. He is still growing it seems. I have a feeling he learns a lot from being around you. He has been much more lively.” Turning to Sylvia with his entire body, Oskar cleared his throat. “Can I ask what you feel?”

Sylvia did not answer. “What are his abilities?”, she asked instead.

“He is a very skilled assassin. He can go unseen. He is incredibly skilled in close combat and has near perfect accuracy with any thrown object. He also knows a bit of medicine”, Oskar answered.

“No, I mean what sort of magic can he cast?”

“I do not think he knows magic”, Oskar frowned. “The soul stealing part seems to be fables.”

Sylvia frowned back at him. “Of course he does. You just told me how he wrapped your soul in his own fear and misery.”

“I doubt that was magic. I just saw him, you know? I saw his soul.”

“He has none”, Sylvia challenged.

“He must have. He is alive, is he not?”

Sylvia hummed to herself. “Only a sliver”, she said quietly. Then how could he develop over time, if he had as much soul as a dog? Could a soul repair itself?

“Sylvia?”, Oskar prompted.

“What exactly is that thing under his tongue? The escape? Is it a means of suicide? Would that not be incredibly painful?”

“Yes and yes. It has other uses as well. It can be a hidden tool. For one, he can pick a lock with it. He has also been known to use it to intimidate people” Oskar made a face at the memory. “But the main idea is that it can be swallowed and will tear open the throat on its way down. The bleeding causes death by asphyxiation soon thereafter.”

“Why did you give it back?”, Sylvia asked.

“I assure you, I did not give it back to him. He made a new one. When I ordered him to hand it over, he made another. He claims it is essential that he has it, in case he is captured. If I kept forcing him to give the escape to me, I would have quite a collection.”

“He sounds determined”, Sylvia commented.

“Stubborn is more like it.” Oskar sighed. “I think it is a remnant of his former life. I suppose it comforts him somehow to have it. He often plays with it when he gets excited. It may seem twisted to me, but what right do I have to dictate his personal choices?”

“Fair enough.”

Oskar sighed again. “At least so I tell myself. Truth be told, I worry about him sometimes. I sincerely hope he puts that thing aside someday.”

Sylvia eyed Oskar for a long moment. She wondered if he realised just what a wondrous feat he had accomplished by breaking Theodorus’s control, and capturing a hollow alive. And now he was shouldering another difficult task. One thing was for certain, he really did care about the people around him. He cared so much, he could even find compassion for a soulless assassin.

“On a different topic, have you chosen a queen yet?”, Sylvia asked.

Oskar shook his head. “I asked Thorun. It would have been difficult, but if anyone deserved a crown, it was her.”

“If I may be so forward…”, Sylvia began.

“Please, always be frank with me. I value your advice.”

“Aulikki LiljaKnut. Let me write a letter with your proposal. She may just be able to send us some troops, or at least food and equipment. After Holms Fäste, the soldiers will be weary and still have a great battle ahead of them. We can use all the help we can get.”

“Do you think Yri would object?”, Oskar asked.

“I doubt it. There are no more suitable candidates alive any more. But I will make sure to ask her before sending the letter”, Sylvia said.

Oskar looked toward the city of Fristad in thoughtful silence. “Do you think we have any chance?”

“I think we have to try. If we do not, this cape of demons is doomed. The suffering will never end. If you do not ascend, chaos will prevail and a tyrant will rule.”

“Send the letter”, Oskar agreed. He took a hold of the ores, but Sylvia waved a hand to stop him.

“Speaking of chances. I have a plan, but you are not going to like it, and Yri would never agree.”