That evening the four of them gathered around the kitchen table. Sam had fried up a mess of vegetables and cuts of ham, and poured a spicy Jade Empire sauce over the whole of it that reduced to a thickly sweet dark syrup.

Harald, freshly washed, had been gratified to realize he’d lost weight; despite the copious amounts of food he was devouring each day, somehow he’d become trimmer; he still sported a belly, still looked much the same in the mirror, but not only had he tightened his belt by a new notch, he felt different.

He felt at once more aware of his body, felt more in control of himself. The aches and pains that had become a near constant had begun to fade, so that no matter how hard he pushed himself he no longer felt the same crippling soreness the next day, and the result was a sense of… well. Burgeoning fitness?

So it was that he sat at the dining table, proud, hungry, and feeling good.

Sam dished out the main course while Vic poured the wine. Nessa nibbled on a slice of bread and watched Harald.

“We’ve received the latest demand for payment,” said Sam, sitting down. “We’re now officially overdue. We have one month to make good, and then we’ll be fined and in default as they begin the court proceedings to claim the house. In about eight weeks, we’ll be evicted.”

“So it goes,” said Harald, unconcerned.

“So it goes?” Nessa eyed him curiously, ignoring the plate that Sam had served. “I admire your sangfroid, Harry. Vic did his best to explain what brought this change about, but I’m mystified. Harald. Where did that sweet, bumbling boy go?”

Vic eyed Harald, clearly curious as to how he’d respond.

For a moment it was all Harald could do to move his food around in his bowl. His emotions rose up in a swirl, and he saw again Vorakhar’s grinning demonic visage, the dire rats leaping around him, that knowledge that he was going to die alone and unmourned in the first level of the dungeon.

How easy it’d be to simply say ‘Oh, you know, I was cursed by the same demon that my father supposedly slew, and now I don’t know if it’s me or the demon seed that can’t stop chasing down my old dreams.’

But to admit that was madness.

“I…” He didn’t want to lie, either, though. “Did Vic tell you about Yeoric and his betrayal?”

Nessa nodded, tearing another tiny piece off her slice.

“I went down into the dungeon by myself after that. And did as well as you can imagine.” He tried for a smile, but felt too self conscious. “I almost died. And I guess I had a moment of accounting, down there in the dark. As to who I was, what I’d accomplished thus far in my life, where I was going.”

“Inspiring,” said Nessa, taking Vic’s wine glass and near draining it in one gulp. “What?” she said to Vic, raising an eyebrow. “I can’t drink wine, now?”

“Not mine, at any rate.”

“Then pour me a glass.”

Vic hesitated.

“I’m wrestling with glory, not wine.” She took up her goblet, tossed the water out on the flagstones behind her, and set it by the bottle with a thump. “Or am I to be treated like a child in every respect? Harald.” She turned to him with a forced smile. “Rats, was it?”

“Rats,” agreed Harald, uneasy. Vic hesitated then poured a few fingers-worth of wine into the goblet, which Nessa took up with a gracious smile. “Yes. Dire rats. They swarmed all over me.”

“And you fought them with…?”

“My longsword.”

Nessa let out a bark of laughter. “You tried to fight rats with a longsword?”

Harald flushed. “They were very big.”

“Darling, the only way to kill rats with a longsword is by skewering them, and I doubt you can reliably hit the side of a door at the level you’re at now. You should have drawn a dagger, or better yet, never gone down there.”

“I know that now,” muttered Harald.

“It’s a miracle you’re alive. What?” Vic must have done something, because Nessa glared at him with surprise. “Must I play the flatterer still? I thought I was his instructor now, and nothing else.”

“Still?” prompted Sam.

“Still, of course.” Nessa drained her goblet and refilled it before Vic could intervene. “You should have heard Vic all these years.”

“Nessa,” warned Vic, his voice hard and cold.

“Flatter the boy, he’d say.” Nessa’s smile was cutting. “Make him feel special, just smile at him on occasion. The fat idiot is wild for you, all you need do is keep him dancing and he’ll keep us in scales.”

Vic sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Sam’s face paled in outrage.

Harald held Nessa’s gaze, unable to look away.

She drained half her wine and smiled pitying at him. “You knew, of course? At least, I thought you did. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say I hoped? Otherwise it would have been too pathetic for words.”

“Nessa,” said Vic. “Shut your trap or leave the table. Those are your choices.”

“Why?” She leaned forward on one elbow. “So that you can continue to craft this little adventure as you deem best? The rest of us have voices, Vic. We’re real people. And Harald deserves to know, don’t you think? I do. No lies between swordbrethern. Or some such nonsense.” She glanced at Harald, eyes glittering, smile bright. “Wouldn’t you rather know the truth?”

Harald didn’t know what to say.

“Enough,” said Sam. “Vic is right. I think you should leave the table.”

“I couldn’t care less what you think, you jumped up little peasant,” snapped Nessa. “Just because you’ve exchanged your duster for a blade doesn’t mean you’re a warrior or my equal.”

“Enough,” said Harald.

But Nessa wasn’t done. “You’ve spent your whole life cleaning up Harald’s messes, haven’t you? And now you can’t imagine doing anything else. What have you done with your freedom? Make his dinner.”

“Nessa,” drawled Vic. “You’re being a bore. Leave the table.”

“Or what?” She refilled her glass. “You’ll cast me out? Run me through with your rapier? Express your disapproval?”

Harald stood up. “You’re not yourself, Nessa. Go to your room or walk out the front door. The choice is yours.”

Her eyes flashed as her lip curled up in disdain. “Look at Harry-boy, all grown up. He cuts his hair and thinks it makes him a man. Well darling, why don’t you prove you’re all grown up? Hmm? Would that make you happy, Vic, if I went all the way and truly wrapped him around my finger?”

Viv sighed and stood as well. “It seems Nessa needs some time alone. Come on my dear.” And he reached for her elbow.

Nessa bolted to her feet and threw the contents of her goblet at Vic. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you ever fucking touch me!”

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Everybody froze.

Chest heaving, Nessa glanced around their company, expression wild, and then she closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her brow. “I think… I believe Vic might be right. I feel poorly. I’ll… I’ll excuse myself.”

And snatching up the bottle of wine, she strode out of the kitchen toward the stairs.

“Well.” Vic glanced down at his wine-spattered shirt with a wry smile. “Nessa’s charm is legendary, is it not?”

Sam was staring at Harald, her jaw clenched. When he met her eye, she simply shook her head.

Harald sighed and sat down.

“Harry-boy,” said Vic, sitting as well and taking up his fork. “She craves glory, and yet cannot get any. That makes her irrational, furious, and she takes it out on those around her. Her words were calculated to wound, and nothing more, in an attempt to abate her own pain. Don’t give her insults weight.”

Sam sat slowly. “Did you really instruct her to seduce Harald?”

“Nothing as direct as that. But I could see that Harald was—understandably—infatuated with her. How could he not be? I’ve yet to meet the man or woman who is completely immune to her charms.”

“I’ve yet to see them,” said Sam stonily.

“Which is to your credit, obviously.” Vic waved his fork around. “I simply encouraged her to be friendly with you, Harald. Nothing so gross as to, well, seduce you outright, but to be a friend. Which she was, was she not? And did you not derive pleasure in her company? Just as I do?” He considered. “Most of the time?”

“Vic, I don’t care.” Harald suddenly felt exhausted. “Just stop. I know our friendship is fraught, and I always knew that Nessa didn’t care for me. I know that I was a fat, spoiled, whining lordling who had nothing to his credit but scales.”

“Harald,” protested Sam, even as Vic went to do the same.

“No.” His tone was sharp enough to cause them both to fall silent. “That’s what I was. And I don’t fault you for taking advantage of me, because I wanted to be taken advantage of. If it meant I had friends, if it meant I could be close to someone like Nessa, if it gave me something to look forward to. To distract me.”

Harald stared down at his place, working those truths over in his mind.

“But that Harald is gone. He died in the dungeon. I don’t care for lies any longer. I don’t want Nessa to pretend to like me. I want her to train me. And I think she can. Just as I know you can help me deal with Master Ling and negotiate with Countess Sonora.”

“Harald,” said Vic softly. “We’re friends. It’s a complex relationship to be sure, but don’t let’s pretend that all it ever was -”

“Enough.” Harald placed both palms on the table. “Enough, Vic. There was some friendship there, but I don’t want you to pretend that was the majority of our relationship. I’ve seen how you enjoy tangling with Master Ling. How you manipulate Countess Sonora. And I understand now how you flattered and worked me.”

Vic had gone completely still.

“And that’s fine,” said Harald, holding the man’s gaze. “I’m not upset. I’m not here to win your approval or to hear how much you like me.” He considered. “I don’t much like myself. There’s little to approve of. So do me the courtesy of ending the charade. I won’t fall apart if you deal with me honestly. If anything, that’s your best bet in salvaging our friendship, or whatever it was.”

“I see,” said Vic, relaxing and sitting back. “Well, I must say -”

“I’m done talking.” Harald stood. “Sam, thank you for dinner. I’m going to eat it alone in my room. I’ll see you tomorrow for our run. Vic, did you send the response to Master Ling?”

“I… yes. I did.”

“Good. Then I bid you both a good night.”

And heart hammering, he took up his plate, his fork, and the carafe of water, and left the kitchen.

He made it to the steps before Sam caught up with him. “Harald.”

“Sam.” He turned to her, and saw the conflict in her expression, her concern. “I’m fine. I swear it.”

“I…” She bit her lower lip, searching his face, then gave a sharp nod. “I think you actually are. And I wanted to say… I’m proud of you.” Her blue eyes widened in sudden self-consciousness. “Not that you need to hear that, or that it’s my place, but -”

“Sam.” He set the carafe on the steps and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Thank you. Out of everybody I’ve ever met or known, your opinion means the most.”

Her eyes widened again, and then she gave a bright smile, which disappeared just as quickly as she nodded fiercely. “And I feel the same about you, Harald. Especially this new you.”

“This new me.” He picked up the carafe. “But thanks. Get some sleep, Sam. I don’t want you falling behind tomorrow morning.”

“Ha.” She took a step back. “Will do. Sleep well, Harald.”

He mounted the steps, walked down the landing to his room, and hip checked it open. Set his plate on his reading table by the window, and then sat to slowly eat his dinner, staring distractedly out the window over the front grounds at the distant Baldric Avenue and the Angelic Quarter beyond.

When he was finished, he changed into his sleeping garments and sat on the carpet to do the light stretching that Sam had taught him. She made it look easy, bowing her brow to her knees, as supple and flexible as a cloth doll, but he could barely touch his toes.

Still, he knew he would get better in time.

There was a knock at his door. “Harald?”

Nessa, her tone strangely uncertain.

His heart began to race. “Come in.”

She cracked the door open and slid inside to press herself against the wall. She was dressed as before, all in black, but had unbraided her hair so that it fell past one shoulder in a riotous mass.

For a moment she simply stared at him, biting her lower lip, her gaze solemn, and then she frowned and looked away. “I came to apologize.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Don’t I?” Her smile was pained. “You’re the sole reason I’m sleeping on a feather mattress instead of inhaling a line of raw glory off some shithole countertop in the Bad Quarter. I believe I owe you some measure of gratitude, don’t you?”

Harald considered her, then turned back to his stretch. “No.”

“No?” Her confusion was obvious.

“You’re here to train Sam and I with the longsword. If you want to leave you can leave. That’s it.”

He leaned into the stretch. His hamstrings were like lead.

Silence.

Had she left?

“You really have changed, haven’t you?” Her voice was soft now, considering.

Harald didn’t answer.

“I didn’t think it possible.” She sounded amused, but in a desperate, raw kind of way. “For people to change, that is.”

Harald glanced sidelong at her. She leaned against the wall, hands hidden behind her back, considering him. “You don’t think you can change?”

She laughed, the sound throaty. “Most days I do. I have this beautiful dream that I love to entertain: me in a simple white dress, something modest but flattering, striding through the front gates of the Conservatory, my fiddle case in hand. A whole semester lies before me, a chance to impress my instructors and liberate my talent, and most importantly, I’m entering alone. Without my weaknesses, my appetites, my darkness, my…” She smiled self-deprecatingly. “My complexities. Just me and the music.”

“It’s a good dream,” said Harald.

“It’s a childish dream,” Nessa replied, her smile remaining but not touching her eyes. “Every addict has one just like it. A fantasy to give them hope, to keep them going. People don’t change. They just become more themselves, for better or worse.”

Harald didn’t know what to say, so he simply held her gaze, his brow furrowed.

“Or at least, that’s what I thought till I saw you today. Vic’s account of your transformation felt overblown. I see now that perhaps he was right.”

In the past Harald would have fallen over himself to say something, to comfort her, encourage her, to thank her for the kind words. He’d have offered her a drink, invited her to sit down, used this moment to ask about the glory, her life, how it had all come to this.

All in the hopes of impressing her, showing how kind he was, how considerate. How he cared about her.

But now he just smiled sadly. “Thanks, Nessa.”

Perhaps she’d also expected that reflex for him, for she seemed to wait for a moment, eyebrows raised, then her smile returned, self-deprecating as ever, and she pushed off the wall. “Well. I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’m sorry for my behavior, and my words, and my… my past insincerities. I really do appreciate this chance, Harald. And, as best as I can, I aim to make the most of it.”

Harald nodded, still watching her cautiously, but saying nothing.

Nessa opened his door wider and stepped into it. Glanced back over her shoulder at him, and in that moment her beauty was as exquisite as ever, her lips parted in a mocking smile, her dark eyes flashing, her thick mane of black hair so rich it had blue tints. “Good night, Harald.”

“Good night, Nessa.”

She closed the door softly behind her, and the room felt suddenly drab in her absence.

Harald exhaled heavily and bowed his head. His heart was still pounding. Had that just happened? And had he reacted as calmly as he’d done?

The sound of metallic stars ringing out against the void filled his mind:

The Demon Seed Has Stirred

Your Presence has risen from 8 to 9

Harald stared at the floating message.

What the actual fuck?

It was one thing to gain a point of Strength or Constitution while training as hard as he was doing, but to gain Presence? That was only supposed to go up a point every few years, and then only if you capitalized on your natural charisma, if you forged an impressive demeanor and manifested a forceful nature.

It was distinct from Ego, which represented your strength of will and mental fortitude; Presence was an intangible quality that set you apart in a crowd, that drew the eye and held people’s attention.

He’d lived his whole life with a Presence of 3.

And now it was 9? That was verging on the point of being an impactful individual, a quietly confident person who people noted and took into account.

Harald stared out at nothing, perplexed. Had he changed that much?

Then again, he thought of the conversation he’d just had with Nessa, and realized that yes, he had.

That conversation was almost as improbable as his Presence gain. She’d visited his quarters before. Often late at night once the festivities had wound down. Would bring wine, a book of poetry from his father’s library, and lie before his fireplace, reading to him, or just sipping and staring into the flames.

While Harald drank in the sight of her.

But that seemed like another life. The Harald who’d lay awake all night replaying their conversations, imagining what he could have said or done differently, gone.

Had he changed?

Yes.

But to Nessa’s point, could he claim the credit?

He thought of Vorakhar’s wicked grin.

He wasn’t sure he could.

But whatever the cause, he meant to take advantage of the change. The old Harald had only dreamed of such growth, such resolve, such fortitude.

Had cursed his own weakness and endlessly resolved to do better, to impress his father, to become the hero he knew he could be.

Now that he had it, he’d make good.

Even as old lies fell away, old fantasies, old yearnings.

For something new was taking their place.

Something brutal and ambitious and unyielding.