My feet trudged through the dirt roads that got rougher and less used the further you walked out of town. It was a fitful sort of walk, there was too much on my mind for it not to be. My mind was in absolute shambles.

Memories that I’d rather forget played through my mind like a video recording. They were pleasant memories, parts of my past that made me feel warm and happy. But now, those emotions were twisted and deformed by grief. The thought of my mother and my father sent my emotions into a flurry. Of that, birthed some of the most intensely sad moments I’ve ever experienced.

Logically, I understood that they weren’t dead, that my world wasn’t gone. I could even potentially rationalize all this as simply just an extended trip away from my world, my family.

But no, my emotions wouldn’t be quelled. No matter what I said or how I rationalized it, there was a small part of my brain that slowly, goadingly repeated what I already knew.

You think you are going home? You are the cannon fodder of a God’s death game for the elite. You are going to be the first to die.

And how was I going to argue with that? If all these people were so smart, so strong, how was I going to compete? Stopping my fevered walking, I looked down at my feet—peering at the end of my shoe, subtly hoping that I would find an answer to my problems there. Find a way back home.

My parents were good people, people that came from hard places in life and lived to give their children what they didn’t have. I always respected that. I knew, as a beneficiary of their hard work that I had to take advantage of that as much as I could. Not out of guilt, or expectation, but because it only felt right to follow my own path.

But here I was, on a path I didn’t even know existed, in a whole other universe for all I knew. Dreams that I had for my future are nothing but fantasies, dead at the hands of this reality.

“Ah, fuck it,” I grumbled under my breath, “moaning and groaning about it isn’t going to solve shit.” I felt a heat in my chest, an undirected anger. Frustration was not an emotion that I liked, it was something that I rarely felt and something that I intentionally avoided—one that even quelled completely for a time.

But at this moment, where I had so many emotions assaulting my mind, the anger was like a numbing agent applied to a wound. I began to walk again, this time my stride was more powerful, more meaningful. I had lost my purpose, but it didn’t mean that I couldn’t walk forward meaningfully in hopes that I find one.

My legs took me down the road towards Rethi’s home. I had no choice now, I had to be doubly as sure about myself, doubly as confident, otherwise I would crumble under the weight of my own grief.

I walked past many of the townsfolk, and they quickly averted their eyes from me as I walked by. I was now given a sort of pseudo respect as a ‘nephew’ of Mayer’s. I took it in my stride and walked down to the forgotten parts of town, where houses became progressively more destroyed as you walked. I homed in on the front door to Rethi’s house and prepared myself. I knocked quickly, not letting myself think further.

Then I waited. Time ticked by slowly, like molasses spreading where it had been dropped. At first, I thought that it might have just been me—but as the time ticked by, no one answered the door. It was a minute at first. Then two. Then three. I knocked again, but there was still no answer even after five long minutes.

The knocks were loud and sharp, there was effectively no way that someone didn’t hear them. I suddenly grew worried. What if Rethi was more hurt than we thought? I knocked again and waited. Again, and again, there was nothing.

I stood at the door, at a loss for what to do. I could only feebly weigh up the options. There was a possibility that Rethi was more hurt than we had noticed. However, there was no way that his mother could possibly get help in her condition. I agonised over it a moment, but the answer was clear as day. I had to go into the house.

I took one deep breath in, preparing myself for what I could find inside. I slowly opened the door, holding my breath for just long enough to see Rethi’s mother sitting at their table. I was almost relieved, until I saw her glare and tensed up.

“Good evening Master Maximilian.” She stated with not a small amount of scorn attached to her words.

Uh oh.

“Good evening Ms. Orsen.” I said, giving her a slight nod and letting absolutely no emotion show on my face.

She, however, was quite blunt about how she felt about me.

“Would you like to explain why my son is in the state he is in?” The scorn was palpable in her words. She was well and truly disgusted with me. I walked towards the table that she was sitting at and stayed standing, not daring to go so far as to take a seat myself. I looked her dead in the eyes and began to speak

Stolen novel; please report.

“For the past few days, we have been working at the Jothian’s farm on their fence. Whilst we did so, Rethi was ’t properly fed and on the final day, was physically assaulted by at least one of the Jothian boys. This has occurred, at least in part, due to me being neglectful of my surroundings. As such, I have come to properly apologise for the incident and my lack of a response until today.” I then bowed as deeply as I could without making myself look like an idiot.

I stayed that way for a good ten seconds before I raised myself eyes and looked into Shae Orsen’s own. Emotions were flickering across her face. Anger, confusion, worry.

“The Jothians? Why?” She looked at me, her anger dimming to be replaced by mostly confusion.

“I cannot say.” I said. I know exactly why they attacked Rethi, but there was no way that I was going to tell her this. It wasn’t my place to do so. Her eyes narrowed at my answer, anger reappearing on her face with a vengeance.

“The Jothian boys are friends with Rethi! There was no way that they would do this to him.” Her eyes flashed dangerously. I swear her gaze was hot enough to burn my skin. I took a deep breath in and looked to her with the most sincere, honest expression that I could muster.

“Ms. I cannot tell you why the Jothian boys attacked your son. Only that they did. I will not tell you why, no matter how you ask. It is not my place to tell you.” I said this honestly, sincerely, and also sternly. She looked slightly taken aback by the sternness and looked about ready to fire back with an angrier remark before she caught herself. She glanced to the room on her right, the one that she had been sleeping in on the day that I had met her. I assumed that Rethi was in there, sleeping the pain and exhaustion away.

“Alright, why are you here at all then?” She said, a quiet venom in her voice. I nodded solemnly and I began to speak my part.

“I have tried my best to rectify the situation within town itself, and hopefully action will be taken in the next few days against the Jothians for their mistreatment of Rethi.” I took a look at Shae’s face, and she seemed to be following along so far, “However, it is unacceptable that this has happened under my direct supervision. It is a total failing of my ability as an employer. Rethi has been significantly, unduly injured due to my negligence. This means that he is eligible for Workers Compensation.” I paused significantly after my spiel. I calmly observed her face, not letting anxiousness seep into my psyche, not letting it taint my understanding of the situation.

“What?” She said, dumbfoundedly, “Worker’s Compensation? Money?” Her face was a strange mixture of emotions, but confusion mostly prevailed. She didn’t seem to understand whether to be offended or not.

“Yes. Because of my negligence, Rethi is entitled to money to alleviate the situation—typically to aid him while he recovers.” I summarised. There was a war on her face, but I could see anger boiling beneath it all, elevating her emotions to a peak.

“Mister Avenforth. I will not have you come into my house and insult us in this way. You dare come in here and offer money to me like you would a beggar? You dare violate me and my son’s pride, as if it is worth nothing to you!” Her voice started to strain with anger, but breathiness began to intermingle with her words—her illness restricting her breathing. So, I paused a moment while she collected herself before continuing to speak.

“I understand that the giving of money is seen as an act of degradation in your culture?” I asked, mostly rhetorically. I decided to play the difference in culture angle. Her eyes still glowered with anger, but she nodded, albeit almost unwillingly. I took a deep breath in and decided to take a gamble. I looked deep into her eyes, looking for something that I couldn’t quite put into words. After a moment I nodded to myself and began to speak.

“In my culture, those that were honest—were kind, compassionate and prideful—tended to be taken advantage of.” I looked at her stonily, her eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, but she didn’t comment. “The weak and honest were the most taken advantage of. They worked for nothing, only desperately hoping to feed their family, and dreaming of a day where their children could experience everything else that life offered, that was stripped of their own lives. I was not born in such a situation, and I am quite thankful for that. But it is not hard to identify injustice. You can turn a blind eye to it, you can pretend as if it is not there, or kid yourself into believing that it is better than what it is. But there is a brutal reality to the situation.” Her face screwed up, but she still didn’t comment. I wasn’t sure if she intended to just not respond, or if she was just incredibly gracious. I nodded and brought out the four coins that Mayer had given me not two hours earlier.

“These four coins are my acknowledgement of that reality.” I placed those coins on the table, the soft light that leaked from the windows dancing across the intricate surface of the coins.

“I do not wish to perpetuate the wrongs of my own culture wherever I walk. I am, in a way, an Ambassador for my people. I will hold myself to that regard with all my might.” I said, my voice climaxing towards a stern peak. I was no longer speaking uncertainly, or even trying to convince her. This was truly my own pride, a value that I clung to and hoped so dearly that I would never, ever, have to abandon. I looked at her, finally letting my face relax and feeling a sad smile grow with the sorrow and grief inside.

“Because it’s all I have left of my home.”

And then there was silence. I had spoken with incredible selfishness, but honestly, that’s all I knew how to do. How was I going to appeal to an entirely different culture without bringing in elements of my own? It was a risk, something that could truly damage my reputation. I was playing with fire, as such. But I didn’t have enough time to learn customs and eccentricities of their culture. I had to brute force it. I had to enforce my own stance, my own identity within their own—rather than play it by the book and timidly wait until I was told I was kosher.

I looked to Shae Orsen. She stared down at the four coins, her brows furrowed deeply and her eyes glaring perplexedly. I waited a moment, then two. I watched her form shift gently in her chair, her face struggling to regain a calmness. But in the end, she just hid her face in her chest.

She then gave me a slight bob of the head. I waited a moment, hoping to glean something else from her demeanour—besides a hidden shame—but nothing came.

And so, I left. Leaving four coins behind.