The story starts here.

“No deal,” you responded angrily. “Forban is the rightful heir, not your father, not you.”

“It was my family who died. I’m alive. The estate is mine,” Forban agreed. “I’ll make the decisions.”

“You’re a demon,” she responded. She looked around at both of you nervously. “With respect, see reason.”

“I’m done giving up what’s mine!” you yelled. “Enough is enough!”

“This isn’t about the estate, is it?” she asked you, realization crossing her face. “This is about locals and imperials.”

“Get out,” you commanded sharply.

“Cousin? Is this really what you want?” she asked, looking toward the young master.

“Am I your cousin, or am I a demon who shouldn’t have a name?” Forban asked.

“I don’t know. You frighten me. This whole situation frightens me,” she admitted. “I don’t want my family to share the same fate as yours. For the sake of peace…”

“Peace?” you spat, your eyes growing wild. “I am sick, to death, of imperials invoking peace when what they really mean is surrender. I’m sick of it!”

“You should leave,” Forban told her. “Lafe is my family now.”

“I’ll do what I can to help resolve this, but please, please be reasonable,” she pleaded.

“I’m done being reasonable.”

“That’s becoming clear,” she said, finding her voice. “I’m sympathetic to what you…”

“You have no idea!” you seethed. “Do you? I tried. I tried! I tried to be reasonable. I was willing to sacrifice my life for peace, but that wasn’t enough for you! That wasn’t enough!”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, confused. “What does this have to do with the estate or my father, or my cousin?”

“The central government had one’s child killed,” Forban explained. “Lafe’s wife and child were killed.”

“Why?” she asked, incredulously. “Are you sure this person is telling you the truth? Are you sure you aren’t being manipulated, to use your power, to gain your wealth?”

“I said leave!” You took a step forward and held up your knife.

She took a step back, looked to the young master again, for a moment, and then ran off.

You placed your knife back under your pillow and started to sob. It was all too much.

“Tutor, you don’t have to fight, if you don’t want to. We can survive without the money. I just wish…I wish I could comfort you. I know what it’s like to be angry and sad. I wish I were a normal boy.”

“If you were a normal boy, you would have died,” you said, looking up from your tears. “So, I’m glad you aren’t a normal boy. I’m not losing another child. I can’t bear it.”

“You said what happens to the estate was up to me. If giving Mister Gannon something will make him go away, just give it to him.”

“I don’t want him to win.”

“I know, but I’ve made my decision.”

You nodded. Forban was right, you had to keep your head. There was another meeting with the magistrate in two days. You could make a few token concessions then. If that what’s Forban wanted, that’s what you were going to do.

The rest of the day, you tried to keep your intrusive thoughts at bay. You made breakfast, you tended the gardens, you tried to figure out how Forban’s cousin picked the lock so easily and tried to figure out a solution.

Forban went hunting for rabbits, but found a flock of turkeys instead, ate a few, and brought one home for you. You spent a good portion of the day butchering it carefully. Forban was getting good at boiling water for you and starting fires safely.

In the evening, you read from a book of poetry. Even though it wasn’t nearly as impressive as it once was, the Kyn library was growing.

“Winter is a frozen spring,” you read. “Summer does not spring from death, but hidden life. Cycles are not broken segmented gestures, but eternal paths upon which we travel.”

“But what does fire do?” Forban asked. “Where does it fit in?”

“Fire is life itself,” you answered. “The sun is fire. Without the warmth of fire, there would be no life.”

“Am I like the sun?”

You started laughing. “You are my son.”

“I am!”

“Good night, Forban.” You set down the book.

“Good night, Lafe.”

You woke to a cacophony of bells, shattering glass, and broken timber. You reached for your knife but before you could find it there was a boot on your arm.

You looked up to see a stranger, a young man, wearing a uniform, pointing a flint-lock at your chest. The arm that held the gun was shaking.

“For peace,” the young man muttered under his breath, in a likely attempt to convince himself to pull the trigger.

“You should run! Run!” you yelled at the boy standing over you before a second, older man walked up to you and casually took the shot. It felt like a dull heavy push followed by a searing pain.

“You’re all…you’re all going…” You coughed and struggled to make sound as blood filled your lungs. “…to burn.”

You saw the young master appear behind the men that had come to kill you. He was bright and beautiful, with red glowing skin, black horns growing out of his head like ebony saplings, long hungry fangs, and wide wild eyes.

At first, the men appeared in silhouette against the light at their backs, and then they broke into hundreds of tiny luminous embers.

You could feel warmth so profound that it lifted all of the pain of your wounds away. You felt light, content, joyous.

You smiled as you died and your son was reborn.

The End