Benjamin and I stepped through the back entrance of the great hall, our boots echoing faintly against the polished stone. The air inside held the familiar mix of polished wood, the morning's meal, and the faint lingering scent of last night's hearth fire.

My new throne waited for me on its raised platform—its first appearance in any official function. Even from a distance, it commanded the room.

The crafters had built it from a deep reddish-brown wood, lacquered so heavily that the polished surface almost reflected the light like a still pond. The legs ended in carved beast paws, their ridges and grooves so precise it looked like they might flex at any moment. A birthday gift, and an extravagant one.

It was far grander than the plain high-back chair I'd used up until now. Sitting in something like this made me feel… elevated. Important. Maybe even regal.

And honestly? That made me uncomfortable. I wasn't sure if I had earned that level of grandeur yet. But perhaps that was the point—maybe the throne needed to feel like more than me, so that the people could believe in what I was trying to represent.

It wasn't just the carpenters who had outdone themselves. A cushion of deep crimson broadcloth, woven from the finest wool North Cove could produce and then fulled until it became dense, smooth, and soft, covered the wooden seat. The fabric had a subtle sheen, the kind that only appeared after hours of brushing and shearing the wool until every stray fiber lay flat and obedient. When the sunlight hit it, the color shifted gently—dark wine in shadow, rich blood-red in the glow of the firelight.

The underlying padding was stuffed so tightly with cleaned and carded wool that the cushion held its shape without sagging, firm enough to provide support yet yielding just slightly under my weight. The edges were bound in fine cream-colored linen, stitched with decorative patterns that echoed the crest of my house—small, repeated motifs that caught the eye only when viewed up close.

It was a shame they were making me sit on it.

Before me, the people of Mother's Mountain bowed low, their movements perfectly synchronized, like a wave cresting and sinking.

They had removed their hoods in my presence, revealing hair so pale it nearly shimmered—platinum blond, bleached by wind and mountain sun. With their wrapped faces uncovered, their lean, weather-worn faces were carved by hard seasons and harder living.

"You may speak, my friends from over the mountain," I said with a nod.

Their leader, Juku, rose. When he spoke, his voice carried a rhythm that felt older—deeper—than the Karr spoken here. Maybe due to their isolation from the outside influence of Falmoren. The language flowed like water over stone, archaic and deliberate. Arbis stood at Juku's side and translated with ease, barely a heartbeat behind.

"We, the people of Mother's Mountain, greet Amos, the Great Count of the People of North Cove, and thank him for granting us audience."

The title Great I had learned was the highest praise they could give someone without calling him Descended, a term even their chiefs rarely earned. It still made me a little uncomfortable, but not as much as Decended.

Juku continued, adjusting the leather cord at his throat with reverence. "We come before you to ask for your permission to leave your lands. Your hearth has warmed us, and your tables have fed us through the long months. But now the pass is clear. The spring winds rise, and it is time for us to return to our kin beyond the mountain."

I leaned forward slightly. "I have named you friends, and as such, you may travel freely through my lands. You may depart whenever you are ready, but I ask two things of you."

I let the pause stretch—just long enough for the room to still.

"First, that you allow me to send with you a representative of North Cove. Arbis has lived among you and served as a bridge between our peoples. I would ask that he become our official envoy to your homeland."

Arbis stiffened, then dipped his head in respectful surprise.

Juku's expression warmed. He replied, and Arbis translated:

"We accept your envoy with open arms. Arbis is one of us now and will be welcomed as such."

I nodded. "Second, I would like to provide samples of our goods to take with you—things to show your people the kinds of trade and knowledge we can offer."

Juku pressed one fist briefly over his heart. "That is acceptable. May our two peoples prosper from our meeting. We will leave tomorrow, weather permitting."

But then… something flickered in his eyes. A hesitation. A small ripple of conflict.

He stepped forward, shoulders squared but movements careful, almost ceremonial.

"Great Count… I have nothing worthy of giving in return for your hospitality and the gifts you are sending to my people. But I would offer this, not as payment, but as a symbol of trust."

Slowly, Juku pulled the leather cord free from around his neck. From the small pouch hanging at its end, he withdrew a tiny object cupped reverently in his hand.

When he opened his palms, the hall's firelight caught it—and the gem all but glowed.

Gasps rippled through my guards.

Arbis carefully accepted the object with both hands, then brought it to one of my men. The guard inhaled sharply, as if afraid to breathe on it, before stepping forward and placing it into my palm.

It was smooth, cool, egg-shaped. A piece of clear crystal, polished to flawless perfection. Smaller than my thumb, yet it felt more significant than any jewel I'd ever held. If sunlight had touched it, I knew it would have thrown a rainbow across the hall.

Before I could speak, Juku's tone softened into something almost sacred.

"This is za'karin—what your traders in the south call rock crystal. Mined from beneath the northern cliffs near our village. Our crafters are skilled in shaping it. This one was given to me by my wife on our wedding night. It is of the highest purity. It is… rare. Rare enough that one as lowly as I should not possess it."

The emotion in his voice hit me harder than the gift itself.

I felt almost unworthy even holding it.

My brain tried to dredge up ninth-grade Earth science—quartz? calcite? It didn't seem to be a diamond—but all I remembered was doodling dinosaurs in my notebook. Geology had bored me senseless back then.

Well, if it were a diamond, Arbis would've called it one. We had a word for that.

I handed the gem back to my guard, who returned it reverently to Juku.

"You honor me, Juku," I said, rising slightly from the throne. "Allowing me to hold something so dear to your heart. You say that these are traded with my people in the south?"

"Yes," he answered. "The people of the hills trade with us, and then they trade with your people through the lower pass."

Ah. So Juku wanted to cut out the middleman.

And honestly? Respect.

"I would be most interested in trading rock crystal with you," I said with a smile. But then something clicked in my mind, and a chill ran down my spine. This may be the missing piece I have been looking for.

********

"Curse these pigeons," I muttered, crumpling the scrap of paper. I tossed it onto the desk with more force than necessary. The little wad bounced off the wood, skittered once, and rolled to a stop beside the inkstand like it was mocking me. "I never should've extended the system all the way to Plimgus. Now I have to deal with this mess first."

The study felt smaller suddenly—everything pressing in as if the room itself were waiting for my next move.

Benjamin stood a few steps away, hands folded neatly behind his back. His posture was immaculate as always—chin up, shoulders square, expression politely patient. He'd grown used to my rants by now. They were part of the pre-decision ritual, like letting steam hiss from a kettle before pouring.

"I wanted to ride to the cove this week," I said, pacing a slow, irritated circle in front of the desk. The floorboards creaked under my boots as I gestured broadly. "I want to inspect those ships. Make sure the Bermuda sail mast could work. I gave the shipbuilders the designs for the small sailboat. I want to see it. But no, of course not. The king thinks now's the perfect time to start throwing his weight around. Invading my lands."

That last word came out sharper than intended.

Benjamin stiffened, the tiniest tightening of his shoulders. "My lord…" he said carefully, "are you being serious?"

I stopped pacing. The silence stretched between us for a heartbeat.

"Maybe," I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Maybe not. You know how pigeon messages are." I tapped the crumpled note. "The message wasn't long. 'One thousand men from Falmore arrived in Malcomp.' Perhaps it's their response to Rabiss sailing up the coast. If they were hoping to help, then I would say the cavalry arrived late."

"The cavalry?" Benjamin echoed.

"Never mind. Old world joke." I waved it off. "In my old world, men on horseback were considered a strong fighting force. In stories, the cavalry always arrived just in time to save everyone. So 'the cavalry has arrived' meant reinforcements came exactly when they were needed."

He nodded slowly. "I see. Well… what do we do?"

"Get them out of my county, of course." I resumed pacing, but more thoughtfully this time. "One thousand men need to be fed and taken care of, or they get rowdy. How fast do you think we can make it to Plimgus? I want to bring my carriage this time."

"Are we stopping early at North Point?" he asked.

"I think that would be wise. If we push into another village unexpectedly, it'll make them nervous."

Benjamin considered this, lips tightening a fraction as he thought. "Then—if the roads and weather are good—it should be about a day and a half. If we leave tomorrow morning."

"I'm tempted to ride hard and try to arrive the same evening," I said, chuckling despite myself. "But then I remember it used to take two and a half days to reach Plimgus in the best conditions. How quickly we get spoiled. We finally build good roads, and now anything longer than a day feels unreasonable."

I blew out a breath and lifted my hands in surrender. "Alright. Let's do it this way: I'll leave for Kerisi this afternoon. We can reach it before nightfall, have supper, rest, and make the trip to North Cove much easier."

"As you wish, my lord." Benjamin gave a short bow. "I will ready your carriage and summon the guards."

He turned crisply on his heel and left the study, the soft thump of boots fading down the corridor while I stood over the desk, staring at that annoying little ball of pigeon-delivered trouble.

**********

As we crossed the Cofi River bridge, the familiar creak of the carriage wheels softened beneath us, replaced by the muted thrum of wood on packed earth. The breeze carried the cool scent of river water and the faint tang of freshly cut timber from the nearby construction yards.

Then the Fox Den came into view.

The orphanage and the school sat side by side on a gentle rise overlooking the river, sunlight washing over the bright white plaster of their walls. The orphanage, the larger of the two, rose proudly above a wide green yard. Its two-story half-timber frame formed a graceful pattern of dark beams crisscrossing over clean white panels—a style I'd always loved for its mix of strength and beauty. From this distance, I could see how the beams created little diamonds and triangles across the façade, casting sharp morning shadows that zigzagged across the walls.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Inside, I knew the walls were smooth and freshly painted in warm, cheerful colors—yellows, greens, sky blue—tones I'd insisted on. If a child had lost everything, I wanted the building itself to remind them they still mattered.

A white picket fence wrapped around the property, enclosing the entire yard like protective arms. Beyond it, the playground stood as my personal display of chaos and innovation: swings fashioned from stout rope and polished planks, a small slide with wooden rails, and the spinning balance wheel the carpenters swore would break someone's arm someday. No one here had ever heard of a playground before. Maybe I'd invented it, or maybe it was simply something this isolated corner of the world had never needed until now.

Either way, it made me stupidly proud.

I rapped the roof of the carriage. Jack slowed, then pulled us to a clean stop beside the gate. I stepped down from the carriage, boots sinking slightly into the soft, trampled grass.

At once, the children froze mid-play as if someone had cast a spell. A wooden ball dropped from one young boy's hands. A girl paused halfway across a balance beam, arms splayed for balance. A toddler clutched a rag doll and stared at me with enormous eyes.

They ranged from infants to about ten. Anyone older was already out earning their keep in the fields, which—oddly enough—was the fastest route to adoption. A willing worker was far more likely to be welcomed by a struggling family than another mouth to feed.

Their absence meant those older children were out right now and wouldn't return until a bell before dusk.

As I approached, I reached into my satchel and retrieved the toys I'd commissioned months earlier—simple wooden propellers set on thin sticks. When spun between the palms and released, they launched into the air like tiny helicopters. I rubbed one vigorously, then sent it flying over the yard.

Half the children instantly shrieked with joy and stampeded after it.

That joyous uproar finally drew Kylie's attention.

She had been sitting on a porch rocking chair with a toddler curled against her chest, her eyes distant and soft as she hummed something wordless. The moment the children shouted, she blinked, looked up at the sky-bound toy, then scanned the yard until her gaze landed on me.

Her expression narrowed in mock suspicion.

Carefully setting the little girl onto a blanket, she rose from the chair and strode toward me, skirts swaying with each quick step. The breeze tugged at a few loose strands of her hair, which she brushed back impatiently before fixing me with a look of absolute judgment.

"I should have known you would come to disturb my peaceful afternoon," she said, voice dry as sand.

I motioned at the explosion of children still chasing the propeller. "If this is what you call a quiet afternoon, Ms. Fox, then you and I have very different views on the subject."

Her stern façade cracked. A slow, beautiful smile tugged at her lips and broke the whole act apart.

"It is good to see you, my lord."

"You as well." I glanced toward the orphanage. "Is everything going okay?"

She rolled her eyes slightly. "Thank you for asking, but trust me—you would hear about it if it were not."

I barked a laugh. "I am sure I would."

Just then, the porch door creaked open, and a man stepped out into the sunlight. He was broad-shouldered, with thick brown hair and a neatly trimmed but impressively bushy beard, the kind that made him look both dependable and rugged. Twenty-five, maybe—but the way he carried himself was that of a man who was used to the trials of life.

He scanned the yard automatically, and the moment his eyes landed on Kylie and me standing by the fence, his whole body went rigid. His expression tightened into something between alarm and full-blown panic. Without hesitation, he hurried toward us, nearly tripping over a stray wooden block in his rush.

As soon as he reached the fence, he dropped into a deep bow, head lowered so far the tips of his hair brushed his brow.

"My lord—f-forgive me. I did not know you were coming," he stammered.

I lifted a hand to stop the apology before it spiraled into self-destruction. "It is quite all right. I just had some toys to give the kids, and I needed to speak with Kylie."

The man's eyes flicked between Kylie and me, wide with terror.

He looked like he half-expected me to eat her on the spot.

Then I noticed the colored shirt—one of the garments we issued to the newly settled families. Ah. One of the newcomers. That explained the fear. Many still thought a noble might toss them in the river for a poorly timed blink.

Before the poor man combusted into anxiety, Kylie stepped forward with a gentle tone I rarely heard from her.

"Jimmy, could you hold Sabrina for me? It looks like I must answer a summons."

Her voice was soft, almost soothing—very unlike the usual sharp wit she wielded like a sword. Jimmy nodded quickly, relief flooding his face as she handed him the sleeping toddler. He cradled the child with practiced care.

Kylie walked toward the gate, her steps steady. When she stepped out beside me, she gave me a knowing look.

"I assume you needed a private conversation."

I nodded. "Let's talk in my carriage."

She raised a brow. "Well, now maybe I should worry."

There it was—the spark I was used to. The teasing edge, the challenge. Kylie loved tossing verbal stones into still waters to see the ripples.

Once we climbed into the carriage, I instructed my guards to form a perimeter far enough away that they couldn't hear a word.

The moment Kylie opened her mouth—undoubtedly for another jab—I struck first.

"So… Jimmy, huh?" I asked, letting a grin spread across my face.

For the first time since I'd known her, I saw Kylie blush.

Actually blush.

Nailed it.

"Amos, don't you say anything!"

I couldn't help the laugh that burst out of me.

"I'm serious, Amos!"

"Is he married?"

She froze, staring at me like I'd just insulted her whole family for the last seven generations.

Wow. She had it bad. I had never seen her lose her footing like this—not even once.

"No, he isn't married. He's a widower. He has two children. He asked if I could watch them once when he was looking for work after he arrived, and… he comes by to help now and then."

"You know," I said, adopting a very formal tone, "as a friend and the count of these lands, I need to be informed if he's dragging his feet. I could drop a hint that he should consider marrying you. And seeing the way he looked like he was about to faint when he saw me, he'd probably do it."

Her glare sharpened like a thrown dagger. "My lord, forgive me for saying this, but I don't think I have ever wanted to hit someone so badly."

"Ah, sweet revenge," I said, grinning even wider.

She let out a long, defeated sigh. "Fine, you win. And… I did kind of deserve that." She folded her arms and looked at me with narrowed eyes. "But did you only come here to tease me?"

My heart sank a little at what I was about to say. The words felt heavy before they even reached my tongue. She wasn't going to want to hear them, but I needed to say them anyway.

"I came here to thank you," I said quietly. "I am in your debt, Kylie."

Her brow creased, confusion pulling her features tight. Her mouth parted to speak—but I raised a hand gently, stopping her.

"I know you don't like talking about it," I continued, "but you and those men saved a lot of lives."

The shift in her posture was immediate. Her shoulders slumped, her gaze dipped, and she folded her hands in her lap as though bracing herself. She suddenly understood exactly what I meant.

"Everyone is saying we trapped them with fire," she murmured. After a heartbeat, she let out a long, trembling sigh. "I knew it wasn't true. I had hoped…it wasn't. It's just… I still see those bodies in my dreams. And you said this would lead to worse things. All those people. I can't imagine what that would have looked like. And I—"

"If you hadn't done what you did," I said firmly, leaning forward, "more than one village would be ash by now. If it weren't for you and the others, then it would have been our people lying dead on the ground. Men captured. Women and children…" I swallowed. "They would have suffered far worse."

She lifted her eyes then—slowly, searchingly—locking onto mine with a look that pierced straight through me.

"You aren't going to stop, are you?" It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.

I didn't look away. "Bigger things are coming, Kylie. I received another warning." The carriage around us felt suddenly smaller, the air thicker. "This time, our own kingdom will turn against us. We're not strong enough on our own. If I can find allies, maybe—maybe—I can bury the project. But I can't just let my people die."

Her breath hitched, barely audible.

"There's a saying from my old world," I continued softly. "'The only thing necessary for evil to win is for good men to do nothing.'" I let the words settle between us. "I'll try to weather this storm without violence. But if they come for my people, I will fight with everything I have."

Silence settled in the carriage, broken only by the muffled wind outside and the faint clopping of the horses shifting their weight as the guards moved about outside.

Not everything in that battle had gone as planned. The demolition team's cannons—if you could still call them that—had fired true and disastrously at the same time. They'd scared off the raiders, injured several… and most erupted like bombs. Metal and wood had torn themselves apart in violent bursts, chunks ripping holes into both the enemy and our own wall. A reminder of just how thin the line between progress and catastrophe really was.

Kylie stared at the carriage floor for a long moment, tears streaming silently down her face.

Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, "If I hadn't seen it… If I hadn't gone to the forest…"

The sound of her breaking loosened something tight inside my chest.

I had tried—truly tried—not to touch her. To act the way a noble was supposed to. Distant. Reserved. Unreachable. But seeing her sit there with her hands trembling and her grief choking her…

I couldn't. That wasn't who I wanted to be.

I rose from my bench and slid onto the one beside her. Slowly, carefully—giving her space to pull away—I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her gently against my chest.

She didn't resist. She collapsed into me, grief shaking her frame as she sobbed into my shirt.

If the memories that haunted her were anything like the ones that had tortured me after Nathan died… then no, I wouldn't—couldn't—let her suffer alone.

Valik of the Blue Moon Raiders

Weary from travel and hollowed by failure, I made my way up the narrow path toward my father's house—the old timber home perched on the hill overlooking the endless silver of the sea. The wind up here always carried the scent of brine and pine, the same mixture I'd grown up with. Today, it made my stomach twist.

He lived in retirement now, but for over a decade, he had commanded the greatest raiding company the coasts had ever feared. Now those men followed me and my brother. Or they had.

Nibilum had broken off to form his own band, chasing glory the way a starving wolf chased a scent on the wind. When he sent word asking me to join him on this raid, I had hesitated. The plan had sounded too good, too easy. That was the first warning sign. And it wasn't the kind of raid our people were known for.

I clenched my fists as I climbed the last steep ridge. My palms were still raw from gripping ropes and oars. The raid had been nearly a total loss. Shame rose in my throat each time I thought about how many men had not returned. Had it not been for the strange curiosities we salvaged from that cursed coast, I would have had no face left to show my father.

As for my brother… I had no idea whether he lived or died. And I had no hope left for him—not after what we faced.

A hot ember of guilt burned inside my chest. I had abandoned him, yes—but only because staying would have been suicide. Curse his bull-headedness. Curse his pride. Curse this entire doomed venture.

Smoke curled lazily from the chimney—he was home. No doubt he had already seen my ship in the harbor, and was waiting inside, ready for a report he would not enjoy hearing.

He would have noticed the missing sails. The missing ships. The absence of Nibilum's colors.

Of course, he would.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The late-afternoon sunlight slanted through the window, cutting a harsh line across my father's face. Rolenum sat in his heavy chair, the same one he'd always favored—a broad-shouldered statue carved in scar and scowl. His permanent expression gave nothing away as I entered.

He would not speak first. Not until I reported.

"Rolenum," I said, bowing my head, "I have returned and bring grave news."

The silence that followed was deep enough to smother a man.

"We arrived at the cove with seven ships," I continued. "We made landfall and routed the enemy easily. They fled their fort at the cove. As the sun began to set, a message arrived from the people of the barony. They claimed their leader was the Hand of Justice, and if we did not depart the fort by morning, everyone inside it would die."

My father's brows creased, a small tick in his chiseled mask, before settling back into that familiar look of disappointed expectation.

"Of course, we thought it bravado," I said. "But in the night, a sound like thunder ripped through the darkness. The fort exploded—in fire and smoke." My voice faltered. "I have never seen such devastation. The bodies we recovered were not merely burned. They were torn apart. Some… some pieces were thrown so far they landed in the sea."

I swallowed hard.

"We gathered what remains we could. They are preserved in a barrel as proof."

My father finally spoke, his gravely voice rougher than stone dragged across sand. "Your brother?"

"I do not know," I admitted. "I lost seventy men. Tumelek and Brozum lost men on shore, and Brozum's ship was burned in the harbor. He will not recover from this—financially or otherwise. He and the remaining survivors traveled back with me."

I clenched my jaw. "I tried to convince Nibilum to retreat. We did not know what power these people possessed. But he… he said his honor required him to stay. To capture at least some of the villagers."

My father spat on the floorboards.

"The ambassador of Falmore received a pigeon five days ago," he growled. "He brought the message to the council. A messenger delivered the news to me. The Count of North Cove has captured eighty-three members of the Red Moon Raiders."

My heart dropped into my stomach. "Did they mention Nibilum?"

"No," Rolenum replied. "But the count wants to exchange the captives for people we have taken."

My breath caught. "Yitum succeeded, then?" I asked.

"He arrived two days ago. The council demanded he hold onto the slaves. He obeyed."

"Strange. The council rarely involves itself in our business. They hate us—ignore us—unless they smell opportunity. Have you spoken with Yitum?"

"Not yet," he admitted. "I did not know who had been captured."

I guess that was prudent. "And now?"

He leaned back, arms crossing over his chest. "They are not your men. And we do not have the slaves. It is out of our hands. The council will negotiate with the count through Yitum."

"But these are our people!" I snapped. "Our brothers!"

"And what would you have me do?" he barked back. "Buy every slave in Yitum's hold so we might exchange them? The cost is too great."

He was right—infuriatingly, painfully right. The expense would ruin us.

Unless…

"Rolenum," I said slowly, "I believe I have something the council wants. Something they may want badly enough to help us."

My father snorted, shaking his head. "Good luck getting the council to work with you."

"I must try," I said. "For our people, I must."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.