October of the Sainted Year (Fourth Civil Month)

Kirsten could feel the heavy stare of his fiancée, Jeany Samgewer, and her family. They were seated in one of the clinic's upper guest rooms, its arched windows framed by pale curtains and soft light. The smell of polished wood, herbal infusions, and mana-laced broth lingered in the air. It was quiet, genteel. Almost peaceful.

Earlier that day, as requested by Sylia, Kirsten's family had gone with his fiancee Jeany Samgewer and a few of her family members to that clinic. They had been escorted in quietly by the attending Priests and Faithwardens, their path winding through a corridor lined with painted screens and white Magical lamps. The room they were shown to was nothing like the Slums' crowded infirmaries—it was warm, polished, and quiet, its air steeped in subtle incense. A long table had already been set, low and ornate, surrounded by cushioned seats and lined with trays of tea and finely arranged sweets. No one had spoken at first. They simply took their places, uncertain whether to feel honored or unsettled.

Now they were all gathered in an elegant room with a full meal prepared by the servants of the Church. Everything had been arranged with care—soft lighting, polished wood, and small touches of luxury that didn't belong to Slum-bred lives.

Kirsten had hesitated at first, uncertain if the luxurious sweets were really meant for them. This was obviously food meant for the Nobles. But one of the Priests, calm and formal, had merely said it was prepared upon Lady Syl Celia's request. They were to indulge as they could.

That had encouraged the others. His mother and aunts moved first. Then the rest of the guests. Even Kirsten found himself eating before long. The mana infusion in the food settled gently into his system, easing the usual aches he carried.

Soon after, more food had been brought. No longer just tea and sweets, but a proper Noble meal prepared with sacred care. Whole poultry braised with ginseng and jujube rested on lacquered trays, their aroma light and restorative beside many expensive stir-fried dishes. Bamboo baskets revealed thick dumplings stuffed with mountain boar and herbal paste, steam curling softly as lids were lifted. Greens with lotus root and cloud ear mushrooms were arranged beside small bowls of medicinal broth simmered with snow fungus, astragalus, and dong quai. Everything was warm, precise, and rich with quiet mana—Church and Temple Noble cuisine at its finest.

(Fine meal at the new Church's Clinic)

Kirsten's sister Tammy had perked up almost immediately. Her face had regained color, and she sat straighter than she had in days. This was clearly not meant for fallen Noble or Slums Constrained families. It had been prepared with care, for someone meant to be healed.

Jeany's brothers, the nosy twins, were eating well, chatting softly between bites. The twins' mother and Jeany's stepmother had joined them too, quietly sampling each dish. Their father looked torn between his loyalty to his daughter and his quiet relief that his children were eating something proper and rich in mana. His brother Rigaud offered quiet support from a corner seat, sipping from a cup of Church wine.

Only Jeany's mother and her older sister Vivendil seemed disturbed by it all. Vivendil hadn't touched the food—barely had any cakes at all. Her eyes remained downcast, hands resting in her lap.

Across from him, Jeany was no longer smiling. Her posture was straight, her tone clipped.

"I thought you were different from Arthuro and the others."

The mention of his older brother brought a frown to Kirsten's face.

He didn't like the comparisons. His mother didn't like them either.

His older brother Arthuro and Adamios, his half-brother through his aunt Fiodana had long since left. Abandoned them, really. They had cut themselves off from the family completely.

They must have taken after their father, or maybe it was the dominant bloodline they claimed—Namaries, with all the gifts that came with it. Gifts valuable enough to keep them free of the Slums and its bindings.

Even Kirsten's aunt, Fiodana, turned her face slightly, blinking back wetness at the mention of Arthuro. You couldn't name one without the other.

Kirsten sighed.

"Look, Jeany. You've only been living in this City for the last two years. I mentioned from the start my problem with Mana release and control. My restrictions made it difficult to keep my flow stable. I had to be put in a confinement cell for days in my early teens."

He kept his voice level.

"I explained all this to you. And to your family. I told you I needed to see someone to find release for that Body and Blood Mana."

Jeany's eyes narrowed slightly.

"What does that have to do with Syl Celia?"

Kirsten didn't flinch.

"That person is one of her Divisions."

He let the truth land.

"She and a few of her Divisions have taken care of me since my first Body Mana releases. I was just a few months over twelve religious years when my Body Mana started overflowing. The previous releases… hadn't worked well."

He paused.

"The women I had been with suffered from Mana overstress. They were all but contaminated for a while du to an excessive compression of Mana and their compatibility with me. Their bodies were not powerful enough to hold that kind of Mana."

Jeany looked peeved but said nothing. Her shoulders stiffened slightly, and she lowered her gaze. But Kirsten could feel the tension radiating off her.

It was her mother who worried him more.

She hadn't spoken yet, but her expression had hardened to the point that he half-expected her to rise from her seat and murder him on the spot. Maybe, he thought grimly, he even deserved it.

Then something shifted. The sharpness in her face faltered, frozen mid-thought, as a smooth voice cut across the room.

It belonged to Jeany's uncle, Rigaud Kilembrius, who had just left his spot to sit near the side of the window with his usual unbothered air. A Declassed Noble, Rigaud was permitted to reside in the poor and lower Gentry districts near the Slums, though never quite within them. His family gifts had bought him that much. His younger brother, Jild, hadn't been as fortunate. He still lived in the finer periphery of the Slums, in decayed lower quarters.

Jeany split her time between them. She lived with Jild half the time, but always had to return to the Kilembrius household when called. Jild, poor man, had likely been weighed down by too much Bimal blood and Jeany had even more, on both sides. But she was no Bimal. That much was obvious. Her Mana had been praised by more than one Temple appraiser. She bore several strong elementals, including Lightling—a rare trait, even among the Gentry. That alone was proof of her Noble roots.

Rigaud crossed the room slowly, then spoke in his usual light, speculative tone.

"How long do you think this year will last?" he asked. "They've only just decided to classify it as a double year on the religious calendar. But, honestly, with an October that stretches every time a new God rises or another one falls, we might as well call it the beginning of a whole new age."

He reached for a ceramic cup of broth and added, more wryly, "A normal year lasts fifteen, maybe sixteen civil months. We're far past even the longest of the special years."

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

At the far end of the table, one of the twins, Jihand, nodded. His half-brother, Yakumo, nodded right along with him as he wiped broth from his mouth with a cloth.

"That's true." Jihand said. "I feel bad for the teenagers. Look at Pully. The Church is going to keep her in the infant zone for years."

Pully made a face but didn't respond. She sat beside her betrothed and his father, both looking carefully composed. The boy's mother was still with the others at the dental clinic. It was unlikely they'd be welcome in this room. They had too much Common blood. There were still boundaries, even here, even now. It was probably for the best. One plate of mana-saturated poultry and they might've gone into Mana intoxication.

From his seat near his children, Jild grunted in agreement with his brother. He sipped slowly from a clay cup, his tone less amused.

"It's become tiresome." he said. "The National State Church has no idea what's happening. Neither do the Sub-Churches. The Gods don't tell them anything. We've had Priests humiliated in public—predicting early snow, and then a heat wave comes. Predicting summer rain, only to get frost. Even the Sanctified Churches, the ones who usually get it right… they've gone quiet."

Rigaud chuckled softly. "We should ask Syl Celia. She might know."

He tilted his head toward Jild, half-smiling.

"Master Mathias Herves couldn't answer me. Said I should direct all calendar complaints to her now. Apparently, many of the new Gods and Goddesses are tied to her. Some directly."

Across the table, Jeany trembled slightly.

Rigaud didn't notice or pretended not to.

"Jild," he continued, more conversational now, "have you seen her lately? I haven't been able to catch even a whisper. You used to have tea with her. And with Gerened."

Kirsten scowled.

He knew that tone. Knew that question.

Gerened hadn't just had tea with Sylia. And neither had Jild. Rigaud wasn't asking about social visits. He was fishing. Perhaps Sylia hadn't sent one of her Divisions to the Kilembrius men in a while, and now they were starting to feel neglected.

Pathetic, Kirsten thought. These men, once proud, now spoke like schoolboys trying to guess the affections of a higher being.

Kirsten felt a surge of anger rise in his chest.

Rigaud was over fifty-three. He should have given it a rest years ago. That old man had no business poking around Sylia's affairs—not with that smooth voice and smug half-smile. His brother Jild was at least younger, somewhere in his forties, but even that was no excuse. Neither of them should've been sniffing around a woman like Sylia.

Not her. Not anymore.

Jild shifted in his seat, setting down his cup with a quiet clink. His expression was unreadable.

"I haven't spoken with her in a long while." he said. "She's been kept busy. No time for anyone. We couldn't even share a decent cup of tea lately."

He paused.

"I'd rather talk about Demetrius, if you don't mind."

Rigaud blinked, but said nothing.

"I don't know where Jiral is at the moment," Jild continued. "And I'd prefer to get this over with. Demetrius is being sent to the Slums. He's coming with the other Dimariosi now that their Goddess has fallen. Her whole flock is on their way down."

A sharp gasp tore through the room.

It came from Jeany.

Kirsten turned toward her immediately. Her face had gone pale—unnaturally so—and she clutched the sleeve of her chair as if the ground beneath her had tilted.

Jild went on, his voice level but firm.

"Demetrius should take custody of Jeany, her mother, and the other children. I've spoken to Jiral about it. I'm leaving the Slums. I'll be taking over from you, Rigaud, so that arrangement is already settled."

The room was silent.

Kirsten's breath caught in his throat.

"I don't know if Demetrius will be willing to take them all in." Jild added, finally looking at Jeany's mother. "For Jeany, it goes without saying. She's his natural daughter. I'm just the scapegoat he used. That's all."

Kirsten's heart pounded.

His mother had gone completely still, lips parted slightly as if caught mid-breath. She didn't know what to say.

But Jeany's mother Divara Samgewer—

She looked as though the ground might split open beneath her chair. Her hands trembled, her mouth opening once, then again, without words forming. Her eyes were wide with a terror that went far beyond shock.

She looked genuinely afraid.

Then, Divara Samgewer, snapped without warning, her voice sharp with disbelief.

"What do you mean you're partially freed? That's impossible! The Province and Region Lords haven't issued any such decree. The Region Lord would never allow that—not with your Bimal blood. He's said so himself on many occasions."

Jild frowned.

"You seem awfully concerned," he said, his tone cool. "And since when are you privy to the Region Lord's decisions or his will?"

Divara blanched.

Across the room, her sister Sinsatra Bimal shook her head silently.

Jild's voice deepened.

"Unless, of course… you've been spying for him. Selling information about the Slums while selling your daughters—and maybe even mine."

There was a heavy pause.

Lyara looked down at her hands, shame pooling in her expression. Her father's gaze had turned to her—stern, unyielding. Kirsten caught the look in Jild's eyes. It wasn't disappointment. It was something closer to rage, buried just enough to remain composed.

Pamela Gunsak, Lyara's mother, lowered her head in shame.

Kirsten stiffened. He knew some families in the Slums resorted to that kind of arrangement to survive. He hadn't thought it still happened. He certainly hadn't expected it from those seated at his table.

Then again, Divara had only rejoined their circle a few years ago. She came from Irlandev, where things worked differently. Hell—every City in the Province handled things differently.

Jild continued without emotion.

"Alas, Divara, no matter what arrangement you had with Pamela, I've been ordered to leave the Slums and take over from my older brother. The local quarters will be renovated. I doubt you'll be able to remain where you are. You'll likely be returned to the central districts of the Slums."

Pamela glanced at him, worry now evident in her face. Divara's expression remained rigid, but her fists were clenched.

Jild glanced briefly at Pamela.

"I'm sure they'll let you stay in the better barracks for Jeany's sake. You're already used to it. And Pamela's family will be relocated to stay near you. Birds of a feather."

Lyara gasped.

"Father…"

"Enough." Jild said sharply. "If you're going to continue down that path, I'd rather you serve a Gentleman soldier than a Noble. At least the risks to our family would be lower. I could be executed just for speaking out in your case. Do you not understand that? Maybe they'll just behead me or worse."

Lyara dropped her gaze completely, tears beginning to fall. Pamela reached out to hold her hand, her eyes glinting with fury.

"When was this decided?" she asked, voice taut.

Jild didn't flinch.

"Recently. Over a cup of tea I didn't finish. I switched to whiskey instead."

Divara shook her head sharply.

"No. There would have been an announcement. She's tricking you."

Pamela nodded grimly in agreement.

Jild raised an eyebrow.

"She? Who is this she?"

Pamela's voice was flat. "You know who. Don't play games."

He gave a dry smile.

"Well, if it's a Goddess, then yes. She did make the decree. It grants me partial freedom. Not much but enough. I wasn't as lucky as the twins. They were all but released."

Jeany and her mother both gasped, turning wide-eyed toward the two young men still eating at the side of the table.

One of them, mouth still half-full, spoke up without lifting his eyes.

"We're just moving to Uncle's former area once we find a decent place and save a little more. They're letting us stay in one of the new Church Noble houses that showed up this morning. We pay a modest rent to Syl Celia and do our chores."

Their mother looked stricken.

"Oh, Lords… When were you going to tell me?"

Jild rose slightly from his chair, eyes calm but final.

"I'm telling you now," he said. "Since you're coming with me. As my First Wife."

Divara snapped again, her voice rising in pitch and barely holding to reason.

"This is impossible! We would have been warned. It can't become effective unless the Lord himself says so!"

Jild didn't flinch. In fact, he beamed—calm, smug, and just sharp enough to wound.

"The Gods have spoken," he said smoothly, "so the Region Lord must stay silent."

He let the words hang for a moment before continuing, eyes glinting.

"He'll stay even more silent now that he's frozen—locked in crystal within his own castle. His brother and his son are taking his place. Both of them. They're dividing his responsibilities between them."

Jild's tone remained cheerful, almost mocking.

"They shall be known as the Lord. Not Lords. Just one title, two men. Both their approvals are now required for any matter relating to the Slums. So, if they're fated to fall like the one before them, they'll fall together."

There was a pause—long enough for everyone to realize this wasn't gossip. It was truth.

"The brother is assuming the former Lord's social duties," Jild went on casually, "while the son's brother is taking over his sibling's responsibilities."

He smiled faintly, then added, "The latter's been put in shackles, though. So he'll have to rule from his cell. Apparently pissed off the wrong man… and the wrong Bunnies."

Divara collapsed back into her seat. Her face went slack, her eyes distant.

She looked lost—completely and utterly lost.

Jild leaned back slightly, the sharpness returning to his tone.

"Well, now you may sell your information directly to Master Mathias Herves, who's filtering it all… or to the cousin of the Sovereign Duke—the one sent to regent the Region and prevent a full rebellion."

His smile curved, dry and cutting.

"That one could end up becoming the Lord himself if the others fail. So you might as well start selling your daughters to him and his flock now. They're on another level of perversion altogether."

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.