The tournament begins in six months, Alistaire 
thought, staring at the spectacle in front of him. 
‘Tickets to the World Fair. One livre a piece! 
Come quickly, reserve your spots!’ The street announcer 
cried. However, the crowd of people in the market were 
far too occupied by their lives to bother listening. Though 
Alistaire was occupied himself, he did listen—he did care. 
He knew that the tournament, which would occur during 
the World Fair, would set the course of his life. Success in 
the tournament would propel him into the life he had 
always wanted to live. Failure, however, would most 
certainly imprison him to his current place in the social 
hierarchy. There won’t be another chance like this. I have to 
win. Alistaire thought, raising his eyes to the cloudless sky. 
‘Attention, imbécile!’ The voice of an old man called out 
from behind him.  
Alistaire quickly turned and saw a horse carriage 
bounding its way towards him. He lunged out of the way 
and, in doing so, dropped a few apples from the bag he was 
clutching by his chest. The old man, perched high on top of 
the carriage, shook his head and sneered.  
‘Espèce de rêveur,’ he muttered. 
The commotion had caused quite a stir, and so, 
Alistaire’s younger siblings peeked from under the shop 
stall to observe. The owner of the stall, hearing the rustling 
under him, glanced down under the table. His nostrils 
#ared in anger seeing the several little heads poking out 
from under his stall, holding his produce. Cursing, the man 
grabbed a wooden stick by his side and ran after Alistaire’s 
siblings.  
‘Run!’ Alistaire shouted.  
His siblings, grasping armfuls of bread and vegetables, 
scattered at once, running out the side of the stall. He 
watched them as they ran towards the winding alleyways of 
the Marché de L’Aigle. The shopkeeper cursed and tried to 
catch up to them, but Alistaire’s nimble siblings proved 
too swift for the lumbering man.  
Smirking, Alistaire shook his head and crouched to 
gather the apples he had dropped. Looking down, he saw 
that one had landed on a pile of horse dung. The old man 
on the carriage was already several paces away, trotting 
away with the same smug air he’d had before. Then, for one 
reason or another, Alistaire became irritated by the man’s 
attitude.  
Fucking merchants.  
He picked up the soiled apple by its cleaner side, 
scooping up the dung, and, without hesitation, hurled it at 
the man’s head. Years of throwing rocks as a boy came to 
his aid, and the shit–covered apple struck with a satisfying 
thwack as it splattered all over the man’s head.  
‘Putain!’ the man screamed, turning around furiously, 
his face red. ‘Va te faire foutre!’ he shouted, trying to #ick 
the shit off of himself.  
Alistaire was already laughing. ‘Va te faire enculer!’ he 
shouted back as he took off, chasing after his siblings. Once 
he caught up with them, he breathlessly recounted what 
had just occurred. His siblings bawled out in laughter as 
they kept running together before turning down the 
familiar alley that led towards the river Anese. As usual, 
they jumped the railing by the river and made their way 
under the bridge towards their usual hiding spot.  
Alistaire halted midway when he noticed Charline, his 
nine–year–old sister, struggling to climb over. He ran back 
and lifted her up before quickly carrying her towards the 
others who had already gathered inside the small area under 
the bridge that was enclosed by large wooden crates. He 
lowered her there, and once they were in the clear, he 
laughed with them again as he took a headcount—'ve, all 
present. With the rush slowly leaving his body, he closed 
his eyes, exhaling deeply, allowing the bliss of the moment 
to settle over him. 
‘Brother, why do we always hide here?’ asked Lucas, his 
eleven–year–old brother.  
Alistaire opened his mouth to answer, but Julien, 
seventeen years old and sharp–tongued, cut in. ‘Are you 
thick, Lucas? How many times do we have to tell you? We 
hide so no one knows where we live.’  
Alistaire smacked Julien on the back of his head. ‘Shut 
up Julien, don’t be such an arse. You used to ask stupid 
questions as well when you were his age.’  
Julien brie#y stared back at him but looked away 
without a word. 
Undoubtedly to break the tension, Amélie, his 
nineteen–year–old sister, clapped her hands together and 
asked everyone to hand in their haul. She looked at 
Alistaire 'rst, raising her eyebrows, as she held open an 
empty potato sack, prodding him to hand over the apples 
he was still holding. Camélie, thirteen and always eager to 
help, took the sack from her older sister and went around 
collecting what everyone had stolen. Bit by bit, they 
emptied their haul into it—bread, fruit, vegetables—
whatever they had grabbed.  
They stayed like that for a while, talking, teasing, 
passing time beneath the bridge. When Alistaire decided 
they had lingered long enough, he told his siblings to brush 
the dirt from their clothes. Then he stepped away and 
glanced up at the bridge to see if anyone was crossing. It 
was clear. He signalled, and together they clambered over 
the railing back onto the streets of Hestrisis. 
The six of them walked in loose order, not because it 
was planned, but because that was how it always was. 
Camélie and Charline stayed in the middle, hands often 
close, the elder always ready to reach for the younger’s 
hand if necessary. Camélie, soft-featured and simple in a 
way that never sought to impress, wore her auburn hair in 
soft waves that curled to her shoulders. She spoke with an 
easy but con'dent cadence, her tone always level, even in 
teasing. Charline, much shorter, with eyes full of mischief, 
kept glancing around at everything with a lightness in her 
step that made it seem like she was always skipping. 
Julien and Lucas took the rear. Lucas moved like a boy 
half–lost in daydreams, often slowing his steps to look up 
at rooftops or distant birds. His hair curled at the tips, and 
his smile came easily, though he wasn’t smiling now. Julien, 
lean and dark–browed, walked stiffly beside him, head low. 
He had barely said a word since the earlier scolding. 
Alistaire noticed. He always did. His gaze lingered on 
Julien for a moment, then he shook his head and looked 
forward again. How many times have I set Julien straight these 
past weeks? Too many. He felt it each time. He wished that 
his brother just understood. But he didn’t—he never did. 
He was still thinking when Amélie moved up beside 
him. She didn’t say anything at 'rst. Her long chestnut 
hair was tied in a low braid, and her slim 'gure was 
wrapped in a white dress drawn at the waist by a worn 
leather belt. Bracelets lined her wrists—some collected over 
the years, a few passed down by their mother. She wore 
them as she wore everything, with ease, as if every garment 
in the world had been made with her in mind. Her sleeves 
were rolled up to her forearms, and she walked with her 
hands folded behind her back. Her eyes were calm but 
never passive. They held questions she often didn’t voice. 
She nudged his shoulder. ‘You’re frowning. Thinking 
about a girl?’ 
Alistaire smirked. ‘Maybe.’ 
She looked sideways at him. ‘You need to stop messing 
around. One day you’ll wake up and be too old to walk, let 
alone chase. Find someone good before then.’ 
Alistaire tilted his head and raised his lip, returning the 
sideways glance. ‘I already live with three girls. One more 
might kill me,’ he said it lightly, but Amélie didn’t answer. 
He glanced at her. ‘What about you then? You seeing 
someone?’ 
Her posture didn’t change, but she took a longer breath 
before answering. She bit her bottom lip. Her eyes shifted 
forward. ‘No.’ 
Alistaire narrowed his eyes slightly. There was 
something more in her voice, but he let it pass. Whatever it 
was, she would say when she was ready. 
They walked in silence for a while. The city around them 
changed. Less white, more grey. Less chatter. More stillness. 
Then, she turned toward him more fully. ‘We can’t keep 
doing this forever,’ she said suddenly, her voice low. 
‘Stealing, scavenging, lying. All of it. We’re getting older.’ 
Alistaire clenched his jaw. He knew. He felt it too. The 
words hit something he had been trying not to name. 
Something he had spent countless nights wondering, 
countless nights staring at the ceiling as sleep refused to 
come. The thought of them splitting apart, drifting away 
into different corners of the world, wounded him deeply. 
He didn’t want to be parted from them. Any of them. But 
without money, without a path forward, he knew that time 
would tear them apart. 
He stopped walking and looked at her directly. 
‘I’ll 'nd a way.’ 
Amélie nodded, slow and silent. She said no more and 
resumed her pace, her hands still folded behind her back, 
now more apprehensive than before. 
Half an hour passed before they reached their district. 
The city behind them had been bright and clean—
beautiful, even—with smooth stone paths and symmetrical 
terraces of pale stone, everything laid out in perfect 
rhythm. Here, the air shifted. The streets turned narrow 
and uneven, and the polished roads gave way to crooked 
stone. The scent of fresh bread and #owers faded, replaced 
by the sour tinge of old water and the weight of smoke 
clinging to wooden beams. Wooden houses leaned into one 
another, their beams cracked and softened by rot. Junk 
gathered in the corners where weeds grew in clumps. Shoes 
lay without their pair. A dented kettle. A broken mirror 
frame. All things left behind and never cleaned up.  
They were home now. 
Their home stood at the back of a narrow alley, far from 
the street, where sunlight only reached for a single hour 
each day. It was quiet. The kind of quiet that wasn’t 
peaceful. 
Alistaire approached the door and, by old habit, reached 
for it to knock. His hand stopped halfway. 
No one’s home. It’s just us now. 
He rummaged for the house key from his inside coat 
pocket and quickly placed it inside the keyhole, turning it 
open. All his siblings rushed inside except for Julien, who 
lingered at the door. 
He looked up at Alistaire with con#icted, remorseful 
eyes.  
‘I’m sorry for what I said to Lucas earlier—you’re right… 
like always. We need to stick together as a family… that’s 
the only way we can survive.’ 
Alistaire raised an eyebrow, then gave a small, surprised 
smile. He hadn’t expected that.  ‘Julien…’ he said gently, in 
the manner a parent would speak to their child. 
His younger brother continued on breathless. ‘ Thank 
you for everything, frère—without you… w–we all would 
have been sent to a foster home or worse. After your 'ght 
with Pa, I thought it was over for us, but now, because of 
you, we’re even better off than we were before.’ 
Alistaire’s smile grew wider. Hearing Julien say this 
eased his previous worries. His brother was right—even 
though they were still so far down, they were at least 
moving up in the world. He reached out and held Julien’s 
shoulder. ‘It’s not just me—everyone has a part to play, 
even you. You’re seventeen now. Start acting a man, and in 
time you’ll become one. When I’m away, with the boys or 
elsewhere, you’re the man of the house. You’ll have to take 
care of everyone. Can I trust you to do that?’  
Julien looked down, uncertain. ‘I really don’t know 
frère,’ he said, shifting his feet uneasily against the ground.  
‘I do. Here,’ Alistaire said, taking off his #at cap, ‘take 
this, wear it and you’ll become a man.’ He extended his arm 
out and his brother took the #at cap somewhat reluctantly.  
‘But it’s just a ragged old cap,’ Julien mumbled. 
‘It is, sure, but it’s also my ragged, old cap. Remember me 
while you wear it, and, in time, you’ll become like me,’ 
Alistaire said, grinning. 
Julien clenched the cap in his hand. ‘That sounds stupid, 
but I guess it can’t hurt.’ 
‘Sounds stupid huh?’ Alistaire said, giving him a mock 
glare. ‘Get inside before I throw you in—it’s starting to get 
cold,’ he said, smacking Julien lightly on the back, nudging 
him through the doorway. 
Inside, Camélie and Amélie had already started the 're 
and were tending to it. Lucas was hunched over their 
rickety table, chopping vegetables, glancing up brie#y at 
Julien. 
‘Jul, come help,’ Lucas said, brushing the hair off of his 
brow with his wrists as he tried to slowly cut a carrot, 
careful not to cut his 'nger like he had last time. 
Charline, meanwhile, was in bed playing with a toy that 
Amélie had made for her by stuffing hay into an old, cut-
up fabric fashioned into the shape of a bear. Monsieur 
L’Ours, was his name.  
Alistaire smiled, taking in the harmony and unity 
around him and the purity of his siblings, who had become 
so capable now that they were on their own. He sat down 
by the 're and let the warmth settle over him. Their life 
was crude, yes, but there was something oddly wonderful 
about it. Their hardships had drawn them close. The dire 
situation in which they lived forced each and every one of 
them to cooperate in some form. Even little Charline, with 
her wide, persuasive eyes, was vital to their way of life. She 
was usually the distraction, the one whom strangers felt 
sorry for. She drew the eyes off her siblings, who, efficient 
in their craft, would carry out their work unnoticed. 
His thoughts were cut short by a sudden crash. From the 
corner of his eye, he saw that Lucas had tripped over a 
table leg. The tin cup in his hands went #ying and bounced 
off Julien’s chest, splattering water all over him. Then it 
landed on the cold stone #oor as it rattled to a halt.  
Everyone stopped whatever they were doing to look at 
the two. Lucas shrieked and shielded himself, anticipating 
a smack from Julien. But none came. Though clearly 
infuriated, Julien did nothing except intently stare at Lucas 
and clench his teeth. Lucas peeked from behind his arms, 
and when he realised the strike wasn’t coming, darted 
behind Alistaire for cover.  
Julien exhaled and drew in deep breaths, snapping out 
of his rage. He then slowly looked at Alistaire. His 
expression was striking—it was not anger nor frustration, 
it was something he had never seen before on his younger 
brother, it was an expression of maturity, growth.  
Alistaire gave a satis'ed smile, thinking how the #at cap 
which Julien was now wearing suited him well. He then 
turned to face his youngest brother. ‘Lucas, stop hiding, 
apologise to Julien and get back to work.’  
Lucas nervously stood up and straightened himself 
before he went back towards the kitchen. He apologised to 
his older brother and started to wipe the water o ff the 
#oor.  
Julien stared at him and tilted his head knowingly—his 
previous animosity completely vanished. ‘It’s 'ne, just clean 
this up while I go up to change my shirt, and hopefully 
you’ll be done by the time I get back. Right?’ He said, 
turning to walk up the stairs. 
Lucas looked up almost doubtfully. Unsure how to react 
to such a civil, unfamiliar interaction with his usually hot–
headed brother. ‘O–okay frère,’ Lucas 'nally said after a 
moment of pause. 
Julien was already halfway up the stairs but paused and 
gave a nod before continuing towards his room.  
Alistaire chuckled. I didn’t think my cap would work this 
well so soon. He thought, standing up to check on Amélie 
and Camélie. They had 'nished lighting the 're and were 
talking amongst themselves about the latest piece of gossip 
in their neighbourhood. 
‘She did what?!’ Camélie exclaimed. 
‘I know,’ Amélie replied, eyes wide. ‘I heard she’s already 
sailing from Ephyraea towards god knows where.’ 
‘Ephyraea?! But she doesn’t even know him.’ 
‘Love makes people mad I suppose,’ Amélie said, 
shrugging. 
Alistaire shook his head and walked away, saying 
nothing—he did not want to take part in their chatter. 
Amélie looked up at him with a certain glare, seeming 
ready to pounce at him because of his apparent disdain for 
their conversation. However, she quickly averted her gaze 
and turned her attention back to her sister. 
Alistaire noticed her, but he did not acknowledge it. 
Instead, he looked at the dwindling stack of logs next to 
the 'replace and re#ected that they ought to steal some 
more soon.  
Folding his arms, he stared into the 're, watching it 
#icker and crackle as if dancing. Then, movement caught 
his eye. Lucas was stru ggling to lift a heavy sack of 
potatoes, gritting his teeth with effort. Before anything else 
could go wrong, Alistaire stepped over and helped him 
lower it safely to the ground. Together, they grabbed a few 
potatoes and tossed them into the wide tin pot, which they 
then 'lled with water and carried over to the 're. Once it 
was settled on the iron grill, Alistaire left the task to the 
girls and returned to the kitchen with Lucas trailing 
behind. 
He was halfway through slicing a tomato when he heard 
footsteps creaking down the stairs. Glancing up, he saw 
Julien, wearing a dark red woollen sweater he had never 
seen before—probably one they had recently stolen.  
Alistaire called him over and handed him the knife. 
‘Okay, frères, I have to go now. Lucas,’ he said, patting his 
youngest brother’s back, ‘try not to make a mess again, and 
Julien,’ he said with a smirk. ‘Very clever. Now if Lucas spills 
tomato on you, no one will even notice.’ 
Julien smirked. ‘Sure, frère sure, so when will you be 
back?’ 
Alistaire wiped the tomato juice o ff his hands and 
paused to put a hand on his chin.  
‘Ahh… can’t say. Whenever I get tired, I guess.’ 
‘Please come back quick!’ Charline called out to him, 
holding Monsieur L’Ours close to her chest. 
Alistaire smiled and nodded to her. ‘I will.’  
He walked to the front door, grabbed his coat, and 
rummaged behind the cupboard for his sword—but his 
'ngers found nothing.  
Odd, I know I left it there, or did I? 
He turned back to face his siblings. ‘Have any of youse 
touched my sword?’  
They looked back at him with blank expressions. 
Julien stepped out of the kitchen, wiping his 'ngers, 
with a puzzled look on his face. ‘Are you sure it’s not 
behind the other cupboard?’ 
Alistaire knew it wasn’t there, but he decided to look 
anyway out of desperation. ‘No, it’s not here.’ He eyed 
Lucas. ‘Have you touched it?’ 
‘No frère, I swear, I haven’t!’ Lucas pleaded, waving his 
hands in front of him. 
‘Well then, fuck. Where is it?’  
Panic consumed Alistaire. He paced around the house 
rummaging for his sword, opening cupboards, checking 
behind furniture, throwing blankets.  
Some fucker must have stolen it from our house. Who the fuck 
would dare?! 
‘Arrgh!’ He screamed out in frustration, slamming the 
side of his 'st on the wall. 
Amélie’s voice then rose in behind him. 
‘Alistaire… I–I know where it is,’ she said quietly, hands 
gathered in front of her, a guilty look plastered on her face.  
‘You do?! Wh—’ He stopped himself mid–shout, seeing 
the fear in her eyes.  
 I can’t shout at them like that—otherwise I’ll be no better 
than our dick–wash of a father. 
 ‘Amélie, where is it?’ He asked, steadying his voice. 
She hesitated. ‘Umm… C—Can I talk to you outside?’ 
She asked, her gaze tilted downwards. 
What does Amélie have to do with my sword? 
‘Well, come on then,’ he said, motioning her outside. He 
opened the door and let her pass. She grabbed her scarf 
from the couch on her way out and once outside, wrapped 
it around herself tightly, breathing into the wool, her 
hands trembling slightly. 
She stood in silence for a while before opening her 
mouth and shutting it again. Then, 'nally, she began 
speaking in a remorseful tone. ‘I gave your sword to Jean. 
He told me he only wanted to see it—that he’d give it back 
before we were home. I didn’t want to, but he—he insisted. 
He was here this morning when you were out with your 
friends. I—I,’ tears began #owing down her cheeks. ‘I’m 
sorry Alistaire. I’m really sorry.’ 
Dread poured through Alistaire’s soul.  
That fucking bastard Jean. 
He stared past her tearful face, the world around him 
blurring. He paused for a while before uttering. ‘Do you 
know… W—Where he is at this moment?’ he said, 
struggling to contain his rising anger. 
She wiped her eyes. ‘He usually hangs around the dock 
around this time… He might still be there. With his 
friends,’ she said anxiously. 
Alistaire sighed and ordered her inside. Without 
another word, he turned and began jo gging down the 
alleyway toward the dock. Halfway down, he glanced back 
and saw Amélie still lingering near the doorway. 
‘Alistaire, wait!’ she called out. 
He slowed, turned to face her, and roared, ‘Amélie, I 
don’t want to hear it. I told you not to be around faggots 
like Jean.’  
Then, without giving her a chance to reply, he broke 
into a dead sprint. As he reached the corner of the street, 
he looked back once more and saw that all of his siblings 
had stepped outside to watch him. He shook his head in 
disapproval and kept running, his boots pounding against 
the cobble as he turned onto the adjacent street and bolted 
toward the main road. 
Should I gather the boys…? No—not enough time.  
The street was mostly empty now. Dusk had thinned the 
crowds, and the few people that still lingered gave him 
wary glances before quickly turning away.  
Shit, am I too late?  
After several minutes of weaving through the darkening 
streets, he reached the entrance to the dock—one of many 
along the river Anese. This particular dock catered mostly 
to small pleasure vessels for the wealthy. Trading vessels 
rarely ever came this far inland, so close to the heart of 
Hestrisis. Most unloaded near the sea, their cargo then 
brought inland by train.  
As Alistaire approached the entrance to the dock, he 
noticed a vessel still loading passengers.  
Shit! he thought, letting out a faint groan of frustration. 
He slowed to a walk and ducked behind a stack of crates. 
Peeking through, he saw wealthy, well–dressed noblemen 
and women. Most were older couples, waddling past the 
boarding ramp with indulgent smiles. A few were 
accompanied by their young. His eyes narrowed. He looked 
at their 'ne clothes and well–groomed faces and grimaced 
with anger at the sheer opulence of their lives. His jaw 
clenched as he pondered why he and his family were 
doomed to live such menial lives while these pompous 
bastards could rent out a luxury cruise for the night.  
Fucking aristocrats, I hate them, yet I can’t help but envy 
them. 
A line of guards blocked the entrance to the dock. There 
was no way he’d get in through there. So, he scanned the edge 
of the dock and followed the length of the fence, hands in his 
pockets. Once he was sure no one was watching, he vaulted 
over in one smooth motion. His boots landed on the gravel 
with a soft crunch.  
Without pause, he brushed the hair out of his eyes and 
moved along the water’s edge. Jean would still be at the old 
dock—he had to be. Alistaire crouched low and kept 
walking under protruding branches and thorny bushes 
until the concrete platform of the old dock came into view.  
There he saw several 'gures loitering around, including 
a man holding his sword.  
Jean. 
He ducked behind a crooked tree and circled around, 
taking a longer path to the dock to avoid being seen. As he 
got closer, he could make out the voices and faces of the 
'gures. They looked young—Amélie’s age, maybe a little 
older. Alistaire crouched behind a bush and watched them 
for a while.  
Jean was there, of course—swinging around the sword 
like a drunkard, dropping it more than once onto the 
stone, chipping its edges. Every clang made Alistaire wince. 
Rage boiled up inside him, and it took all his will to stop 
himself from rushing them. Not now… not like this. There’s too 
many. That would be suicide. What the fuck should I do?  
There were four boys, including Jean, and two girls. Jean 
stood the furthest from him, closest to the river’s edge. The 
boys were swinging wooden sticks at the sword, laughing 
as they clashed them against its blade. The two girls sat on 
a crate to the side, legs crossed, looking bored. 
One skanky–looking girl, chewing something while 
twirling her hair lazily, called out to Jean. ‘Are you done 
swinging that thing around? When are we going?’ 
‘Shut up,’ Jean snapped. ‘We’ll go when I say we go. Look 
over there at the water’s edge, there’s fucking nobles 
boarding a cruise right now. You wanna jump a fence in 
that dress? Sit and wait.’ 
He held the sword out in front of him, inspecting it 
with a twisted grin. ‘This is the 'nest fucking blade I’ve 
ever held. How the hell did that penniless rat Alistaire get 
his hands on this?!’ 
‘Ooo, don’t say that about the thief prince,’ a lanky boy 
chimed in. ‘He might come and get you.’  
Jean snorted. ‘Thief prince? More like whore prince. 
With that many sisters in the shack he calls a home, he’s 
practically running a brothel in there. I’ve already fucked 
one—maybe I’ll go back tomorrow and fuck another? 
Wonder if they’ll be open late, I’ve got work ’til nine.’ 
The boys erupted into laughter. Even the girls smirked, 
seemingly amused. Alistaire, however, was not. His entire 
being became utterly consumed by anger. He clenched his 
'sts so hard that his nails dug into his skin, almost drawing 
blood.  
THAT FUCKING BASTARD! 
I’LL KILL HIM, I’LL FUCKING KILL HIM, I’LL KILL HIM! 
He screamed internally, his body trembling in rage. 
Without thought, he grabbed a nearby rock and hurled 
it at the nearest boy. It bashed the boy’s head squarely in 
the temple, and he immediately dropped to the #oor like a 
doll. The others spun around, alarmed. The girls shrieked 
and scrambled behind a nearby pillar. 
Jean shouted, ‘Where are you?! Show yourself, coward!’ 
Alistaire stepped forward with two more rocks in his 
hands. ‘I’m not hiding you fucking fa ggot!’ He spat, 
#inging another rock.  
It missed its intended target—the lanky boy—but struck 
another in the thigh, knocking him to the ground. The 
lanky one tried to #ee for cover, but Alistaire was faster. 
The second rock #ew and clipped the back of the boy’s 
head. He crumpled on the #oor, twitching once before 
going still. 
‘Tu putain de pédé!’ Jean snarled, charging with the 
sword.  
Alistaire ran forward to meet him, veering to grab a 
wooden branch from the 'rst boy he’d struck. He lowered 
himself to reach it and grabbed it just in time before Jean 
swung at him. Alistaire straightened his posture mid–
sprint, seeing the world around him slow, and lunged to 
the side with one foot. Jean’s swing missed, but if not for 
the lunge, would have sliced him right through the head. 
He felt the gust of Jean’s blade slicing through the air 
beside him—barely missing his face. 
Using the momentum of his lunge, Alistaire twisted his 
body and swung the branch hard across Jean’s face. It 
struck, bashing the side of Jean’s face with great force, 
sending him tumbling to the #oor. The swiftness of the 
swing threw Alistaire off balance, causing him to hit the 
ground and land hard on his wrists. He writhed in pain as 
he slowly stood up, holding his wrists. He stared down at 
Jean with deathly, satiated eyes.  
From behind, another voice rang out. ‘Je suis toujours là, 
enculé!’ 
It was the boy he’d clipped in the leg—closer than 
expected. He lunged, swinging his own branch. Alistaire 
tried to parry the blow, but the incoming branch smashed 
his own out of his hand, and the tip of it struck him in the 
nose.  
The pain was blinding. 
FUCK. 
Alistaire staggered, eyes watering. His vision blurred as 
he held his nose with one hand. Cursing, he swung blindly 
with the other, reaching out in the dark. 
By chance or instinct, his 'ngers caught the boy’s collar. 
He held fast. The boy, stunned by the suddenness, didn’t 
react. Alistaire hooked his leg behind him and drove him 
down, slamming him hard onto the concrete. 
There was a dull crack as the boy’s head struck the #oor. 
His eyes shut as if he were dead. Perhaps he was.  
Alistaire lowered his hand and saw it coated in blood. 
His own. Breathing hard, he crouched, disoriented.  
A sudden #urry of steps from behind startled him. He 
clambered for the closest branch and turned to face the 
person—Jean.  
Jean, wild–eyed, roared as he swung with both hands, 
intending to kill. 
As the sword arched toward him, Alistaire’s life #ashed 
before his eyes, and he saw his siblings’ faces.  
He would not die here. Not now. Not like this. 
He sucked in air and hurled the branch forward to meet 
the blade.  
That should have de#ected the blow. 
But the branch shattered on impact. The blade—razor 
sharp, sharpened by his own hand time and time again—
cut clean through the wood and sliced into his left forearm. 
The gash was deep. Blood spurted out furiously. 
For a moment, he just stared. Stunned. His mind reeled 
as the sight sent a cold jolt through his chest, but there was 
no pain. Not yet. 
Instinct took over. He swept Jean’s legs out from under 
him and sent him crashing to the #oor. 
Then the pain came. 
‘AAAAARRRGH!’ 
Alistaire screamed—a long, raw cry that tore his throat 
open. The agony was absolute. His mind emptied. Every 
thought dissolved into white noise. Blood sprayed from his 
arm in 'erce bursts. He pressed his other hand against the 
wound, trying to hold it in, but it only splattered across his 
face, into his eyes. 
The searing pain consumed him, sharper than anything 
he had ever known. 
STOP. STOP. STOP.  
PLEASE—JUST STOP! 
He fell back and stared upwards at the darkening, now 
crimson–tinted sky as his vision faded into nothingness. 
***
The crowd cheered his name. The Princess was eyeing him 
up and down. He raised his sword in victory and planted 
his leg upon the fallen enemy.  
ALISTARE! ALISTAIRE! ALISTAIRE! They chanted. 
 ‘Alistaire! Wake up!’  
He was in a château, leaning on a stone railing, looking 
down on a beautiful garden below. A girl stood beside him. 
Green–eyed. Alluring. Her hand rested gently over his. 
‘You’re hurt,’ she said in a dark, disturbing voice which 
did not match her beautiful face.  
‘I am?’ he asked her, his voice faint, misty.  
He looked down and saw his half–severed arm resting 
on the railing.  
Wailing, he stumbled back and fell into a deep, dark pit.  
His screams echoed at 'rst but then faded as he fell 
deeper and deeper into the in'nite void.  
Above him, a silver, crystalline glass pane shimmered. 
Upon it, his future raced on like a continual barrage of 
paintings. He was rapidly progressing with age. Armless, 
and still living in that dark alleyway. He had never risen 
above his social hierarchy. He was still poor. Still trapped. 
His beloved siblings either succumbed to illness, accident, 
or just simply left. He was the last to die, alone and 
without ever amounting to anything. 
He lived alone for years, completely alone. Nameless, 
worthless. His life had been meaningless. 
A cold sensation emerged on his forehead, so very cold, 
so very soothing.  
Tap… Tap…. Tap… Tap… Tap.  
Then a sharp pain pierced his left arm. His eyes #ickered 
open for a brief moment. He was being dragged into a room. 
To his left, he saw his brother, Julien, and to his right, his 
sister, Amélie.  
Then the darkness consumed him yet again.  
When he awoke, he could feel that he was lying on a cold 
metal bed. There was a strange numbness on his left arm. 
He tilted his head to look. Someone had bandaged it 
tightly. He moved it ever so slightly. The pain was dull now, 
no longer searing. Relieved, he let his head fall back. He 
looked around. The room was dim, shadowed in places. Faint 
voices murmured nearby, but he couldn’t make out the 
words. Outside, rain struck the glass in steady rhythm. 
Somewhere farther off, a 're crackled.  
Strangely, he could hear those distant sounds more 
clearly than the voices so close to him. 
Then, he became conscious of himself. 
What had happened? Why was he here? 
‘Will he be alright?’ the voice of a little girl asked 
fearfully, cutting through the dullness in his ears. 
Who is that? I know this voice. 
‘I know he will. He’s Alistaire,’ the voice of a young man 
replied with conviction.  
That voice… Immanuel?  
Alistaire lifted his head, just enough to see the group of 
people gathered around a table by the door. Their voices 
were still not clear to him, and their faces were dim under 
the amber light of the oil lamp hung on the doorframe.  
His vision sharpened slowly, and he recognised that the 
man who had spoken was indeed Immanuel—his closest 
friend. Tousled black hair, the same sharp grin, the same 
scar tracing the side of his mouth. But now his face was 
softened by concern as he leaned down to speak to 
Charline. 
Alistaire smiled at the sight of them, the people who 
mattered most. But the moment he did, a cough seized his 
chest. 
Everyone at the table turned. 
Charline jumped to her feet. ‘Alistaire!’ she cried, 
rushing toward him. 
But Camélie caught her just in time. ‘Charline. Stop—
he’s hurt.’ 
‘Oh…’ Charline murmured, stepping back, guilt 
#ickering on her face. 
Immanuel stood and walked over, his smile calm, his 
voice warm. 
‘Alistaire. Finally. We took you for dead when Julien and 
Amélie dragged you in.’ 
Alistaire looked up at him, his lips curling into the 
faintest grin. Immanuel’s scarred face, his rough features, 
and heavy stare often gave strangers pause. Yet, his clear 
green eyes, full of warmth and wisdom, gave him away. 
Immanuel was a good man, a kind man, and the truest 
friend Alistaire had. 
Alistaire tried to rise, pushing himself up with effort, 
but barely lifted an inch before Camélie was at his side.  
‘No Alistaire, you can’t. The doctor said you have to lie 
down.’ 
He coughed, wiped his mouth, and shook his head as he 
gently moved her hand aside. ‘Fuck the doctor, I want to sit 
up.’ 
Immanuel let out a wild laugh. ‘You stubborn little shit. 
You’re lucky to be here at all. You should be more careful. 
Julien found you by the old docks. He followed you there. 
Somehow dragged you back, bleeding like a butchered hog.’ 
And then it returned—the memory. 
The blood. The pain. The sword. The cold tap of water 
against his forehead. The vision of his siblings. 
‘Where are we?’ he asked, turning to Immanuel.  
‘At Doctor Georges, of course,’ Immanuel replied, a 
concerned expression growing on his face. ‘Sure you didn’t 
hit your head as well? You seem dazed.’  
‘No… I—I didn’t,’ he mumbled, recalling the 'ght. How 
his nose had been smashed, how he had painfully landed on 
his wrist, how he had skilfully fought, parried, dodged, and 
struck. All for the branch to give way, all for his own 
deadly sword to be his undoing. 
‘The damned nobles by the main dock didn’t even offer 
to help, Julien told me. They only sneered as he dragged 
you,’ Immanuel spat with malice. ‘Only the few people on 
the street showed any concern. Halfway here, an old man 
on a carriage offered to load you on and transport you 
here. You might have bled out if not for that.’ 
An old man on a carriage… No, it can’t be. Alistaire 
thought as guilt seeped into his veins. 
 ‘We all arrived here after Jaime came to tell us what had 
happened. Your other siblings saw you on the carriage and 
came with Julien. Ha, you know what else?’ Immanuel said 
jeeringly. ‘Julien says you said to him, “Don’t take me to a 
doctor, they’ll only make things worse.” Your fucking 
stubbornness has no limits. You’re lucky Jaime’s father was 
at home and not out in the hospital.’ 
Alistaire smirked. ‘Luck triumphs over all, that’s why I 
never lose. As L’Aigle once said.’ 
‘That’s not what he said,’ Immanuel replied, shaking his 
head. 
‘No? Then it’s what I said.’ Alistaire shrugged. 
‘Ah yes, another one of Alistaire Cedar’s iconic quotes.’ 
Alistaire laughed. Immanuel could always make him 
laugh, no matter how bleak the circumstance. 
Then a chilling thought overcame him. Did I win? 
‘Wait, one of them—Jean, he was still conscious. How 
did Julien get me if he was still there?’  
Julien stepped forward now. ‘His head was bleeding, I 
thought you’d thrown a rock at him, but I guess you 
must’ve tripped him, and then he must’ve landed on a rock 
that you’d thrown earlier. You are lucky frère. Everything 
lined up just right for you to make it out alive.’ 
‘The luck of the devil,’ stated another voice. 
A short, old man with round spectacles stepped into 
view. He wore a bloodied apron over a neat shirt. His wild 
white hair made him look half–mad, but there was 
something about his face, a certain familiarity that 
reminded him of Jaime. 
Doctor Georges… He’s aged so much. 
‘You’re lucky to be alive, very lucky. What in god’s name 
were you thinking boy?’ the doctor said, peeling o ff his 
apron. ‘Running into a pack of armed lads with nothing 
but some rocks and your 'sts? That’s not bravery, that’s 
stupidity.’ He shook his head and muttered, more to 
himself now. ‘Utter insanity.’ 
‘Why did you attack them, Alistaire?’ Julien added on. 
‘It’s not like you.’ 
Why did I attack them? The question perplexed him. He 
had thought against it in the beginning, and so why…?  
No…. I remember now. They attacked my honour, the 
sanctity of my family. I would do it all again. 
‘I…I. No t—they.’ He paused. How could he express this to 
them? He could not. 
His eyes drifted over to Amélie, who was still standing 
next to the table, away from him. She averted her eyes 
when he looked at her.  
‘I—I don’t know. Just the things they said about… me.’ 
He lowered his voice. ‘It ticked me off,’ he let out with 
malice lingering in his voice. 
Immanuel tisked. ‘I never knew you were so hot–
headed, twelve years your friend and you still surprise me 
every day.’ 
The old doctor pushed past Immanuel and interjected. 
‘You’ll live… for now. Though that left arm of yours will 
never work the same way. Not left–handed, are you?’ he 
asked, stepping closer to inspect his arm. 
‘No, I’m not,’ Alistaire said, lifting his right hand. 
‘This means you can’t 'ght in the tournament anymore!’ 
Camélie exclaimed, covering her mouth. ‘You’ve been 
talking about it so much…’ She added, frowning. 
‘No, I’m still going,’ he said, remembering his terrible 
dream. 
The doctor scoffed. ‘Do you want to die so soon boy? Do 
you know how much blood you’ve lost already? Look at 
this,’ he said, pointing at his bloody apron. This is your 
blood. You need rest, plenty of it. At least a year or two. I 
know you youngsters think you’re immortal, but believe 
me, you’re not. If that wound opens up again, or if it 
becomes infected, then you really might die. Only time will 
tell now,’ the doctor noted grimly. 
His siblings gasped, and even Immanuel clenched his 
jaw. 
But Alistaire was unfazed. He would not die. He would 
live through this, and he would lead his family towards the 
riches they deserved.  
‘The tournament is still six months away. This wound 
will heal, and if not, I’ll 'ght one–handed,’ he declared, a 
're burning in his eyes. 
‘Bah! Nonsense, I hope the others can talk you out of 
these delusions,’ the doctor said, throwing his arms up in 
frustration and turning to leave the room. 
Immanuel put a hand on the doctor’s shoulder. ‘Don’t 
worry Mr Georges, Alistaire likes to make us laugh from 
time to time to lighten up the mood, you know?’ 
‘This is no time for laughs! I need to rest now,’ he said, 
swatting Immanuel’s hand away. ‘Stopping a burst artery is 
no simple task,’ the doctor muttered, wiping his brow. ‘You 
were minutes from exsanguination. I managed to clamp the 
brachial just in time, then packed and sutured it without 
anaesthetic. Be glad you were unconscious. And I did all 
this with no team!’ He groaned, letting out his frustrations, 
as he hobbled out of the room. ‘No more miracles tonight.’  
‘Ah…eh, yes. Thanks Doc,’ Alistaire replied, struggling to 
comprehend his words. 
‘We appreciate your help doctor,’ Camélie stepped in, a 
worry in her eyes. ‘But will my brother be alright now?’ 
The doctor was at the threshold of the door leading to 
the living room. He paused and looked back, a darkness in 
his eyes. ‘I said before. Only time will tell.’ 
Why is everyone so worried? Do they not know me? Have 
they forgotten who I am? Even if my arm was completely severed, 
I would not stop. I would rise. 
Alistaire looked over to Immanuel. ‘How long have I 
been asleep?’ 
Immanuel looked at him, his expression unreadable. ‘A 
long time, I don’t know when you went down, but I’d say 
around 've hours. The other boys were here as well, but 
you know, they have lives to live, so I told them to come see 
you tomorrow.’ 
‘My sword, where is it?’ Alistaire asked, subconsciously 
feeling for a hilt beside his hip. 
‘I had a few of the boys go back to get it. Luckily, it 
seems Jean’s gang left it behind. I don’t think you killed any 
of them, if you had, well, shit, we’d be in some trouble,’ 
Immanuel said, 'nding a chair to sit on. 
‘We have to be careful now, I’ve started a war, Jean’s part 
of the district opposite the Anese, isn’t he? They’re a 
serious group, and even though Jean’s just a lowly 
henchman, they’ll still want us to pay with blood for what 
I’ve done.’ He looked over at his siblings. ‘I’m sorry for all 
of this.’ 
Julien looked back at him directly. ‘No Alistaire, we’ll 
follow you wherever you want to go. It doesn’t matter if a 
war starts, we’ll all 'ght beside you.’ 
‘That’s right,’ Immanuel said, his arms folded.  
A brief tension settled over them as they all pictured 
how a war with a rival gang might unfold. Street feuds 
were nothing new to them. It was common to have 
disputes over turf, quarrels over tribute, the odd brawl 
from time to time with boys from other districts. But this… 
this was different. They’d never gone to war with an 
organised crime group before. Despite this, Alistaire was 
prepared—however it might play out, he would face them 
head–on. And, with his intellect and skill, he would defeat 
them. 
Immanuel snickered all of a sudden and let out a sly grin 
directed towards Alistaire. ‘You know that girl…’ he paused 
and looked around the room. ‘Wait, actually, don’t worry. 
I’ll tell you about it later.’ 
Alistaire smirked. ‘Why do I get the feeling I already 
know what you’re going to sa—argh!’ he screamed out in 
pain. The searing pain from before was returning to his left 
arm. He grabbed it with his right arm to try to ease it, but 
this only made it worse. He looked at Immanuel, gritting 
his teeth. ‘Tell everyone to leave. I—I want to talk.’ 
Immanuel nodded. ‘Everyone, Alistaire needs to rest for 
a bit, would you all mind waiting outside for him?’ he said 
as he looked at Julien, nodding to him.  
Julien understood and began ushering the others out. 
Lucas ran to his side immediately while the girls still 
lingered. Julien glanced back at Alistaire with a furrowed 
brow—something was clearly weighing on his mind, 
though he said nothing. He then called for Charline, who 
was still beside Alistaire, clinging to his side. She tried to 
hug him one last time, but Camélie was already there, 
gently pulling her away. At the door, Julien looked back 
once more, clenched his 'st, then stepped out into the hall. 
Amélie lingered. She stood in the doorway, eyes 'xed on 
the #oor. She didn’t speak. After a moment, she stepped 
out too, leaving only Alistaire and Immanuel. 
Immanuel moved to close the door behind them, then 
pulled a chair across the #oor and turned it backwards 
before sitting on it. He rested his arms on the top and met 
Alistaire’s gaze. 
‘Alright,’ he said. ‘What’s this about?’ 
Alistaire leaned forward, the light of the oil lamp 
#ickering in his eyes. 
‘The plans for war.’  
‘I thought so,’ Immanuel said, pulling a cigarette from 
his pocket. He lit it with a #ick of his lighter, then paused 
to blow out a slow stream of smoke. ‘Tell me something,’ he 
said, puffing the cigarette. ‘Why did you go after them?’ 
The rage he had felt earlier returned along with the pain 
in his arm. It 'lled his entire being and clawed up his chest 
and throat. 
‘That fucker Jean… had his way with Amélie,’ Alistaire 
uttered with malice. ‘I wanted to kill him, and I would’ve, 
if not for his fucking pals. Still—at least I won.’ He glanced 
down at his bandaged arm. ‘If you can even call this a win.’ 
Immanuel looked away. ‘Winning like this huh? There’s a 
phrase for this, but I forgot what it was. Anyway, so you 
were serious about the tournament. You actually still want 
to compete?’ 
‘Of course I do. I—’ Alistaire stopped himself. He felt 
like a boy making excuses to an adult. 
Immanuel continued. ‘The doctor’s right, you know. You 
could die.’ 
‘I could die today, tomorrow, the day after, or any other 
day. What makes dying in the arena any di fferent?’ He 
looked directly at Immanuel now. ‘At least there, I’ve got a 
shot. A real chance at m—our dream.’ 
Immanuel exhaled, the smoke curling around the 
corners of his lips. ‘Our dream…’ 
Alistaire wiped the sweat from his brow. The room was 
thick with heat—a humidity that made him shi ft 
uncomfortably in his seat. 
‘More than anything… I want to live like a noble,’ he 
said, his voice rising. ‘Not just me—everyone. Why the fuck 
should luxury and comfort only belong to them? Why?! I’ll 
rise, I swear it. I’ll rise, and I’ll take you all with me.’ 
Immanuel let out a quiet laugh. ‘You’ve always been like 
this. Since we were kids. Dreaming up things most men 
wouldn’t dare think. Some would call your ambitions 
impossible… but I’m glad you’re still the same. I was 
worried this incident would change you.’ He reached up 
and scratched at the long, ja gged scar across his jaw. 
‘Getting cut changes a man.’ He dropped his hand and 
looked at Alistaire. ‘The ones who did this to me—’ 
Alistaire already knew. 
‘They’re across the Anese,’ Immanuel continued. ‘Not 
just Jean. You understand that, right? What we’re walking 
into isn’t a skirmish with some fool. We’re heading straight 
into Ishmael’s world.’ 
‘Ishmael.’ Alistaire winced slightly, the pain in his arm 
throbbing again. ‘For someone I’ve never met, I’ve sure 
heard a fuck–load about him.’ 
‘There’s a reason for that,’ Immanuel’s tone hardened. 
‘We’re lucky, Alistaire. No real gang has claimed our 
district, which is the only reason we’re even standing at the 
top of it. But on his side? The Red Vipers run everything—
and somehow, he’s still above them. They answer to him.’ 
Immanuel leaned forward. ‘He’s dangerous. More than you 
think. And in some messed–up way… you two are alike.’ 
‘So what, he wants to rise too?’ Alistaire asked, 
squinting at him. 
Immanuel didn’t smile. ‘He did, and now he already has. 
Now he wants more.’ His eyes were dead serious. 
‘Domination du monde.’ 
Alistaire blinked. Then snorted. ‘World domination? 
Hah. That’s a bit—’ 
Immanuel stood, letting the cigarette fall to the #oor. 
‘I’m serious, Alistaire. Don’t take him lightly.’ 
The sharpness in his voice startled him. 
‘You’ve never looked this afraid,’ Alistaire muttered. 
‘Who the hell is Ishmael, really?’ 
Immanuel paused. 
‘A man you should also learn to fear.’ 
‘Well, I don’t know if I can say I will. But I’ll try to be 
on guard,’ Alistaire said, trying to lighten the mood. 
‘Anyway, what was that thing you were about to say 
earlier?’  
Immanuel’s face brightened. ‘You know that girl you’ve 
been trying to woo? Louise? She visited earlier when she 
heard what happened to you.’ 
‘No way, I thought we were done. So she still wants me 
huh?’ 
Immanuel laughed. ‘Either that, or she wanted Doctor 
Georges. I’m not sure which is more likely.’ 
‘Oh please, it’s obviously me,’ Alistaire said smugly.  
‘Is it though? Doctor Georges does have a way with his 
hands,’ Immanuel replied with a crooked grin. 
Alistaire laughed alongside his friend, and for a brief 
moment, the air in the room loosened—however, that 
didn’t last. A knock sounded at the door, suddenly 
catching their attention. They both glanced over, and after 
a moment of silence, the door slowly opened. Instinctively, 
they tensed, bracing for whoever was about to enter the 
room. They relaxed when they saw that it was only the 
doctor. 
‘Still awake, good. Now you can tell me who’s going to 
pay for all the trouble I went through to save your life,’ the 
doctor said, irritation thick in his voice. 
Immanuel scowled. ‘Ah, doc, can’t you say you did it out 
of the goodness of your heart? Must you really charge us 
poor peasants?’ 
‘The goodness of my heart won’t feed my family,’ the 
doctor shot back. ‘I need money. How will you pay?’ 
Alistaire straightened his back. ‘Mr Georges. I’ll pay 
you, don’t worry—right after I win the tournament.’ 
‘Bah! You’ll never win. And even if you somehow did, 
the tournament is six months away. I can’t wait that long. 
Better you two start working now and pay me in portions 
each week. You’ll also have to pay for the medicine I’m 
about to give you, and for every bandage change.’ 
Alistaire smiled. ‘Thank you, Mr Georges, for saving my 
life. I’m truly grateful. I have great respect for men of 
learning like yourself who choose to serve the poor and live 
modestly, rather than bow to the rich and live as they do. I 
have nothing to give you now, but I’ll take your advice and 
start working. Believe me—in time, I’ll repay you tenfold.’ 
The messy–haired doctor stared at him. ‘Tenfold you 
say, huh? Well, I’ll be holding you to that word.’ 
Alistaire shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well… maybe not 
actually tenfold—that was just an expression, you know. 
And don’t worry about the medication. They’re just 
painkillers, right? I can live without them.’ 
The doctor blinked at him, rapidly and incredulously. 
‘No painkillers? That’s madness. You seem convinced you 
know best, so I won’t waste my breath.’ 
Immanuel leaned toward the doctor and murmured 
something out of earshot. 
Alistaire smirked. ‘What are ya saying there?’ 
‘Nothing, nothing. Anyway, I think you should rest. 
Sleep’s the best medicine. Isn’t that right, doc?’ Immanuel 
quipped. 
The doctor glanced up, eyes narrowed. ‘No, it really 
isn’t.’ He hobbled over and inspected Alistaire’s arm. 
‘Hmm… and where exactly are you sleeping tonight?’ 
‘Where I always sleep. At home,’ Alistaire replied 
nonchalantly. 
‘Then I’ll make you a sling. Your bones aren’t broken, 
but it’s better to keep your arm still than have it swinging 
around.’ 
Alistaire gave a half–nod. ‘Alright, but uh…is this… of 
additional cost?’  
‘This one’s free,’ the doctor said, shaking his head as he 
went to fetch his materials. 
Immanuel watched him go, arms folded, his eyes 'xed 
on Alistaire with a trace of amusement. When the doctor 
was gone, his tone changed. ‘So… what do we do about 
Ishmael?’ 
‘Send a few of the boys across the river. Have them 
watch the place. I doubt Ishmael will move on us right 
away. We need to make contact—see what he’s after. Tell 
the boys to leave a message that gets to him. “Let’s talk. 
Southern canal. Morning. One week.”’ He rubbed a hand 
on his chin. ‘What do you think?’ 
Immanuel nodded, eyes down in deep deliberation. 
‘Sounds good. Who should I send?’ 
‘Send ones who won’t get noticed.’ He paused. ‘Marque 
and Henri. And—’ He clenched his teeth, the sharp pain in 
his arm cutting him short. 
His friend looked at him worriedly. ‘Alistaire. You sure 
you’re going to be alright? That cut is pretty bad.’ 
Alone, without ever rising up the social hierarchy.  
‘I’ll be 'ne. Let’s just focus on what we’re going to do 
for now,’ Alistaire said, masking the pain still threading 
through his body. 
The door swung open before Immanuel could answer. 
Mr Georges stepped in quickly, leather sling in hand. He 
looped it over Alistaire’s shoulder and adjusted it under his 
arm with practiced care. However, even the smallest 
movement sent a jolt of pain through his arm, even still, he 
gritted his teeth and let the doctor work. 
A few minutes later, the doctor was done and told him 
he could go. Immanuel braced his shoulder, helping him off 
the metal bed. Alistaire struggled to move—his whole body 
sore in places he didn’t know could ache. The pain in his 
arm pulsed outward and took root in every joint. He 
limped forward, leaning on his friend for support, the two 
of them inching their way to the coat hanger. They slipped 
on their shoes, then their coats, then Immanuel helped him 
ease the sleeve over his bad arm before holding the door 
open. They offered the doctor a word of thanks, who 
replied with a low, distracted mumble. 
They crossed the living room on their way out. His 
siblings were nowhere to be seen. Alistaire assumed they 
had probably made their own way home. Looking around, 
he noticed that the doctor’s place was far nicer than his 
own. Yet he took pains in the thought that even this was 
nothing in comparison to the opulence the nobles lived in. 
Even here, in these modest comforts, Alistaire felt the 
sting.  
One day, one fucking day, I will have it all.  
Immanuel led him to the couch by the 'replace. 
Alistaire dropped into it—more a collapse than a sit—and 
instantly regretted it as his left elbow struck the armrest.  
‘Putain!’ he screamed out in pain.  
Immanuel laughed and slouched onto the couch beside 
him, only to spring up a moment later as if something had 
come to his mind. ‘Jaime’s still asleep, I think. I’ll go wake 
him,’ he said, glancing toward the stairs. 
Alistaire nodded and sank deeper into the couch. He 
leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling, at the 
large wooden beams supporting the roof. His good hand 
ran over the leather couch, and he noted how comfortable 
it was. Much better than the piece of shit I sleep on at home. I 
have to get myself one of these.  
He lifted his right leg to cross over his knee, the way he 
usually sat, but lowered it when he felt a sting in his left 
arm. Leaning back, he closed his eyes. The sharp crackle of 
logs pulled him back. He sat up straighter before hunching 
before the 're, watching the #ames twist and dance. There 
was something deeply hypnotic about it. Its warm glow 
emitted to him a mixture of both pure happiness and 
profound sadness. The dream returned to him, and, for a 
moment, the face of the green–eyed woman appeared in 
the #ame, slyly grinning at him. He reached out with his 
right hand, and the illusion dispelled.  
It was nothing, just the #ame, just his imagination.  
He clenched his 'st and kept his gaze 'xed on the 
#ames. 
The creak of the stairs drew Alistaire’s eyes. Immanuel 
was coming down with Jaime, who looked as though he’d 
been dragged from bed. He scrubbed his brown hair, 
yawning and stretching as he descended. His face 
illuminated when he saw Alistaire on the couch.  
‘Alistaire! You bastard! I thought you had died,’ Jaime 
exclaimed as he ran forward to embrace him.  
Alistaire put his hand forward. ‘Easy, Jaime. I’m a 
cripple now.’ 
This didn’t stop him. Jaime pulled Alistaire into a 
careful embrace, minding the injured arm. ‘You have to tell 
me everything so we can get back at those low lives.’ He 
stepped back with a grin. ‘Oh, do ya know? Louise was here 
earlier.’ 
‘Ha, I know. Immanuel’s already told me,’ Alistaire said, 
smiling. 
Immanuel came up behind Jaime and rested an arm on 
his shoulder, lazily pointing at Alistaire. ‘He’s good with 
women, isn’t he?’ 
Jaime laughed. ‘No, I’m better. Alistaire’s good, but he’s 
second to me. Can’t be the best at everything pal.’ 
Alistaire fell back on the couch, careful to not bump his 
left arm. ‘You? Better than me? I think my frère, Lucas, gets 
more girls than you.’ 
‘Ah, maybe. You’re right, Lucas is the best, but I’m still 
se—’ A sound at the door cut him off. Someone had come 
up the stairs outside. All three turned, their cheerfulness 
gone in an instant. Jaime reached for a metal 're prodder 
shaped like a fork beside the 'replace and began edging 
toward the door. ‘It’s one in the morning… who the hell 
would be coming here?’ 
Immanuel crept toward the door as well, taking the 
opposite side. He put his hand lightly on the handle and 
looked at Jaime, they nodded as one prepared to pull the 
door open and the other to strike. But then a voice called 
from outside. 
‘Ah… is anyone still awake?’ 
It was a woman’s voice—Louise’s voice. The tension 
broke at once, and both men eased their stance. Alistaire 
rose, crossing the room. Jaime gave him a tap on the back 
as he passed, then dropped onto the couch. Alistaire threw 
him a sly grin. Jaime chuckled and shook his head. 
Then another knock. ‘Hello? Anyone awake?’ 
Alistaire opened the door. Louise stood there, her hand 
still holding the knocker, her face caught between surprise 
and relief. 
‘A—Alistaire,’ she breathed. 
He smiled. ‘Want to come in? It’s cold out.’ 
‘Yeah… sure,’ she said, breathing out cold mist.  
Louise’s curly brown hair and pouty lips, coupled with 
her round face and large eyes, gave her an odd mix of 
fragility and seduction. Her family were still new to the 
city, they had migrated from the countryside, chasing a 
better life. Alistaire had been with her once, but after that, 
their relationship thinned out into nothing. Now, she 
seemed to want him again.  
They stepped inside and settled by the 're with Jaime 
and Immanuel. She pressed him with questions, one after 
another, and he answered each without much warmth. Stop 
asking me this shit, I just want to go home. His reprieve came 
when the doctor strode in and, without ceremony, told 
them all to get out—his own son included.  
That kind old man. Alistaire saw straight through the 
façade. The doctor’s gruffness, his sel'sh talk—none of it 
hid the truth. Underneath, he was as sel#ess as they came. 
Sending Jaime out with him was no dismissal—it was 
deliberate. That was also why he had sent Jaime to sleep 
early—so he could stay up all night observing Alistaire. 
Outside, the cold bit at his skin but somehow eased the 
throbbing in his left arm. They walked together toward 
Louise’s house, not far from the doctor’s. She clung to his 
right arm and leaned her head against his shoulder.  
‘Alistaire, be careful… please. You really could have died,’ 
she murmured, her breath warming his sleeve. 
From ignoring me to leaning on my shoulder… maybe the 
secret to getting girls is pretending to die.  
‘Alistaire!’ she said again, looking up at him. 
‘Sorry, I was just thinking about something.’ He smirked 
to himself. ‘So, Louise, why did you walk out by yourself to 
see me at this hour? I don’t know about the countryside, 
but in Hestrisis, late nights aren’t exactly safe, especially 
for women.’ 
She shot him a glare. ‘Do I need a reason? I just wanted 
to see if you’d died yet.’ 
He heard laughter in the back. Immanuel and Jaime had 
clearly heard what she’d said. Alistaire gave them a sharp 
look, then turned back to her. ‘That’s cold. I thought you 
came because you cared.’ 
Louise didn’t give a clear response and continued to 
bury her face into his shoulder. Shortly after, they reached 
her house. He walked her to the door while she dug for a 
key in her pocket. She unlocked it, glanced back, and said 
goodbye before disappearing inside. Alistaire turned 
toward his friends with a grin, but the door creaked open 
again. 
‘Alistaire—when you get better, we should go 
somewhere together.’  
He smiled, ruffling his hair. ‘Su—’ The door slammed 
shut before he could 'nish. 
Jaime and Immanuel laughed with him as they made 
their way back. 
‘Women… I’ll never understand them,’ Jaime said, 
helping Alistaire along.  
‘Yet you’ll also never stop wanting them,’ Immanuel 
retorted. 
After a slow walk, Alistaire pushed the pace. Immanuel 
called him reckless, Jaime complained, but he ignored 
them. He just wanted to get home and think of something 
other than the sharp pain #aring in his arm. He was 
relieved when they 'nally arrived at his street. Before 
turning into the alley, they crossed towards Immanuel’s 
house, which was on the larger road. Jaime leaned his hand 
on Alistaire’s right shoulder and called out to Immanuel, 
‘Hey—before you go, tell me. You think he’s serious about 
this one?’ 
Immanuel smirked. ‘Alistaire? He’s not serious about 
anything. He wants a princess. He’s got his eyes set on 
Adeline. Louise? She’s just a passing thought. Isn’t that 
right, Al?’ 
Alistaire could really feel the pain boiling up in his arm, 
but he tried his best to smile. ‘Who doesn’t have their eyes 
set on Adeline? Not only is she beautiful, but she’s also a 
free ticket to kingship,’ he replied, ‘and Louise isn’t bad, 
but you’re right Immanuel, I have higher aspirations.’ 
‘We’re told she’s beautiful, but who really knows. Have 
you ever seen her?’ Immanuel retorted. 
‘Maybe she’s hideous, you never know.’ Jamie nodded in 
agreement. 
‘I’ve seen her, she’s beautiful,’ Alistaire declared. 
‘No you haven’t,’ Jamie quipped. 
‘When?’ Immanuel asked with genuine curiosity. 
‘In my dreams,’ Alistaire replied #atly. 
Silence stretched, before they all burst into laughter, 
holding each other for support. 
‘You bastard,’ Immanuel laughed loudly, holding his 
stomach and resting his other hand on Alistaire’s good 
shoulder. 
As their laughter died down, echoing through the empty 
streets, Jamie squinted his eyes, facing Alistaire. ‘So, tell us 
seriously, what’re you gunna do with Louise then?’ 
‘Don’t know, I’ll just see how it goes, I guess,’ Alistaire 
replied nonchalantly. 
‘Alright, you bastard—just don’t break her heart. I’m off 
to bed,’ Immanuel said, waving them o ff as he headed 
inside. 
At Alistaire’s house, he knocked, and Julien opened the 
door. Everyone was still awake except for Charline.  
‘Thanks for the company,’ Alistaire told Jaime. 
‘Nothing to it,’ Jaime replied, wandering toward the 
kitchen. Alistaire looked around the living room for 
Amélie and saw her huddled in a blanket looking into the 
're. Amélie…  
‘Hey Alistaire, where do you keep the glasses?’ Jaime 
called from the kitchen. 
Alistaire turned to face his friend, but his sister Camélie 
interjected, ‘I—I know where it is, I’ll show you,’ she said, 
rushing to stand from her bed. 
Jaime smiled and nodded. ‘Thank you.’ 
Alistaire narrowed his eyes. Better not try anything 
Jaime… 
Spotting his youngest brother standing idly on the 
stairs, Alistaire called out to him. ‘Lucas, you should go to 
sleep now,’ he told him. 
Lucas nodded nervously, still clearly shaken by what he 
had seen. 
Julien was further up the staircase, resting both his arms 
on the slanted railing. He met Alistaire’s gaze, nodded, and 
waved Lucas up. They then both trudged upstairs to sleep 
on their hammocks in the attic.  
Amélie was already asleep and turned away from him, 
the covers wrapped tightly over her as she nestled next to 
Charline. Camélie followed shortly after helping Jaime 
with a glass. 
Later, after some idle talk about Louise and other 
passing nonsense, Alistaire stretched out on the couch by 
the 're. Jaime, just as he’d suspected, stayed awake on the 
opposite side of the room, keeping a steady eye on him. 
The pain in his arm deepened with each hour, and a 
fever slowly crept alongside it. He drifted in and out of 
sleep, stirring awake each time a sharp sting ran through 
him. 
The 're crackled softly beside him. Shadows moved 
along the walls, and outside, the rain had turned to mist. 
By the time his eyes closed again, the line between fever 
and thought had vanished, and he could no longer tell if he 
was dreaming or still awake. 
*** 
The following days passed much the same. Jaime stopped 
coming by, his father having deemed Alistaire no longer in 
danger. It offered little solace. Alistaire had never doubted 
he would recover. His mind was 'xed elsewhere.  
The tournament. 
Immanuel arrived the next morning with a packet of 
painkillers. After interrogating him, Alistaire found out 
that he had been slipping them into his drink each day. He 
had gotten them from the doctor. 
So that’s what he was talking to the doctor about. 
Even so, the painkillers did little. The ache in his arm 
worsened with each day. His only relief was sleep, but even 
that came hard. The pain was relentless, but worse than 
that was the gnawing worry that plagued his thoughts. He 
couldn't rest while imagining his siblings alone. 
Yet somehow, they managed. 
Camélie and Charline stayed close, tending to him, 
keeping him company. Their presence was comforting. The 
other three went out to procure food and supplies. He was 
worried for their safety now that hostilities with Ishmael’s 
lot had begun. Thankfully, they returned each day without 
commotion. 
He had lost all appetite. For two days, he had eaten 
nothing. Though it worried his siblings, he took it as a 
small mercy—more food for them. 
The pain itself was terrible, but bearable. What 
tormented him more was the time he was losing. Time he 
could not spend with his sword. He felt himself slipping 
further from the edge he had worked so hard to reach. 
His frustration grew. 
Twice, he snapped at his sisters, shouting over small 
things—cold food, a misplaced cloth. He hated himself for 
it the moment the words left his mouth, but the guilt never 
stopped him from doing it again. 
I can’t stay like this for much longer—otherwise, I will wither 
away and rot on this couch. 
More days passed, and though his health improved, it 
was only by the slimmest margin. When Immanuel came to 
visit, he reminded Alistaire of the meeting they had 
planned with Ishmael. Reluctantly, Alistaire forced himself 
to rise from bed. Dressing proved near impossible. His 
body would not obey him. Even lifting his arm took effort, 
and walking was a battle of will. His siblings helped him 
into his clothes, and when he 'nally stepped outside, he 
saw all his friends waiting. 
A pounding headache throbbed behind his eyes, and 
every step sent pain lancing through a body still weak from 
days in bed. Still, as he emerged, leaning heavily on Jaime 
for support, his friends greeted him warmly. Including him, 
they made seven. Each wore a patchwork coat, the garb of 
poor young men. Christopher, the Alban boy, eyed him 
with concern and said that he looked too sick to be out 
here, much less going to a meeting that could change 
everything. Chris suggested that they go without him. A 
few others seemed to agree. 
Alistaire refused. ‘We can’t show them that I’m too ill to 
appear. They’ll take it as a sign of weakness. I’m going.’ 
Their numbers gave them an aura of intimidation, and 
onlookers looked away as they waltzed through the street. 
Merchants lowered their voices. Commoners stepped aside. 
And when they reached the canal, they made it to the 
meeting point unchallenged. 
But no one was there. 
So they waited. 
Where are they? I was looking forward to seeing what Ishmael 
looked like. 
Samuel, a local like them and a close friend of Jaime, 
wandered off to scout the area. Minutes later, he came 
sprinting along the canal edge, waving his arms and yelling. 
At 'rst, they watched him, puzzled and half–amused. But 
amusement faded when they caught his words. 
‘The guards are here! The guards are here! Run! Run!’ 
They all stood at once. 
Alistaire turned to the others. ‘We split. Meet back at 
my house.’ 
They nodded, but Jaime stepped forward. ‘What about 
you? There’s no way you can outrun them.’ 
‘I’m not planning on running,’ he said, breath short. ‘I’ll 
hide.’ 
Immanuel cursed under his breath. ‘Are you stupid? 
Hide where? No. You’re coming with me.’ 
Before Alistaire could protest, Immanuel and Jaime 
grabbed him and dragged him forward. The rest stood still, 
buying time. Alistaire tried to turn back, to stop them, but 
his body wouldn’t listen. He shouted over his shoulder, rage 
and desperation clashing in his voice. 
‘This is what Ishmael wants! You fucking idiots, run! 
Leave me!’ 
He didn’t see what happened to them. 
Back at his house, tension hung like a storm cloud. He 
waited, heart hammering, until one by one, they all arrived. 
Safe. 
Immanuel paced the room. ‘Bloody Ishmael. He has no 
honour! He set us up. There was never going to be a 
meeting.’ 
Christopher studied Alistaire, who looked barely alive. 
‘What now? We can’t risk another move. Not while Al's 
like this.’ 
‘Chris’s right,’ Jaime added. ‘You need rest. You look 
dead.’  
Alistaire nodded at his friends, then hobbled inside. He 
was feeling worse and worse and could barely stay on his 
feet. Julien was inside and helped him to his couch–bed. 
He lay down and tried to fall asleep. Just after drifting off, 
he was jolted awake. His vision was blurry, but he could 
make out Jaime’s distinctive long brown hair. 
‘Jaime, what the fuck. I just fell asleep.’ 
‘Just fell asleep? It’s been four hours, you idiot,’ Jaime 
said, sitting on the adjacent couch and rummaging in his 
pocket. He pulled out a small glass container and handed it 
over. ‘Here, you need to take this. The painkillers 
Immanuel gave you were fake. My father really wants to 
stop you from going to the tournament.’ 
Anger rose in Alistaire. ‘What? Who the fuck does your 
father think he is?’ 
‘He’s just looking out for you, Alistaire. No one expects 
you to go to the tournament. It’s madness. You can barely 
stand,’ Jaime said. 
Alistaire didn’t have the energy to argue. He slumped 
back into the bed and nodded. He pointed to the table 
next to him. ‘Just place it there. I’ll take it later.’ 
‘No, you’ll take it now. I’ll go get some water,’ Jaime 
said, heading toward the kitchen. He returned moments 
later with a glass. Alistaire sat up and took the medicine. 
He muttered a quiet thanks before falling back asleep. 
*** 
Alistaire woke from a long sleep. Around him, his siblings 
were still curled up in blankets, their breaths slow and 
even. No one had awoken yet. He tilted his head back 
lazily, gazing at the high ceiling above. Then he raised his 
arms in front of his face. His left arm moved with slightly 
more control than before. He could wiggle his 'ngers now
—weakly. His right arm felt stronger, almost steady. 
Finally, he thought, I’m starting to feel better. 
From the girls’ bed, he heard the faint rustling of 
someone sitting up. He turned his head and shut his eyes. 
Through #ickering lashes, he watched Amélie rise and 
shuffle sleepily toward the bathroom, clothes in hand. 
Minutes later, she returned with her hair tied up and a 
fresh dress on, a focused, resolved expression settling over 
her face. She moved to the front door, paused, glanced 
back at her sleeping siblings, then slipped out and closed 
the door behind her. 
Alistaire rolled from bed. His joints protested, but he 
forced himself up anyway. As he dressed, he noticed just 
how much strength had returned to him. Not nearly 
enough, but more than the past week—that was something. 
Where are you going, Amélie? He wondered, stepping 
outside. The air was cool, the street quiet. At the far end, 
he caught sight of Amélie rounding the corner. He jogged 
stiffly until he reached it and spotted her walking with 
purpose deeper into the city. He followed at a distance. 
His tension eased when he saw her going to the market. 
She stopped at a stall and began talking to the vendor. 
Alistaire drifted toward a nearby stand and pretended to 
browse the vegetables. He turned his head just slightly. The 
shopkeeper she was speaking to was a young man, too eager 
in his tone, too animated in his gestures. And Amélie—
clever Amélie—played along with a sweet smile while 
subtly slipping potatoes into her bag. 
Alistaire sighed and stepped beside her. She jumped. 
‘Alistaire!’ 
He gave the young shopkeeper a certain smile as he 
moved her aside to look down at the potatoes himself. The 
man faltered, then turned away and busied himself with 
crates at the back. 
Amélie pulled him aside. ‘What are you doing here? You 
should be in bed.’ 
‘I saw you leave. I wanted to know where you were 
going.’ 
‘I always go to the market early. The fresh stuff gets 
taken if I wait any longer.’ 
He looked at her closely. There was so much of their 
mother in her face—the same softness, the same natural 
charm. A dangerous thing for a girl in their world. 
‘Is that the only reason?’ 
She smirked. ‘Well, it’s also easier to steal when the 
market’s just opening. Most shopkeepers are usually too 
busy setting up to keep an eye on other things.’ 
‘That's a good reason, I suppose,’ he murmured, eyes 
drifting past her to a crowd gathered further up the road. 
A Lucerian priest stood atop a wooden platform, robe 
heavy with dust and fraying at the hem. His voice rang 
thinly down the street, pleading for repentance, for alms, 
for believers. He raised a hand to the sky, invoking 
judgement and salvation, but no one listened. His eyes 
searched the crowd with desperation, yet most walked past 
without even a glance. Those who lingered did so out of 
pity or habit, not belief. 
Across from him, a man not much older than himself 
stood atop an overturned crate. His clothes were like theirs
—frayed and patched, stained with the dust of the same 
streets. His voice was hoarse, uneven, but it carried just 
enough to hold the crowd. Around him stood others, 
passing out pamphlets, crude #yers calling for the end of 
nobility, of kings, of inherited power. Democratia, rule by 
the people—these were the words being shouted and 
handed from hand to hand. The man spoke poorly, but they 
listened, not for eloquence, but out of exhaustion. Tired of 
hunger, of 'lth, of being stepped on, the crowd listened 
because they had no one else left to believe. 
Alistaire studied both scenes. ‘Funny, isn’t it? The priest 
speaks of Heaven, and no one gives a shit, the other of 
bread, and yet he is the only one being heard.’ 
Amélie nodded, expression unreadable. ‘People don’t 
want promises anymore. They want change they can see.’ 
‘And they think this one will give it to them?’ 
She shrugged. ‘He sounds like them. He looks like them. 
That’s more than any priest has ever done.’ 
Alistaire folded his arms. The wind stirred the papers at 
his feet. He didn’t reach for one. ‘And us? What will we do? 
Which side will we pick?’ 
Amélie looked down at the pamphlets #uttering around 
their feet and picked one up before reading it. ‘ The 
collective must rise against nobility. Sounds grand, but 
once the nobles are gone, who will rule over us then?’ 
‘Chaps like him, I suppose.’ 
‘Is that much better?’ 
‘Who knows? But still—fuck the nobles.’ 
‘You always say that Alis, but don’t you want to become 
like them?’ 
‘No, not really, I just want to be rich, to have so much 
money that we don’t need to struggle for it, and so that we 
can have whatever we want.’ 
‘And what if we want things which money can’t buy?’ 
‘What can’t money buy nowadays?’ He scoffed. 
‘Family…’ She said, looking back up at him. 
Then why did you go and betray that… He thought, his 
mood shifting. 
She let out a deep sigh. ‘I don’t know if there’s a side for 
people like us,’ she said. ‘We’re not nobles. We’re not 
preachers. We don’t have anything to give except ourselves, 
and even that feels like it’s been taken already.’ 
Amélie then let the pamphlet go. It caught the wind and 
#ew far away into the distance. 
Alistaire watched her carefully. Her voice wasn’t bitter. 
It was simply tired. He lowered his tone. ‘You think they’re 
wrong, then? These revolutionaries?’ 
She hesitated. ‘I think they’re desperate. Just like 
everyone else. But I also think when people are desperate, 
they’ll follow anyone who gives them a reason to shout. 
Doesn’t matter if the reason is hollow.’ 
‘And the priest?’ 
She gave a faint laugh. ‘He’s shouting too. But no one 
wants to repent when they’re starving. People have learned 
that prayer does not provide food.’ 
He turned from the crowd and took a breath. ‘Come. 
Let’s go somewhere else more quiet.’ 
She hesitated, sensing the change in the air, but nodded, 
tucking the stolen potatoes deeper into her satchel. 
And together they walked, away from the noise of 
sermons and slogans, towards the edge of the Anese where 
no one was speaking at all. 
He looked down at the coursing blue waters, then at 
her, and without hesitation, he spoke. ‘Did he force you?’ 
Amélie didn’t answer at 'rst. Her lips parted, then 
closed. ‘Ye—no, not really.’ 
‘What does that mean, Amélie?’ he asked, voice 
tightening. 
‘I didn’t want to, but he didn’t care. I could have 
stopped him if I really tried.’ She stopped walking. ‘I know 
why you fought them, Alistaire. But I didn’t need you to do 
that for me. That was stupid of you.’ 
Anger #ared inside him. ‘I did it for your honour! That 
fucking bastard Je—’ 
She stepped in front of him. ‘Stop, Alistaire. Stop. 
Please.’ Her voice broke. Tears welled in her eyes. ‘You 
don’t have to do everything for me. For us. I’m a woman 
now. I can take care of myself, live my own life. I’ll make 
mistakes, sure, but who doesn’t? Why can’t I sleep with 
whoever I want? I’m not a princess. We’re not royals. 
There’s no prince waiting for his virgin bride. You go out 
and sleep with as many girls as you like, you think I don’t 
know?’  
He blinked, caught off guard. ‘Wha— I don’t, and it’s 
not the same! You can’t do whatever you want, Amélie, it’s 
different for men and women!’ 
Tears streamed freely now. ‘I did it for us, Alis. Jean’s 
father owns the potato shop across the river. He used to get 
me a crate every week.’ 
‘So that’s where you got it from! I wondered why you 
never told me!’ Alistaire shouted. 
She winced, then slapped him hard. He felt the sting 
reverberate across his face, but he didn’t move. 
‘Alistaire, all you ever think about is yourself, your goals 
and above all, money! Money, money, money! All you ever 
think about is your dream. Have you ever thought about 
my dream? Have you ever once thought about us? Really? 
Do you even know what I want, what the rest of us want?!’ 
Her voice cracked. She murmured something, but he 
couldn’t make it out. Then, she turned and ran.  
‘Amélie! Wait!’ he shouted after her. His voice shook 
with rage and helplessness. What is your dream?! he shouted 
internally.  
He looked down at the water and saw his re #ection, 
rippling and warped. But the face that stared back was not 
his own.  
It was his father's.  
‘Fuck!’ he growled as he let out a raw scream.  
He ran. 
He didn’t know where he was going, only that he had to 
move. The streets blurred around him until, somehow, he 
arrived at the old dock where he had fought Jean the week 
before. At the end of the road, he saw noble carriages 
approaching. 
Why are they here so early in the morning? 
Before they drew near, he slipped inside the gate and 
made his way to the waterfront. The air was still, the smell 
of rust and brine sharp in his nose. He stepped onto the 
concrete platform. 
I can’t believe this is where it happened. 
Faint stains still marked the ground—his blood. He 
scanned the area and spotted the broken wooden sticks 
discarded in a heap. He picked one up and began moving 
through the motions, sparring with invisible opponents. 
He replayed it all. Jean’s crazed face, the steel blade, the 
pain. He tested different strikes, shifts, parries. 
I did everything right. Everything—except that last thing. 
How could I be so stupid? A branch against steel? In the moment, 
there was no time to think. But next time, I will think. I must. 
For the tournament. For them. 
He had been practicing for some time, striking at the air 
with the battered branch, adjusting his footing, his stance, 
envisioning every attack he had suffered, every mistake.  
Then he heard it—a rustle from the bushes. 
He froze. 
Turning slowly, he faced the sound. From the far edge of 
the dock, rising from the line where water met land, a 
'gure emerged. 
She was unlike anyone he had ever seen. 
A noblewoman, that much was certain, but not 
completely Hestrisi. Her skin was smooth and olive–toned, 
her dress, Parfaran in cut and colour. She wore an 
embroidered pink headdress adorned with light–coloured 
#owers.  
Her light hazel hair #owed from beneath the headdress 
in soft waves, up to her shoulders. It matched the warm 
shade of her eyes. And her face—her face stilled him. Her 
face was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid his eyes 
upon. From her striking jawline, to her full lips, to her skin 
so #awless it seemed unreal, she was, to his eyes, perfection. 
Her beauty struck him like a blow. 
She paused as she saw him, her expression caught 
between wonder and uncertainty. Her lips parted slightly, 
revealing even teeth, then closed again as she placed a hand 
on the railing up to the platform he was on. 
She looked as though she meant to speak, but instead 
only stood, gazing at him in silence. 

Then, she lifted her dress, walking closer to him. 
‘Sorry to disturb you,’ she said, brushing a lock of hair 
behind her ear. The movement revealed a teardrop–shaped 
golden earring. 
‘Um, I said I’m sorry to disturb you.’ 
Alistaire blinked, shaken out of his trance. ‘No—it’s 'ne. 
You’re not disturbing anything.’ 
What a stupid thing to say. 
‘Good,’ she replied, offering a smile so radiant it seemed 
divine. ‘Are you... to put it bluntly, are you the man I saw 
the other day? The one who was terribly hurt?’ 
‘That—’ he faltered. ‘Uh, yes. That was probably me.’ 
Get your act together. 
‘Has your health improved? Your injury looked 
horrible!’ she said, stepping closer, her hand lifting gently 
to her chest. ‘I couldn’t sleep all week. I felt so guilty, 
letting you leave like that.’ 
She was there? 
‘I do feel better,’ he said quickly, suddenly self–
conscious about the stick in his hand. He set it down, 
trying to seem composed. 
‘Oh, I’m so relieved!’ she said, exhaling. ‘I wanted to 
help, but my father wouldn't allow it.’ She shook her head, 
then straightened. ‘Forgive me, where are my manners? It is 
a pleasure to meet you. I am Duchess Alessandra, daughter 
of Archduke Elmont and Archduchess Serissandra.’ 
Holy shit. 
‘Alistaire Cedar,’ he said, stiffly. ‘Son of... someone, 
someone.’ 
Her mother’s name—that explains her foreign looks. 
She froze, likely catching the implication behind his 
jest, then smiled. ‘Apologies. I usually don’t converse with 
commoners. My mannerisms must seem odd to you.’ 
‘And I usually don’t speak to nobles, least of all a 
Duchess. It’s a pleasure to make your ac quaintance, my 
Lady,’ he said, bowing. 
She covered her mouth and laughed, airy and graceful. 
‘Oh stop, I know you’re mocking me.’ 
He scratched the back of his head. ‘Sorry. I don’t mean 
to. It just... comes naturally.’ 
‘Of course,’ she replied, still smiling. But her expression 
softened when her eyes found the sling around his arm. 
‘Why? No... what happened to you that day?’ 
‘I did something stupid. To defend my sister’s honour. 
And because some bastards stole my sword.’ Why did I tell 
her everything exactly as it was? 
‘Oh my. What happened to them?’ she asked, genuine 
concern in her voice. 
What a saint. She worries for everyone. Even the villains of 
the story. 
‘They’re not dead, if that’s what you were wondering. 
Honestly, I don’t know what happened to them.’ 
‘Though I’m sure your reason was just, please try to 
refrain from violence. Hestrisis is becoming more 
dangerous by the day. I don’t want it to get any worse.’ 
What an idealist. ‘I can’t promise that... Alessandra? But 
I’ll remember your words.’ 
‘People don’t usually call me by my 'rst name...’ she 
said, biting her lip, eyes thoughtful. 
Before she could continue, he spoke. ‘Oh. Sorry. 
Duchess.’ 
She stepped closer, hands raised as if to ward o ff 
formality. ‘No, no. I mean you can call me Alyssa. That’s 
what my close companions call me.’ 
He blinked, surprised. 
She caught herself. ‘I don’t mean to say you are one—we 
just met. I—I just thought you’d be more comfortable. I 
mean—you, being a commoner. Not that I meant to 
offend.’ 
He laughed. ‘Go on. I’m not offended.’ 
‘I thought you might feel more at ease calling me Alyssa, 
since that’s how commoners speak to each other, right? 
Using contractions of their names? Or otherwise 
informally?’ 
He couldn’t help but grin at her obliviousness of the 
world. ‘No, not all commoners, for example, my friends—
sorry, companions—refer to me just by my name. Which is 
Alistaire. Sometimes Al, if they're feeling frisky.’ 
‘Companions?’ she said with a roll of her eyes. ‘Sorry—
are all commoners as difficult as you?’ 
He laughed again. ‘No. I’m just a particularly difficult 
one.’ 
She tried to keep a stern expression, but it cracked, and 
she joined in his laughter. ‘I jest. You’re not di fficult. 
You're... surprisingly easy to converse with.’ 
‘I kn—’ He stopped mid–sentence as two guards 
approached from the dock. 
Alyssa turned to follow his gaze. Her posture stiffened 
when she noticed them too. She ducked low. ‘They haven’t 
seen us, have they?’ 
Her worried face enchanted him, and he stared at her 
for a while before responding. ‘No. Come with me.’ 
He led her towards the same bushes he had slipped 
through when he had stalked Jean and his friends. She 
hesitated, then followed as the guards drew closer. Alistaire 
could feel the excitement welling up within him. He felt 
like he was in a dream. A beautiful noble girl was with him, 
and he was leading her through the bushes alone. The 
branches tugged at her dress as she crouched, shielding 
herself. The sight amused him more than he expected, and 
he had to 'ght the urge to laugh. 
‘Where does this path lead?’ she whispered as the guards 
neared the old dock's edge. 
‘Look ahead. Back to your carriage.’ 
She rose, brushing leaves from her dress. ‘Oh, I see.’ 
They reached a short ledge. Alistaire leapt down easily, 
but paused when he didn’t hear her behind him. He turned 
and saw her hesitating at the edge. 
She extended a hand. 
He stepped forward, taking her hand in his. So this is 
what a noblewoman's hand feels like. Not coarse. Not rough. Just 
delicate. 
She looked down, eyes narrowing with caution. Before 
attempting to descend in the same re 'ned manner as 
expected of a noblewoman, which he found absolutely 
hilarious.  She tested a small, sloping mound of sand beside 
the ledge, weighing her step as though it were a ballroom 
#oor.  
He waited, knowing that the mound would give way. 
And when it did, he moved into place. 
Alyssa let out a wail and fell. He caught her easily and 
spun her around to guide her down gently, like wind 
carrying a feather down a hill. 
Flustered, she patted down her dress. ‘T—Thank you, 
Alistaire. I—I really don’t do this sort of thing often. As 
I’m sure you can tell.’ 
Smirking, he stepped back from her, noting how good 
she smelt close up. ‘Don't mention it.’ 
Her expression changed as she grew serious. ‘You as well, 
Alistaire. Please don’t mention this to anyone. Those 
guards were sent by my father. He would be furious if he 
knew that... that—never mind.’ She looked back toward the 
stairs and turned to leave. ‘I should go.’ 
He stood dumbfounded, staring at her in confusion. Did 
I do something wrong?  
‘Wait!’ He called out. 
She turned, her dress #uttering serenely in the breeze. 
‘Yes?’ 
‘Where are you headed? Leaving Hestrisis?’  he asked, 
trying to get her to stay and talk with him a while longer. 
‘I am. To Parfara, to the capital there. But before then, 
we will be stopping over at La Belle Île. It’s a small island 
near Albion. My family owns the land. We visit every year. 
You should visit sometime. There is a garden open to the 
public.’ 
Parfara? I knew it... And she tells me to visit so easily. Instead 
of inviting me, she suggests I wander through the public parts of 
her little island. Why not just ask me to your manor? 
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Perhaps I will, my Lady. Though 
I currently lack the funds to charter across.’ 
Her lips curled into the most charming smile he had 
ever seen. ‘Thank you, Alistaire. For the company. I enjoyed 
it.’ She paused. ‘I will be back for the World Fair. Will you 
be there?’ 
He smiled. ‘Be there? I’ll be competing in the 
tournament that’ll occur then.’ 
‘Competing? But your arm—surely you jest.’ 
‘I don’t “jest,” my Lady. I will compete. And I will win.’ 
She stared at him. ‘You truly mean to risk your life.’ 
‘I don’t see it like that.’ 
She gave a wistful smile. ‘Perhaps I’ll see you there. But 
now, Alistaire, I really must go.’ 
He stood frozen. Fuck, think of something. Say something. 
Do something—or you’ll never see her again. And if you do, it’ll 
be from behind a golden fence, watching her walk on a pedestal 
you’ll never be able to reach. 
He stepped forward unconsciously, his foot hitting 
something on the ground. He looked down and saw a 
peculiar object. Intricate. Blade–shaped. He picked it up.  
Alyssa saw it and gasped. ‘My hairpin!’ 
She stepped forward to take it, but a voice cut through 
the air. ‘Alessandra! Where are you?! Your father is worried 
sick!’ 
Alyssa turned pale. ‘ That’s my mother. Goodbye, 
Alistaire.’ She turned and ran. 
‘What about your hairpin?’ he called, holding it up. 
She glanced back. ‘Keep it.’ 
He stood in silence, watching her go. She’s so fragile... and 
yet, so desirable. 
He breathed in the scent she left behind. Flowers, sweet 
and faint, just like the ones on her dress. 
He watched her ascend the stairs, lifting her skirt and 
hurrying upward. At the top, she paused, turned back over 
her shoulder, and called out with a bright, unshaken voice. 
‘Win the tournament!’ 
Then she vanished as quickly as she had appeared. 
Alistaire waved toward where she had been. ‘Goodbye, 
Duchess Alessandra. Not only will I win the tournament, 
but also you.’ He bowed dramatically, then jogged toward 
the fence he had jumped the week before. This time, he was 
too weak to climb it. Fortunately, a broken section allowed 
him to squeeze through. He slipped carefully, protecting 
his arm. 
On the other side, he exhaled. The dock was beside him. 
Ahead, voices. 
‘I was only going to touch the water, Father. I should 
have told you,’ Alyssa’s voice said, dri fting further and 
further away. 
Far off, she stood with her father, surrounded by nobles. 
Just before she boarded the vessel, she turned and looked 
his way. She was too far for him to make out her 
expression, but he could feel that she recognised him. 
Then the vessel departed.
Alistaire looked down at the golden hairpin in his palm. 
Blade–shaped. Ornate. He crouched and clutched it to his 
chest. 
No way. No fucking way. 
Did that just happen? 
*** 
He walked back to his house with a wide grin on his face. 
He had already forgotten about his 'ght with Amélie. 
While passing through the market, he heard someone call 
his name. He turned. It was Louise, smiling happily as she 
ran toward him, clutching a bag of vegetables to her chest. 
‘Alistaire! What are you doing here?’ 
He smiled back, his joy less about her and more about 
the lingering glow of his meeting with Alyssa. ‘Nothing 
really. Just shopping, you know.’ 
She tilted her head. ‘Shopping? You’re not holding 
anything.’ 
‘That’s right. Just got here. Fancy seeing you here—you 
usually shop this early?’ he asked, stepping a little closer. 
‘Yes, of course. It’s the best time to shop, you always get 
the fresh stuff,’ she said happily. 
Women think alike. ‘Ah, yes, that’s why I’m here as well. 
What are you doing this—’ Don’t invite her over, you idiot. 
You’re after Alyssa now. Remember that. 
‘This afternoon?’ she prompted. 
‘No… I mean, what are you doing at this time in the 
market?’ he asked awkwardly. 
‘What? I just told you. Wait, aren’t you supposed to be 
resting? How come you look so well?’ she said, squinting at 
him. 
‘I don’t know. You’d have to ask the good doctor. Seems 
he 'nally gave me the right stuff.’ And meeting Alyssa has 
made me feel better too. 
‘That’s great! You really look so much better than last 
week.’ 
She bit her lip and glanced aside. ‘Do you want to come 
over for dinner tonight?’ 
Do I? Free food I guess… More for the others. ‘Uh, yeah, sure. 
Why not.’ 
‘Great!’ she said, beaming. 
He scanned the nearby stalls, hoping to spot Amélie 
among the crowd, but saw no sign of her. Turning back to 
Louise, he nodded. ‘So, I’ll see you tonight then.’ 
‘Bye Alistaire, see you later,’ she said, holding her bag 
tighter and skipping off. 
‘Bye,’ he replied, waving. Fuck. What game am I playing 
here? What do I want with Louise? I need to think with my head 
more instead of my dick. Ah damn, Alyssa… I can’t get you out 
of my mind. 
To clear his thoughts, Alistaire made his way to 
Immanuel’s house. When he arrived, he knocked several 
times and waited. The house was a narrow little thing, 
wedged between two taller ones, and looked like it might 
fall apart under a strong breeze. 
He knocked again. Is no one home? 
Just as he was about to leave, the door creaked open. 
Out from the dim interior stepped Immanuel’s frail 
grandmother, greeting him with a warm smile.  
‘Alistaire…’ she said feebly. ‘I haven’t seen you for some 
time.’ 
Alistaire smiled. ‘Hello Ma, is Immanuel at home?’ 
‘No no, he just left to go to work. What happened to 
your arm? You boys really need to be careful when you 
play.’ 
‘I promise we will from now on, Ma. Thank you.’ He 
scratched the back of his head. ‘I guess I’ll be off now.’ 
‘You should come over from time to time. It’s been such 
a long time,’ she said again. 
‘Sure thing. Bye now,’ he said to her. Poor thing, her mind 
is beginning to fade. I only just came over last week. 
He began jogging towards the shipyard, his pace 
increasing until he felt lightheaded. Fuck. I can’t push myself 
too hard yet. 
At the shipyard entrance, he passed two men carrying a 
large beam. He slipped by without a word and headed 
straight for the building shed. The clanging noises of the 
yard were deafening. Alistaire tried covering his ears, then 
remembered—he could only cover one. Fuck, my hand. 
Inside the shed, he saw Immanuel hunched over a large 
tanning rack. Alistaire crept behind him. ‘Hey, son. How 
you feelin’?’ he said in a gruff voice of an old man. 
Immanuel turned abruptly as Alistaire ducked behind a 
shelf. 
‘Who the fuck—? Alistaire, is that you?’ 
Alistaire couldn’t hold back his laughter. ‘Yeah, it’s me.’ 
He stepped out. 
‘Fuck, I thought I was about to— Wait, how—why the 
fuck are you here?’ Immanuel asked, standing up. 
‘Jaime gave me the right stuff. Anyway, that’s not why 
I’m here. You won’t fucking believe who I just met.’ His 
grin stretched wide as he grabbed Immanuel by the 
shoulders and shook him. 
‘Woah, calm down! Where’s this excitement coming 
from? Did you meet Adeline or something?’ Immanuel 
asked, half–laughing. 
‘That’s pretty goddamn close. I met Duchess Alessandra, 
daughter of… uh fuck, some important geezer.’ 
Immanuel burst into laughter. ‘No, you didn’t.’ He 
brushed Alistaire’s hands off. 
‘I’m fucking serious. She even gave me this.’ 
He pulled the hairpin from his coat pocket. 
Immanuel’s face changed. ‘Woah. Is this real? Looks 
valuable.’ 
‘Yes, you cocksucker, it is.’ 
Immanuel squinted, inspecting it. ‘She gave you this, 
huh? Sure you didn’t just steal it?’ 
‘She didn’t quite give it per se, she dropped it when she 
fell on me and said I could keep it after,’ Alistaire replied, 
laughing. 
‘So you’re practically engaged to her then, huh?’ 
Immanuel said, jeeringly. 
Alistaire pushed him lightly. ‘Well, one day maybe, but 
she did invite me to see her.’ ‘That’s great,’ Immanuel said, 
smiling. ‘In the same way that she "gave" you her hairpin?’ 
Alistaire leaned on a rack. ‘Maybe. She’s going to be at 
the tournament too. After I win, I can see her again.’  
Immanuel clicked his tongue. ‘Still going on about the 
tournament? Alistaire, you’re not well. You shouldn’t go.’ 
‘Are you my fucking father? I’ll go—at least to see 
Alyssa,’ he said, winking. 
‘If that’s the reason, I don’t object. Now look, my boss 
will kill me if he sees me talking to you. How’d you get in 
here anyway?’ 
‘I just walked in.’ He noticed Immanuel’s confused 
expression. ‘If you walk in anywhere with intent, you can 
fool anyone into believing you belong.’ 
Immanuel considered it for a moment, then shook his 
head. ‘Another Alistaire quote. Sure thing. Now get out of 
here. I’ll come over with the boys after work.’ 
Ishmael. ‘I—there’s another thing we need to discuss as 
well,’ Alistaire said seriously. 
Immanuel nodded. ‘I understand.’ 
He returned home to 'nd his siblings sitting idly. 
Charline spotted him 'rst and ran over with a shriek of 
delight, followed closely by Camélie. Both threw their arms 
around him, astonished to see him in such good health. 
Alistaire smiled and patted Charline’s head with his good 
hand, telling her he was healed now and that everything 
would soon return to normal. But as his eyes scanned the 
room, his smile faded—Amélie wasn’t there. A slithering 
unease crept in. He remembered the morning. Turning to 
Julien, he asked where she had gone. Julien said she’d left 
earlier, though he didn’t know where. 
He chose not to dwell on it and helped with the chores, 
then passed the time reading a book about famous knights
—though it was a chore in itself with only one good hand. 
The chapter was about Sir Arthur Flavius, a farmer boy 
who rose to the highest peak of knighthood, Manus Regis 
of Albion. 
Man. Albion is so cool. They still have those sorts of roles, 
while everything in Hestrisis is “modernising.” Fuck. That. Take 
me to the land of knights and ladies. I would rather die in battle 
than live comfortably working in a factory for the rest of my life. 
Alistaire set the book down and stared at the ceiling. Where 
are you now, Sir Arthur? Dead perhaps? Laying with some 
beautiful woman? Or doing something mundane? 
He shifted when the front door opened—Lucas was 
leaving. ‘I’m gunna go play with my friends,’ his youngest 
brother said, looking at him for approval. 
‘Sure thing, Lucas. Just don’t get home too late,’ he said, 
smiling warmly. 
Moments later, a group of distant voices sounded from 
outside. Camélie looked worried. Alistaire listened closely 
for a few seconds, then relaxed. Must be the boys. Immanuel, 
you bastard, prompt as ever. How did you manage to gather 
them all so quickly?  What would I do without you? Alistaire 
looked back to his sister and assured her it was just his 
friends before asking her to open the door. She peered out, 
then smiled. 
‘Jaime!’ she shouted. ‘Uh, thank you for making Alistaire 
better.’  
Jaime laughed. ‘That wasn’t me, Camélie. Thank my 
dad.’ 
Alistaire stood from the couch. ‘Boys!’ He raised his 
arm. ‘Let’s go somewhere that isn’t my house.’ 
Fat–Tom, always holding a biscuit, raised both his 
eyebrows in surprise. ‘Alistaire! You look so much better. 
Want a biscuit?’ he said, lifting it up to show him. 
Jaime pushed him aside. ‘No, you fat arse, he doesn’t 
want your half–eaten biscuit. Move, you’re standing on 
Camélie’s skirt.’ 
Fat–Tom stepped back quickly. ‘Oh, sorry ma’am.’ 
Camélie smiled at Jaime. ‘Thank you, that was kind.’ 
Alistaire raised a brow at Jaime, then turned to Tom. 
‘Tommy, it’s 'ne and, she’s not a ma’am, she’s my little 
sister. Now, come on, boys.’ 
Jaime helped him with his coat, then stepped outside 
with him. Julien came rushing after. 
‘Frère! Wait,’ he called, clutching something in his hand. 
‘Your cap—it belongs on your head. Take it.’ 
‘You sure? I can probably 'nd another one,’ Alistaire 
said, taking the cap and giving it a brief look. 
‘No, this one’s yours. I’ll get a new one, don’t worry.’ 
Once they were ready, the group made their way to the 
abandoned textile factory. At the yard, Alistaire sat on a 
log while the others gathered loosely around him. 
Samuel, cross–legged on a container, said, ‘Kinda chilly. 
Should we start a 're?’ 
Immanuel pulled out his lighter. ‘Why not? Michael, get 
some wood.’ 
Michael, the tall, quiet shoemaker, nodded and went to 
retrieve the wood they had gathered in a neat pile 
previously. He returned a moment later and placed it in 
the pit. Immanuel threw his lighter and Michael caught it. 
As Michael began to start the 're, Alistaire shifted his 
attention to everyone in the group.  
He sat with his right arm resting on his knee, his hand 
covering his mouth as he studied the faces around him. 
What are they all thinking? When the 're 'nally took, 
Alistaire straightened and spoke. 
He asked what they'd been up to over the past week. 
One by one, they answered. Most of it was familiar—the 
mounting pressure with Ishmael’s gang, the dwindling ease 
of their operations. Jaime recounted how they'd nearly 
been jumped while trading across the river. So far, it 
seemed they’d escaped anything serious. 
When Samuel asked what he had been doing, Alistaire 
gave them the truth—mostly. He’d been bedridden, only 
venturing out to train in the early mornings. The part 
about Alyssa he kept to himself. Still, they all listened 
closely, even Fat–Tom, who halted mid–bite. 
Then, with a level voice, he told them he’d be heading 
into Ishmael’s district the next day to broker peace. 
Samuel, usually relaxed, spoke up immediately—it was too 
dangerous, he said. Alistaire didn’t disagree. But someone 
had to go. It was his mess, and he had to clean it. 
Besides, he thought, I want to see what this guy I’ve heard so 
much about actually looks like. 
Samuel continued to express his worries. ‘Alistaire, my 
little brother, Henri told me he felt watched the entire 
time he was there. That district’s different—people don’t 
speak, but they see everything. Ishmael’s grip on them is 
tight. If something goes wrong, how the hell are we 
supposed to get you out? It’ll be impossible.’ He shook his 
head. ‘I really don’t think you should go. I’ve got a bad 
feeling about this.’ 
‘I’ll be 'ne,’ Alistaire said. ‘You still have that pocket–
knife you stole? I’ll take it with me. They won’t expect 
that.’ 
Immanuel, leaning on a crate, exhaled a long drag of his 
cigarette and gave Alistaire a hard stare. ‘No. They’ll search 
you. You walk in armed, they’ll 'nd it. You can’t bring 
anything.’ 
Christopher, perched beside Jaime, nodded in 
agreement. ‘Immanuel’s right. If they catch you with a 
weapon, it’ll just make things worse.’ 
Samuel dropped from the crate, agitated. ‘You serious, 
Chris? What if they decide to kill him on the spot?’ 
Immanuel raised a calming hand. ‘They won’t. There’s no 
gain in it for Ishmael. He’s not like that. Alistaire will be 
safe.’ 
Alistaire nodded. ‘I think so as well. Anyway, what 
happened to those cartons of tobacco we stole? Have you 
managed to sell them, Chris?’ 
Christopher faltered. ‘Ah—uh, n–no, I–I lost them.’ 
The group erupted in outrage. Immanuel silenced them 
all by raising a hand, cigarette still burning between his 
'ngers. As the noise died down, Alistaire studied 
Christopher’s expression.  
‘What do you mean, Chris?’ he asked. ‘How did you lose 
them?’ 
Chris sighed and covered his face with a hand. ‘I left the 
warehouse unlocked. Went back the next day and they 
were gone.’ 
Samuel kicked the dirt. ‘That’s at least a thousand livres 
gone!’ 
Alistaire felt his anger stir but he kept his voice steady. 
‘When did this happen?’ 
‘Uh… a week ago.’ 
Fat–Tom groaned. ‘You Albans aren’t reliable at all.’ 
Christopher snapped. ‘Shut the fuck up, fatty!’ 
‘No, Chris, you shut up. You lost us a month’s worth of 
earnings,’ Jaime uttered spitefully. 
Alistaire tried to speak, but shouting overtook the 
circle. The chaos only stopped when Immanuel bellowed, 
‘Quiet, you bastards!’ Everyone turned to look at him. ‘Let 
Alistaire talk,’ he commanded. 
Alistaire took a breath and addressed Chris coolly. ‘Why 
the fuck didn’t you say anything earlier? We could’ve done 
something. Now it’s probably too late.’ 
‘I didn’t want to deal with this shit, alright? I knew 
you’d all react like this. I’m sorry, okay? I’m fucking sorry.’ 
Alistaire sighed. ‘Chris... look, we haven’t collected 
tribute from the local shopkeepers. Why don’t you go do 
that now?’ he said, gesturing with his good hand. 
Chris looked worried. ‘Right now?’ he whispered. 
‘Yes, now,’ he said, turning to one he knew he could 
trust. ‘Michael, go with him. Keep him company.’ 
Michael stood without a word, brushed aside his shaggy 
dark hair, and waited. Christopher looked hesitant, guilt 
#ickering in his eyes. Still, he rose and moved outside their 
circle. Yet, he stood there for too long, indecisive. After a 
#ick of Alistaire's hand, Michael approached and 'rmly 
took Chris by the arm. The two then disappeared quickly. 
Samuel returned to his crate, arms folded. ‘I don’t trust 
him. Fucking Alb. No remorse at all.’ 
Jaime was 'ddling with a leaf. He cast it aside and said, 
‘No, he’s just like that. I think he made an honest but 
stupid mistake.’ 
Immanuel nodded. ‘I’m with Jaime. We shouldn’t be too 
harsh on him. He’s helped us plenty in the past—this is his 
'rst screw–up.’ 
Samuel leapt off the crate, voice raised. ‘First or not, it’s 
a big one! That idiot lost at least a thousand livres. He 
needs to be punished.’ 
Fat–Tom muttered something unintelligible, still 
munching a mouthful of biscuit, but clearly sided with 
Samuel. An uneasy silence settled over the group. All eyes 
turned to Alistaire, who hadn’t spoken yet. 
‘It’s a shame,’ Alistaire 'nally said. ‘We’ve lost a lot—but 
we’ll make it back in the tournament.’ 
The tension broke, exactly as Alistaire had intended. It's 
impossible to find a solution to a problem when there's emotions 
in the air. 
Immanuel groaned. ‘Seriously, Alistaire? That’s your 
solution?’ 
Jaime laughed. ‘Do you just say whatever comes to your 
mind? No wonder you’re single.’ 
Samuel joined in. ‘Says the guy who couldn’t even get 
Louise to talk to him.’ 
Jaime shot him a look. ‘That wasn’t me. And even if it 
was, I’m just being generous. Left her for you, Al.’ 
Alistaire chuckled. ‘Sure you did.’ Then he turned 
serious. Now that the mood is loosened. It's much easier to talk 
business. ‘Look, about Chris—we’ll test him. See where his 
loyalties really lie.’ 
‘Test him?’ Jaime asked. 
‘Yes,’ Alistaire said, watching their faces. ‘I’ll give him a 
task. Something important—something I know he’ll fail. 
Then we’ll see how he handles it.’ Can't trust anyone when 
they're winning—you only get to know a person's true character 
when they're losing. 
Samuel stepped forward. ‘Ha! Good idea Alistaire! He’ll 
fuck it up and lie. Then we can be done with him.’ 
Why does he hate Chris so much?  Alistaire wondered. 
‘Maybe. But we’ll see. Not a word to him about this 
though, alright?’ He looked speci'cally at Samuel, whose 
usual smile had returned. ‘Understood?’ 
Samuel nodded eagerly. ‘Understood.’ 
‘What’s the task?’ Immanuel asked. 
Alistaire glanced at him with a faint smile. ‘I’ll tell you 
later. Best if no one else knows.’ 
Immanuel gave him a nod and took another drag from 
his cigarette. 
‘Alistaire, are you seriously planning on competing in 
the tournament?’ Jaime asked, arms crossed.  
Last to die, alone and without ever amounting to anything. 
‘How many times do I need to tell you?’ Alistaire 
muttered, clearly irritated. 
‘I heard the Alb princeling, Robert or something, is 
going to compete too,’ said Fat Tom, rummaging through 
his bag for another bite. 
‘It’s Roderic, dumbass,’ Jaime snapped. ‘And he’s the 
crown prince. There’s no way he’d show up to compete in 
something like this. He'll be attending the fair for sure, but 
only seasoned warriors and idiots like Alistaire will be 
competing in the tournament.’ 
‘Seasoned warriors... Imagine I 'ght Sir Arthur Flavius,’ 
Alistaire said with a #icker of excitement. ‘If I knock him 
down, I’ll be famous.’ 
‘Yeah, and don’t forget to win us some coin while you’re 
at it!’ Jaime shouted. 
The group bantered long into the evening, the sun 
sinking deeper beneath the horizon. Alistaire’s thoughts 
wandered to his siblings and to the thought of a warm 
home–cooked meal waiting at home. A quiet yearning 
stirred within him—he longed to return.  
‘Boys,’ he said 'nally, cutting through the noise. ‘I’m 
meeting Ishmael tomorrow. If something happens to me, 
Immanuel’s in charge. Listen to him.’ His gaze swept over 
them, steady and commanding. He exchanged farewells 
and headed home with Immanuel. 
As they walked, Alistaire studied his closest friend, and 
warmth spread through him. He loved Immanuel like a 
brother—he’d die for him, and he knew Immanuel would 
do the same. 
They had met when they were both nine, at a market 
fair. Alistaire’s mother was still alive then. Sweet times... The 
world seemed so bright back then. Now, it’s all turned to shit. 
Immanuel had come from Latinum with his extended 
family—refugees escaping a war that had dragged on for 
decades and still hadn’t stopped. Of all those who came 
with him, only his grandmother remained. The rest had 
either moved on or passed away. 
Immanuel had been unforgettable from the moment 
Alistaire had 'rst seen him—dark hair, piercing green eyes, 
and a scarred face full of mystery. They’d 'rst spoken when 
they both reached for the same #at cap at a market stall. 
Immanuel had been dragging along an older girl, probably 
a relative. While Alistaire was with his mother and little 
Amélie in tow. The cap sat atop a bronze bust of some 
'erce–looking man, impossible to miss. 
They both grabbed each end at the same time. Alistaire 
remembered that cold stare Immanuel gave him. Tension 
crackled in the air. Then, with one swift tug, Immanuel 
ripped the cap out of his hand. 
Furious, Alistaire lunged at him. They wrestled on the 
ground until their families separated them. Alistaire had 
come out victorious, holding the cap high like a war 
trophy. He remembered waving it smugly while Immanuel 
glared at him, eyes narrowed in a fury that did not match 
the frame of a little boy. 
Their families had forced them to shake hands 
afterward. Alistaire had hated it but feared his mother’s 
slap more. Despite the rough beginning, they kept running 
into each other, for they lived just across the street. And 
from bitter enemies, they became inseparable friends. Years 
passed. That bond only deepened. 
Immanuel yawned and stretched, shaking Alistaire from 
his thoughts. 
‘So, Al, what’s this great test for Chris? How’re you 
planning to check his loyalty?’ 
‘No idea,’ Alistaire admitted with a crooked grin. 
Immanuel laughed. ‘I knew it. The moment you said, 
"best if no one else knows,” I thought, he’s making this up 
on the spot, he has no fucking clue what he actually wants 
to do.’ 
Alistaire chuckled. ‘You know me too well. So, got any 
bright ideas?’ 
Immanuel looked up as they neared the old abandoned 
church. He pointed at its crooked roof. 
‘You see that?’ 
Alistaire craned his neck. ‘What? That busted cross?’ 
‘Yeah. You remember old man Rob from the Golden 
Eagle tavern?’ 
Alistaire tilted his head. Old man rob… Old man Rob… 
‘Shit. Yeah. Is that old fart still alive?’ 
‘He is. I dropped by last week.’ Immanuel rubbed his 
chin thoughtfully. ‘You remember the #ag he kept behind 
the bar—the one he always claimed was a real Ascanian 
banner?’ 
‘Of course. That’s all he ever talked about. Bored me to 
death. You think it’s real?’ 
‘Eh, I don’t know, probably,’ Immanuel replied, 
shrugging. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter. That’ll be Chris’ task. 
To get that #ag.’ 
Alistaire let out a laugh. ‘You want him to steal that 
thing? Fantastic!’ 
‘It’s locked in a glass case, and Rob’s half–blind, but still 
sharp as hell.’ 
‘How’d the busted cross make you think of that?’ 
Alistaire asked, shielding his eyes from the setting sun that 
now crowned the church. 
‘I was thinking… How good would that #ag look 
#uttering up there? If Chris somehow pulls it off, that is.’ 
Alistaire pictured it. A grand red–purple–gold #ag 
waving over the crumbling church. He nodded slowly. 
‘Yeah. Damn. That’d be something. You should’ve been an 
artist.’ 
‘Shut it,’ Immanuel said, slapping him on the back. 
‘Focus on tomorrow. Ishmael won’t hurt you. He’s not like 
the others.’ 
‘What’s he like then?’ 
‘You’ll see. Just don’t lose your temper again.’ Immanuel 
cast a glance at Alistaire’s sling. 
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Alistaire pointed ahead. ‘ There’s your 
house. Go to bed, old man.’ 
Immanuel smirked and stepped to his door. Just before 
entering, he turned back. ‘Take care, Al. I’ll tell Chris 
about the task. Leave that to me.’ 
‘Alright. See you soon, brother.’ 
Immanuel paused. A shadow crossed his face. He looked 
down, then slowly back up. His green eyes locked with 
Alistaire’s—dark, bottomless. Then, he closed the door 
without a word. Even with it shut, that gaze lingered, as if 
piercing through the wood itself. 
Alistaire stood for a moment, confused. Why’d he look at 
me like that? 
A sting on his arm broke the thought. A mosquito. He 
slapped it, and blood splattered. He wiped the smear and 
noticed that he could move his le ft hand better than 
before. The scab on it was #aking off, revealing a pink scar. 
At least it looks good. Something to show the girls, I guess. 
Then, as he walked through the streets back to his home, 
he began humming a tune his mother used to sing. The 
melody drifted softly through the crisp night air, which, 
like always in Hestrisis, smelt faintly of piss. Still, he felt 
lighter somehow—almost whole.  
At the door to his home, he paused as a thought struck 
him. Shit, I was supposed to go to Louise’s house for dinner. He 
opened the door to 'nd only Julien at home. His younger 
brother was preparing dinner—a warm potato soup with 
diced green vegetables and a side of fresh bread one of 
them had stolen that morning. He raised the ladle to his 
mouth, then paused as he noticed someone was home. He 
lowered it and greeted Alistaire warmly. Alistaire took off 
his coat more easily than he had been able to in recent 
memory and slumped down on the couch.  
Craning his neck, he looked back at Julien and asked, 
‘So, where is everyone? It’s getting dark.’ 
Julien, still focused on his task, replied, ‘I don’t know 
where Amélie is, but everyone else is just at the park. They 
left a while ago, so they should be getting back soon.’ 
Amélie… ‘So Amélie hasn’t been home since morning?’ 
‘I haven’t seen her since earlier in the day,’ Julien said 
casually. 
‘Alright, I’ll go and fetch everyone,’ Alistaire told his 
brother, donning his coat. Where are you, Amélie? 
He adjusted his sling and headed towards the park. At 
the far end of the street, opposite where Immanuel’s house 
stood, he spotted his siblings playing on a seesaw. When 
they saw him approaching, Charline ran to him happily. He 
hugged her and told them it was time to go home. 
Camélie took Charline’s hand and began walking with 
her. ‘Oh, Alistaire, Amélie is over there, by the way,’ she 
said, putting a 'nger to her chin. ‘I don’t know what’s 
wrong with her—she seems really down.’ 
Alistaire nodded. ‘Okay, I’ll go talk to her. You guys go 
on home,’ he said, ducking to look at Lucas hiding under a 
slide. ‘You too, Lucas.’ 
‘Oh, 'ne!’ Lucas said, jumping up and following his 
sisters.  
Alistaire walked down a pebbled pathway and saw 
Amélie sitting on a swing facing the other way. He sat on a 
carved stone monument next to the swing. She noticed him 
and was startled by his sudden appearance. 
‘Alistaire!’ she shouted. ‘I…I didn’t expect to see you 
here.’ Her voice was lower now. 
‘Neither did I, sis. Why don’t we go home?’ he said. 
‘Alistaire...’ She paused. A few strands of her chestnut 
hair #owed across her face. She looked at the ground, her 
features tightening as she fought to hold in her tears. ‘I’m 
sorry for what I said to you earlier... You care about us, and 
I understand now that what you did was for me. All I gave 
you in return was nothing. I should have cared for you 
better. I should have appreciated you.’ 
She sobbed and fell onto his shoulder. ‘And I let that 
bastard take your sword. I shouldn’t have. I’m a terrible 
sister, not just to you, but to Camélie and Charline. I’m 
setting them a bad—’ 
Alistaire shook his head and interrupted her. ‘Amélie, 
stop. It’s me who should be apologising. I got us into this 
mess. I shouldn’t have acted so stupidly.’ 
‘But you did it for me,’ she said, clutching his shirt, tears 
welling in her eyes. 
‘Yes, I did. But I could have done something better. Now 
my left hand barely works, and I can’t take care of our 
family properly.’ 
‘No. You don’t need to. We can do things on our own 
now,’ she said, wiping her tears away. 
‘I know, and I’m glad. But I can’t be this useless forever. 
I’ll get us out of this life. I'm tired of always being hungry 
and afraid.’ 
She sniffled and straightened her posture. ‘Alistaire...’ 
she said, holding his hand. ‘We’re not hungry and afraid. 
Not since you gave us our lives back. I like the life we live.’ 
That… That struck a chord in him. He was stunned. I 
haven’t thought about it like that... she’s right. We haven’t lived 
so poorly for a while. So why the hell did I think we did? Am I 
the only one who’s been hungry and afraid? If so, just what am I 
yearning for? 
He remembered her words again. All you ever think about 
is your dream. Have you ever thought about my dream?  
‘Frère?’ she asked, peering at him. 
He smiled and looked at her inquisitive brown eyes. 
‘Tell me, what is your dream?’ 
‘My dream?’ She blinked. ‘Well...’ She placed her hands 
between her thighs and stretched her legs. She shifted on 
the swing, its chains rattling softly, then stood. Holding the 
chains, she looked ahead and proclaimed, ‘All I want... is—
is for us to live happily like this forever.’ 
‘Wait, what? That’s it?’ Alistaire replied without 
thinking. 
Amélie gave him a certain look. ‘Yes, that’s it. I know 
that’s what we all want, but what you said when you woke 
up at the doctor’s place... that really scared me. We thought 
you had died, Alistaire. I was so worried. I thought it was 
my fault. I had to reassure the others you were okay while 
doubting my own words and wishing for my lie to be true. 
Who would look after us if you were gone? When you said 
you’d go to the tournament in spite of your injuries... it 
made me so angry. I thought you were throwing your life 
away. I thought you weren’t even thinking about us. But I 
understand now that you are. You’re trying your hardest to 
give us a better life.’ 
Was I thinking of you and the others, Amélie? Or was I just 
thinking of myself? 
‘I... I don’t know what to say. You make me out to be 
much more... sel#ess than I can admit I really am,’ Alistaire 
said uneasily. 
‘It’s the truth, Alistaire. I’ve been terrible to you. I feel... 
like such... a whore. I regret it. I don’t want Camélie or 
Charline to ever go through something like that. I 
understand now why they call it fatherless behaviour. The 
girls I know without a father crave a man’s attention 
because they never had it from their own. But I don’t have 
to worry about that with Camélie or Charline because they 
look up to you like a father. I just need to guide them. Not 
just them—Lucas and Julien too. Julien is getting older but 
still thinks like a child. I can’t keep going off and doing 
things on my own. When you’re out trying to help us, I 
need to be home looking after everyone.’  
She took a deep breath. ‘Urrgh! How have I been so 
stupid? Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ she yelled, hitting herself 
repeatedly in the chest. 
Alistaire shot up and grabbed her hand. ‘Stop!’ he said 
with a sudden fury. He hated seeing his siblings in pain. 
She gritted her teeth and seethed. Slowly, the rage 
drained from her. She sat back down and looked up at him, 
smiling weakly. ‘I’m going to support you. I believe in you. 
I know you’ll do great things.’ 
Alistaire smiled and glanced up at the moon rising on 
the horizon. Why am I so blessed with such perfect people 
around me? Is it because I have nothing else in life? 
He held out his good hand. ‘Come on, we should get 
back now.’ 
She took it. ‘Okay...’ she whispered, wiping the tears 
from her cheeks. She stood, her shoulder brushing his, and 
walked beside him on the short trip back home. 
Along the way, Alistaire re#ected that though he hadn’t 
planned it this way, he was glad that Amélie and Julien had 
secured honest jobs. From that thought, he resolved that 
his siblings should live only in the proper world—not the 
dishonest, criminal world he was sinking into. 
He glanced at his sister. ‘So, Amélie, how’s the #ower 
shop?’ 
She was looking at the ground, hands behind her back. 
‘Same as always. Nothing interesting happens. Just the 
same kind of people come in.’ 
‘The young romantic type?’ Alistaire teased. 
‘Yes, mostly men. We get very few women. I guess 
women don’t really buy #owers.’ 
Alistaire laughed. ‘No, they only expect to be given 
them.’ 
They paused outside their door. 
‘Have you bought anyone #owers?’ Amélie asked 
curiously. 
‘Uh... no, I haven’t. But—’ Alyssa. ‘I plan to.’ 
‘Oh really?’ Her face lit up. ‘Who’s the special girl? Tell 
me.’ 
Alistaire laughed awkwardly. ‘You wouldn’t believe me.’ 
‘Try me. What’s her name?’ she asked, clinging to his 
good arm, peering into his eyes—he caved. 
‘Her name is Duchess Alessandra, daughter of Archduke 
Elmont and Archduchess Ser... uh, Serissandra.’ 
She burst out laughing. ‘Seriously? No, really. What’s her 
real name?’ 
‘I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. That’s her name,’ he 
said. 
Her mouth opened in shock. ‘Really?’ Then, seeing his 
expression, she continued. ‘Oh my god, you’re serious. How 
did you meet her?’ 
‘At the docks of all places. She was there the day of the 
incident. She saw me bleeding and said she felt guilty. 
When I was back there this morning, she happened to be 
there again.’ 
‘Wait, what?! You met her this morning?’ she said, 
stunned. ‘After arguing with me?’ 
‘Yeah. I really have to thank you. Without you, I’d have 
never met her.’ He reached into his coat pocket. ‘She also 
gave me this hairclip as a memento.’ 
‘Oh my, what did you two get up to at the docks?’ 
Amélie teased taking the sword–shaped hairpin from him. 
She studied it, her eyes widened. 
‘This crest... Alistaire, do you know what this is?’ 
‘Uh, no. Not really. What is it?’ 
‘It’s the crest of a very powerful noble family. She’s not 
just some aristocrat—she’s the real deal. Almost royalty. 
How could you not recognise it? It’s everywhere in the 
upper parts of town. At the entrance to the botanical 
gardens and the royal fairgrounds.’ 
He examined the crest. ‘I’ve never noticed it. I don’t 
really look at things like that. Wow,’ he said, shaking his 
head in disbelief. 
Amélie crossed her arms and studied him. ‘I can see that 
you actually like her. But don’t get your hopes up. There’s 
no way you have a chance. Girls like her always go for 
high–up nobles or are already promised to one.’ 
‘She’s different. I know it,’ he said dreamily. ‘The brief 
time I spent with her was magical. I think this girl is the 
one.’ 
Amélie laughed. ‘Oh my god, Alistaire, I’ve never seen 
you like this. You know, there are probably a thousand 
other guys pursuing her?’ 
‘Well,’ he said, thinking back to their meeting, ‘I’m 
different from them.’ 
Amélie snickered. ‘Oh really? How so?’ 
‘Unlike the rest, I’m not a blue–blooded noble. Just a 
brown–blooded peasant.’ 
She hit him and laughed. ‘Alistaire, I don’t think that’s 
an advantage.’ 
They stopped talking when the door creaked open. 
Julien peeked out. 
‘Oh, Amélie, Alistaire. What are you two on about? 
Come in already. I was wondering who was at the door.’ 
Amélie pushed the door open and stepped in. ‘Oh 
Julien, do I have a story for you.’ 
Julien looked alarmed. ‘Should I be scared?’ 
She smiled. ‘No, you should be excited.’ 
‘Excited? For what?’ 
Alistaire stepped inside. ‘Shh, Amélie, don’t go telling 
the whole world. You can tell Julien and the others, but no 
one else. Promise me.’ 
She frowned. ‘Really? How boring. Fine. I promise.’ 
‘Good. Now let’s eat,’ he said brightly. 
They all gathered around their dining table as Julien 
brought forth their meals. The soup and bread warmed 
something deep in his chest which had gone untouched for 
too long. As he 'nished his second helping, he praised 
Julien for becoming such a 'ne chef.  
Julien laughed meekly, scratching the back of his head. 
‘I’m just getting used to it, that’s all. Been cooking loads at 
the soldiers’ mess.’ 
The room glowed in the golden–orange light of a 
#ickering oil lamp and the low 're still burning behind 
them. Lucas reached across the table, his hand fumbling for 
more soup, but somehow he managed to tip his bowl over, 
spilling its contents all over the table. Everyone burst into 
laughter, including Lucas, who sheepishly dabbed at the 
spill with a cloth. Camélie, seated beside Charline, grabbed 
Monsieur L’Ours by his arms and raised them like a 
puppet, growling in a dramatic bear voice. Charline 
shrieked with delight, holding her stomach and giggling. 
Amélie sat across from Alistaire, tucking a loose strand 
of hair behind her ear as she lifted a spoonful of soup to 
her lips. She caught his eye, and for a moment, the noise 
around them faded. She smiled knowingly, and he smiled 
back—the heaviness in his heart easing. 
Later, as the evening quieted, Alistaire readied for bed. 
Amélie offered him her spot, insisting she’d take the couch 
instead. He refused, not wanting to inconvenience her. 
Standing in the dim stillness of the room, he looked 
around at the mismatched furniture and worn walls as a 
longing welled up in his chest. 
If only I could place them all in a palace, he thought, with 
hundreds of soft beds and golden windows let in sunlight freely. 
They deserve that much and more! 
The pain in his arm had dulled, but it still #ared like 're 
when touched. 
Will I be ready for the tournament? I must be ready. 
Lying there, he questioned everything. What was he 
doing? Why was he so stubborn? Could he really compete? 
Doubt gnawed at him until, at last, he found resolve. He 
had no other choice. Try, or live a life full of regret. There 
was no choice at all. It was already decided. 
I have to do it. I cannot fail. My family and friends depend on 
me. I will give them the life they deserve. Fuck it all. I will 
succeed.