With determined and heavy footsteps, Trafka stepped through the doorway, and the moment he did, seven of his sisters greeted him.

  “Congratulations!” Higo, Bododo, Vulisk, Obini, Umbell, Frissh, and Wolni cheered.

  All of them were adorned in fine dresses, some matching their fur color and patterns while others complimented them.

  “So, how does it feel to be an anointed King’s guard?” Umbell asked quickly, wrapping her arm around his.

  Higo quickly wrapped her arm around Trafka’s other arm, “Let our brother breathe now. He accomplished something so great, being the youngest to join the king’s guard. Now let’s go to the dining hall. Everyone is waiting to feast in your honor.”

  “I’m sorry, but the celebration is premature,” Trafka said in a soft-spoken voice.

  “Huh…? Were you not made a member of the king’s guard?” Obini questioned in surprise.

  “Father, is this true?” Vulisk questioned.

  Tokta looked down and met his daughter’s eyes, “Yes.”

  “But how can this be?” Bododo questioned.

  “Yes, I’ve seen you train and fight. You are so strong; how can the king deny you and father?” Frissh questioned.

  “Oh, please, none of you need to freat; it was my own choice. The King needed someone he could trust to bring a person of great importance before him, and I volunteered,” Trafka explained with a smile.

  “Who is this person, and when do you leave?” Wolni asked.

  “I think he was called the Black something, and as for when I leave, I think around first light. Now, all of you join the rest, and I’ll come down once I’ve changed into something more comfortable,” Trafka said, urging them to go on as he escaped his sister’s grasp and ran upstairs.

  A couple of them shook their head with wide smiles before walking into the dining hall; however, the oldest of the seven, Umbell, stayed back a little longer and noticed Tokta walking toward the stairs.

  “Are you not coming to eat?” She asked him.

  Tokta paused, “I need to have a word with Trafka, then we’ll join everyone.”

  Having gotten her answer, Umbell continued into the dining hall while Tokta went upstairs, the ground slightly vibrating with each step he took as he found his son in his room.

  Noticing his presence, Trafka turned around and asked, “Is there something, father?”

  Tokta stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He then looked down at his son with a serious expression, “You are not leaving the capital.”

  “What do you mean?! Trafka exclaimed. “The King wants the Black something before him!”

  With an unwavering gaze and firm, uncompromising tone as strong as stone, Tokta replied, “Yes, but you will not be the one to escort him. The Jaoli outpost lies on the outskirts of the kingdom's borders, where heretics can often roam. I will not have you risk your life.”

  “Father, I told the King in front of the entire court and other royal families I would do this. I can’t shame our house and myself like this,” Trafka adamantly said, standing his ground.

  “Then hide away in this room. I’ll have one of the guards accomplish this task and have the king and court be none the wiser, Tokta replied as he turned to leave. “Now get changed and join the family downstairs.”

  “…I know, Trafka said, his voice filled with frustration. “…I know what they say behind closed doors, that I’m just a cruel jest by the curse that’s befallen your progeny. That I’m weak, the runt of the litter who couldn’t even push my sisters away before they drank all the milk, and I had to be breastfed by one of the maids.

  ”That I’m probably just your daughter you pretend is your son, who wailed like a newborn and was unable to take the life of a rotten, low-born murderer.”

  Tokta looked back to see his son holding his head low with both of his hands clutched into fists, “You are my son.”

  “Yes, I’m your son, but not a son of House Krosk! Trafka shouted. “You treat me as if I’m brittle like I’d shatter at the smallest touch! You nev… You never even threw me down the well!”

  “How am I to be strong enough for this house?! Our ancestors have said it themselves in the books written about them and the books written by them, “Strength is born from survival”!”

  The words echoed in his ears as the ground beneath him grew shaky, and he thought back to so much of his life. So much hardship, so much struggle, and oh so much pain.

  “Do you know how many of my brothers died before even discovering what their inherited ability was? Tokta asked his son. “I will not let you die like them. Now forget this nonsense.”

  “No!” Trafka defiantly said as he raised his hands and stood firm, ready to attack.

  Tokta turned around to face his son with a blank expression. “Do you intend to challenge me?”

  “If I must,“ Trafka replied as he suddenly lunged for his father.

  In the brief instance of attack, Tokta watched his son keenly. His stance was sublime, with perfect footing prioritizing balance; he struck with adequate speed and had no doubt focused his mind to strengthen his body.

  Truly, he’d paid attention to his lessons, taken them to heart’s, and practiced them a thousand times.

  However, none of it would help him against the foe he’d chosen.

  In the blink of an eye, without strengthening his body, Tokta struck his son in the chest with his open palm, knocking the air out of his lung and briefly lifting him off the ground before throwing him onto his bed.

  He watched his son struggle to breathe, “That’s the last of it.”

  “Even…! “Cough!” now you treat me... “Cough!” like brittle glass,” Trafka said with tears in his eyes as he slipped off the bed.

  “Join us for dinner once you’ve recovered,” Tokta replied in an indifferent tone of voice as he walked out of his son's room.

  However, he didn’t join them for dinner or leave his room. He just stayed there, refusing anyone's entry.

  It was only when Tokta awoke to Ki's first soft light and a knock at his bedroom door that he learned the truth of what had transpired while he’d been asleep.

  “Come in,” Tokta said, his sight slightly blurry.

  The head butler, Nostraal, walked inside and spoke in a quiet and respectful tone, “Apologies for waking you so early, Lord Krosk. I know you gave me strict instructions to keep an eye on the young master, but he is not in his room, n--”

  Before the head butler could finish, Tokta got out of bed and quickly walked past Nostraal.

  He didn’t need to hear more as he knew where Trafka had gone. Descending the stairs quickly and reaching ground level, Tokta intended to intercept Lord Jukibi.

  However, Nostraal intercepted him, sliding down the railing and holding a piece of paper up in front of his face, “I found it in the young master’s room, and I advise you to read it.”

  “He can tell me himself when I bring him back,” Tokta said, pushing the letter away.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Not relenting, Nostraal pushed it back in his face, “I read but a little of it, and I believe you should hear his explanation in full. You might feel as much pride for him as when he was born.”

  Tokta took a step back and looked at the head butler, his expression unwavering and serious.

  Taking a moment to clear his mind, Tokta took the letter from Nostraal’s hand and began to read it.

  “Father, if you read this, then hopefully, I’m long gone or perhaps dead. You're right. I don’t know how many of your brothers died, but I can’t neglect our ancestors' wisdom. Surely, you must agree as I stood no hope of defeating you even with all you’ve trained me. For that reason, I’ve decided to take my own growth into my own hands from now on, and though it chills me to my core, it will begin with the well.

  Toktahands suddenly flexed, and his claws pierced through the letter as his heart’s and stomach grew cold, yet he couldn’t stop reading even as the ground wobbled.

  “I know it’s probably not much of a challenge for someone my age; that is why I will do so in armor and my hammer on my back to weigh me down. I will get stronger, and once I climb out of that well, I’ll carve the sigil of our house into the stone and know I’m ready to set foot outside the capital as a son of house Krosk.”

  Tokta slowly raised his head and looked in the direction of the well. Even inside, he knew exactly where it stood, “Nostraal is he...”

  “When I read the first half, I rushed out to see for myself in order to spare you and Lady Krosk the pain, he said. “But all I found was your house's sigil carved into the stone and wet tracks leading away from it.”

  “He climbed out of the well,” Tokta said as he stared off into the distance.

  “Will you still intercept him knowing this?” The head butler asked

  Tokta’s eyes wandered over to the letter, “No… he has made his choice.”

  “Were I correct in my assessment to say you feel pride?” Nostraal asked.

  “I feel great pride,” He simply replied as the ground suddenly grew chaotic and unstable, forcing his eyes to snap open.

  Sitting up in his bed, Tokta rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he let out a tired sigh. Though he hadn’t slept much back home, he was surprised he could sleep at all on the road with how wild and unkempt it was.

  ‘It should be soon,’ he thought to himself, having to bend down slightly so his head didn’t break through the wagon’s roof as he got dressed in his sleek golden armor.

  Eventually, the wagon came to a halt, and he could hear yelling from the outside.

  “Who goes there?!” A voice yelled.

  No doubt were his men about to inform the village soldiers of who was in their presence; however, he didn’t have the patience for it as he stepped outside, full-body shield by his side and great hammer sheathed on his back.

  In stunned silence, those on top of the walls watched him with unblinking eyes, stunned in shock.

  “Do I need to tell you “Who” or have you figured it out?” Edooro, the head of his personal house guard, asked the ones on the wall.

  All of them quickly snapped out of it, one yelling, “Open the gate and inform Commander Zagagra!”

  As an ember to dry withered grass, things quickly ignited as the gate was hastily opened, and Tokta, along with his men and wagons, stepped inside through the first gate and passed soldiers, each wearing simple armor and standing in line to welcome Tokta.

  Suddenly emerging from the village's inner gate came the commander.

  His red eyes locked on Tokta and his pure white fur, completely contrasted by his black cloak that fluttered with each quickened step he took, “Lord Krakni, I had expected men from the capital, but you being here is quite a surprise.

  “Where is my son?” Tokta questioned.

  Lord Zagagra paused, “Your son? Did you not get the letter I had sent to you?”

  “Of course I did, and that’s why I’m here, Tokta replied. “Am I too late? Has he already departed for the capital?”

  “Not the letter from Lord Batugta, Lord Zagagra clarified, “But the one I sent you soon after detailing how your son never arrived with the escort because-“

  “Is he still at the outpost then? Tokta interrupted as he let out a sigh. “He is a young man, so I can’t blame him for being absorbed so exuberantly in such… breathtaking activities.”

  Lord Zagagra raised his voice, “No, Lord Krakni. As I tried to explain, he never set foot here because the escort found the outpost burned to the ground.”

  “WHAT!” Tokta snapped, his booming voice echoing throughout the village.

  Before, where there had been morsels of sound, now there were none as the surrounding area grew dead silent.

  In the silence, Tokta quickly calmed himself. It was rare for him to suddenly let out an outburst of emotions like that.

  “Is my son dead?” He asked with intensity as Lord Zagrgra’s ears slightly flattened.

  Taking a moment, he eventually forced himself to speak, “I-I do not know. The men I send did find a couple of survivors, and their account of the events were--”

  “Take me to them. Whatever you heard, I wish to hear it from their mouths, too,” Tokta demanded.

  “Yes, Lord Krakni,” Lord Zagagra replied as he led the way.

  Following, Tokta and his men walked through the inner gate leading to the residential part of the village. It was bustling with life as children played and women and men went about their work.

  Most stopped up and walked out of the way to the side of the street, dragging their children along.

  “Now, my lord, I must warn you that one of the survivors is a bit unusual,” Lord Zagrgra warned him as they reached a small building smelling of leather and pelts.

  Tokta paid little heed as he entered the building, “As long as they can tell me what happe--”

  “DAMN! THAT #&%? !&#%%& little %&?!%&!?!!!”

  As a warrior, Tokta was rarely faced with anything. Blood curling screams of the dying, guts, and viscera, even the dead shitting themselves. Yet never in his life had he heard a woman talk with such foul language.

  The unfamiliarity of it had him standing stunned for an instant.

  He wasn’t the only one as the room filled with women working with leather and hydes all had their gazes along with his affixed on a woman with striped pink and red fur at the other end of the room, wearing a far too short skirt.

  The only one not to look at her with any kind of disgust or surprise was the woman purple-furred woman beside her, still continuing her work.

  “The mouth of that one! Edooro laughed as his eyes wandered south. “And tail.”

  His laughter caught everyone’s attention, and quickly, all noticed Lord Tokta.

  Lord Zagagra quickly stepped in, “Your two from the outpost, Moliki and Akiti Lord Krakni, wish to have a word with you; all others step outside.”

  In barely any time, everyone left the room, leaving only the two women and them.

  Akiti held her head low while Moliki locked her gaze with Tokta’s.

  “You two from the outpost that burned down. I want to know everything you saw,” Tokta said with a commanding voice.

  “Not much to say, my Lord, Moliki responded with annoyance in her voice. “Heretics attacked and burned it to the ground. We managed to live and escape.”

  “Sorry about her; she hit her head when we escaped the outpost and hasn’t been right even after getting healed,” Akiti quickly explained.

  Tokta focused his gaze on her, “Then you explain unless you are not right in the head, too.”

  With visible nervousness, Akiti swallowed before she lowered her head even more, and her gaze grew distant.

  Recounting what happened, she described the events to the best of her ability. How the wall was set on fire, how the gate was breached as heretics flooded in, how the place they called home became a killing ground, and how she and Moliki tried to survive.

  “Eventually, a couple of heretics spotted us; luckily, by that time, we’d already picked up weapons from the fallen. We fought back, managing to kill a couple, but more only came to outnumber us.

  “I was certain this was our end, and then he appeared, the commander. He got between us and the heretics. Before I could say something, he quickly weaved between each, flawlessly avoiding their strikes by a hair. If I hadn’t witnessed him as closely as I did, I would have thought him invincible, taking each cut unharmed as he killed a couple while the rest were dealt with by the hunter and guard commander.

  “Then he turned to us and knocked the swords out of our hands, saying, “Proper women do not fight.” Moliki then Got angry and was about to yell when the commander said, “You two get out while you can. Over the wall is your best hope. Now, be quick before the fire spreads too much.”

  “Moliki… questioned him about this, and then he grabbed her by the scruff of her shirt, yelling, “I am your commander, and I’ve given you an order now get out of here!

  “Before either of us could respond, he and the rest went off to fight, and we did as instructed and climbed over the wall. By then, the flames had already spread too far, but we used our dresses to smother the flames a little so we could climb down enough so the fall wouldn’t kill us.

  “I landed badly and hurt my leg, and Moliki hit her head. I knew from rumors that an escort was coming from the village, so we went into the forest and hid, watching the outpost burn down until.”

  “And what of my son? Surely you noticed he was there?” Tokta questioned.

  “We didn’t see him inside the outpost; too much was happening, but I did see something, Moliki piped up. “After the flames had mostly died out, I went to take a look around and found tracks leading away, so I followed them deeper into the forest.”

  “On your own?” Eroodo questioned.

  “What of it, Moliki responded, rolling her eyes. “I kept low to the ground to avoid detection. Luckily, they hadn’t gone far and were too distracted to notice me.

  “Most were wounded and standing gathered around Kenneth as he healed them; some were eating the spoils from the battle, and the rest stood guard over a tree with all the proper women hanging from it. I didn’t see your son among them, but I noticed that one of the prisoners was bound with a metal chain instead of rope.”

  “Is that the extent of your knowledge of what happened?” Tokta asked them.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Akiti said apologeticly.

  “We told you all we know,” Moliki said with a bit of attitude.

  “Thank you for telling me. I know it could not have been easy for either of you to relive, Tokta said as he turned to the village commander. “I’ll be needing your maps.”

  “Yes, Lord Krakni,” the commander obliged as he let them to the town hall.

  Inside the building, Lord Zagagra had some of his men retrieve the maps from the back and roll them out on a table as all the men gathered around.

  Lord Zagagra tapped his claw on one of the outposts to the north. “This is Hijoli. Now, ever since I’ve learned of the incident, I’ve taken the liberty of sending some of my best men to the surrounding outpost to see if your son managed to escape to either.”

  “My son knows next to nothing in regards to navigation; I highly doubt he would know how to reach either by any other means than blind luck,” Tokta replied.

  “I see. Then it is Fortunate. I also chose to cover all fronts and send men east in the direction line from Hijoli to the tower; those are the ruins of Kakili, Laoli, and Uvoli,” Lord Zagagra replied.

  Tactical retreats were at times necessary, but if his aim was to gain strength through survival, there would be no way of knowing if Trafka fought to the end or not.

  “What are you thinking, Lord Krosk?” Eroodo asked.

  “Prepare to leave and have those two women join us. We are heading to Hijoli,” Tokta ordered.