“Ouch!” I hiss, ripping my hand away from the steaming kettle.

My fingers are red. One of the kitchen staff smiles apologetically, asking if I’m in need of assistance. I shake my head and finish up Lord Makai’s tea.

When I look in the cup, all I see is red. Then I blink the sight away.

With a heavy sigh, I return to Lord Makai’s room. He’s sitting at the desk, rifling through more papers. Like this it seems like he just fired the workers instead of killed them in cold blood.

Maybe I sit the tray of tea down too hard. Some spills over the cup. Lord Makai raises his gaze to meet mine. Maybe I don’t hide my glare this time either, which has him smirking. Not frowning or appearing upset. No, he’s fucking smirking.

“Be careful, Wallace. Should you break anything, it will be taken out of your paycheck.”

“I’m starting to wonder if I want that paycheck,” I hiss even if in the back of my mind I’m berating myself for it.

Lord Makai snorts and takes the cup, sipping some tea before speaking over the rim, “Are you surprised by today’s events? You have been working for me long enough to know what to expect, I’m sure.”

“Rumors and gossip should be taken with a bag of salt.”

“The saying is grain.”

“Yours are extreme so it’s a bag.”

Lord Makai snorts.

“But now I’m thinking the rumors aren’t extreme at all. Did you have to kill them?” I ask.

“I didn’t. Jeffro and the woman lived.”

This bastard.

“Did they have to steal?” Lord Makai inquires with a roll of his eyes. “Can you take a guess how much money they took?”

“You don’t even need it.”

“Oh, I don’t?” Lord Makai leans back. It’s frightening how composed he is. “So the money for my company isn’t needed, interesting. Would you like to tell the workers that? Perhaps we should head to their homes now and tell their families how they were fired because the company didn’t need the money and therefore could not pay their workers.”

Lord Makai stands. Like earlier, each step is heavy until he’s looming over me but I don’t back down even when he leans in close so that every word is breathed softly against my cheeks. This close, I notice how pale his skin is, how red his eyes are, how there isn’t a single blemish or scar, skin as clear as porcelain. Such an appearance many others wish to achieve yet I find it almost terrifying.

He really is nothing like us.

“What do you think would have happened had I spared them?” He asks in a whisper but his tone is sharp.

“You would have taken them to court,” I answer, but that doesn’t seem to be enough. Lord Makai waits for me to continue. I’m reminded of what Layne said months ago, and what Lord Makai said only hours ago.

I sigh and mumble, “And someone with power would have made sure nothing bad happened to them.”

“You remember well.”

The one compliment I get and it pisses me off.

“Something wrong? Angry that I didn’t turn out to be the great hero you thought I was?” Lord Makai asks. He’s still leaning over me so I take a step back, but he reaches out.

When his hand wraps around my wrist, his skin is ice cold, so much so that I wonder if even a vampire should feel as such.

“Not angry,” I answer. “Just disappointed.”

Lord Makai, for the briefest of moments, looks taken aback, or maybe I’m seeing things. The expression is gone in a second.

“I idolized you as a kid. When I came to the estate, I thought the rumors were ridiculous and even after months of working there, I couldn’t find a reason as to why everyone hated you so much other than being different, but now I think I get it.” I meet Lord Makai’s gaze when I rip my hand away. “You’re a stubborn, cold, and twisted man. You’re bitter and pessimistic. You’re moody and unforgiving, and I pity you.”

Lord Makai isn’t responding. Maybe this is my death sentence. Now I’ve gone and done it, said too much and spoke with disrespect. Any aristocrat would have me hanged for this, but there is no sudden anger, no slap or kick or unsheathing of a blade. Instead, Lord Makai smirks once more, only this time his eyes are completely dead.

“You learn well, too, Wallace,” he says, pressing two fingers beneath my chin. “Remember this feeling to save yourself the trouble of such ridiculous idolization in the future.”

Before I can respond, I’m put in a familiar situation. The door opens and I groan seconds before Lord Makai snaps his fingers and I’m thrown out. The door slams shut behind me just as I hit the ground, hissing at my throbbing back.

“Asshole,” I growl, sitting up to glare at the door, but that glare diminishes in a second. For some reason, I feel like the bad guy. I’m too nice for my own good.

That’s the last I see of Lord Makai that evening, at least in person.

My dreams, however, decide to remind me why I idolized him in the first place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a constant stench of smoke, blood, and steel. The sky was dark even when the sun was out. Firepits were scattered throughout our once beautiful village. Farmhouses turned into barracks and barns were littered with soldiers and their belongings; screams echoed over the fields even when there were no battles. There was drunken laughter and the grass had long since been dead, turned to mud that sloshed under every step. Tents were set up for soldiers, horses were tethered to makeshift holds and a great wooden wall had been built around the town of Chandri.

My hometown, taken by King Treddin and his army to be used as their station after breaking through the frontlines. For three long months I was there, cleaning soldiers dirty rags, cooking meals or being chased like a wild animal for amusement. Sometimes they’d hit just because they could, other times I was a dummy, carrying a target that they’d purposely attempt to miss with their arrows. My arms and legs were scared so I could never forget.

I cried for a while. Then I realized crying didn’t do anything. So I stopped crying and stopped screaming and stopped begging.

I survived. I did as I was told and hoped beyond hope to see my mother again. When we were separated during the ambush, I didn’t know what to do. I still didn’t know what to do, sitting in a cold tent with rags that barely clung to my form. Sometimes I didn’t recognize myself. If I looked into our bucket of water or fetched some from the creek, all I saw was a skeleton staring back at me, the skin stretched and dirtied.

My stomach always ached with a hunger that nearly drove me mad. My body was always sore. I was tired and cold and scared everyday. So were the others, some so scared they rather not risk another day. It wasn’t odd to wake up to a cold corpse by my side or hear the slight creaking of a tree branch from the sudden weight tied to it outside.

I couldn’t even wish to go home because my home was being used by the very beasts harming me in the first place. Monsters that smelled of alcohol and blood, who beat and laughed and hurt because they were angry themselves, because we were at war. Although at that age I didn’t even understand what war meant, so when they looked at me with such hatred I wondered if it was me.

Had I done something wrong? Did Goddess Aena forsake me for not listening to Mommy and brushing my teeth every night before bed or lying about not wetting the bed once or twice? Was I bad and this was my punishment?

I thought that for a long time, for the three months while kept there, until one afternoon something changed.

My ankle hurt. The chain that locked me in place rattled with every little movement. I hated the sound so much that I pressed my hands to my ears. Others were sleeping, Raysha gave me a kind smile. She worked as a baker in town, once a ball of sunshine but her smiles were lackluster those days, although everyone gave her credit for trying.

Then, there was a commotion outside. The cry of a horn carried over the fields. Shadows of rushing soldiers passed outside followed by the clanking of armor and swords. Then voices were ringing over the air, “One of Baylor’s battalions approaches! To your stations men!”

“They are but local soldiers, nothing trained as a knight. We can handle them easy,” another spoke with twisted amusement.

“Sent to die, what a tragedy.”

Laughter followed.

The tent was ripped open. Two soldiers stepped in shouting orders. Those with strength left were whisked away first, told to help the soldiers at their stations, sharpen swords and the likes, but when they came to me there was a sudden explosion. The soldier and I both jumped, but he left without a word, leaving me alone in the tent, still chained to a post.

That was when the screaming started and the fires and the smell. I couldn’t stand it. I shut my eyes and covered my ears, curled up in the dirt to flinch after every sound and scream. But there was only a sheet separating me from the war outside. Arrows pierced the tent. I screamed in terror. Moments later, a sword ripped through just as a body dropped in, his dead eyes staring at me and mouth agape.

I threw my hands over my mouth to silence the scream, but the view before me would have silenced it anyways. The tent was torn and the destruction outside no longer hidden.

Chandri was ablaze as the sun set, the horizon as red as the blood on the ground. But there was a mass of twisted black and red in the sky, shaking like a mirage. It dropped to the ground and an explosion followed, flames burst forth then it whistled through the sky when a golden light chased it. Knights shots arrows and spells at the dark figure now in the shape of a bird as big as horse flying overhead.

I watched for a long time, curled up in the remains of the tent with a corpse. The sky grew dark. Soldiers ran past outside. Screams and explosions and the smell of smoke carried over the fields while King Treddin and his knights fought the strange apparition. The knights continued to drop one after the other, the life leaving their eyes until only King Treddin remained, but he, too, fell to darkness that took the shape of a man. The stranger’s sword pierced King Treddin’s back and his body crumbled.

The battle was over, but I was too scared to move. I don’t know how long I sat there shivering and alone. The moon was high, and although there were people rushing by outside, I was too scared to make a sound. That was until someone leaned in, peering at me through the night. He was covered in blood with unusual red eyes, but I wasn’t scared. Not even when he kneeled beside me, lips pulled back into a warm smile, as warm as the sun after a cold winter’s night.

“Everything is ok. You’re safe now,” he said, holding out his hand, waiting patiently with kind eyes that somehow made me feel safe enough to start crying. He frowned when the tears began until I crawled into his open arms that enveloped me in a tight hug.

“You must be cold and hungry,” he spoke calmly and gently. I buried my face in his jacket. It smelled of sweat and smoke, but it was far more comforting than I could imagine.

“What’s your name, Little One?”

“W-Wallie.”

“Wallie,” he spoke my name so softly it tickled my ears. “My name is Soran.”

“That’s a funny name.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Soran chuckled. “What do you say we get you some new clothes and something warm to eat, hmm? Would you like that?”

“P-Please.”

The chain was snapped off like it was a mere twig, and Soran took me away from that awful place while combing his cold fingers through my hair.

There was talk among the soldiers of Soran, of the supposed monster. After what I went through and what I saw, when I looked at Soran all I saw was my savior; a brave man that came to battle and held my hand when I ate and waited with me until my mother arrived.

It was three days later. She and many others were finally escorted to the village upon hearing the news. Soran carried me to the villagers pouring in hoping to find their lost families. I spotted my mother in the crowd, gasping and pointing animatedly.

“There, it’s her, that’s my mommy!” I said, smiling to Soran who smiled right back.

Soran sat me down and patted my head. “Go to her then.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“Make sure to show her a big smile, Wallie. She must have missed you terribly.”

I didn’t think anything of it, assuming that when I turned away Soran would still be there. I ran to my mother, crying hysterically alongside her when she wrapped her arms around me. I did as Soran told me to and smiled so big it hurt, but I would have done that anyway. Seeing Mom smile back and hold me so tight made me forget all the bad, even if only for a moment.

But when I went to tell her about Soran, he was already gone.

That was the last I ever saw of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My throat is bone dry and I’m hanging halfway off the bed when I wake. My body is sore from the weird angle. I sit up with a tired groan.

Why’d I have to go and dream of the past? Is my conscious trying to make me feel bad for being mean to Soran—

I snort.

Right, Lord Makai.

Feels weird to recall hearing his name or being allowed to say it. Those three days with him I think I said Soran so much that he probably grew tired of his own name. But he certainly didn’t act like he does now. He was always giving me a soft smile. He should smile more often, it’s oddly fitting, not that I’d tell him that.

I swing my legs off the bed. My head hurts, so does my heart. I’m thinking of Mom all of a sudden, and how the joy of being returned to her was so short lived because not even a day later we learned that Dad had been a part of the battle.

He didn’t make it.

My throat tightens when tears come to my eyes. I don’t get any more sleep that night. Memories of my parents and home consume me.

♱♱♱