Was it fury? 

Wrath? 

Elric found himself unable to describe the sheer intensity of hatred coursing through his veins. It was as if a tempest of resentment had consumed him entirely. 

Ever since the moment he discovered his aunt’s lifeless body, he knew nothing but misery and despair. Each day was a struggle, each night a torment, as he grappled with the gaping void her absence had left behind. But now, as he locked eyes with the one responsible for her death, all that remained within him was a seething hatred. 

“You look like you want to kill me,” Leonard said with a smirk. 

Kill him!

I have to kill him!

The words of retribution were already echoing in Elric’s head long before Leonard had suggested it; they were primal and raw. Every fiber of his being urged him to act, to unleash the pent-up fury that threatened to devour him whole. Yet, he only stood there. 

His body refused to move.

“Pfft. Bwahahahaha!” Leonard laughed loudly, relishing the fear in Elric’s eyes. “You know, it's almost disappointing,” he said as he collected himself. “I expected more from this unique toy of mine, but is getting rid of one bitch really all it takes to break you like this?” 

How dare he call Serena—damn it, body! MOVE!

Elric’s frustration grew as he remained unable to act, his body betraying him in this urgent moment of need.

“I’ll just invite myself in then,” Leonard remarked casually. He pushed Elric aside and then strolled into the inn, leaving behind the soldiers that had accompanied him. Taking a seat at a nearby table, he let out a command that sent a chill racing down Elric’s back.

“Kneel.”

Elric’s body yielded, succumbing to the red aura that Leonard released, an energy he had only come in contact with sparingly. It pressed him to his knees, crushing his chest and leaving him gasping for air in a state of utter panic.

“Do you want to know what the first thing I thought was when I woke up this morning?” continued Leonard, ignoring Elric’s distress. “I thought that I felt real shitty and needed to play with my toy to put me in a better mood.”

Elric glared at him.

“Haha, don’t worry. I won’t play with you today. Something else put me in a good mood.”

Elric furrowed his brows as he took shallow breaths to preserve his oxygen intake. 

“As a neric, you wouldn’t know,” said Leonard, lifting a fancy envelope in the air, “but it’s customary for the king to send a notice letter to all noble houses in the kingdom every time a royal execution takes place.”

Why is he telling me this? thought Elric.

“Four years ago, I inspected Vailee for the first time. Among the documents I read, I came across records indicating the existence of a Sinclair couple who had relocated to the capital for employment. They had one son.”

Elric’s eyes widened with realization. No. He couldn’t mean…

Leonard dropped the envelope onto the dusty inn floor. “I know that nerics can’t read, but still, it didn’t feel right to have such a letter rot in the Simmons manor when there was a more deserving recipient elsewhere.”

No. It can’t be. Elric had already forgotten the fact that he was having trouble breathing. Now, the only thing on his mind was his parents’ fate. 

Leonard sauntered over to him. “Good. It seems you understand. You’re going to end up a bastard orphan, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Make sure to remember this feeling the next time we play, okay?” With a patronizing pat on Elric’s cheek, Leonard withdrew his aura and departed the inn with his soldiers, leaving Elric to stew in the bitter realization of his circumstances.

The golden glint of the Selisian royal seal had reached the corner of Elric’s eyes. Now able to move, he strenuously crawled to open the envelope, his whole world crashing down once again as he read the content of the letter:

To all Noble Houses and Esteemed Lords,

By the decree of Anselm Geoffrey Selis II, King of Selis, this missive bears grave tidings that demand your attention and loyalty.

As of March 1st, year 1127, the royal court has reached a decisive verdict. Elia and Maurim Sinclair, members of the neric class, stand accused and convicted of committing acts of high treason against the crown.

In accordance with Article 36, Section 2, of the Selisian Royal Code, the punishment for committing such a transgression is execution. The executioner’s justice is slated to be administered at midday on the 20th of March at the center of the capital city, Calith.

In these trying times, let it be known that the foundation of our united allegiance remains unshaken. 

May the skies of fortune continue to favor our nation.

Yours resolutely,

King Anselm Geoffrey Selis II

* * *

1 gold coin. 2 bronze. 10 copper. 

With the gleam of the moonlight dancing off the metallic surfaces, Elric counted the money he had saved over the span of a decade.

“I’m really doing this,” he mumbled. 

After sorting the coin types into three separate pouches, he stepped out of his room. Traversing the familiar corridors of the inn, each step served as a reverie of childhood memories. Then he entered the kitchen, waves of nostalgia bombarding him, before venturing out into the night through the inn’s rear door.

The only sounds accompanying him were the rhythmic chirping of crickets as he approached his aunt’s grave. Kneeling beside it, he gently touched the dirt that separated the two of them.

“I don’t know when, but I’ll be back,” he declared with a determined tone. His parents were going to be executed? He wouldn’t let that happen. With a deep exhale, Elric reached over his aunt’s grave and grabbed his makeshift spear, swathed in brown cloth, along with a prepared sack of food. “I’ll definitely return.”

Standing tall, he strode away from the back of the inn, his mind resolute. The question of remaining in Vailee or departing held little significance in the grand scheme, as he could never beat Leonard. But rather than sitting idly by and surrendering to despair, he would make it so that he and his parents would meet once again. 

After being forced to spend four years under Leonard’s authority, Elric grew to know his personality rather well—a prideful boy who believed strength alone defined morality.

With his personality, there’s no way he would attack the village once I leave. There’s truly no better time than now.

As Elric reflected this, he found himself at Hanna’s doorstep. He gently set down his weathered pouch filled with copper coins, and inside the pouch, along with the coins, was a small note with a few scribbled sentences. The final sentence ended with one of the few phrases he’d taught Hanna to read:

Thank you.

Continuing his walk, Elric arrived at Tip’s home, leaving behind the pouch containing his gold coin. Finally, Elric had made it to Vailee’s entrance. With one last glance back at the village that had been his home for sixteen years, he embarked on his journey toward Gorn.

“Mom, Dad. Don’t worry. Your son is on his way.”

* * *

“Is this the place?”

Standing outside a weathered building, Elric’s voice barely rose above a whisper as he surveyed the sign above the entrance.

The Siren’s Tankard. 

Having arrived in Gorn just an hour prior, Elric asked around for where he could commission a carriage coachman and was directed to check at this tavern. A faint scent of ale and cooking wafted from within, mingling with the crisp night air. Adjusting his grip on his belongings, Elric pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the warmth of the tavern.

The interior was brightly lit and filled with the loud chatter of patrons.

How am I supposed to find a coachman in this place? thought Elric as he settled at an empty table tucked away in a corner. I don’t have time. I have to leave tonight. Lost in thought, he failed to notice the attention he had attracted from Gorn’s most infamous drunk, Sten Orvik.

Hah? Look at this kid. I’ve seen orphans in finer garb. Bet he’s one of those neric scum! Always lurking about, poisoning our village!

Swaying in his drunken stupor, Sten staggered toward Elric’s table.

“Hey kid! You’re not a local, are ya?!”

Elric tensed, his hand subtly inching towards his spear after sensing hostility.

“Why aren’t ya answering?” demanded Sten as he seized Elric by the collar. “You’re one of ’em nerics, ain’t ya?! Damn vermin! You lot are supposed to live in hiding and do our bidding! Guess I oughta be the one to take care of ya...” 

Sten’s breath reeked of cheap beer, and his words slurred as he leaned in closer to Elric. As his grip tightened on Elric’s shirt, his hands became enveloped in a menacing blue energy.

Is that aura?! panicked Elric. This drunkard really plans to kill me!

Elric’s fingers soon clenched around the familiar weight of his spear. The tavern continued to buzz with loud noise, offering no easy exit, especially with Sten’s large figure obstructing his escape. Well, I have a chance at least, resolved Elric. His aura is nothing compared to Leonard’s.

As Sten advanced, his fist raised, the blue aura surrounding it only growing denser.

Elric observed Sten’s stance. He’s aiming for my chest. The moment he lets his guard down, I’ll strike.

In a swift motion, Sten’s fist descended. Just as Elric prepared to counter, a passing patron accidentally brushed shoulders with Sten, jostling him off balance. His grip on Elric’s collar loosened as he struggled to regain his footing. It was a fleeting opportunity, but Elric seized it, breaking free from Sten’s grasp and having his spear poised defensively.

“Oh, excuse me—Hmm? Elric?”

The passerby who inadvertently aided Elric was now looking at him with a familiar gaze. Elric’s brows furrowed in confusion before recognition gleamed across his face.

“Fenril?!”

Fenril flashed a grin, his eyes assessing the situation before flickering with concern. “I see you’ve gotten involved with Sten.”

Elric felt a surge of relief and surprise as he recognized Fenril. He was the coachman who had initially brought Mr. Linus to Vailee and had also been taking his parents to and from the capital.

“It’s good to see you, Fenril.”

Meanwhile, Sten regained his balance, his drunken rage intensifying as he realized he was facing not one but two outsiders. “You! Stay outta this, Fenril! This is between me and the neric!”

Elric once again prepared to strike, but Fenril halted him. “Come on, Sten! I know I’m not a Gorn native, but I thought we’d grown a little closer over the years. Besides, this kid isn’t a neric.” Fenril placed his hands on Elric’s shoulders. “His parents work in the royal palace! As if a neric could ever get a job in the capital, nevermind the palace. Haha.”

Capital? After hearing that, Sten dismissed any thoughts about Elric being a neric. “He should’ve just said that,” he muttered as he staggered away. 

Fenril turned to Elric with a reassuring smile. “Let’s talk outside.”

*

Fenril’s carriage was a quaint but sturdy affair, its wooden frame worn from years of use but still bearing an air of reliability. 

“So, you need a ride to the capital.”

Fenril spoke with a calm voice as he leaned against his carriage.

Elric nodded. “Yes, it’s urgent.”

“I figured as much,” replied Fenril as he nodded thoughtfully. “I was at the capital a couple weeks ago and was surprised your parents hadn’t reached out to me to bring them back to Vailee. It must be very urgent.”

“I’m more surprised that you were able to recognize me; it’s been six years.”

Fenril chuckled. “How could someone forget those purple eyes of yours?”

“Ah, true.”

Fenril chuckled once again and tousled Elric’s hair. “Don’t worry. I’ll take you.”

Elric smiled gratefully. “Thank you. The fare is 2 bronze coins, right?” He displayed the coins from his pouch in the palm of his hand. 

“Yeah, but don’t worry about it. I’ll take you for free. I was already heading in that direction anyway.”

“Free? Are you sure?”

“Yes, let’s call it my atonement.”

“...?”

As the two settled into the front seat of the carriage, Fenril let out a sigh. His kindness was nothing but a response to the desperation he saw on  Elric’s face. 

Years ago, when Elric’s parents joined Lord Carlisle’s journey to the capital, Fenril initially refused to transport them, only relenting when Lord Carlisle offered more money. His views on nerics had been as extreme as a drunken Sten’s, but he eventually proved more compassionate than he realized. Desperation. That was what the Sinclair couple expressed as they endured Fenril’s onslaught of harsh insults. Over time, it wasn’t Elia or Maurim who changed, but Fenril himself. He gradually succumbed to the persistent call of empathy and grew close to the couple. 

You’ve come a long way, Fenril, he thought to himself.

With a gentle flick of the reins, the carriage horse moved forward into the night.