Lhant was a land that thrived with life. Eleth flowed constantly into its cryas mines and farms, and from there into the rivers and the land itself. Flowers bloomed along the roadside, and birdsong filled the air. If he had glanced outside, King Richard of Windor would have seen happy cows grazing in the fields.

But the scene did little to calm his troubled heart. Few things did, nowadays.

The king frowned, his fingers tapping out a rhythm against the sword he wore on his waist. If he seemed a bit paranoid, it was not without reason.

Impulse had brought him here. When he last spoke to his advisor, Dalen had encouraged the young king to leave on this sudden excursion, worry reflecting in his eyes.

He had every right to be worried, Richard thought with a glum smile.

It happened three nights ago.

He was exhausted. Alone in his room, Richard had been preparing for bed. Sleep felt like the only respite from one thankless day after another. Ruling Windor was his duty; but also his burden.

That day, he had argued with his nobility over money. It wasn't right to ask his subjects to shoulder his burden, but he had no other choice. Much of his country's wealth was funneled towards reparations to Strahta and Fendel, and what little remained was just enough to keep the country functioning. He needed to pay his soldiers, assure traders, maintain the roads... And even if nobody said so, the blame lay squarely on his shoulders.

He heard their resentment whispered through the servants, saw the discontent on their faces. Wherever he went, the sensation of wary eyes followed him.

Often, Richard wondered whether he should ever have been king. Wondered whether perhaps, corrupt and evil as he might have been, Cedric would not be leading his country to ruin.

The troubled thoughts and constant arguments were just too much to deal with, day after day. He sighed and let his body sag against the cold, stone wall.

But his brief reprieve was interrupted by the shuffle of footsteps by the curtain; the sound of a blade being drawn.

Richard reacted on instinct. He drew his sword- just in time to catch his attacker's blade.

"Traitor!"

Richard froze. The assassin, seizing his chance, struck at him again.

He barely managed to parry. Unprepared, it was all he could do to hold his ground.

The assassin lashed out with a kick, sending him crashing against the wall. When he looked up, he saw the assassin's face, mere inches from his own. His figure was gaunt. Light brown hair framed gray eyes- shadowed, in contrast to the paleness of his skin. His assassin looked younger than he, but the sunken cheeks and hollowed eyes betrayed a life of hardship and sadness.

"What happened to you?" Richard managed to gasp out.

"A monster," the assassin spat. "You!"

Richard flinched. Something familiar ran through him- the bloodlust, the anger and hatred, the desire to be alone- to be free-

He swallowed.

"I have done all I can-"

"Have you?!" The assassin's wild eyed frenzy didn't let up. "Our people died, and yet you live! You- you don't deserve to live!"

The words echoed. The memory of his uncle, of the countless attempts on his life...

He would never be free.

A vile surge of rage ran through him. With a twist, he disengaged their weapons. Pivoting, he slammed his free hand into his assailant's gut. The assassin cried out, and his weapon clattered to the floor.

With rapid breaths, Richard pressed his blade against the assassin's neck. There was a pounding in his ears that drowned out his thoughts, made it far too easy to focus on the rage. Just like when he killed his uncle.

The assassin stared back at him, wide-eyed.

Richard lifted his blade, drew his arm back-

"Your Majesty!" Someone burst into the room. The pounding of metal boots shook him out of his stupor.

He blinked. The pressure thrumming through his veins abated, and when he looked again- he choked. His hands were clammy with sweat, and a sick feeling twisted its way into his gut. He staggered back, but he couldn't draw his eyes away.

Couldn't avoid the fear in his assassin's eyes.

Richard's hands trembled. He heard Dalen's voice calling him, but it sounded distant in his ears. It wasn't until the man shook him that Richard turned to him.

"Your Majesty?" His advisor frowned. "Are you unhurt?"

He tried to speak, but the words would not come. It was all he could do to nod.

Dalen straightened and turned his attention to the assassin. "Take him away," he commanded.

Guards moved to pick up the fallen assassin where he lay. He didn't struggle. But even as his assailant was clapped in chains and led away, Richard couldn't move. With the adrenaline of the moment gone, he looked far too small for the dark, baggy clothes he wore. He was- just a boy.

Bile pushed up against his tongue. All he could do was to press a knuckled fist against his lips.

"What should we do with him, your majesty?" Dalen asked.

The question sounded ridiculous, in his ears. After all, just moments ago, Richard had wanted him to die.

The king shuddered. That was the old him. The person who had never answered for any of his previous sins. Richard thought he had buried and locked him away, far too deep for him to resurface. He had hoped a life of atonement- of fake smiles and forced positivity- would be enough. But even though he could play the part, he couldn't fool himself.

He was no king- just a farce.

With a deep breath, he gave Dalen the calmest look he could muster. "I need to visit Asbel," Richard said.

The carriage jerked to a stop, disrupting his thoughts. Richard took in a deep breath, getting his bearing together before he left the dour carriage. The scent of flowers floated through the air, and a smile tugged at his lips.

Lhant Manor was less than a quarter the size of Barona Castle, but it was always more welcoming than the drafty stone rooms he grew up in. An air of warmth pervaded the manor, one that he had sorely missed back home.

But he couldn't be distracted by that comfort now. He had come here out of duty. Asbel had once set him on his new path with the reassurance that everything would be okay. His friend had always made things right, time and time again. Perhaps he was the only one who could save him now, too. To advise him on how to proceed.

With a sharp inhale of breath, Richard knocked on the door. He had expected Frederic. Sophie, maybe, or one of the many servants of Lhant Manor. Perhaps even the man he had hoped to see, himself.

The door opened a crack, and then his gaze to dropped to the height of a child.

A pale-looking humanoid in flowing white robes glanced at him. Recognition flashed in the depths of those blood red eyes.

Richard's throat tightened, his hand latching on to his sword instinctively. But the child that stood before him was not a dangerous assassin. He was once his closest friend... and his worst enemy.

With the barest inflection of surprise, Lambda whispered in a soft, child-like voice, "What are you doing here?"