-Side story. These entail events that are not intimately connected with the plot, but give more understanding to the setting and characters. –
-01210-
"Halt! In the name of the Osohe Law!"
Unfortunately for the pursuing LawKeeper, 'Halt' was not going to convince the fleeing boy to stop and surrender the bread he stole.
The boy knew he made a mistake somewhere. If he had taken heed to his father's instructions, he would likely not be in this mess right now, darting through crowds of people, with no less than 6 Osohe LawKeepers chasing. Had he become too predictable? The guards never caught him stealing from that bakery before, but today, they saw his theft as broad as daylight. Maybe he wasn't quick enough, maybe he still lacked the element of stealth.
He knew of the moral objections to thieving, but he had no choice. The boy was without a home, without food, without a mother. His father had only his unique skills, but nothing else to help them survive. If they could not pay for food, they had to steal. It would be idiotic to die because of something as liberal as 'good and bad'.
Good news was because the boy was so small and agile, he could slip through the crowd much faster than the cumbersome LawKeepers. The buildings grew familiar, he knew he was nearing the hideout his father set up. Another quick check behind him, he knew he was still being pursued, but he could no longer see any of the guards, so he assumed it safe to duck into the old building they used as their pseudo home.
The arrow penetrated his right leg so quickly he didn't feel anything for a second, just an immediate numbness in his muscles. The boy tumbled, the three fat loaves of bread slipping out of his hold.
Only after lying on the ground for a few moments did the pain strike.
"AAAAAHHHHHH!"
It was unfathomable, it rocked through his young, fragile body. He screamed and spasmed and leaked tears uncontrollably. He curled up and grabbed his right leg, which still had a long arrow sticking out of it. He could not control himself through the agony and adrenaline to do anything consciously. A rapidly expanding pool of blood formed.
The LawKeepers scattered the forming crowd and walked up to the boy, faces revealing no emotion. One of them had a bow and quiver equipped. They reached out to grab the contorted child.
"GET AWAY FROM HIM!"
A kick to the face knocked one of the guards out cold. The rest spun around in time to see a brown haired, rather short man attacking them with punches and kicks.
The scuffle lasted longer than expected, as the new appearance managed to take out a few more LawKeepers before the rest organized and put themselves in a defensive position that would be extremely hard for one unarmed, homeless man to break.
Realizing he was outmatched, the man rushed to the now unconscious boy. He cradled his body against his own, protecting him against any imminent danger, and glared daringly at the LawKeepers.
The LawKeepers advanced on them. Both sides knew the outcome was all but assured, but that wouldn't stop the short man from taking a few more of them down for what they did to his son...
"Stand down, guardians of the Law!"
A powerful voice cut through the streets of the Osohe Estate. The LawKeepers immediately halted and stood at utmost attention, facing the direction of the voice.
Riding on a two horse carriage surrounded by Imperial Guards, were the King and Queen of Osohe Kingdom. Everybody who was at the scene bowed deeply.
Save the man who clutched his injured son.
"Explain your actions, LawKeepers." The Queen's voice was lyrical, but demanding.
"My Queen, these two cowardly thieves have been responsible for stolen goods and damaged property throughout the Estate for the past two years. After a lengthy campaign, we have finally apprehended them." One of the LawKeepers stated in clear tones.
The Osohe Queen looked down at the man. The man looked back, eyes betraying no fear. He noticed the Queen carried a small bundle of blue cloth. Apparently her child was with her.
The Queen turned back to the about face guards. "You have done well. You may return to your duties, leave this to us." She commanded.
Uncertain looks spread among the LawKeepers. "Are you certain, my Lady?"
"Do not question me further. Return to your duties, guardians of the Law."
"Yes, my Queen." With one more bow, the LawKeepers filed away from the scene.
"Guards."
"Yes, your Majesty?"
"Send for some Healers, tell them it is of the utmost urgency." The Queen requested. The addressed Guard ran off without hesitation.
The Regal Queen turns to her husband, who had observed impassively throughout. Then exchanged a look, which ended in a short nod from the King.
She faced back to the man, who throughout the ordeal had never once let go of the boy, who still maintained a warrior like face and steely attitude that demanded admiration, even from the Royals.
"Tell me, thief, what is your name?" The Queen asked kindly.
Her tone surprised the man. But he answered. "Wess."
"I see. Well, Sir Wess, is it true that you have perpetuated acts of unjust theft within the Estate, while eluding our best LawKeepers for two years?"
"It is." Despite everything, there was pride in the man, Wess's voice.
The Queen smiled, and gently rocked the blue bundle in her arms. A small cooing sound could be heard in reply.
"Then allow me to make you an offer." She said, looking at Wess and his son.
-01210-
They had been the best of friends for as long as his human memory could recall. They grew up, both with the highest expectations possible, both with enormous power and privileges entitles to them from birth. They stepped up to their respective roles together, side by side, inseparable.
As tragedy struck his best friend, he grieved alongside him, shared his pain, and was always by his side. But unfortunately, his best friend, who he thought was so strong, so kind, so enduring, could not endure through the time of hardship in his life. In the end, he was met with a fate that was as cruel as it was appropriate. He was assassinated.
And thus ended the rule of King Flint.
But what of the friend he left behind? Lighter was more than rattled. He was broken. What it was like to lose someone so close to you, twice in one lifetime. He was sorrowed.
He could not continue to live as who he was.
So he resigned as the SiegeMaster of the Royal Nowhere Forces. He shamefully took off his armour, his cape, and left the Castle.
In his conscious mind, he knew this decision would doom his family name. His ancestors have all served as the SiegeMaster under the King himself. They have all met with every task, every hurdle they were faced with. They conquered all threats from the outside, defeated all enemies threatening externally.
But none of them faced such hardship and tragedy from within the Kingdom borders.
Lighter knew with his willing resignation as SiegeMaster, his heritage would die with him, but he could not do anything. He simply could not will himself to continue in his shambled state of despair, lest he risk the greater shame of failing all of the Kingdom.
That was many days ago. He had since never returned to his residence within the Castle walls. He instead took up the cottage he built as a hobby when young, and now lived in isolation there with his only remaining family.
His son Fuel.
When Lighter woke up one morning to the chirping of birds, he expected to find his son still sleeping in his room adjacent. He was always the early riser.
Knocking on the wooden door provided no response, so he pushed open and entered Fuel's room.
The bed was empty.
No real panic set in, the boy was probably around somewhere. But then he saw a slip of parchment placed purposely on the bed sheets.
He picked it up and read it.
And his heart dropped like a rock.
Lighter rode as fast as he could towards the Castle walls. At the gates he presented his Crest, which he retained with permission. He then stormed up the stone steps as fast as he could.
Without knocking, he burst through the heavy doors leading into the Throne room. His abrasive entrance attracted the attention of all the guards in the room, and he was soon surrounded at the neck with shining spears.
But he had his attention on nothing by the young, brown spiky haired boy who kneeled with his back facing him towards the Throne. On which sat an equally young, crowned, blonde boy, and beside him a skinny, tall man wearing the cape of the Royal Advisor.
"FUEL!"
His son did not jerk up from his position, or immediately spin around at his voice. Instead Fuel stood up slowly, and turned around with a look not of shock or surprise, but of sadness and anxiety. It was as if he expected Lighter to react the way he did.
Lighter's face was stricken. "Fuel, no, you cannot go through with this!"
"No, father. I must."
Hearing his 11 year old son say that was a painful blow of guilt and frustration.
"Guards, stand down." A small, young voice commanded.
At King Lucas's order, the spears surrounding Lighter's throat withdrew, and immediately the father ran up and pounced on his son, grabbing his shoulders.
"No, no my son, this is not something that you must do. I cannot allow you to go down this path." He panted.
Fuel looked at him with his large brown eyes. His face showed no emotion.
Lighter understood what he was doing. Fuel was trying to take up the position of SiegeMaster. He was trying to step up to where his grieving father had fallen down from. He was trying to save his family lineage.
Fuel was a lot of things, he was strong, tough, reliable, a superb fighter, but he was 11 for God's sake! He was a mere child, so inexperienced, so innocent. He did not deserve to have such pressure and pain put on his small shoulders for the sake of his old man. He should not have to pay for Lighter's own problem, his own weakness. It was not fair.
"Father, please." Fuel said lightly. The neutrality of his voice was breaking Lighter's heart. "I am doing this because I choose to. I am old enough to understand and take on responsibility. You must give me the chance."
"But look at yourself! You're a child! You cannot simply jump into the world of battlefields and blood! Care you not about your own innocence?"
"To some degree, yes. But what is even more important is my role for my family."
Lighter was getting frustrated. He had to get through to his son somehow. He had to.
"You are not ready. You cannot possibly be. You're much too young, much too inexperienced."
Fuel sighed. "No, I am not. But sometimes, no matter your age, your experience, you must be able to take that tentative step towards your destiny when it calls for you."
He then turned his head. Lighter followed his gaze towards the young blonde sitting on the Throne, respectfully quiet throughout the whole confrontation.
Lighter could not think of anything to say. Prince Lucas... no, King Lucas was as young as his son. He did not willingly attain the position he was in. He was by no means a King for the people yet, he could not possibly understand the complex and draining task that was running an entire Kingdom. But what choice had he? His father was dead. His mother dead. And his brother...
And then he understood what his son was thinking.
Lucas became King not because he wanted to, but because there was no feasible alternative. His Kingdom needed a Ruler. Fuel was about to become SiegeMaster for similar reasons. If he did not fill in the role now, before another family could take the position, Lighter's family line would be doomed to ridicule and shame. The alternative was out of the option.
And most of all, he understood. His son understood what he was thinking, what he felt, why he resigned. And he forgave him. Now he stood ready to fulfill his duties as the Royal SiegeMaster, for the people, for his friend King Lucas, but most of all for his father.
Lighter felt foolish to have not realized earlier that he had not lost everything. He had a son who stood ready to support him no matter what happened, and he had stupidly underestimated Fuel's insight and feelings of responsibility because of his age.
"Father?"
Lighter refocused on his son, who looked at him with a new found intensity.
"Father, I love you very much, and that is why I am doing this. Allow me to become what I was born to be, and worry not for me, but support me until I am capable of being a great SiegeMaster myself."
He knew in the back of his mind that he would always pin the blame on himself for pushing Fuel to doing this, but he also knew that this was ultimately his son's own decision, one that he made because he loved his father, not because he felt the grudging obligation to do so. If Fuel wanted his father's support and advice through his new career as SiegeMaster, Lighter would be much too happy to do so.
And so, as he watched the inaugural ceremony for Fuel to become the newest SiegeMaster to serve under King Lucas, he felt something warm inside him that he had not experienced for the longest time. No longer was he sad, ashamed, guilty, or anxious.
At that moment, he felt nothing but joy and exceeding pride for his own flesh and blood, who took the SiegeMaster insignia in his hands, and beamed excitedly back at him.
-01210-
That molten steel should be ready anytime now.
This sword is not up to standard, I need to sharpen it as soon as possible.
Calculations are a bit off, the curve needs to be more distinct.
If I were to set the maximum tangent of the bowstring bend to this degree, then would it increase speed or decrease accuracy?
Where is that molten steel? This cast needs to be filled for the next sword.
These crossbow bolts need a fourth stabilizer, formed in a relative 'x' shape for better stability, but would that increase the weight too much?
If the steel/zinc compound conducts magic the most efficiently, would they be too weak to act as a primary weapon?
I need to finish these calculations for the curve.
I wonder if I should visit Jeff sometime...
Oh good that molten steel is ready, now where is that mould?
-01210-
He dipped his quill in the murky ink.
He was not sure what else to write.
He was the man of the family. He could not sound too heartfelt or emotional, that would betray his pride.
But that was all he felt as he wrote these monthly letters back home.
Was he a bad father? Surely his two children think so.
Would the DP from his pay he sent back be enough to suffice their needs?
How he wished he could return. But his work was too demanding.
He dipped his quill back into the inkpot.
Maybe this month, he could request leave from the Royals, and take an excursion home to see his wife and children again.
No, the trip itself would take over two weeks, in that time he could well be replaced.
He was sorry.
He missed the old days, but he knew they could never return.
He would miss them growing up.
He lamented, but could do nothing but hope. Hope that his daughter, and his son would understand.
He folded the parchment, and tied a ribbon to it.
He then wrote the address, gave it to a passing messenger.
And watched it head towards Tazmily Estate.