Kings and Tools

The soldiers did admirable work to fortify Thria. Where before, under Lucina's command, they had drowned both their gold and their senses in alcohol, now they regrewn into a unit worthy to carry the Pheraen eagle. All because their rightful leader had returned.

A similar sense of spring change had befallen Thria's villagers, despite the many inches of snow that still covered their thatched roofs. When Roy walked past, they stopped their work for a moment, the cleaning of a shop window put on hold until a few words from him verified that he was indeed real and no mere apparition. And when the people returned to their crates and anvils and shop windows, they went about their task a little less bowed and bent. They traded their five-story candles for those that lasted them longer through the dark. In all of them flowed the blood of Pherae, a blood that could not answer to the despotism of an Altean queen for long.

But as with all matters, there were exceptions. In Thria, those came in the form of the refugees from Tellius.

Dozens of them huddled in the village's center. Their numbers almost equaled that of the inhabitants who had called Thria their home when the refugees had started their invasion. Headbands in Tellius' style restrained unkempt hair, and the stench of a life on the run stuck under their fingernails. Holes rather than pelt made up their coats. But they had grown accustomed to full bellies, the increasingly loud questions about the ration distribution for today told as much.

Roy walked down the line of refugees. The Binding Blade shimmered at his side for everyone to see, and the red stone at its heart lured the eyes of the greedy and the faithful alike. They did not follow Roy's steps with defiant glares, even though the majority had to hate him. No, the people of Tellius knew when to cower. Defiant glares had never stopped the Black Knight from slaying their neighbors.

Roy paused in front of the crowd. Both the refugees and the Pheraen soldiers that had herded them into the town square hung on his lips.

"What do you seek in Pherae?" Roy asked.

A few refugees shifted uncomfortably. Many lowered their eyes or hugged their knees tighter where they sat. But no one spoke.

A man in the front row caught Roy's eye. His face was by no means remarkable, and he kneaded snow as if that helped him blend in with the crowd.

Roy stepped before the man and addressed him directly. "What do you seek in Pherae?"

"Me and my brother just wanted to get out of Tellius," the man said without looking at Roy. "Any place is better than there."

"And what do you intend to build here? What will you contribute?"

The question confused the man. He squeezed the snow until his fist dripped with meltwater. "We've been told the queen provides for all refugees. A full stomach every evening. I have a right to get these things, meals, shelter, safety. I deserve it!"

"For what accomplishments do you deserve these gifts, I wonder."

"I went through hell! I survived the Black Knight!"

"Then all you will contribute is your story and your wounded pride? You believe that because you suffered, you deserve more? Let me tell you, there are no godly scales that will balance out your pain with gifts. You will have to earn them through earthly efforts." Roy stepped closer, and his shadow enveloped the man. "I ask you one last time: What will you contribute to earn your meals, your shelter, and your safety?"

"What's this drivel? You can't force me to do anything, you aren't the Empire's leader. Your voice means nothing!"

"If that is your answer, I will have to ask you to return to Tellius."

Horror washed over the man's face as he scrambled backwards, and his voice, shrill and loud, echoed over the town square. "You can't force me! The queen promised me refuge, promised me food and a life free from worry. You can't take that away from me!"

Roy drew the Binding Blade, the steel reflected the sun, and a gush of blood erupted from the man's throat. The shock lingered in his eyes for a moment longer before he toppled over, dead.

Roy whipped the blood from his sword.

"I can. And I will." Then he let his eyes wander across the crowd at large, as the refugees hushed and huddled, immobilized by the crimson dots that were staining the snow in their midst. "What do you seek in Pherae?"

No one even dared to exhale, the entire square held its breath, waiting, dreading. A child whimpered. Roy followed the sound towards a young woman, hardly older than Lucina, who clutched her son, a boy of maybe three years of age. Her shoulders trembled under the shapeless coat she had wrapped around herself and her child. When Roy's shadow fell over her, silent tears dripped down her cheeks.

"Now," he said, "what do you seek in Pherae?"

"I want a new beginning." The woman's voice quivered, but the trust in her words did not. "I hoped in Pherae I could build a peaceful future to raise my son. Please, I don't ask for alms, only the chance to stay. I work at the tailor's shop six times a week."

Roy turned towards the handful of Pheraen townspeople that had gathered at the other end of the square to watch the spectacle. "Can someone verify her story?"

A man in a made-to-measure tunic, the most finely dressed individual on the square, stepped forward. "I'm the tailor," he said. "It's true, she works for me. I would have rather had a Pheraen assistant, but she was cheap to have, and no one else wanted the job."

Roy nodded and turned his attention back to the refugee woman. He stretched out his arm, and after a moment of trembled hesitance, the woman gave him her hand for inspection. Scab covered the hand balls, and reddened, half-healed wounds showed where she had pricked herself with sowing needles.

"Then I assume you get paid for your work," Roy said. "Do you think the coin you receive matches what you deserve?"

The woman hugged her son tighter. "It's… more than I could have hoped for in Tellius."

"But not enough to build a future for your son, is it?"

She would not answer; the image of the man Roy had questioned before lingered in her mind. The blood in the snow still steamed. But the boy's gaunt face and the worn-out clothes that still carried the dust of Tellius sufficed as an answer.

With his free hand, Roy reached into his pocket. His two remaining rings jingled in there. He pulled out the one with the emerald and dropped the ring into the woman's scarred hand before closing her fingers around it.

"This should match your efforts better than what the tailor has been paying you," Roy said. "The Pheraen Empire needs people like you, people who will work towards a more prosperous, peaceful future. Continue on your path. Raise your son to do the same. Gods may not reward you, but people will."

The tears streamed down the woman's face now. Tears of gratitude. Roy accepted her whispered thanks with a nod before he marched back to his spot in front of the crowd. A murmur followed his steps, spread like fire in the dark until it infested every last being on the town square, and they hungered for Roy's next words to add firewood.

"What do you seek in Pherae?" he asked.

It was so easy. Those few individuals with sword experience hastened to join Roy's soldiers and defend Thria against the inevitable flood of Lucina's troops. Other refugees, who had not wasted a thought to honest work since their arrival in Pherae, volunteered to build palisades or refurnish the sorry refugee homes that had spoiled the village's vista until now. The inn keeper found new assistants, and so did the blacksmith and the merchant on his cart filled with rolls of southern fabric. In less than an hour, the people turned from refugees into contributing citizens of the Pheraen Empire.

And it had only required one dead man.

Shinon, however, regarded the new recruits with a tasteless frown. The arrows in his quiver jangled angrily as he joined Roy's side.

"Is that really such a good idea?" Shinon asked with a skeletal attempt at a respectful nod. "These folks from Tellius are no good. I've had one of those as a commander the last months. Incompetent little whelp, always dragging his cripple wizard with him. His golden sword couldn't fool me! Rotten like the whole lot of them."

Roy tapped the Binding Blade's pommel. Interesting. Then a certain fighter still operated among Lucina's ranks…

"And yet you fought under that man for months," Roy said.

Shinon's brow twitched.

With a smile and a calculated squeeze of Shinon's shoulder, Roy softened his critique. "A sword is just a sword. It's the blacksmith who forges the steel into a legend. These Tellius refugees could become valuable and honorable fighters, but they will need an example to strive after. What better example could you offer them than yourself?"

The compliment bordered on mockery, and a less self-confident man than Shinon might have responded with an offended scowl. But Roy did require Shinon's experience as an archer, and as he had suspected, Shinon swallowed his words like honey.

"Good point," Shinon said and licked his lips in hunger for more. "Not to worry, Your Highness, I will bend those Tellius dogs into respectable soldiers. Their arrows will fly at the Altean princess and her followers in no time."

"I have no doubts of it."

Roy left Shinon to shove bows into the hands of his recruits and stopped by the blacksmith. The open forge spread a little warmth against the winds from outside, and two young men with Tellius headbands worked to keep the heat steady. The blacksmith himself, a rather scrawny man for his profession, hammered chain links into shape.

"With the new helping hands, work flows twice as fast, Your Highness," the blacksmith said as Roy stepped closer. "Thria owes you."

"Every town in the Empire deserves the king's attention. Thria no less than the capital."

Lucina didn't seem to realize this. But her oversight would prove Roy's advantage when she sent out her rebel friends to stop him only to find all of Thria against her. Roy already had a suspicion who he would face in the inevitable battle. And if his suspicion turned out correct, he would enjoy to tear through Lucina's units all the more.

With an inner smile, Roy took up one of the completed chain links from the blacksmith's workbench. The heavy black iron promised excellent durability even against blows from the best axe.

"And these are resilient to fire?" Roy asked as he turned the chain link in his hand.

The blacksmith paused his hammer. "Unless we're talking dragon fire, sure. Some of the really good metals from the southern mines might get better results. But they're hard to come by these days."

"Why is that?"

"The officials keep mum about it, but I've heard the talk from merchants. Satar isn't playing by the queen's, rather the usurper's, rules. The mines have been standing still for months, I heard."

Roy ran his thumb across the cool chain link. Interesting. The duke Marcus was not as willing to serve Lucina as the rest of Roy's military, it seemed. Perhaps Satar made for a rewarding target of interest, once Roy finished his business in Thria.

"We might still have some Caernion silver stored in the back," the blacksmith said. "Bit of a waste for chains, with all due respect, but the result might meet your approval."

Roy placed the chain link back to its brothers. "These will do fine. You are doing a great service to Pherae. All of you," he added with a look at the blacksmith's assistants.

The preparations were going well and would continue to do so without his constant glares over the people's shoulders. Instead, Roy left the Pheraen citizens, those with and without headbands, to work at their own pace and followed the road west towards the bridge. The Black Wall filled the horizon. A remarkable monument, unmatched by anything else mankind had done to reshape this world to its content. Yes, Eliwood had done well to fortify these lands against the darkness lingering between Tellius' tree trunks. But he had ignored the potential hiding within the refugees, a mistake that had narrowed the minds of people like Shinon. A mistake Roy had continued for too long himself.

Under the right hand, these people might yet show their worth. The state of Thria merely proved that Lucina's hand was not the right one.

The Binding Blade radiated a burst of heat. Sêl desired a conversation.

"Stay hidden," Roy said. "I told you not to show yourself in front of others."

At the edge of the bridge, one of the refugees caught up to Roy. His unremarkable face lacked signs of respect or thankfulness, but Roy stopped to confront the man regardless.

"Is something the matter?" he asked.

The tension leaked from the man's muscles as though he readied himself for a jump. Or a flight. "You killed him…"

"The man I questioned first? His was a necessary death. Be grateful that you have the chance to learn from his mistake."

When the man looked at Roy, his eyes simmered. "He was my brother."

Ah. That explained a few things. No ties were more binding than blood ties.

"Then you had a fool for a brother," Roy said. "Will you hold onto a petty desire for revenge? Or will you use the chance his death bought you to build a life in Pherae based on effort instead of someone else's pity?"

The man struggled. But he was weak, and a mere heartbeat later, he had lost the debate with himself. Blood ties moved his hands now.

"I won't stand for it!" he shouted, and a knife flashed.

But before the blade struck true, a light erupted at Roy's side. Sêl materialized in a burst of fire, her arms raised in an effort to shield Roy.

The knife passed right through her, and she vanished.

Shock widened the attacker's eyes, but his stumbled momentum carried him forward, and so did the hunger of his weapon. Roy couldn't reach the Binding Blade in time, only held up his left hand. Pain flared through his body, blood dripped down. The knife had cut into his arm.

A heartbeat later, Sêl reappeared. The fire around her blazed, but her resolve was cold. Magic crackled in the air, the knife glowed, melted, and the attacker dropped his weapon with an agonized scream. Then he went up in flames.

From one moment to the next and with only three words, Soren had set Lucina's world alight in flames.

Roy was free.

He had escaped Johtran. How comfortable the thought had been that he had all but disappeared from the world, alive but harmless, no more than a distant specter in her more fantastical nightmares. Now he was back. And to think that his steps would lead him anywhere but the royal palace in Lycia was a fool's dream.

He was coming for her. His breath chilled Lucina's neck already, his glacier eyes glared amidst the countless others that observed her every move, every day, always.

She pressed her fingers into the sensitive skin under her left collarbone. The imaginary pain would not fade, and neither did the feeling of Terra's water in her lungs. Her other hand clawed at the table of the conference room in search for stability. But there was no stability within the sandstone walls.

Lucina had ordered the others away, almost shouting. Frederick tried to reach for her shoulders, but she barely saw him. Only a set of glacier eyes flickered in her vision. Ike understood, and after a nod towards Cordelia, they stabilized Soren enough to limp outside. Rath followed. And after the ice crystals had whipped against the window glass for a long moment of silence, so too did Frederick. The door to the conference room had remained shut since.

All thoughts towards the Talys offensive had gone up in smoke. The map on the table mocked Lucina with its promises of simplicity. All these tiny wooden figures stood ready for her move. A war against Shanna and an army of Pegasus Knights, yes, she could have managed that. Holding onto her crown against pilgrims and Pheraen traditionalists, even assassins, she could have managed that too.

But to face him again… no.

Lucina had failed to follow in her father's footsteps. She had failed to rule as queen over Roy's empire. And now he was back to kick her from the throne and show the world just how unfit she was to carry the weight of the crown.

The snowstorm assaulted the windows. The walls leaned inwards to bury her. Lucina pulled the crown from her head and sent a prayer to Naga.

Was this all a test of her faith and her aptitude as Naga's champion? Even Roy? Only the rattle of the windows answered these questions. Still Lucina pleaded with the empty room for guidance, for a sign to tell her how to approach this test. She had spared Roy's life before, and now he had come back to haunt her. Did Naga wish him dead? Or had Lucina strayed from Naga's path so far that she sent Roy as the avenging spirit to punish her where Navarre had failed?

A word, only one word from Naga; Lucina pined for the sound of her voice like the drowning man pined air. Her fingers tensed around Tiki's pendant and the stone said to hold Naga's blessing. If only, if only, if…

The door creaked, and the pendant's edges dug into Lucina's palm.

"Go, Frederick," she said without looking up. "I don't have any orders for you."

But the light pitter-patter on the tiles didn't belong to Frederick's steps. Instead, Tiki crossed the room with Ike of all people on her heels.

"Her idea, not mine," he said.

Tiki ignored him to take Lucina's hand with a childlike sincerity. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think he could ever escape from Johtran. I was so sure…"

Lucina petted Tiki's head. "It's not your fault. I was the one who refused to execute him. Naga, did she talk to you?"

Tiki opened her mouth, but Ike interrupted. "We can't waste time checking in with your goddess," he said. "Roy isn't the kind of guy to lean back and twiddle his thumbs. He will stock up on loyal fighters faster than we can count. Soren's entire unit ran over to him in a heartbeat. The rest of your Pheraen soldier friends will follow as soon as they get word on his return."

Lucina felt sick. "He won't stay in Thria for long."

"What I don't get is why he bothered with that hole in the first place. It's not exactly a shortcut from Johtran to here."

"Do you think—" Lucina had to stop herself from reaching for her collarbone. "—he is searching for the Binding Blade there?"

"No way. No one knows we dropped it there. The river should have carried it straight into forgetfulness anyway."

"But if he does find it…"

"The Pheraen idiots are gonna flock around him all the faster."

"Roy will build a rebellion." Lucina swallowed. "Against me."

"No doubt about it."

Ike was so sure. His resolve didn't waver, and his hands didn't tremble. He would continue the fight as long as the enemy was standing and as long as he had enough breath to raise Ragnell. Lucina looked into his face and found the strength she needed, the reason to fight.

"We can't allow him to gain a following," she said. "I have defeated him before. I will ride to Thria and face him."

"Glad we're on the same page. But this time I'm coming with you."

Lucina couldn't help but smile at Ike. But her thankfulness only showed for a moment on her face, as Tiki increased her grip on Lucina's hand. Her slender fingers wound like a vice around Lucina's wrist as if she intended to hold on for the rest of time.

"You can't go," Tiki said.

"I have to. Too many people still consider him the rightful king. The crowds outside the palace who scream for my head, you've seen them. Their numbers are going to grow past the thousands if they find out he is at large. If he reclaims the Binding Blade…"

"He has it already."

Lucina bit into the inside of her cheek. Naga had to have passed Tiki this information.

"Then I have all the more reason to hurry," Lucina said. "The Binding Blade holds almost the same symbolic weight for Pherae as Falchion does for Altea. It will legitimize Roy in the eyes of the masses. Just like Falchion bought me the loyalty of countless Alteans. I have to stop him before word spreads."

"If you ride to Thria and face him," Tiki said, "you will die."

Lucina hesitated, felt for the pendant under her tunic. "I'm not saying it will be an easy fight. But with Naga's blessing, I'm sure I could—"

"You will die."

"You can't know that for sure, maybe…" Lucina stopped herself. Tiki's face said it all.

A gust howled through the corridor outside, and they all listened to its cries as if it contained all of Naga's secrets.

Until Ike split the silence. "Fine then. I'll go alone."

Lucina shook her head, almost frantic. She tore herself from Tiki's grasp and rushed past the table towards Ike.

"I won't let you," she said. "You can't! Roy is… Roy is my responsibility."

"You're the queen. Your only responsibility is to that thing." Ike pointed at the winged crown where Lucina had left it on the table. "This is no different from all the times you sent me out to punch some stupid lord back into line."

"You don't understand! Roy is ruthless, he won't stop if you're disarmed."

"Neither will I."

"Ike, please." Lucina grabbed his arm and locked his gaze with hers. "I can't let you go. Not in my stead. You said you only wanted to fight for me for one last time."

"Exactly. But it seems the Talys offensive isn't happening any time soon. So I still owe you a fight."

"No, you can't! You heard what Tiki said: If I go to Thria now, I will die. What if… if the same happens to you because you go in my place? How can you be so sure the same won't happen to you? You can't! And that's why…"

Ike pried Lucina's finger open. But the gesture was almost gentle; certainly more gentle than what she knew from him.

"I've stood on the battlefield all my life," Ike said. "That hasn't changed in the past months, and it won't change now. I'll manage."

Lucina shook her head. "I should come with you."

"Frederick will rather lock you in your room than let that happen."

"He doesn't know about Tiki's foresight. He has no reason to suspect anything."

"I'll tell him if you seriously think about going through with that stupid plan." Ike let go of Lucina's hand. But she lacked the strength to reach out a second time. "Lucina, you owe it to a whole bunch of people who believe in you to run this nation. But you're only gonna do that if you stay alive for long enough. This palace is your arena. So do what you do best. And let me do what I do best."

"Ike is right," Tiki said. "The followers of Naga need you here in Lycia. They have to be strong to resist Roy's temptations, and only you can give them that strength."

Lucina backed away from Ike. She couldn't look at him anymore; the thought that she might see his face for the last time was carved into his features, every last line spelled out this fear when she looked at him.

"I can't just expect others to fight my war," Lucina said. Her voice sounded ancient, used-up. And so very tired. "To ride and die for me…"

"But this is what Naga has planned for him," Tiki said. "That's why your paths crossed, I'm sure of it."

Ike huffed. "Well, if that isn't reassuring. Glad to know I'm such an important piece in your Naga's grand game. Either way, I have some prep work to do. I have to find a couple people dumb enough to ride with me against the former king. Just a small team. Don't want the whole palace to buzz with the sound of Roy's name too soon, right?"

"I can help you," Lucina said and hurried after Ike as he made his way to the door.

"You better use the time to explain to Cordelia why the Talys offensive isn't happening. She'll be fuming. Come to think of it, compared to her wrath, I'd rather put up with Roy."

Lucina held the door open for him. Her chest constricted. "I… Tell me when you depart. I will see you off."

"Sure."

With that, Ike outpaced her and marched out of view. Lucina remained at the door for a moment longer before she retreated to bring order to the massive war table. The map of her Pheraen Empire still lay there, dotted with all the small figures she had used to visualize the Talys offensive. She should roll up the map and return it to its home on the shelf. She should talk to Cordelia. If nothing else, she should prepare a farewell speech.

A scream or maybe a sob climbed Lucina's throat, and she let it lose, no longer caring about the eyes on her. One swing of her arm wiped her red figures from the table. They clattered on the floor, far out of reach, and Lucina collapsed.

It hurt.

So very much.

"You are hurt," Sêl said.

She reached out to place her hand against the cut in Roy's arm. The flames around her fingers prickled with warmth, not uncomfortable but rather welcoming amidst the cold winds biting into the wound through the torn sleeve.

Roy pushed Sêl's hand away. "It is nothing compared to what my people had to suffer in my absence."

"Is that why you want to reclaim the throne? Because you want to avenge their suffering?"

"I want it to end. My father died to conquer Altea, and it is only thanks to his sacrifice that I was able to unite Archanea in peace."

"No peace in this world has lasted forever," Sêl said.

"This one must. Otherwise my father, Lyn, Marth, all of them would have died for nothing. Otherwise I would have taken the crown from my father's ashes for nothing. I can't let Naga raze everything I built, in whatever form she may exist."

Sêl's eyes darkened. "She does exist."

"Then I should act before the usurper hands the throne to her, shouldn't I?"

"Even if it will hurt you?"

"All the more."

Roy turned away from Sêl and rested his arms on the bridge railing. The water sloshed underneath, the current too wild to allow for Roy's reflection to shimmer on the surface. It mattered little; he knew the months in Johtran had aged him, and his eyes had sunken in to glare at the world from deep within his face. Indeed, he no longer fitted into the row of ancestral portraits at Lycia's gallery, those proud and accomplished legends whose heroic tales had added a new weight to the winged crown each time. But had he ever fitted?

"I can understand if you do not want me to look after your wound," Sêl said. "But your soldiers are trained in first aid."

"They are occupied with more important matters." Roy brushed the folds of his sleeve back to place and stifled the urge to flinch. "The wide roads and multiple entrances make this village difficult to fortify – an oversight I should have corrected when I still had the crown. I placed too much faith in the Black Wall to protect Pherae against enemies from the outside when the enemy was already dining at my table. And what an innocent smile she wore…"

Without conscious effort, Roy curled his hands into fists. His wounded arm responded with a pang of agony, and this time he could contain neither the gasp nor the weakness on his face. He forced himself to straighten no second later, but Sêl noticed regardless.

"You are not as indestructible as the blade you wield," she said. "You should rest."

"What does it matter to you? Why should a goddess be so foolish as to chain herself to sentimentalities regarding a single human?"

"I am no goddess." Sêl tilted her head and lowered her gaze – so awfully human. "At least… I do not feel like one."

"And yet you possess their power. Immortality. The Binding Blade doesn't rust and neither will you. If the enemy comes up to you and plunges a knife into your chest, you will simply reappear a moment later. If I die, someone else will pick up the Binding Blade, and you will continue to exist and serve its next wielder. Unfazed. Is that not the power of gods mankind will forever fail to attain?"

"It is my curse. To exist and to serve until the end of time. Only able to remember."

The throbbing in Roy's left arm subsided. His other hand drifted to the Binding Blade at his side. His fingertips followed the grooves and decorations of the pommel, knowing the patterns on the hilt better than he knew his own face. He remembered when he had first closed his hand around the sword to lift it from its shrine. The stories told the Binding Blade had slept for a millennium in the labyrinthian temple, and yet the shimmer of timelessness had flashed across the steel when Roy had weighed it in his hand. Had Sêl waited there, only accompanied by stone and memories, all this time?

"If you do remember," Roy said, "you should be able to recall the war against the dragons."

The flames on Sêl's face twitched. "I do. And I remember the one who wielded the Binding Blade then."

"Hartmut."

Roy knew the legends of the olden days. Back then, humans had resisted the whims of higher powers. When the gods had sent their fire-breathing plague, mankind had fought, and on the copper-stained hills of Satar, they had triumphed. Today, they worshipped the plague and called her champion.

"I can still recall the look in his eyes," Sêl said with a bitter smile. "History only remembers him as the unparalleled fighter, as the man who would drench the battlefield in dragon blood. But there was a kindness in him that knew no equal. He made me believe I was more than a tool."

"You miss him."

The truth showed in Sêl's voice and in her face. But Roy had not thought it possible for an immortal spirit, a goddess in all but the name, to possess such emotions. Why should she concern herself with the lives and deaths of mortals? After all, she would survive them all. Eternally cold and eternally detached like all gods were fated to become.

Sêl gave no direct reply. Her fingers trembled when she placed them on the bridge railing next to Roy's. Or perhaps it was a mere flicker of flames.

"Yours was the first hand that has touched me since," Sêl said. "Was this short burst of warmth a gift, I wonder? Or rather an extension of my curse?"

"I don't plan to seal you away, if that is what you fear." Roy turned over his hand, so that the palm faced skyward. "I will need your help. Not just with reclaiming the throne, but with defending my peace. For as long as my breath may last."

Sêl placed her hand on top of his. Their fingertips met, their skin touched, a first, hesitant contact out of which true warmth might yet blossom.

"I hope it will last," she whispered.

Notes: I will say, Roy is way too much fun to write. Especially when he can put his rather harsh ideology on display. But it is a thin line I'm making him walk on, so please let me know if you are finding him too soft or too evil. Character paths are about to cross soon, so please stay tuned for the coming chapters. As always, comments, follows, and all that jazz are dearly appreciated.