Crying.

"You gotta be kidding me."

The statement was a reasonable one. Who, in Samson King's position, would ever consider so harebrained a scheme? For some nameless thief like Galcian, with no connections whatsoever, the plan was entirely plausible; there would be little incriminating evidence linking the crime to somebody without a face. For King, however, with his lucrative spot in Valuan society, the whole notion of demolishing the Voirel manor with dynamite was tantamount to suicide. He would never have gotten away with it.

"Nay, I'm not; rest assured, laddie, I coulda done it easily enough."

Their struggle put under the flag of temporary reprieve, both parties had retreated to opposite ends of the room. Galcian sat upon the bed, legs folded underneath him, watching King carefully; the older man, for his part, kept a solitary vigil at the door. He was determined to keep Galcian from escaping.

Galcian sniffed. "They would've found you out in no time, old man."

Samson waved a hand, utterly without concern, and adjusted himself a bit. His legs creaked beneath him. "I know the right people. All I needed was te get Jelice out of the house."

Galcian, wicked as he was, could not help but grin. "Guess I took care o' that, eh?"

Samson did not flinch. "True; but, laddie, ye don't seem te quite understand my relationship with the wee, departed Jelice."

"Oh?"

"Aye. All I wanted was an heir. Any would do."

"Why, can't get yer own pickle workin'?"

Samson ignored Galcian's crudeness. He was, after all, still an impudent boy. "Hardly, boyo. But that's none 'o yer concern." He cracked his knuckles. "Instead, ye should be wonderin' what I'm gonna do with ye."

Involuntary flashes – brief and fleeting, yet hundreds in number – of what Samson could mean flashed through Galcian's mind. The old man had already proven his physical domination (though that only rang true for as long as Galcian remained weakened) and could easily overpower Galcian if he so wished. Many of the possibilities were perverse, and sent a shiver down the boy's spine.

"Well, bring it already, whatever it is. I'll take you down before you get a finger on me."

Samson guffawed at the display of bravado. Truly, it was Galcian's last true line of defence, and had been shot to pieces with little difficulty. "Sure, sure. I'll bet ye'll use the same moves ye tried on me before, eh? No, lad: ye keep thinkin' the course o' action I have in mind is negative."

Galcian cocked an eyebrow.

"I can tell what ye had in mind, kiddo. Kill 'em off, pretend ta be Jelice, get accepted into high society. No? Somethin' along those lines?"

Was his plan really so simple to see through?

"Pretty ingenious, for a tyke," Samson continued, eye ticking slightly as he spoke, "but ye had a bit of an obstacle in me. No wonder ye wanted ta do me in a few minutes ago." He grinned at the boy, his thin mouth reminding Galcian of the large, grotesque fish that inhabited the sewers of Lower Valua.

"Get to the point."

"Right, right. Here's what I be proposin', lad: you can be Jelice. I don't give a fig 'bout which laddie I raise, so long as 'e creates some kind o' dynasty for me. In fact, this does away with the chance tha you might die o' some disease. Ye are fit, aren't ye?"

Galcian nodded mutely at this last question, barely registering what'd been asked of him. His head was already bowed in thought. The plan, formerly splintered into a thousand glittering pieces, came whirling back into view. The dream was re-imagined. Was this possible? Could it work?

"What would I have to do?"

"The usual for kiddies: go to the academy, join the military, all that stuff. Become some big general, for all I care. My only stipulation, boyo, is that ye get married one o' these days and bear some children. I want grandkids te spoil."

It could work. But what if this bulbous sea creature of a man let the secret slip?

"You won't say anythin'?"

King seemed taken aback by this suspicion. "'course not! What'd be the point o' havin' an heir if 'e was shackled in irons? So long as ye do me proud, and make me a family, I'll keep yer secret safe." His fingers rubbed together greedily, as though this were a high-paying business transaction. And, genetically speaking, it almost was (despite the fact that King and Galcian held no blood ties); King was, in essence, ensuring the continuation of his familial line.

Galcian ruminated on it. Why was he bothering, though? It hardly seemed as though the boy had a choice. It was either Samson's proposal, or the stocks. Yet his innate paranoia made Galcian suspicious of King, a fear of some underlying scheme. The man radiated a greasy aura, one Galcian held grave misgivings over.

Yet he had no choice.

"One condition."

"Ye'd best not be getting' stingy here, boyo. Ye're not in a place to bargain."

"This ain't much. Just wanna keep my name."

"Oh? And what is that, now?"

"Galcian."

Samson King recoiled in that moment. He recognised the name, all right: he'd read up rather extensively on the Lord Galcian of ages past. "What're ye, some kinda pariah? That name's practically banned! Ye'll be a social misfit! No, ye're Jelice, whether ye like it or-"

And then he stopped. King, in his sudden, panicked rant, considering only the ramifications of rearing a child named Galcian, had noticed the look in his soon-to-be-anointed ward's eyes. Those narrow, hawk eyes. A gleam of sparkling anger was within them, rising and falling dangerously, like a cobra ready to strike if given sufficient provocation. The boy's damaged frame did nothing to subtract from this impression: indeed, it made the scene all the more impressive, for Samson became aware that his sudden fear for Galcian stemmed from a purely mental standpoint.

This young man was absolutely terrifying. The devil himself was sitting atop Samson's bed. Samson felt a definite twinge of regret for having made this deal, clearly not knowing what he was getting into.

Had he known Galcian possessed equal reservations, it would've evened the playing field a bit. As it was, though, Samson King felt as though he was clutching the very tip of the stick, with Galcian domineering the rest.

". . . are ye sure? It might not go over well, with all them high society ty-"

"My name is Galcian. Live with it. Jelice is dead, and he ain't comin' back."

Samson nodded timidly. He was no longer in control of the situation, it seemed, a state of being Galcian secretly revelled in. He let none of his glee show, however, retaining a sufficiently rigid and enraged countenance.

"Eh. . . alright, then, boyo. . . Galcian it is. . . maybe ye'll change yer mind when ye read up on 'im a wee bit. I won't press the matter, though. So, we. . . have a deal?" He proceeded over to Galcian and extended a meaty palm, sweating profusely.

Galcian gazed at it in distaste. Despite having lived in a sewer for quite some time, Galcian considered some humans to be of a level of scum far below typical vermin. Their disgusting habits were almost palpable upon their skin. Yet, encapsulated in that palm, he saw the final key that would unlock and complete his dream. Or the first phase of it, anyway.

Galcian received it, a little weakly, and they shook. Samson knew all too well that Galcian hated him; knew, too, that he may well have just signed over his soul.

In the ensuing weeks, several inquiries were held in regards to the Voirel mansion fire. Investigators investigated; police policed; and scientists, collecting all samples available, eventually came to the conclusion that the fire had been started through magical means. It was chalked up to a failed robbery, one that'd raged out of control and claimed even the thief's life.

Jelice survived only because of Samson King, who had been visiting (according to his alibi) during the debacle. The parents had pressed poor unconscious Jelice into his arms before rushing back into the house to retrieve their other children, only to perish.

Jelice was placed into the care of Samson King, as stipulated by the official Voirel family will (in fact altered by Samson in the midst of the investigation). He accepted the child with the utmost grace and civility, promising Jelice the best education money could buy and the boy's every desire in any area.

Jelice changed his name to Galcian. The judge indicated her vast distaste at the new name, but Galcian insisted on the change: it was his wish, he claimed, that he bring a sense of honour and dignity back to the name. Besides, the thought of his family was simply too painful, and he wished to disassociate himself from his old life as quickly as possible.

Doctors hailed Galcian's recovery to good health as a veritable miracle. Several hypothesized that the magic at work in the house may have caused a sort of freak regeneration of his damaged cellular structure; however, none had the necessary equipment with which to study the phenomenon. Besides, Samson refused to allow examination of the boy, citing the many examples of the patients of De Loco's scientists taking turns for the worse at the auspices of 'experimentation'.

Galcian, after 'recuperating' for several weeks, entered into the Valuan Academy for boys. He would remain there for the next five years, learning the practices of military strategy alongside good manners and civil graces.

His dreams were finally in sight. It all seemed so inevitable, now.

Yet the flickering images, invaders of his mind in the night, never left him alone: and Galcian slowly came to realise that it was not his mind from which these things originated, but from that of Galley, buried deeply away and forever mourning his poor decisions.