Heather's eyes sharpened slightly when she saw Garten standing next to Wilfred and Rake. Maybe she was already figuring things out, seeing the similarities between Garten and Wilfred. For the sake of Garten's headache, he hoped she figured it out.

Her gaze travelled to King Jupiter's, forever immortalized in sharp shards of colored glass. "That's him, isn't it?" she asked softly. "King Jupiter?"

"Indeed," Wilfred said, moving past Garten and towards the two of them. "It's the king." His voice was hoarse.

"Garlacks?" Picket asked, pointing to the wolf. Wilfred nodded.

"I understand you met his son? That must've been terrifying," Rake said. Garten fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve, forcing images of Garlacks down.

"It was," Heather affirmed, glancing at Picket, who was noticeably more gloomy now. Talking about the day in Nick Hollow must be a switch on his moods.

Heather looked at each of the windows in turn, eyes narrowing when she landed upon the grey rabbit. Garten honestly hated that he was featured in the windows, and he had to continually fight with Rake over it. In the end, he had given up.

"Who's the grey rabbit?" she asked, her voice low and hard as she stared at Garten.

Garten huffed, a little annoyed she hadn't connected the dots yet. "Part of the purpose of the initiation," he started, speeding past Wilfred's mutterings and Rake's annoyed glance at Garten, "is to tell the whole story and help you see your place in it, wherever it may be."

"We'll be moving rather quickly," Rake interrupted. "Since, as much as I hate to say it, your family plays a crucial role in this tale."

"They do?" Heather asked softly, while Picket wore an expression that clearly said yeah, obviously.

Ignoring her question, Wilfred started talking. "Lord Rake and Garten will tell you the tales of the first eight windows, and I will tell you the tale of the ninth."

The two of them nodded. Garten scowled a little at his brother. All he was doing was making the reveal a little harder and a lot more dramatic.

The first part of the story sped by quick.

When Rake was done explaining the beginning, Garten took a deep breath and started. "Bleston was extremely bitter that his father dared choose Jupiter over him. And he wasn't the only one. A substantial amount of people within First Warren protested this decision, beginning a group called the Waywards. It was the beginning of a revolution. Luckily, Bleston dissuaded them from causing too much chaos. Everyone thought that was the end of it, that Bleston had accepted his father's decision. We were wrong.

"In the dead of night," Garten continued, "King Walter was found murdered. No one had proof it was Bleston, but his notable absence were more than enough to convict him. Jupiter, despite his grief and anger, announced Bleston as a traitor and a murderer, no matter how much it pained him to turn against his own brother. A few days after this, after the funeral, a note appeared in the throne room. It was signed by Bleston, saying he would return when Jupiter was weakest and reclaim his throne."

Garten stopped, emotion roiling inside him.

Garten continued the tale at Wilfred's encouraging nod. "We should've paid attention to Bleston's warning note," he said, forcing his voice into one of calm. Wilfred hung his head. "The vile rabbit came back many years later, at the peak of Jupiter's Golden Age" he continued. "He had made an alliance with Morbin Blackhawk, bringing in hordes of wolves and birds of prey to First Warren, along with his own Waywards and the Terrelain army."

"Terrelain?" whispered Picket. "Perk said it was a fairytale. A wives' tale."

He's talking to Perk? Garten thought worriedly.

"No," Wilfred said, shaking his head. "It's not a fairytale, though it might as well be. No one has entered or left Terrelain, the same as First Warren."

"But what does this have to do with us?" Heather asked, fists clenched. "A vendetta against the king? Why were we targeted?"

Ah. So she had correctly made the assumption that the attack on Nick Hollow was planned.

Garten and Wilfred glanced at each other. He didn't want to answer the question. He wished he had more time.

Picket looked at Garten expectantly.

"You're a Longtreader," Garten said finally.

Heather stared at Garten. "What?" she whispered.

"All your life, you've been going by your mother's maiden name," Garten explained. "It was to hide you from any of Bleston's agents. Seeing as we, the Longtreaders, were so close with Jupiter...he's been after us for years."

"You're my uncle?!" Heather snapped, face morphing into one of anger. "Then...Then where were you?!"

Rake opened his mouth to say something. Picket flinched at Heather's sudden violent tone.

"At least Wilfred tried to talk with us," Heather spat. "At least he tried, you didn't even bother."

"Heather-" Garten started.

"No," she practically shouted, pointing at him. "Maybe if you'd been there on that day in Nick Hollow, maybe my family would still be alive right now! Maybe they would be here, if you hadn't decided to keep secrets from us."

Garten's heart plummeted, and he felt suddenly very sick. Her words echoed in his head (how silly that words got to him so easily, he thought in the tumoultous racket of his brain), making all the emotions of anger, fear, and guilt suddenly resurface.

"I'm leaving," he said quite suddenly, stumbling over his words. They came out choppy and almost flat and devoid of emotion. "I'm sorry, Heather."

She glared at him, vitriol and venom burning in her gaze, and he didn't even want to imagine what thoughts were running through her head.

"Garten," began Rake, glancing at the Longtreaders all around.

Garten ignored him, walking out and closing the door, ignoring the sharp glare that Heather sent.

He shouldn't be like this.

All his life, he had maintained this appearance of the elder brother, someone who wasn't bothered by words at all. Strange how that image shattered the minute he tried to do something good.

He leaned against the wall, struggling to breathe. Heather was right. He hadn't been there (how could he have been there, the reasonable voice in his head asked) and now Whittle and Sween and his youngest nephew were dead or worse.

He closed his eyes, trying to stop himself from trembling.

Forcing himself to stand up, he refused to look at the door to Lighthall.

Maybe things would be better tomorrow.


Heather refused to talk to him for nearly a week. Picket, however, took advantage of the newfound relationship with his uncle to drag him around, ask him questions about the war, and basically be a second mentor when Helmer was busy.

Garten found it increasingly difficult to make up for lost time with Picket while keeping an eye on Perk's increasingly suspicious activities. Perk had been found rifling through the restricted section of the library, something he denied quickly, and Garten was 90 percent sure Perk had been eavesdropping on more than a few conversations.

With that, his family problems, and the soldiers arriving from the citadels and shooting him looks of distrust, he barely had time to relax and just...think.

"Garten."

Heather's voice was flat and interrupted Garten's writing 'On Why We Should Arrest Perk Immediately'.

He turned to face his niece. "Yeah?"

She raised her chin a little, setting her jaw stubbornly. "Just because I start talking to you, doesn't mean I've forgiven you," she said, stomping away.

Well, it was a start.


I hope I did Heather's character justice lol

so here, have some lore to make up for my sudden absence and this short chapter :/

life's been a trainwreckTM lately, but i've started July Camp NaNoWriMo and am doing two projects combined (this one and another one) so I'll be hopefully updated more often lol

Edit: I'm writing chapter 7, and I decided to update the rating to T just to be safe :)