Erik opened his eyes. It was still dawn and the sun was just appearing on the horizon. Bleak sunbeams were fighting against the darkness of the night. Eventually they would win and fill the sky with their colorful light.
Until then, the air was fresh and smelled of promises. It was the perfect time for Erik to start the day.
.
He went to the lake and took a bath. The quiet atmosphere of the undergrowth was relaxing, while the water was cold enough to spring his nerves into life. Clean and finally wide awake, Erik came back to the cottage.
On his way there, in a particularly dark spot under the trees, he stretched his arm through thin air: there was nothing, of course. But there was something. Erik knew it. He had seen Shaw appearing around here, somber and brooding, oddly resolved – although Erik had no idea what the purpose of this man was.
His mother – Emma, Lady of the Lake for everybody else, so she claimed – called it Shaw's prison. But how was that invisible tower Shaw's prison if he could come in and out as it pleased him? Emma had the key, Emma opened the door, but Erik knew Shaw was giving her orders. What he did not know was where the man went once he was released. Maybe he would never know. The last time Shaw escaped, he was gone for two weeks and came back with an odd smile stretching his lips. He had told Emma: "I succeeded" just before he entered the tower and she locked the door behind him, the dark hole disappearing instantly.
That had been six years ago, and since then, Erik had not seen Shaw. He wondered if the strange man had finally died in his prison.
.
Erik reached the cottage. It was a simple house with bright white walls covered with ivy and a door painted in green. Built in the middle of a clearing, it came with a small kitchen garden and several fruit trees. Erik took an apple in passing – it would be his breakfast.
Then he stretched his arms and focused on the sword laid down besides his bed, inside the house. He could feel the long blade of steel, vibrating with force and danger, and the ornate hilt made of a rich alloy. With a push from his mind, he called for the sword and felt it lift off the ground and fly through the house. One of the windows was open and that was where it appeared, charging at him as if it wanted to pierce his flesh. It stopped short of his face. Erik smiled with triumph before he bit in the apple, letting the sword fall heavily on the grass. He sat besides the sharp blade and ate his fruit, waiting for the sun to finally reach the clearing and reflect his rays on the metal.
.
When the sky was light enough that darkness had withdrawn under the thick canopy of the forest, Erik stood up and levitated his sword to him.
His power had become a part of him. Some people could read and write – he had at least a minimum knowledge of that. Some could ride horses like the four legs were their own – he had practiced occasionally and, if he was not particularly good, he never fell and the animal followed his lead. Erik, from his part, could control metal. Simple as that. It was like another way of smelling or tasting things. The tingle at the back of his head told him if metal was around, and the vibration it caused in his nerves informed him of the kind of material the object was made of. Finally a sense akin to orientation told him where the object was exactly.
He had been trained many years by his mother to use his power efficiently after they had realized that he was not a normal child. The memory of the first time they faced his unique ability was still vivid in his mind.
.
Emma had been sewing new clothes, or repairing old ones, Erik could not remember. He was a little boy at the time, and was playing with wooden soldiers on the floor.
"Ouch," his mother said suddenly. He looked up. She was sucking on her index finger, her eyes searching everywhere. "Where is that needle, now?"
He crawled on the parquet until he was at his mother's feet. The needle was shining in his mind, like the sole star in an otherwise dark sky. He took it and held it out to Emma. "Did you not feel it, Mother? It was just there!"
The bewilderment on her face told him that no, she could not feel it, because she had not the same power. He was now afraid that his mother would think of him as a freak.
The surprise changed into amusement and pride in Emma's eyes. Erik felt a sudden surge of love for that woman. He smiled at her and jumped in her arms. He then discovered that his mother had a power of her own.
'You did well, Son. You are my little wonder,' he heard in his mind, the voice icy cold but the words tinted with warmth. He shivered at the feeling.
Later he learned that he could move the objects he felt without touching them. It was a matter of wishing that the item was somewhere else, of visualizing it, and it would happen.
His mother, each day, had presented him with new objects, sometimes smaller, sometimes bigger, and sometimes not metal at all even though they looked like it, and asked him to perform various tasks. When he succeeded, she took him in her arms and hugged him tightly. Once in a while he would even be rewarded with toys, or rare delicacies.
His mother's love has always been conditioned with his ability. People loved him for his power, therefore he loved his power, and was proud of his Gifted condition.
.
Manipulating the sword in the air, he made it slash through nothing, imagining an assailant in front of him. The blade cut the hypothetical attacker from head to toe. Erik rejoiced in the illusion of his guts slipping through the wound, of his blood staining the ground. He did not like bloodsheds particularly, but one should be prepared to kill their enemy, or the enemy would kill them. That was the price to pay to stay alive in a hostile country.
He was interrupted in his training when Emma came out of the cottage.
"Good morning, Son," she said with a smile. Her perpetually young face showed no wrinkle, her skin as pale and firm as in his first memory. He knew it was a projection from his mother's mind. No one could stay young for twenty years, but she looked like his sister. Her curly blond hair was adorned with a fine gold chain supporting a brilliant crystal that shined in the middle of her forehead. Her delicate silhouette was emphasized with the white light cotton of her dress, her long limbs enhanced by the tight sleeves.
He knew he looked nothing like her. Mother and son were supposed to share a likeness of sort, but it was not the case. Maybe he got his looks from his father, but he did not know who his genitor was – he had suspected Shaw was his father when he was a young boy, but the idea had repulsed him, and he had soon realized the sheer impossibility of this: his mother would have never gotten intimate with a man like Shaw. He could see the lines of repulsion on her face when she had to let him go from his invisible prison.
He bowed in front of the woman, his sword floating gently besides him. "Good morning to you, my Lady and Mother." She held her hand out to him, and he kissed it.
"I see you have trained well already, Son. Maybe you can use your training to hunt today."
It was a regular task his mother assigned him. He hunted for their meat, once a week in the warm season, only once in winter, although he would bring a deer or a wild boar that would last them the whole season.
He nodded and called for his bow and arrows. He had to ornate the plain wooden bow with chunks of metal to be able to sense it with his power, same with his quiver.
Finally equipped, he said goodbye to his mother and went in the forest.
.
The most difficult part of hunting, for Erik at least, was keeping silent. The ground was covered with twigs and dried leaves, creaking and crunching under his shoes. That helped driving out the prey, but if they were small animals, they would instantly disappear under the bushes.
Bow and arrows ready at hand, Erik was quietly moving forward, listening intently for any sound betraying the presence of an animal.
That was how he heard the cries and the shouts further away in the forest. One of the voices sounded feminine, and Erik did not think twice before running for them, leaving his bow and his quiver behind. He could find them later.
He came out onto a small clearing. Two large men were roughing up a young woman with dark skin. His chivalry – a behavior his mother had taught him for years – made him unsheathed his sword.
"You will stop that, sir, or I will have to make you stop," he called.
The men – both solid peasants with vacant eyes, except for the hate Erik could read in them – turned around and looked at Erik.
They oddly seemed not afraid of the shining blade he was brandishing. One of them snarled, revealing only a couple of teeth in the black hole of his mouth. "Do not wave your sword at us, young man. She should be the one at the end of your blade. She is not like us, you know."
Presuming her dark skin was the cause of such a threat, Erik decided that it was not enough a reason to abuse a young woman. "I will do no such thing, peasant, and you shall go your way before I plunge my blade in your filthy blood."
The men saw the determination in his grey eyes and decided to let it go. They raised their hands, palms towards him, to show that they were giving up. Erik did not trust them and approached them, the tip of his blade pointing at the guts of the more massive of the two men. With fear now in their beady eyes, they hastily retreated and left the clearing.
Erik could hear their cursing words full of hatred going away from him, deeply in the forest.
.
When he was sure they would not come back, Erik turned towards the dark-skinned woman. The poor creature was in shock, shivering and crying. He went to her.
"Do not fear, young woman, I made the hateful peasants go away." He tentatively reached for her, moving slowly as to not scare her.
She opened her big teary eyes and looked at him for a second, before she started to wail anew. Erik panicked; he did not know what to do. She could be hurt and agonizing at the moment, and he had no idea how to help her.
Suddenly, she threw herself in Erik's arms and hugged him tightly. Sheer panic gave place to utter embarrassment. He was oddly relieved when she finally let him go.
"I thank you, good sir," she said with an accented voice. She knelt in front of him and brushed her lips on his knuckles.
"Oh no, no, you do not have to do that. I am just a humble hunter," he replied, his cheeks burning. When he pulled his hand to himself, she let it go.
"Who do I have to thank, sir?" she asked. In his still short life, he had not met with a lot of people, and not for years. Usually the people who came to their cottage knew Emma, and they never talked to him. The protocol of introducing himself was unknown to him. He answered: "I am the son of the Lady of the Lake." That should do.
The woman gazed at him suspiciously. "I know no Lady of the Lake. What should I call you, sir? What is your name?"
The truth made him recoil: he did not know his name. His mother had always called him Son, and no one else had ever talked to him. Embarrassment was but a memory, he was now utterly petrified and felt lost. "I… do not know," he answered truthfully, tears slowly filling his eyes.
Understanding the situation – or at least feeling that it was not wise to insist – the woman shrugged and held her hand to him. "My name is Angel. I am from the continent."
He shook her hand, feeling marginally better.
.
They moved to a quiet part of the clearing, Angel sitting on the trunk of a dead tree. Minute by minute, her skin, which had been dull like ash after the assault, was recovering her caramel glow. She was a pretty young woman, notwithstanding the color of her flesh, which was still a wonder for Erik.
He was unsure of how to broach the subject, but his curiosity got the best of him. "Did those peasants attack you because of your dark skin?"
Her laugh echoed in the small clearing, chasing away birds nestled in the trees. "You do not see dark-skinned people every day in this country, do you?" She looked down at her shaking hands in her lap. "But no, that was not the reason they wanted to kill me."
The probability of murder had never come to Erik's mind. But of course, it made sense. The men had seemed much too hateful to just be willing to scare or hurt someone. He shivered. If he had not come to her rescue, she would be dead by now.
"I have… a gift," she continued. "Unfortunately they witnessed me using it."
"A gift?" he asked with excitement.
"Let me show you." She stood up. Her flimsy dress barely covered her skin already, but she proceeded to remove her shoulders from the sleeves, revealing a bit more of brown flesh.
Not familiar with women's nudity, Erik felt his cheeks burn again. He turned around, the rustling of her garment enough to ignite his imagination.
The sound was soon replaced by a strange buzz. He looked at her. She was floating a few inches above the ground. On her back, vibrating with power and projecting rays of pastel colors on the grass, two translucent butterfly's wings had spread. It was magnificent.
.
She landed. Her wings remained widely open behind her, and Erik could not resist touching them. They felt like silk, soft and thin. Angel did not protest.
Finally, Erik faced her with excitement in his eyes and said: "I have a gift too." His sword, which was laying down abandoned on the grass, got off the ground at his mental command and flew to them.
"It is amazing," Angel said. "Can you move anything else in the clearing? A tree? A rock?"
"No, I can only move metal," he answered, and snatched his sword in the air before sheathing it. "And my mother can read minds. Were your parents unable to help you with their own powers when you were attacked?"
Angel eyed him suspiciously. He did not know what to make of that look. "Is there a problem? Are your parents dead?"
"No, they are both alive and well. But they are not Gifted. They are humans," she replied, feeling like she was explaining something to a three-year old. "Actually, I met with other people like us in the past few years. And all of them had human parents."
The revelation cooled Erik's blood. He had had some doubts all this years, but it was the first time he was confronted with the possibility of Emma not being his real mother.
They talked more, Angel sharing her experiences with other Gifted to a bewildered Erik. He then offered her directions to his cottage, in case she wanted to visit him. But he knew she would not. Angel was an independent strong woman and did not need someone like Erik in her life. He would still be glad if he could meet with her again one day.
.
And he went back home, forgetting about his bow. It remained in the middle of the forest, covered with dead leaves and moss, for decades, before someone found it. Erik was already gone at the time. As was the wood of the bow. Who could be interested in small chunks of metal, really?
"I see no game in your hands, Son, and no bow on your shoulder. Did something happen that I should know?" Emma asked when Erik arrived at the cottage. She was not worried, as Erik's face showed no bruise or wound, but her senses were tingling without even using her power. Tension was radiating from him in waves that made her skin crawl when they reached her.
"Who am I, Emma?"
The determination in Erik's eyes, and the use of her first name instead of Lady or Mother as he used to say, made Emma uncomfortable. She felt the time Shaw had warned her about had finally come. She would do as he had commanded.
"Come inside, Son. I shall tell you everything I know." It was a blatant lie, and the word Son left a sour taste in her mouth as it was certainly the last time she would say it.
.
Once seated at their table, Erik repeated: "Who am I?"
"I do not know." It was the very first lie of a long list, but they were necessary to achieve Shaw's plan and get the Gifted where they deserved to be: at the top of the ladder.
Erik looked defeated. He had thought Emma had the answers to all of his questions, but it seemed not. "What do you know, then?"
"Twenty years ago, Shaw and I were wandering in the forest when we happened on your parents being killed in a clearing. You were with them. We could not stop the murderers from escaping, but we saw they were wearing King Claudas' blazon on their shields." Emma hoped that, as Shaw had thought at the time, the mention of a name, any name, would distract Erik's thoughts from the fact that she alone could have stopped them if she had wanted to. She did not want to rearrange Erik's memories once again to make him believe what she was saying, as she could easily damage everything she had done since then. Minds were tricky labyrinths hard to navigate, and even harder to transform.
"Just before their last breath," she added, "your parents told us they were attacked because they had given birth to a very special child. Their death was a punishment for your gift."
Hatred was burning inside grey pupils, and Erik's desire for vengeance was a seed well planted that Emma would care for until it filled his mind completely.
"I was not able to learn your name though, and I am sorry for that. But maybe if you go to King Claudas, you will learn more about your lineage."
.
In Erik's now distorted mind, it made sense. He had seen how humans reacted to Gifted people. He had seen Angel in a difficult situation and had saved her. It was just as plausible that hateful humans would kill innocent parents for their Gifted infant.
He understood now why Emma had chosen a remote cottage to live in. Persecution everywhere. Because of a special power they did not choose to possess.
He stood up from his chair, lips twisted around a snarl full of rage. He unsheathed his sword and brandished it in front of Emma. "On my sword and my power, I swear I will find who my parents were and avenge them. And I will fight anyone who mistreats Gifted."
He knelt before Emma and kissed her hand. "Thank you, my Lady, for taking care of me all this years. I will remain the Son of the Lady of the Lake even after I regain my name, and I will come back to you, as a Son to his Mother."
And he left the cottage, starting his journey to his parents' territory.
.
Inside the cottage, a unique tear fell down Emma's cheek. Twenty years was a long time, and even an icy heart as hers could be moved by the sincere promises of a foster son. A beloved son. Whom she was manipulating for the sake of a new race.
She hoped her sacrifice was worth it.
Outside the forest, a monk indicated to Erik the direction of King Claudas' castle.
"It is five whole days of walk from here. Will you know where to rest, young man?" the old monk asked.
"I will sleep on the grass and eat fruits and roots if I have to," Erik answered firmly.
A sweet little smile appeared on the monk's lips. "You are a courageous man. What should I call you, as to praise your name everywhere?"
"I do not have a name, monk. And I need no praise. But I would appreciate a prayer, as my task is arduous and the result unknown."
"You shall have all my prayers, young man."
And Erik left him.
He reached Claudas' fortress after the most tiring journey he ever made. The ground had been hard even for his young back, and someone his age and his height and weight needed more than berries and nuts to be sustained. Especially when one was walking restlessly from dawn till dusk for five whole days. He had been able to wash himself in a stream two days before but did not feel fresh anymore at this point.
He dreamed of a hot meal and a bed. Hopefully they would be provided in the city.
.
His first stop at the hamlet just outside the castle was for the nearest inn. It was still early and the tavern was empty. His arrival did not go unnoticed.
A stout woman with a dubious dishcloth in her hands welcomed him. Her round face showed no friendliness and she looked at him with suspicion. No doubt the fact that he did not have a horse was a matter of concern for her. Still she remained polite. "Hello, good sir. How can I help you?"
"I would like a room for a few nights, and a bath and a meal," he replied honestly with his best smile.
He could see in her eyes that she thought he was a beggar of some sort and distrusted him. "You shall pay in advance, good sir. Three deniers for a night and two meals during the day. We have no bath but you will find a basin in your room. How long will you stay?"
The price was undoubtedly excessive, but he could not deny any longer the aches in his limbs and the growl of his stomach. He gave her three pieces. "I will pay you every morning, as I do not know how long I will stay yet."
She bit in each piece and, apparently satisfied, took off to the back of the tavern without a word.
Erik followed her to a barely lit corridor. She stopped at the first door on the left and opened it. The room was not much bigger than a closet. It smelled of dust and filth. The mattress was grey with smudges of brown, and the sheets were so thin you could see through them. There was a dirty pot in a corner, directly on the ground, filled with cloudy water. From the window, Erik had an open view on the backyard where a couple of piglets were rolling happily in mud and shit. 'Lovely,' he thought. If the food was as good as the room, three deniers was extremely expensive.
"The cook is not here yet, but I can give you a chunk of bread and some cheese," she added, seemingly getting warmer to him. He had good money, he had become a customer instead of a possible thief.
"I will come in a minute, thank you, madam."
She left silently, closing the door behind her.
Erik would wash away the sweat and the dirt from his tired body, then eat something, before crashing in the bed for the rest of the day. Tonight, his mission would begin.
.
When he woke up, the sky was not dark yet, but he did not think it was still the afternoon: Summer was around the corner, and the days were long and warm. Erik felt much better, so he had slept several hours at least; that meant it was somewhere in the evening.
Voices came from the tavern, laughs and muted conversations. The time had come for him to mingle with the hamlet's inhabitants and maybe gather some intelligence about the King. He was definitely courageous, and wanted to avenge his parents more than anything, but Emma had not raised him as a reckless boy. He did not want to die in his mission.
The noises were louder and louder the more he approached the main room of the inn. Although it was most certainly time for supper, the customers sat at the tables had only wooden cups in front of them, filled with a wine that smelled like vinegar from where Erik stood. Drunkards were not the most reliable spies, but they were talkative.
Erik chose a table near the entrance and asked for his supper. The stout woman came with a piece of old bread and a bowl of stew. Strange chunks of dubious meat floated in a watered gravy. She filled his cup with wine. He started to eat, waiting for the right moment.
.
He was munching an apple the inn's owner had obligingly brought him when he had asked for a dessert, when a couple of loud soldiers came through the door. Their shift had ended and they were here for an alcoholic evening to soothe the pains of the day.
Erik soon joined them with his own cup.
"I am looking for a temporary employment around here. Do you think I could be hired as a soldier by the King?" he asked when they had warmed to him. At this moment, there was probably more alcohol than blood running in their blood vessels. Awful wine slopped over the edge of the cups, the soldiers unable to maintain their balance.
"You seem fit enough, mate," the older one answered. His deep green eyes could not focus long enough on Erik. He had removed his helmet when he had entered, revealing a mop of red hair and a sick complexion. Erik carefully stayed away from his stinky breath – caused by the huge gaps between his otherwise black teeth certainly.
"Yeah sure," the other soldier approved. He seemed in a barely better shape than his colleague. Soldier was not a job for the weak, but it sure tired the men faster than it should. Or perhaps it was the bad wine and the long days of work.
Entering the guard was Erik's best chance to approach the King. He was about to ask the name of the man he should see for employment when the red-haired soldier added with a vacant air: "Although the King does not need us as much as he did before, nowadays."
That sparked Erik's interest.
"Aya," the younger soldier nodded. "It is because of the monster." He sipped on his wine, staining his teeth in red for a few seconds. His sick smile made Erik shiver.
"The monster?"
"Aya, the man that looks like a lion or something. The King keeps it at his side at all times, and it is a killer. I saw it with my own eyes, tearing someone's throat with his fangs."
"I would be afraid if it was not chained to the throne. Like an untrained dog." The red-haired soldier burst out laughing, exposing his bad denture to Erik who grimaced.
A Gifted. Erik was seething with rage. The King kept a Gifted as a slave. Claudas was now doubly guilty in Erik's standards. The scum would pay. Erik was determined.
.
He went to bed, nauseous and dizzy. The combination of wine and proof of Gifted's abuse made the chunks of meat he had eaten earlier move in his stomach. The night promised to be long and unpleasant.
Five days into his job and Erik was exhausted.
He had to wake up with the sun – that was not unusual for him, but to stay up and alert until supper proved to be a real challenge. And the soldiers' lodgings were barely better than the inn. The rooms were small and Spartan. At least there was a bath. And he had meat twice a day.
No one had needed his name when he had enrolled and being called soldier like any recruit assured him to remain anonymous for the duration of his mission.
Although he had noticed weird looks from the older servants. They always glanced at him with awe and, strangely enough, nostalgia and sadness. He had not dared asking them why they looked at him in this way. He wanted to stay as invisible as possible.
.
Twice already he had worked in the throne's hall, and had met with the King. Today was the third.
He had to stand near the King's escape door. The main entrance was guarded from outside by two other soldiers. A few feet from Erik, the King was sitting on the throne, a heavily decorated chair with a dark red velvet seat.
Claudas was a stocky man with a silver mane, and a large beard covered half of his face. He resembled the giants from the legends, or maybe a scary ogre. And his constant frown could not persuade Erik that he was not.
His strong deep voice resonated in the hall when he called for his enslaved Gifted. "Sabretooth! Come here, my boy!"
The tall Gifted walked to Claudas until the King pulled on his chain. Sabretooth fell on his knees, and with his muscled body and his long unruly hair, he definitely looked like an animal. The growl that escaped from his throat made most of the staff tremble like leaves in the wind. Now on all fours, he crawled to the throne, his claws clicking on the tiled floor of the hall. Once at Claudas' feet, he coiled in a ball like a big feline, keeping an eye on his surroundings.
That a man, a full grown man – although young – would be forced to sleep on the floor, made Erik enraged. He did not know what power the King had over the poor Sabretooth, but he was determined to free him, whatever it took.
But Erik would have to fight the Gifted first if he wanted to kill Claudas, as Sabretooth was an effective bodyguard for the King. And judging from the toned muscles of the man, Erik would have to use all of his own power to defeat him.
.
A good opportunity to achieve the mission he had assigned to himself presented itself later that day.
The throne hall was empty except for Erik, Sabretooth and the King. Claudas was dozing, his large head resting on his hand. Sabretooth was pacing at the other end of the hall, sometimes looking out of the window. Boredom was written all over his face, his bestial features somehow softened.
No one was expected for hours.
Erik had waited for a moment like this one since he joined the guard. The only danger came from Sabretooth, but he knew exactly how to get rid of him.
When he thought he had waited long enough, Erik used his power to lift the heavy chain off the ground and wrapped it around the tall Gifted and one of the massive pillars of the hall, effectively immobilizing him far away.
Sabretooth growled out of rage, and Erik could feel the Gifted's muscles straining against the metal of the rings. The strength of Sabretooth was amazing. His fury too. His fangs seemed to grow longer and pointier, and his eyes were burning with a barely contained wrath.
The noise woke up Claudas, but Erik was fast: he was on the King, his dagger under Claudas' throat, in an instant.
"Sabretooth!" Claudas whined, desperate and pathetic. He could not see his slave surrounded by his own chain from where he sat.
Erik grinned. "He cannot help you, Claudas. You are at my mercy."
"And who are you, soldier?" The contempt in the King's voice threw Erik in a new fit of anger. He glided the dagger across Claudas' right palm, slashing the flesh before putting back the blade under the King's hairy chin.
The scream that escaped the King's throat was full of pain and terror.
"That is exactly the reason I am here and I am threatening you. I want to know who I am," Erik replied.
"And why should I know when I have never seen you before?" Claudas asked, voice shaking and fear in his eyes.
"But you knew my parents. They were killed twenty years ago."
"I do not know what you…" Claudas started, but stopped as he looked at Erik's face with more attention. He burst out laughing when he realized who was threatening him. "You look like your father, young man. I should have recognized you. Forgive me."
"Who am I?" Erik asked desperately. He was ashamed his misery could be heard in his voice, but he was so close to the truth he could not help himself.
Tables had turned, and Claudas knew he had the upper-hand. He would not surrender without fighting. "Why would I tell you? I do not react well to threats." He defiantly stood up, looking Erik in the eyes, clearly stating that he was not afraid of the soldier anymore.
Erik brandished his sword. He felt his hands wavering, but he hoped the fierceness of his face would convince Claudas of the reality of the threat. "If you do not tell me, I shall… I will…" He was at a loss for words. His chance of learning his name was quickly disappearing, like sand spilling from his hand.
A sudden racket came from the other end of the hall. Sabretooth had taken advantage of Erik's weakness to free himself from the chain's constriction and was now running to them.
Erik looked away from the King and focused on Sabretooth' manacles, maintaining him away.
The distraction had renewed Erik's awareness of his goal. He jumped on the King and put his sword against the man's large throat. "Do tell me who I am, or I shall carve a new smile on your face with my blade."
But Claudas would not surrender yet. He called out: "Sabretooth! Come and help me!"
Erik could feel the manacles staying in place, thanks to his power, and was not worried. "You should be ashamed of the way you are using him."
Claudas frowned with outrage despite his situation. "I can do whatever I want with him. I OWN HIM!" he finished shouting.
Fury burned deeply in Erik's bones. "YOU CANNOT OWN A MAN!" he replied, spiting in Claudas' face.
A growl came from much nearer than it should, when Erik was keeping the manacles in place. Turning around, Erik saw Sabretooth running to him, a bloody stump ending his right arm. Under the manacle still floating in the air, a furry hand with claws lay on the red-stained tiles. Sabretooth's fangs were covered with blood. His own blood. He had gnawed off his own hand to escape.
In a surge of self-preservation, Erik pushed away from the throne, falling on his back, and tried to crawl back and stand up as fast as humanly possible. He wanted to be on his feet to fight the Gifted.
But when he looked back, Sabretooth was jumping on Claudas, tearing his throat with his fangs. Blood gurgled in the man's mouth before he was no more. The King was dead. Killed by his own monster.
Sabretooth stood up, covered with gore, and looked at the body without pity.
Erik hesitated before he raised his voice: "Will you kill me too?" The question was stupid, but fear and exhaustion had made him incoherent.
"I will not. You gave me the courage to stand up for myself after all this years of enslavement. It would not be fair." The bestial man turned to Erik. "And it is my first time meeting with someone gifted with an unnatural power like me. Mine is fast healing." He lowered his eyes on his stump, and Erik stared with him: the stump was slowly growing into a full hand.
"But why would you let that despicable human treat you like a beast?" Erik inquired.
"He was my father. I thought he had the right."
If that did not explain everything, it was still enough for Erik.
A fragile hope kept burning in his heart and he did not want to let it go yet. He turned to Sabretooth. "Would you, by any chance, know who I am?" he finally asked.
Without looking at him, the tall Gifted answered: "I understand the reason behind your attack on my father. Unfortunately, only he knew your identity. I cannot help you. And I am sorry." Although his voice did not waver, Erik heard his sincerity.
He slipped away, leaving Sabretooth to the mourning that would undoubtedly follow.
.
Erik still ignored his real name, and he did not know who else could help him now that King Claudas was dead. And the bastard had known the truth. Erik had been so close… At least his mission had been partially accomplished: he had avenged his parents, even though he did not know who they were.
He was wandering the corridors, looking for a discreet exit, when an old woman stopped him.
"Come with me, young Prince. Soldiers are already running around looking for you. They know the King is dead," she said before taking him to a small door hidden behind a heavy curtain.
He followed her. She guided him in a dark tunnel to another door. When she opened it, the bright glow of the sun blinded him for a second. They were outside in the gardens. The door was concealed by a bush of roses. He would not come out of it without a scratch, but he was still alive and that was already a miracle.
"I thank you very much, madam," he said warmly.
She curtsied and was about to enter the castle again when he remembered something she had said. He grasped her arm. "You called me 'young Prince'. Do you know who I am?"
"Of course, Sir. You are King Lehnsherr's and Lady Lehnsherr's only son. When Claudas the Vile took their crown, we thought you were all dead. But when Hilda saw you days ago, we knew Claudas' reign was about to end. You will come back to your people, will you not, young Prince?"
Erik was overwhelmed. He now knew whom he was the son of. And he was a Prince. But he did not know those people. He did not feel anything for them. "And my name. What is my name?" he asked.
"Erik. Erik Lehnsherr is your name, good Prince," she answered with a frown.
"Erik. My name is Erik," he repeated dreamily. He looked at the gardens – at his gardens. The castle, the hamlet, everything was his. But it was insignificant. Those people had let a despicable man rule them for years, had let him mistreat a Gifted – one of his people – for as long. They did not deserve his pity or his time.
He bowed quickly and left without another word. He had to go back home. To his mother. To the Lady of the Lake.
.
He was Erik Lehnsherr, and he had decided his purpose in life was to fight for his people, the Gifted.
He had found a horse and the journey back to the lake was shorter. He was just slightly tired since he had not slept for two days. But he would have a good night of rest in his own bed.
Emma was sitting in front of the house when he arrived. She leveled her eyes to him but did not say a word.
He dismounted and tied the horse to a tree before coming to her. He knelt. "I am Erik Lehnsherr and you are my mother," he said.
"You are truly Erik Lehnsherr, although you know by now that Emma is not your mother, Erik," a voice coming from inside the house said. Shaw appeared from the darkness of the cottage. His face was strongly marked by his age, and his hair was now completely white.
"You knew, and you did not tell me or my mother," Erik snarled.
"I know everything, but not everyone is worthy of my knowledge. Your adventure with King Claudas was a necessary trial. You are now able to join us in our battle against humans."
Erik stared at him with disbelief. He had let a Gifted kill his father, and that man thought it had been necessary.
"You understand that humans mistreat us, Erik."
It was not a question, but Erik answered anyway: "Some of them, yes, I understand."
Shaw pierced Erik with his pale blue eyes. "Then you will help us. Your destiny is to bring the Gifted to the place they deserve."
Erik distrusted the Wizard. But he could not deny what he had seen: humans persecuting Gifted, using them as beasts or monsters. Humans killing their own species because of Gifted children. If he could help his own people, he would do it. "What should I do, Mighty Wizard?"
"You shall join King Charles' court at Westchester. And you shall convince him to search for the Holy Grail with you. The sacred chalice will give power to the Gifted, and punish humans for their arrogance."
Shaw went into the house for a second before coming out with clothes in his arms. "Tomorrow, you will wear this. You will take your horse and go with Emma to Westchester where you will become one of the Knights of the Round Table." He held the clothes out to Erik, who took them.
Shaw patted his shoulder. "You will not disappoint me or your mother, Erik."
It was not a threat, it was a promise, and Erik believed him.
.
Tomorrow he will go. But for now, his bed was calling to him. He crashed on it and slept for twelve hours.