"Hall," Bolverk called out, standing in the doorframe of the dormitory. "Hey, Hall!" he tried again louder as his new recruit was still not moving in the bed. He breathed in deeply and shouted at the top of his lungs: "Get yer arse out of that bed recruit, or I'll make it move at the impact of my boot!"

Hall jumped awake with a start, tangled in the sheets and crashed in a heap of cloth to the ground.

"Stand up! Salute! And put some darn clothes on, boy!" Bolverk continued to command, and Hall tried his best to comply automatically.

The boy's brain was still far from functioning on a conscious level and unable to apperceive the roar of laughter from his fellow guardsmen.

Eirik was still wheezing when Hall finally came to and recognised where he was and what was happening. Halfway dressed, he saw, to his own relieve, that Bolverk was also smiling broadly.

"Hey, Bol'," Svana's voice came from outside the dormitory. "Go easy on him. Maybe the boy had a long night," she suggested teasingly, causing the men to crack up again.

Despite his blushing, Hall couldn't prevent his own grin from forming quickly.

After a few more jokes at Hall's expense, the group started heading back to their own barracks. Just a short walk down the road, they spotted a tall man, clad in an intimidating red, heavy coat that reached down to his reinforced leather boots' shaft.

Stitched on the left breast side with a golden thread was the goddess Akali's symbol of order and stability, a sword between two thick columns. A broadsword with an ornate handle and red scabbard was fixed to the golden belt at his hips.

"They didn't lose any time, sending an actual enforcer to check on our intel," Siegfried said. "Good to know they are taking the threat seriously."

"Stop gawking, Hall," Bolverk chided. "It's not a first-class enforcer, but we still don't need any unwanted attention."

"How do you know which class he is? I've seen a few enforcers of the Red Brigade myself, but they are all clothed the same."

"Those'd be all class three then, which 's the lowest rank for the fully initiated members of the Red Brigade. Not that they couldn't kill ya within the blink of an eye, mind ya! Classes are distinguished by the ornates on their shoulder.

"Third-class is wearing a plain red coat of leather, heavy as a crate full of melons and sturdy as iron. Second, additionally, has black, gleaming steel paddings from the end of the shoulder to the wrists on their mantle, supported by black leather straps. First-class has the whole shoulder encased in black steel, additionally to the arms, and delicate golden stitches all over. Keep yer head low if ya see one of those." Bolverk finished his lesson before the enforcer came into earshot.

Although they were technically on the same side, none of the guards could thwart their adrenalin spiking as they passed the enforcer silently— a natural reaction to being so close to an entity that could end them before they could even draw a sword.

The bleak-faced member of the Red Brigade didn't even acknowledge them with a single glance, which was only welcome for the guards. Attracting the attention of the Red Brigade meant trouble, no matter who you were.

When the street was empty once again, Hall turned to their squad leader, "Bolverk, you've been in the guard for quite a while, heard a lot, and seen a lot, I'm sure. Do you know why the enforcers are always staying behind the third sector and only send someone when prompted?"

Bolverk regarded Hall with a thoughtful look before he answered. "Surely ya've heard it from the priests' teachings 'bout the loyal servants of Akali. The third, second and first sectors are dedicated to training, worshipping, producing food and managing the whole city affairs. That's the holy duty of the servants of our gracious goddess, and they only intervene in the guard's business if necessary, so they do not neglect their duty," he recited.

"Yes," Hall replied flatly and continued to stare at Bolverk, defiantly.

After a good minute, Bolverk finally caved. He threw another glance over his shoulder to make sure it was safe before he continued in a quiet tone. "In the past three decades of duty, I've seen the same faces every year. At the gate to the third, the gate of the outer wall, or even the enforcers sent to deal with a changeling. They might rotate them in weekly shifts throughout the year, but after that, it's the same guys again…

"I don't believe there are more than a thousand of them third-class enforcers. Far less of higher classes. Ya can think of the rest yerself but no word 'bout this to anyone," Bolverk said with a tone of finality.

But what he disclosed was enough to send Hall's brain into overdrive. The teachings of Akali's priesthood were often vague. But they did unambiguously state that the City of Nemeah was built with three primary purposes in mind. And in her unending strife for order, Akali set aside three equal parts of the city for those objectives. The fourth sector, which held the regular citizens, occupied one-third of the space. The third sector, which was solely providing the whole city with food, occupied the second. The first and second sectors held the last third of space and were dedicated to the tasks that Bolverk mentioned earlier, the tasks that were exclusively processed by Akali's holy servants.

Derived from that information, Hall always assumed that the first and second sectors would hold at least five million people— priests, enforcers, officials, architects and all the higher standing professions.

If there were only a thousand enforcers for the ten million citizens in the fourth sector…

It would explain much but obfuscate even more. And it left a deep crack in the image of their invulnerable fortress of a city.

Without any further incidents, the five guards reached their barracks and quickly fell into their daily routine of training and patrolling the streets again. Nothing out of the ordinary disturbed their district until the Red Brigade released Agnar's body after the investigation a few days later.

As they met around their regular table in the living quarters, Bolverk spoke up, "as ya might've heard, the Brigade 's finished with their examination of Agnar's remains. The rite of fire 's set for tomorrow evening."

As for every citizen of Nemeah, the body of the deceased would be cremated. The ritual would take place on a bed of firewood within one of the halls of order— grand shrines dedicated to Akali. It was half a day's walk to reach the nearest shrine within the inner districts, so they had to take a day off afterwards.

††††††

When the guardsmen entered the halls, they were moved by the unexpectedly high number of people attending the funeral. They were a myriad of different citizens, ranging from other guards to merchants and all kinds of civilians who remembered the charming, passionate warden.

Siegfried's stomach tied to a knot as he ascended the stairs, leading to the stack of wooden beams which held Agnar's body. A massive chimney hung from the shrine's roof, directly over the fireplace as if to swallow the deceased's soul and ascend it to the heavens. The mortician seemed to have hidden Agnar's wounds adequately behind the rich-ornated sheet of silken cloth covering him from neck to feet. But on some spots, Sieg could still see the grooves where the fabric sagged slightly down into the hole beneath, reminding him of the sight of Agnar's torso, riddled with holes the size of Trish' legs, hanging in the strings of the wretched changeling.

As they stood around the stack of wood, where Agnar was laying, a stout man of advanced age took the floor. Sieg recognised him as his old friend's father, Arthur. "Friends, neighbours, guards of Nemeah," he addressed the sizeable crowd, his voice hoarse from age but still powerful and loud, "I thank you all for attending this ceremony to pay your respect to my first and only son, Agnar. To take farewell of Agnar is the hardest thing I ever had to do. There is no greater sorrow to a father than to see his own son go before him.

"Whilst still a child, Agnar already showed a kind and protective spirit. Whenever another child was the target of harassment, he took side with the weak, braving the strong. As he came of age, those qualities only became more pronounced, and there was no doubt in me that he would take the way of the warden and use his strength to protect all of us as a valiant guard of Nemeah.

"Of course, this was also the time when my charming son developed the remarkable drive to master the art of courtship that we all remember and love him for." Arthur smiled with wet eyes, and also Siegfried felt a tuck at the corner of his mouth as he remembered, fondly, the times they were chasing skirts, often getting themselves into mild trouble. Mocking each other when one of their advances was met with a cold rebuff.

"Yes, Agnar was a man that loved living his life to the fullest. But more than anything, Agnar loved the people that he swore to protect. And my heart, though struck with grief, is also swelling with pride. Pride at the fact that even his end was met in the line of duty, to protect the people."

Siegfried shared the proud expression of Agnar's father, and his heart bled for the words he spoke. "My son laid down his life for the good of us all. He died, fighting the nemesis that haunts our dreams, endangers or children!"

The speech came to a stop when the responsible priest of Nemeah took the stage, apparently thinking he had to interrupt at this point. "Honourable citizens of Nemeah!" he started his own eulogy in a flat voice. "Like the, shortly deceased's, father already implied, the enemies of our holy goddess have struck again! Unfortunately, this brave fool has ceased to inform the sacred servanthood of Akali and paid with his very life for his... heroism." The last word was dangerously close to a mocking tone. "As per report of the Guard of Nemeah, his own comrades and friends, the deceased had not managed to put but a scratch on the enemy in exchange for his life," the priest rebuked Arthur's words. "Let it be a sign to all of us that overestimating oneself can only lead to a violent death in these times of trouble and the only solution to this danger is the absolute strength of your gracious goddess — not the strength of men — which keeps your homes safe in the night!"

Arthur was shaking with tears of anger, clearly close to losing his restraint. Several guards pulled him from the stage to prevent another tragedy as attacking a priest of Akali would spell not only his doom but also bring trouble for his wife and friends.

"Every hint of a possible changeling has to be reported to the Red Brigade to prevent a tragic fate. Do not trust in your own feeble power but only the might of our divine benefactor and those she has gifted with her divine graces!"

Siegfried couldn't believe the affront this heartless bastard was offering at the honouring of his close companion. He was seething with impotent rage, muscles flexing on their own as if telling him to use them, to deliver justice to the face of that cruel person for casting a slur on Agnar's memory. What kind of purpose did it serve? Sieg's eyes stung as the wood was finally set alight, burning like the anger in his heart.

Unable to calm down enough to stay for the funeral banquet, Sieg fled the shrine, followed by a concerned Bolverk and Eirik.

The two older guards knew of Siegfried's weakness when it came to a kind of injustice that he was unable to challenge at the point of his sword. And albeit carrying their own resentment, neither wanted to risk him venting that anger incautiously.

"Siegfried, wait!" Bolverk called after him. "Don't ya run off on your own now, boy!"

Siegfried stopped, turning to pierce Bolverk with that unnerving, arresting gaze of his. The scar on his face shifting with the muscles of his jaw tensing.

"Ya might intimidate any other man with that glare but not me, boy." Bolverk chided, soft-spoken. The worry in his look took out at least a small fraction of Siegfried's temper. "Come on, I know a nice enough tavern around here. Let's talk and drown that anger in ale for the moment."

Knowing that Bolverk wouldn't let up anyway, they rounded the next corner to walk a narrow alley.

The mostly wooden buildings in that area were stuck together, forming a single corridor until the next more significant street. It was a less thought-through way of city planning, marking the district as one of the city's older parts. The sloping roofs were made of the same sturdy wood as the front of the houses— visibly aged but well-maintained and cared for. It was in stark contrast to the newer districts' smooth stone workings, feeling as one would walk back through time while staying in the same city.

Bolverk stopped in front of a nondescript door of ancient-looking oak in the wall of a plain house. The drunken guffaw of the tavern's patrons was the only hint that they had reached their destination.

Upon entering the dubious establishment, Siegfried found that most of the guests were around Bolverk' age, and contrary to his usual experience, no one took a second glance in his direction.

Bolverk led them to the back of the room and spoke a few short words with the owner. They were led down the back stairs into a quiet chamber in the basement together with three mugs of ale, as promised. A heavy door fell into the lock behind them, ensuring a measure of privacy.

Siegfried took a deep swig of his serving. "Speak, if you must," he growled, failing to keep the heat out of his words.

"I know how ya feel, Siegfried. Till today, 'twas pretty straight forward for ya since ya joined the guard. The Brigade, the priesthood and we were the good guys, and we fought the bad guys."

"That son of a—"

"That son of Akali, you want to say!" Bolverk shot Siegfried down, his tone permitting no debate. "This is Nemeah, Sieg. It is ruled by those who were chosen by Akali herself."

"The priest's words were not even true. Agnar never tried to attack a changeling!" Sieg countered.

"Neither were Arthur's words, which basically claimed the same but embellished the facts and might embolden the people to try the same!"

Siegfried fumed visibly but let Bolverk go on.

"I know what you think of that priest, and I couldn't agree more. But it Does. Not. Matter." Bolverk stood up, leaning over the table. "I love you like I would my own son, and for your sake, you have to acknowledge that there are some kinds of injustice that you can not address. That you have to bear with or ignore!"

A shadow of forgotten memories fell upon Siegfried's mind at those last words.

"Yes, this is what I want to see! That expression of pure despair — the terror of having to watch it happen, unable to act on it. This is what I was longing for. How long will you be able to bear it before your spirit breaks?"

"NO!" Siegfried roared, slamming the table with the flat of his hand.

But instead of the expected sound of his palm thumping on the hard surface, a dull clang and the splintering of wood filled the air.

It felt like part of his skin split and tightened again. His brain refused to process the fact that his eyes saw a gleaming white bone, the shape of a thin blade, protruding out of his palm and continuing through the tabletop.

He didn't react when Eirik drew his sword with a cry of despair.

Just as the blade descended, Siegfried's reflexes overtook his movements, and he pulled the hand out to block the overhead strike with the bone, jutting of his hand. To his own amazement, the bone held against steel.

"No..." Bolverk breathed. Tears fell from his eyes as Siegfried had never seen it before. "Not Sieg, not my boy. When?" he cried, "Since when did you take him, you sick bastards?" the pain in his eyes gradually changing to unbridled fury.

The heartbroken tone of the man he regarded as nothing less but his father, in all but blood, brought Siegfried out of his stupor. Bolverk attacked in tandem with Eirik, leaving no chance for Sieg to parry both with only one blade of bone. "No, Bolverk! It's still me! Siegfried!" he cried in horror at his loved mentor swung the sword to kill. While blocking Eirik with the bone-blade of his right hand, he could only raise the left in a futile gesture against the deadly edge of Bolverk' steel.

A second bone-blade struck out of that left hand, deflecting the horizontal sweep and giving Sieg time to back up. "It's me, Bolverk, stop and listen!" he tried to dissuade them once more, but the two experienced guards were already attacking again.

"That's what they all say— what they told us to be wary of," Eirik said heatedly between their exchanges. "If you were really still Siegfried, you could have already cut us both down with your speed!" He reasoned for his own and also Bolverk's conscience.

Having to fight the people he cherished the most, Siegfried was close to losing all hope.

The terror of having to watch it happen, unable to act on it.

As he reached a mentally dangerous zone, Siegfried's emotions suddenly froze cold, his self-preservation building a wall around his mind.

He parried every strike, evaded and countered to force them back. They split up to attack him from two sides, but he guided Eirik's stab aside while concurrently sweeping his left bone-blade in a wide arc to keep Bolverk away.

He didn't expect to feel that sweep meeting soft resistance.

Sieg stepped into Eirik's overextended stab and knocked him out with an elbow to the temple. As he turned back to Bolverk, the older guard was lying face-down, Siegfried’s left blade coated in red. And the wall, shielding his spirit, broke.

Nausea swirled unrestrained in his stomach. His gut churned like worms eating through his body, and he couldn't even utter Bolverk' name as the tears constricted his throat. He fell to his knees, next to his mentor's body, the anguish so heavy, he couldn't breathe.