Giovannus woke to darkness. The windows still shut, the bedside curtains still closed, and the weight of fatigue still heavy upon him. His lower body felt wetness he had become all too familiar with. The dream he woke from faded into some abyss of memory, his mind reaching for it, expecting the revelation to come easily, but it remained out of reach. Dreams always had a way of dissolving, leaving only the knowledge that they were there, like an outline of a form surrounding a void.

He felt around, making sure he was alone. It was not his usual bed. That bed had been engulfed in flames and his old room charred beyond use. This was a servant’s room, one of his vassals, who had died that night. Despite his bloody end, his room was, for the most part, untouched. Giovannus’s wife slept in another room, some other dead servant’s bed. Giovannus removed his heavy covers and rose up. He reached over his head to grab the back of his nightgown to remove the stained and wet clothing and threw it onto the bed. He bundled it all together in a heap, his nightgown and the wet bed linens together, and threw it into a corner of the room for some servant to clean.

He felt for the bedside lantern, and after finding it, looked to the only light in the room, the red glow of the sparse embers that remained in the fireplace. After lighting a twig with embers, he transferred the flame from the fireplace to the oil in a lantern and in a moment the darkness retreated from the room.

He stood there naked, only for a moment, feeling the cold night air, sweeping in from the cracks in the window, feeling the chill against his bare skin that caused that tingling sensation one feels just before the body needs to shiver. He placed the lantern back upon the bedside table, before opening the balcony doors and walking out to look over the landscape.

It was even colder outside. The sky was mostly black, but empty of stars, as the horizon shined bright red, piercing through the tree line, making them appear as if set ablaze and providing just enough light to hide the stars.

The dim light of pre-dawn illuminated the charred remains wrapped in grey linen, laying on stone slabs a hundred arms or so from the estate buildings. Giovannus frowned and shut his eyes. He saw the image of the boy’s face on the back of his eyelids. The boy had a gregarious smile and bright eyes. His name was Perchello, a slave boy Giovannus was fond of. Killed mercilessly in the raid two nights earlier.

He remembered the day he purchased the boy, from a line-up brought to his home by a higher-class slaver of which he was a regular patron. Over the past two years, he and Perchello had become close, like a tutor and his student might. Until, two nights ago, when he wept over the charred remains of the boy.

Giovannus returned into his room and grabbed a new robe to conceal his nakedness then, with a lantern in hand, stalked through the halls of the still-functioning wing of his estate. He had let his anger flow unimpeded through his thoughts but held his sorrow wrapped up in some dark corner of his mind. If he allowed that sorrow to consume him, he would not be able to act productively towards his needed revenge.

It was Augustus, of course, who set it all into motion. Giovannus knew it. Augustus — always a fool. Overly obsessed with his stupid games. Giovannus hated that smug smile Augustus would make after he’d won a match of stixis. It was a smile filled with foolish pride derived from thinking, falsely, that the games mattered at all. Their father would watch at times and even show off the skill that Augustus exhibited to his friends as a novelty. Surely, that fed into Augustus’ delusions of its importance. But, the distance between their father and Augustus shielded him from their father’s true thoughts.

Giovannus remembered the nights he and his spent together onboard a ship, on a long voyage he accompanied him on. His father would drink too much wine and eventually spoke words that he likely preferred left unspoken.

“I saw the anger in you when you lost to your brother,” said his father, Giovanni. “You shouldn’t feel that way. It's just a game. A triviality that some men obsess over to their detriment. The obsession of children and the infantile. The real game of importance is the game our family plays. The merchant's game. Of more complexity and subtlety, with stakes that actually matter. Augustus is still a child. Castor has been far too soft."

His father rose from his chair, haphazardly using the table beside him to bear some of his weight, causing it to make a high-pitched creak as it slid against the wooden floor. The sudden sound caused Giovannus to startle himself, a jitter his father immediately noticed.

"You scared?" Giovanni asked.

Giovannus remembered the chill that ran down his spine as he locked eyes with his father.

Suddenly, but not at all unexpectedly, his father lunged forward. His hand grasps Giovannus' neck and pushes the rest of his body against the wall behind him.

"Weak! Too weak, just like your brothers." The grip tightened. "You must never show weakness. Not for a moment, not even if you think no one is watching."

It took all Giovannus' strength to quell the panic going wild inside him. He knew what his father wanted and kept his gaze as stoic as possible as he stared into his father's eyes. Not letting the fear show, only showing his anger and hatred.

"You must never falter," his father continued. "Not even if you enter the presence of a god. Otherwise, they will just take advantage and steal from you all they can."

Giovannus shook his head, shaking away his thoughts of the past. He knew he needed to deal with the present instead. Just like before, he could not falter or show weakness against his brother. He couldn’t show a sign of doubt to the rest of his family.

Down the stairs he went, and from there he heard the building stirring. Muffled sounds coming from a room to the side. Could it be new intruders? Part of him wanted to go back upstairs and wait for the full light of day, but he knew enough to override that fear.

The family guards, those unattached to him specifically, have been extra vigilant. Some were even stationed just outside his estate. And his personal guards, a few men he recruited after the incident, were in the house too, on high alert. It must be one of those men, he presumed, or even one of the aides that survived, having luckily spent the night elsewhere when the raid occurred, doing some work in the early morning.

Giovannus went toward the sound and knocked on the door leading to where it came from. When the door opened it was a familiar face. Ignacius, a man on loan from Giovannus' associates.

Ignacius opened the door just a crack at first, but his eyes lit up immediately upon realizing who had knocked. He smiled wide and opened the door completely to show his gift.

A man Giovannus didn’t recognize sat, bound to a chair and gagged, in the center of the room. The unknown man’s eyes seemed in a daze, staring off into an empty corner of the room. On his lap were bags that seemed to weigh heavy on his legs.

“What is this?” Giovannus asked.

Ignacius was clearly proud of himself. “A gift for you,” he replied.

“Explain.”

“He’s a thief. And a killer too, I’m sure. His name is Keppe. A fence I had contact with said he tried to sell a piece of furniture that had your stamp on it.” Ignacius held up a lamp, made of nice solid redwood and trimmed with gold flake paint. A gaudy piece of decoration that was used to show off Giovannus’ wealth. A piece he lost on the night that his estate was raided. “As you can see here, the stamp was scratched off, but if you remove the base you can see the stamp on the inside is still intact.” Ignacius removed a piece of wood from the bottom of the lamp, showing the hidden stamp still there.

“And you brought him here?”

“Yes. I even waved at the guards outside as I carried him in. Don’t worry, I have witnesses that will testify to the fact that he’s a thief. No magistrate in the city will have any problem with this. It’s the law. Anything we do with him now is perfectly legal.”

Giovannus finally allowed himself to smile at the good news. “Good work. What have you done with him so far?”

“Just roughed him up a little. I didn’t want to wake you, so I haven’t been asking him any questions yet. That’s even why I’ve weighed him down a bit with these sacks so that he doesn’t tumble over from an impact.”

Giovannus looked over Keppe more closely. He had an athletic build and a slightly tanned complexion. Clearly not a native to Venocia. Dark hair, and cheap clothing. His left hand was missing its middle finger, and in the stump of where it should protrude was a fresh wound that still bled, with a trail of blood leading down the chair onto the ground.

“Now that you’re awake, we can start the questioning,” said Ignacius. His smile widening even further.

“And what will we learn from these questions?” Giovannus slapped Keppe in the face a couple of times until his eyes seemed to light up and focus. When their eyes met, he studied his reaction, that look of fear. Keppe would break, there could be no doubt about that.

Giovannus sat down in an empty chair with great momentum, as if he had just spent a whole day on his feet and needed to rest. “Will we learn that Augustus sent you? That you work with the fighter’s guild? That you raided my estate a couple of nights ago and massacred my slaves and workers? Why even bother asking such questions when the answers are already so obvious?” Giovannus asked. It was directed not at Ignacius, but Keppe. “We needn’t even ask for your accomplices. I’m sure we will find them out quickly enough from asking around. And even if he admits it was Augustus who sent him, that does nothing for me. A criminal’s word is worth little against a member of my family’s. No, questions don’t get us very far. I will need to think of the best way to use him.”

“Whatever you want. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Don’t bruise his face. And keep him alive, of course.” Giovannus took a moment to rub his forehead, taking time to search for the best angle, but no idea sprung forth. Clearly, this turn of events was a blessing, but exactly how he should maximize the advantage gained for the moment eluded him. “For now, leave him to me for a bit.”

Ignacius left the room and shut the door behind him. The room fell silent and the two that remained allowed it to linger. Giovannus heard the footsteps of people walking upstairs. Most likely his wife was beginning her day, and what remained of his servants too. Keppe didn’t make any sudden movements, taking the moment of silence as a reprieve from the agony that surely lay before him.

“You are weak,” said Giovannus. “All you needed to do was wait to sell the things you stole. Did you need the coin that much? Is it unpaid debts hanging over you?”

Giovannus stood up, then with great force, he tugged on Keppe’s hair, jerking his head back and causing a wince of pain. Keppe’s eyes looked up, they were watery, as if on the verge of crying. Giovannus knew he’d get no response, after all, Keppe’s speech was gagged. But Giovannus didn’t care, he simply asked the questions into a void. He was really just talking to himself.

“At least now you can relax in the knowledge that those debts don’t matter anymore.” Giovannus took the lamp off the table and slammed the base hard into Keppe’s chest. It was with enough force to slide the chair a bit.

Keppe squirmed in anguish, and Giovannus felt great satisfaction from watching him. It felt like a great release. The release of anger that had been building for a long time.

It was over two years earlier when his father sent Marcus Dayton on an expedition. To Marcus it was a surprise, and in his mind, he surely felt it was a great honour to be suddenly asked to replace Solasius as captain and head of the expedition. Giovannus was present. His father had a big warm smile on, and hugged Marcus as a good friend, then asked him to man the mission, all the while, apologizing for the length he’d be away from civilization for. Marcus accepted gladly. Marcus didn’t suspect anything was amiss.

The day after Marcus left, his father called a family convocation, and declared that Giovannus was no longer his heir, and favoured successor. Instead, it would be Augustus. He still remembers the rising murmurs as the crowd gossiped about the cause. Back then, all he could do was ball his hand into a fist and bear the shame internally.

Giovannus put the lamp back down on the table. Striking Keppe with it lacked the tactile feel he wanted. He struck again, this time with his fists, aiming for the same spot. Better to agitate the bruised area. He felt his nails bite into his palms on the impact and a dull pain in his knuckles after. He stuck again and again until his fists couldn’t take it and his breathing was laboured.

One moment, everything could be going so perfectly, then in the next, everything can change. A maid walked into a room without knocking two years ago, and everything came tumbling down. He chased after her, hoping to silence her like he silenced his sister. But she was smart enough to know to hide until she found his father, and then she whispered a tale into his ear in the hopes of gaining favour.

Giovannus finally had to stop. His hand bled. He took one final sigh while looking down at the now unconscious prisoner, then left. He needed to prepare and get dressed for the day.

Ignacius waited just outside. “Seems like you enjoyed that.”

“I did. I will be sure to reward you for the work you’ve done.”

“I do always have an appreciation for coin. Nonetheless, the best reward for my master would be for you to solve this whole situation with your brother. He worries about all this uncertainty.”

“I will handle him in due time.”

“I assume Keppe is sleeping, after what I just heard. I’ll get to work on him when he wakes. For now, I’ll go fetch someone to fix up your hands.” Ignacius left, then a few moments later a servant came with cloth and a filled basin.

Giovannus’ hands were bandaged then he was dressed in his standard outfit for religious rituals, the turquoise and white robe that was standard within his family. All the while, outside he could hear his servants working. When the guests arrived he was properly presentable, and Giovannus went outside to greet the priest of Aurelia.

“It is with sad circumstances that I greet you today,” said the priest. An old and grey man that used a cane to support his own weight. He was dressed in turquoise. He had two male subordinates with him dressed in grey.

Giovannus lowered himself slightly to show his reverence. “I thank Aurelia for blessing us with your presence today.”

The priest stretched out his hand and Giovannus took it and used it to return himself to his upright posture. And, in doing so, slipped two venti coins to the priest. The priest took no effort in hiding his smile on receiving the gift.

All the people under Giovannus gathered for the ritual. Kindling was placed next to the remains of the dead and the priest splash his holy water over linen-wrapped remains. Not enough water to soak them, just a sprinkling. Then the priest began his service.

“When Manas left, the other gods felt shock and fear. They asked why. Why did he leave? Where did he go? But in the place where the other gods looked to find him, they found the gift he left for them. The valley before them which had been empty, now teemed with life. A creature made in their image. A creature that could talk and think, love and war, worship and rebel. Although the gods felt lonely without Manas, they found people. People who could provide the companionship they were missing.

“I ask you now, in the wake of your loss, despite your grief, to look at what is left behind. Maybe there you’ll find something that can fill the loss you feel. This won’t happen quickly. It will take days and months. But I assure you, you will find what is left behind, and you will find joy again.”

The priest glanced at the two subordinates. With the signal, they lowered their torches and lit the remains on fire.

The priest continued, “We release the essence of these men and women so that they might rise with the sun, and it can guide them to the kingdom of Manas. To join with him in whatever land he went to.”

Giovannus watched the flames, focusing on the linen that contained what he believed was Perchello. He couldn’t be certain, but the bones were of the right size. Surely, it didn’t matter though. He was gone. All Giovannus could do was look for what remained and find comfort in that.

What remained, he asked himself. Augustus remained. There would be comfort in Augustus’ death and in him watching those around him suffer and die. There would be great comfort for Giovannus in that. But Giovannus wanted that since he learned of Marcus’ death when he first talked with that same priest. Back then, he got the same advice, look to what remained.

The priest and his associates concluded their funeral duties and left after a few short words of condolence with Giovannus. “We are all saddened by this loss,” they said.

Giovannus nodded and thanked them for their words, but in truth, he didn’t care about such things.