Gorren had no idea how much time he remained on that seat, stunned beyond any coherent thought. Emotions, ran and wild, coursed through him like a raging torrent.

Feeling a presence, he turned to the seat beside his.

Nama sat there, the black of her cloak abysmal against the burgundy of the chair’s padding.

The Goddess’ masked face watched him, emanating a quiet curiosity.

“Aren’t you going to cry?” She asked with her dry, rasping voice. “Anybody would be crying now.”

Gorren watched her. Anguish and rage and sorrow ran through his soul like never before. Agonizing. Incandescent. Divine. It was like he was a bottle trying to contain a storm, barely hanging on from exploding in a thousand pieces.

He leaned forward with a ragged breath, holding his forehead with a hand while clutching at his chest with another. There was a molten ball of fire in his heart, radiating streams of agony with every beat, with every breath.

Some more time had to pass before he was able to speak once again.

“Is there not a limit to this?” he croaked, still clutching at his chest. Shouldn’t his heart just explode and give in at some point?

The Goddess cocked her head, and didn’t answer.

It was too much.

Despair and fury mixing, Gorren disappeared from the Theatre.

He reappeared in his island, dozens of miles away. Picking himself up from the cross-legged position he had been sitting, a dreadful cold in his heart and mind, he idly thanked his foresight in choosing a deserted place where to leave his carcass. He had anticipated something like that could very well happen.

Then he let loose.

All that anger, all that sorrow, it couldn’t be repressed or pushed away. It could only be weathered, like a storm hitting a weathered tree. The best one could do was to let it all out, until not calm, never calm, but at least emptiness took its place.

Gorren’s energy ran out before his raging emotions. In the end, with his Mana reserves empty and half a mile of blasted devastation dotted with the burning stumps of trees and the smoking wreckages of golems all around him, he fell to his knees. He would have continued, beating his fists into the ground until his skin broke and blood ran but he was spent. Instead, he remained there, dazed, eyes unfocused as he stood on the edge of fainting.

He didn’t know how long he remained in that torpor, only that when he came back to, the sun was a bright orange ball about to disappear behind the horizon, painting his long shadow on the ground.

“Worked that out?” Said Nama’s voice from somewhere close by.

Gorren didn’t acknowledge her. Gathering his legs against his chest, he hugged them and rested his forehead on his knees. There was a great emptiness in his chest, a hole at the bottom of which magma rumbled quietly. His body hurt all over like someone had been beating him with a stick, and his Mana conduits felt dried out.

“Aren’t you going to cry?” Asked the voice. “It would do you well.”

“No crying,” he replied hoarsely. His throat felt like sandpaper. “I won’t give them this satisfaction as well.”

No answer. Gorren was glad for it.

His mind was a swamp of sluggish thoughts. Dazedness and a deep, deep tiredness had replaced the most of the flood of emotions that had been wracking him. Memories of the past mixed with the scenes of the play until he wasn’t sure where one began and the other finished. The outrage, the absolute outrage that had flooded him was muted now, and he observed each similarity, each horrible distortion with a dry detachment.

“It is all so… contained,” he said eventually.

There was no reply, but he could still perceive a silent inquiry.

“Everything that play showed,” he said quietly. “Everything happened in a way that only very few people could actually see it. The attacks from the King and that… thing over those four, the confrontation in the throne room, their god-given mission. Those four were the only ones to actually see it.” Bitterness and bile sloshed in his chest like sewage water. “Why did people not see it? Why don’t they ask themselves questions?”

“Why should they?” Replied the voice. “The Flamelings said that the world would end if they didn’t change their ways, and their words were coming true. Wasn’t that enough of a proof? Also, they were offering them a clear culprit and a clear explanation. Why deny it?”

Gorren felt hatred, black and oily, ooze through his veins.

“And so i was made to pay?” he asked furiously. “They were made to pay? They that had never searched for nothing but the betterment of that worthless Kingdom?”

No reply.

Gorren dug his fingers into his legs until pain shot through.

“I never asked for influence or power,” he said bitterly. “That wretched Kingdom grew all around me. They asked me to be there for them. And then, this…”

He wanted to cry but would not, would not, give in to it. He refused to.

“My life… made into a mockery.”

He clutched his knees harder against his chest, almost wishing to just disappear there and then. It would have been much easier, wouldn’t have?

But no, he was Gorren An-Tudok. He was greater than this, much greater. Anger and hatred, like crackling black flames, licked at his heart. Hatred for those that had destroyed his life, hatred for everybody that lived by celebrating the lies. Images of Blackstone burning under an avalanche of Golems flashed through his mind, and it was as sweet as honey.

“But now you start to see who the real culprits are, don’t you?”

Gorren froze.

“Indeed…”

He let out a shuddering breath. Yes, he was greater; great enough to see who was truly to blame, wise enough to know that attacking deceived people would only bring him at the same level of those monsters.

The faces of the four “heroes” arose in his mind.

He looked up, finding Nama watching him.

“It was them, wasn’t it?” He asked. “Engineering the Cataclysm, spreading all those lies, building all these Kingdoms and cities.” His eyes narrowed. “Who are they?”

The Goddess was as still as a statue.

“Can’t say.”

“Why?”

“Can’t say.” The Goddess raised a finger to touch at her mask. “There are… limitations.”

Of course there were. Fucking Gods.

Gorren forced down the surging frustration and forced himself to think. What did he know about these elusive enemies of his? First of all, that they were powerful, enough to manipulate entire nations across centuries. Secondly, they had the backing of a God, one that he didn’t recognize but looked to be extremely powerful and malicious. So, a shadowy cabal, working its way toward some mysterious goal. It couldn’t have been just world domination, his instincts told him. It was bigger than that, far bigger.

It was frustrating. All in all, he didn’t know much more than he did already.

Still, now he had faces, and names.

Hatred surged back as he remembered those four “Heroes”. Liars, betrayers, destroyers. Were they still alive? He truly hoped so.

“As Ur gives me strength,” he whispered. “I won’t rest until you all suffer an atrocious death.”

His fingers twitched as he imagined how good would have felt to tighten them around their necks.

Slowly, methodically, he examined their actions as shown in the play. Furious hatred surged but he reined it in, trying to look at every action as detachedly as possible. If he did so, he could almost feel a perverse sense of admiration for what they had wrought.

Four heroes, one for each major classes of society to ease reception, with a final sacrifice to top it all off. Of course, with the most humble to die. They built an immortal example for their religion to follow.

Bastards, deceivers, monsters. How dared they? How dared they?

“They even twisted the using the children as shields. It was me in the play, and not them…”

That absolute pettiness, why? Because he had opposed them? No, it couldn’t be. As distasteful as it was recognizing it, he had been a quick victim to their schemes as much as anyone else.

Realization hit him.

It wasn’t for something he had done before the Cataclysm, but after. He had disappeared from the prison they had fashioned for him, blowing the Iron Mountain sky-high and probably leaving them with not a clue of what he had actually done!

That loathing toward him came from that disgusting presence he had perceived, no doubt, but also from the fact that…

“They fear me…”

There couldn’t be a different explanation. How self-righteous had you to be to engineer such devastation? To steer the fate of so many people? And what do such self-righteous bastards feared and loathed more than things escaping from their control? In their little plan, he should have rotted inside of that prison. The moment he disappeared, he became a wild card in what had to be a plan carefully constructed during centuries of preparations. They hated, feared and loathed him to be that escaped detail, that unresolved knot.

A fierce hilarity bubbled in his throat.

“You do well,” he growled, relishing the notion. “You do well to fear me. I am the one that got away from your scheme. And i will be your undoing.”

He looked up to Nama.

“When the time will come,” he said eagerly. “Will you take them?”

“I take everyone when the time is right,” was the quiet reply.

Gorren didn’t need anything more.

As they had taken everything from him, so he would to them. He wouldn’t stop, he wouldn’t rest until everything his enemies had built, until all their works and all their hopes were laid waste and cast into the dust.

One day, we will meet again, “Heroes“. And when that happens, i will unveil all your lies, just before i rip out your guts.

He remained there for a long time, watching the sun going down over the horizon, nursing fierce dreams of vengeance with only the Death God as his company.

As Gorren was taken by his inner turmoil, his servants carried out his instructions.

None of the nobles took exception at the “newcomer”’s absence as they streamed out of the Theatre. Just another exploit of rudeness. What there was to be surprised for?

Exchanging smirks and snarky comments, the nobles paraded toward the waiting carriages, only to be met by a small group of impeccably dressed valets.

“From the Guildmaster, with regards,” Crickus said with a broad smile, handing the first couple an elegant envelope.

The other valets swarmed around the surprised nobles, distributing envelopes with the same phrase each time.

Edward Crofford frowned at the one that had been handed over to him. The name of Crofford was written in a flowery calligraphy over the perfumed paper. He peered curiously at the emblem emblazoned at the center: a gray goblin, pierced through by a spear.

He glanced inquisitively toward Joseph, the lawyer squinting at his own envelope, and received a helpless shrug.

Curious, he broke the exquisite wax seal and took out the message inside.

After a brief reading of the delicate writing, he slightly started in surprise.

“It’s an invitation to a party,” he said to his wife, that had been patiently waiting for him to address her.

Aurora, matronal and severe in her black gown, put a white hand on her cheek.

“How surprising,” she murmured.

Edward nodded and returned to read. The last bit of the letter spoke of a present in the envelope, offered as “a small apology for my recent indiscretions, and a demonstration of personal admiration.”

Frowning, the Duke opened the envelope and put a hand inside. There was something in there alright, something small and hard. He took it out, and his eyes widened immediately as he realized what it was. Even his wive’s aristocratic aplomb was cracked by a small, sharp breath.

The sapphire was beautiful, a tear of delicate blue frozen in time. The size of a finger-nail, it shimmered gently with the light of the torches, appearing like a drop taken from the heart of the ocean.

Surprised gasps all around told him that he hadn’t been the only one to receive such a princely gift. At some distance, with a delighted sound, Courtnay raised a magnificent ruby for all his lackeys to see, the gem seeming to catch fire as it reflected the light.

Friends and colleagues came to him, the gems they had been gifted smaller but mounted on beautifully crafted rings or delicate gold filigrees.

Edward was in disbelief. He had never seen such a show of wealth and generosity!

Their task completed, the valets formed an orderly row in front of the stunned nobles.

As one, they bowed gracefully.

“We hope you found our Master’s gifts appropriated and that you will honor us with your presence,” they said all together.

Many a lady let out a breath of delight at that show of perfect courtesy. Lords and merchant nobles alike exchanged looks of disbelief. Was this the same rude fellow that had been so discourteous to them? That generosity was unprecedented!

Maybe some adjustments in their judgment were to be made?

Still surprised, chattering, and admiring their gifts, the nobles paraded in front of the still bowing valets. One after the other, the couples offered polite goodbyes to each other, exchanged invitations and then mounted on their coaches.

Only Joseph didn’t. The lawyer sent Robert home with his own carriage, then snuck into Edward’s.

“A fortune,” he wheezed, sinking into the padded seat. “He gave away a fortune in jewelry and gems. Just like that.”

Seated on the seat in front, Edward nodded stiffly. Leaning out of the window, he ordered the driver to go. A few moments later, they were in motion.

“Did you know about this?” Edward inquired.

Beside him, Aurora turned her attention on the sight of the city rolling out of the window, listening quietly.

“Absolutely not.” Joseph dabbed at his sweaty forehead with a kerchief.

Edward watched him for a moment, trying to work out if believe him or not. He hadn’t forgotten how Joseph had a private meeting with the Guildmaster.

He decided that the lawyer was sincere. Joseph could take some initiative he didn’t agree with but he was an honest, upstanding man at heart, more than worthy of his trust.

Ignoring the Duke’s thoughts, Joseph took out from his own envelope a ring mounted with a dazzling-looking diamond.

“Dear Light,” he whispered in frightened awe. “I know men that would kill for something like this. I knew that he was rich, but i’d never thought…”

Edward couldn’t really blame him. He was deeply surprised as well. Differently by the lawyer, though, he knew that a true lord had to keep a dignified front at all times.

“What motive do you think is behind all of this?” He asked.

“Honestly? I have no idea.” Joseph shrugged helplessly. “I mean, it could just be an attempt to get back in the good graces of the high classes. Social grace, as they say.”

Edward nodded slowly. “If it’s that, i cannot but say that it was highly successful. People will talk for years about this show of generosity…”

Joseph smiled gladly, obviously happy about the strange man‘s social standing rising up.

The Duke wasn’t certain he shared that outlook. Still, the reasoning was sound enough…

“That leaves this.”

He took out the invitation from the envelope, scanning it critically. “I don’t know what Sir Cartus means with this but if he hopes to have me and that thief at the same party, i fear that he’s sorely mistaken.”

Joseph hesitated, and the Duke drilled him with a sharp glare that made him swallow back any attempt at peacemaking.

Edward was still furious about the scene at the meeting. Just the thought of that slime Saul’s smirk was enough to break his composure. No matter what, he would not sully his and his family honor again by allowing him in his presence again. The man was a disgrace upon the city and a plague upon their endeavor against the Crow.

Sir Cartus probably hoped to engineer some kind of reconciliation at this party of his. The intention was laudable but ultimately futile and damaging. The thief and his coteries would drag them down at every step, just to jump ship the moment a better deal presented itself. Scum without virtue, they couldn’t be trusted. On the other hand, the Old Guard had always defended Blackstone from all enemies. The Crow would only join the glorious list.

“Uhm, i can assuage your fears,” Joseph said tentatively, breaking his line of thought. “I spoke with some friends of mine and they assured me that there will be two parties, at two different places.”

Edward raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Two parties? Not at the same time, i hope.”

“Well, that’s the thing.” Joseph looked equally baffled and embarrassed. “There seems to be some disparity in the time but apart from that the day is the same.”

Edward roiled that surprising new in his mind. Two parties, almost at the same time. That was… impossible. How would the host be able to play his duties? Even Cartus couldn’t double himself, could he? And the cost! One party for the most renowned aristocracy of the city would be highly expensive already, but two?

He was baffled.

The gentle touch of the hand of his wife over his made him snap out of it.

“Well, it seems that this newcomer is full of surprises,” the woman said gently.

“You can say that, my lady,” Joseph agreed, dabbing at his forehead. “Let’s just hope that it’s for the best.” The lawyer made a mental note of grabbing hold of Cartus as soon a possible: he needed to know what the old man was plotting.

Joseph left them soon after, the coach stopping in front of Corwell's house the time for him to dismount and get home for a night of rest.

As the carriage resumed its motion, Edward was pensive. He couldn’t wrap his head around what Cartus’ intentions could possibly be.

The memory of the first meeting with the man himself came back to his mind, and he remembered the instinctive respect he had felt toward him. Apart from being an older man, and as such deserving of esteem, Cartus radiated with deep, solid strength, a virtue that the Duke’s instincts, honed by Aethyr and war, couldn’t but seize on immediately. Right from the first moment, he had recognized a fellow warrior in Cartus, no, not a fellow, a superior, someone that had seen battle and blood on a scale far greater than he could possibly imagine and that had come out of it only stronger, like a tempered blade passed under the hammer and the fire. Immediate respect had been the only possible choice.

Still, he knew that first impressions could be treacherous, and now he wondered what his aims could truly be. Maybe it was like Joseph said; maybe he just meant to improve his standing. But then, a double festivity? Why?

“This newcomer seems to give you much to think about, my lord,” Aurora said with a gently concerned smile, her fingers lingering on his shoulder.

Edward sighed. “He’s a very unusual man,” he explained. His hand went to encompass hers, and he smiled, soothed as always by her presence.

“But i have to thank him,” he said. “I am sure that this gem will make for a wonderful necklace.”

Aurora looked demurely down with a small smile.

“My Lord spoils me far too much.”

“Never enough.” Holding her hand, Edward laid a kiss over it.

She giggled softly, the soft sound making his heart swell.

“It’s a beautiful evening, isn’t?” He said. “Shall my Lady agree to a short stroll?”

Aurora’s features softened in a gentle expression. Leaving her hand in his, she relaxed on the seat, resting her head on his shoulder.

“As my Lord wishes,” she breathed.

Edward smiled fondly.

Leaning out of the window, he instructed the driver to take the longer route. Then, he relaxed on his own seat, circling his wive’s shoulders with an arm.

The coach rattled off into the night, the sounds of the horse’s hooves on cobblestone ringing gently in the silent streets.

The moment the small sack hit the table, Grimor’s hand lunged to snatch it away.

Opening the laces, the half-orc greedily took in the content. He had enough eye with the business to see that the import was all there and then some but that would have been boring. Instead, he took his time looking like he was counting, sneaking glances toward Tur.

He smirked when signs of uncertainty crept along the man seated in front of him. Ah, he loved his job.

“Well, looks like everything is here.” With a placid smile, he tied back the knots. Putting a meaty arm over the sack, he gathered it to himself.

“Good.” Tur relaxed visibly. “If that’s all…”

“Not so fast.”

Grimor smirked at the sharp glare Tur threw him.

“What else do you want?”

The half-orc fiddled with the cord holding the sack shut. “I heard… things,” he said, bemused. “About rings and gems given away for free. Ring any bell?”

Tur’s eyes narrowed threateningly. “So what?”

Grimor‘s placid smirk didn‘t abate. “You see, every associate has to pitch in proportion to its personal wealth. And, well, your boss seems to have in that pocket of his more than we thought.”

Tur watched him for a moment, face unreadable.

Slowly, he sat back down. “How much are we talking about?”

Grimor’s eyes gleamed with greed. “Plus fifty percent on every payment.”

Gasps came from the group Tur had brought with him. Smirks and chuckles blossomed between the henchmen of Grimor.

The two said nothing for a long moment, just staring at each other.

Eventually, Grimor decided that some more prodding was needed. “Your boss is rich, isn’t it? I bet that it’s not going to be a big deal for…”

“Forget it.”

Grimor froze.

He leaned forward, any trace of hilarity disappearing from his brutish face. “What did you just say?” He murmured.

Tur was unimpressed. He leaned forward on turn, staring straight in the half-orc’s eyes. “I said: forget it.”

Any good humor disappeared by Grimor. If there was something he loathed with all his being, was being contradicted.

“Do you know who you’re talking to, Tur?” He hissed. Maybe he had been too benevolent in his dealings with the maggot. Maybe it was time to remind him who exactly held the knife’s handle there.

“Of course i know.” Tur showed him a smile full of teeth. “A thief and a leech.”

Grimor let out an outraged sound, and his hand ran to the blade at his belt.

“Don’t be stupid, Grimor.” Tur’s voice was cold and unforgiving. “Take a good look around you.”

Taking hold of his anger, Grimor did. The men of Tur outnumbered his and were better armed as well.

Slowly, he took his hand away from his weapon’s handle.

“I am listening,” he grunted. He was furious, but not stupid enough to let that carry him overboard.

Differently from him, Tur didn’t take time to relish his victory. Instead, he went straight to business.

“We want in.”

It wasn’t the first time Grimor heard those words. Everybody wanted a piece of the pie. Differently from the usual, having his neck at risk pushed him to consider it seriously.

“You and your people have no experience in the trade,” he said slowly. “What makes you think you can handle it?”

In all answers, with blistering speed, Tur took out and knife and stabbed it on the table.

“This,” he replied darkly.

Grimor eyed the still vibrating blade with some concern.

“Alright,” he admitted. “Then, what makes you think you deserve it? Everybody wants in.”

And he didn’t want them to get it. One more in meant less for him.

Tur folded his arms before his chest. “Things are getting dangerous out there,” he said. “Your guys are butting heads with the nobles’ men. And it will only get more and more intense. I know it, you know it.” Putting both hands on the table, he leaned forward. “You need men, not rabble that barely knows where the stabby part of a sword is. You need warriors, soldiers; and you need people with wealth and connection enough to make a difference.” He settled back down. “My Master has all of these and more. He’s ready to put them on the plate but first, he wants more, he wants in.”

Jaw clenched, Grimor thought about it. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit to see people that were supposed just to pay and shut up trying to rob him of authority and possible profit he saw as belonging to him.

But he hadn’t a choice here. Tur hadn’t mentioned explicitly, but he knew that Cartus could very well turn to another faction if he was rebuffed here. If he let that happen, his boss would tear him to shreds.

He clenched his fist around the sack’s opening. He hated, hated, being forced to make a choice. He would remember this.

“I will talk to my boss about it,” he forced out.

Tur nodded somberly, satisfaction evident in his eyes.

With that gesture, he got up and started to walk away, his men in tow.

“Tur!” Grimor called after him.

The man stopped and turned.

The half-orc glared angrily at him. “Keep that attitude up and you and i are gonna have words one day.”

Something dangerous glimmered in Tur’s eyes. Without saying nothing, he turned and walked away.

Behind him, the sound of a jug smashing against a wall resounded in the smoky tavern.