The laborers cleared a path with as wide a berth to make a man think these two carried a dangerous contagion, then again—that wasn’t far from the truth. They watched with Fang Lai’s curled hair that hung like vines nearly concealing his eyebrows; eyebrows twisted to split a surmising of what he was thinking: was he taunting you, or considering? But any soul who spent a year within Leimuth knew of his reputation; the most debaucherous of their ilk. That’s where most people stopped. For Grisla, as Chosen One, he was well aware of a snake when he saw one.

Just as he observed them, the same was true for them; Chosen Two and Four looked at him as though they’d never seen of him in their lifetime. Since that day, any member of the Chosen avoided him like the plague—except Rangwha, of course. He was the greatest shame of their honor, and he was their superior, once! It would take a hundred men to unravel whatever they felt about it, and him. He wasn’t too close with any of them, but they did defer to him as their better. Now, with the tables more than turned—broken, how did they converse with him after?

Avoidance. Curses on the tongue, and pretending as if he’d never existed. He might as well have been; it took the intervention of his father and some of his supporters to stop the Patriarch’s sycophants from trying to strike his name from the Chosen histories. His unspoken banishment from the Upper District was the final nail in it, forever keeping him apart from those who wished to keep the dirt over him; to forget entirely.

Yulin may’ve been a stone with flesh, but not his counterpart. Fang Lai with his hands folded behind his back, spoke, voice delighted: “Fifteen stories about you, and the only one I believed was you running off to join the circus; juggling or some such. About seven of them had you dead, and the process of it was so painful and unimaginable it would do no good for me to wish that on anyone,” some would believe it, but Grisla knew this man spoke in a different language consisting of half-truths and perfidy, “and all I wanted to know was if my guess was correct. So. You are alive, Grisla Orlith.” He didn’t ask about the circus.

The bystanders’ eyes stopped on Grisla like a fire in the night. Connecting the dots in a blink, the foreman from earlier stood up; mouth agape. Any one of them probably believed in any of the fifteen, and now the stories with him still alive felt all the more true.

“What’s the meaning of this,” Grisla said, as flat-voiced as possible. Cold rage was corroding his judgement and he was too human to stop it. While clinging to the shards left of his rationality, he’ll find out… what he can. “I come home to find this—this absurdity! Everyone here, involved in this will be hung!” His eyes swept across the site as though he were signing executions with just a glare. And I will be the one to give the order, He thought.

Fang Lai and Yulin and the workers all met glances. Whispering between themselves but yet, none had ever showed more than surprise at his declaration. It infuriated him a shade more; here he was declaring these men be put to the gallows and only taken down at his discretion, and it didn’t give them more than that! Or did they think he was joking? Grisla met the Chosen, stare for stare. Juva waiting to be grasped.

“Not only have you been away,” Fang Lai said, tilting his head, “but out of the loop and more, interesting. And not only that… you’ve forgotten your manners.”

“Just where have you disappeared to that made you lose it?”

Grisla sneered. “Nowhere special. Sightseeing. The clan’s walls making me claustrophobic, you see. Anyway, I’ll see to it that these men and—the one who seems to have rot in his brain who okayed this, regret every minute of however much they have left to live. And the Elder Council? Did they not hear about this? How could they not?” He thought of stopping, of talking of what he’s going to do or will, because, he himself wasn’t fully convinced that this was reality, and everything so far had to be a dream.

Chosen Two made a face. “Lower District Disciple Grisla, I fear you may be—” He paused. At the moment, Grisla had abandoned the two to stomp over to some men who’d been laying their boots on some old marble, possibly part of a statue. His spittle bombarded the workmen like a rabid animal. Beckoning over the foreman from earlier, Fang Lai claimed the man’s ear while whispering. He nodded; then waved his men to stand back.

He was feeling the fire overtake him, ravishing his veins and making him fly with more curses than words of warning for anyone who dared continue working while he was here. Almost like he’d forgotten their necks were threatened not so many breaths ago. How could he care that the Chosen were here—what’re they to do? And why here? Of all times? Have they nothing better to do? Regardless, they could help him by increasing the boldness of his words, even the Chosen cannot allow such disrespect—such of… such he cannot even think of a word! To continue, and again, where was his father?

After he whipped around, he said, “Yulin, give me a hand. Tell these men to clear out and I will consider lightening their punishment. Those who give me the names of their foreman, crewmates, and more will receive more than. If my father agrees, anyway.” Coming back around, he took two steps and…

Hangyin Yulin made nor step nor flinch. He and his giant slab of a sword were one with the earth, and he was rooted to the ground as was any tree; maybe better than. There were no strands of hair being played with as the wind swept by for a greeting, the very idea of him having a length of it was hilarious. Grisla considered whether or not the man heard, and, carefully, spoke, “Yulin. Help…? I know Fang Lai won’t do anything, as much as it displeases me. But—”

“There is nothing,” Yulin said with a voice of stone, “for me to do. Both me and Fang Lai would be against the clan if we did such. Much has changed, Grisla. Much, in only a few months.” If you blinked you would miss it, but his expression flickered, gaze landing on Fang Lai for the time it takes a snowflake to melt.

Incredulity licked Grisla. “Against the clan? What?” Something, somewhere, maybe in his heart of hearts had a crack. But it was impossible—whatever he thought then, had to be part of this nightmare which trumped any he’d have had in a time. He needn’t look at Yulin for anything; it was pointless, for the man’s closest counterpart to his personality stood near his shoulder, whose smile could brighten even the iciest maiden in the village. But it hid the knife behind.

If he were asked a man he disliked to the contrary of all evidence, it would certainly be Fang Lai. It was a different, reshaped sort of hatred separate from the bone-snapping, teeth-gritting rage he experiences thinking of Patriarch Meng, or the Ancestor. So, to say that he was unenthused hearing whatever report to spill out of Fang Lai’s mouth would be an understatement. The man deserved whatever came to him, from whomever. And if it had to be from Grisla, so be it. Let him speak his words, he told himself.

Fang Lai let out a sigh as though it would be harder on him than it would be for Grisla to take. “Firstly, most important, I should say, is, the Orlith clan is no more. Or rather, I will rework that and say the great families have lost a member.”

Suddenly, his knees were water. But he will not shame himself, not in front of them. He couldn’t push it back, but hold the storm a little, and so his knees trembled instead of a collapse. Much better. Fang Lai narrated the rest of the explanation, saying the clan has had ‘Decided it with great difficulty, and a heavy heart’ and ‘Condolences to the family’s continual decline, as the Orlith’s were great in the Allwinter Era’… all in all, Grisla’s comprehension was greatly delayed. He took every surprise on Fang Lai’s words a few seconds after he’d already spoken it; and shuddered at the periods.

He couldn’t concern himself so much with the details. It was a dream, a very bad one, at that! The clan itself would have to be erased for the Orlith home to vanish. Anything else would be…

How could it ever, get to this? Grisla did not seem to realize he had spoken aloud. Yulin slightly shook his head, but his eyes were still lakes. Fang Lai kept up his amused face, hands reaching to pointlessly smooth out wrinkles in his robe.

“My father,” Grisla said, beating back hatred and… who knows what, “Where is he? He is the sitting Patriarch for my family, it matters not we are not part of the fold, before or after, but no man in the clan has the authority to revoke land or trespass on Orlith, or any of the families’ territory!” It isn’t written in code or law; the absurdity of it stopped the ink.

Fang Lai’s eyes seemed to savor this, as his eyes acted as a sponge over Grisla’s face, his flickering expressions, an enjoyment of like a disturbing child watching an insect squirm. Beaming wide, but not so much as to make things very obvious, Fang Lai continued, “As the Orlith’s have not a representative to contest this decision, the Elder Council could forgo the process. Afterward, with that being done, it was concluded that the abandonedland be repurposed for the Clan Patriarch’s—”

He snarled. “Patriarch? Patriarch Meng? That man has no right! You said not a representative? My father is here, in the clan! Do you mean for us to not have a moment to speak? Is there not two living members of the Orlith’s?” That brick near his foot would fit well in his hand, and serve a great cause beating sense into a man or else. A century ago, a man’s skin would envy leather for such an idea!

He was burning, seething with fire that threatened to burn him out from the inside if he didn’t, couldn’t reign it in. Before he’d known it, his nose and Fang Lai’s were close. Yulin’s wide shoulders offered a shard of shade on his cheek, but the man wasn’t the primary concern. Gazes locked; the two could bore through a thousand walls of stone unaffected, and unblinking. What was he doing? All rationality was drunk on emotion. Differed in rank they may’ve been, but Grisla’s own height carried him very nearly above the chosen second; he was gazing down, not up.

The serpent disguised as a man flashed with hatred—of a kind that wanted, wished for your bones to crack and your agony to pack his ears at night—it disappeared too fast for anyone to remember. Except for Grisla. It was one thing to be towered over by Yulin, it was as natural as the waxing and waning of the moon. But…

Grisla squinted. “You haven’t answered my question.” Fang Lai’s impassive face stood, even whilst a fast wind carrying a chill blew past. He couldn’t ask Yulin, or, rather, it’d be pointless—the man won’t answer unless driven by himself. Once, when they were children Xinrei tried to get the man to admit who stole his sweets from the yard and it took two hours and the promise he’ll get part of it for him to tell it clear.

He wished—begged, for it to be anyone else to take the matter away from him. For a long time, however he’d known the world would never be what he wished it. Only that he could walk as a tourist and hope for the best, and maybe direct things once in a while.

“I don’t know,” Fang Lai said. “Not here,” and that slithering smile came about, yet far from touching the ears.

A lie. So boldfaced and lazy that it was no different than telling him to do away with himself; a dismissal without consideration. He’s been raised since birth to lie, and to do it so well truth and fiction could be anything he wished. A responsibility nearly as important as his own growth on the Path. And, with that the wick of his patience had been stolen away.

Grisla leaned close. When his hands seized Fang Lai’s collar, the muffled gasps around were white noise to him. “Don’t—lie—to—me!” A face twisted with pain. Ice would be warm in comparison to his eyes. “You know. More than anyone else, any of the Chosen. You tell me what I want to know or…” Or, what? He blinked at that.

But too slow though, to see what slammed into his chest. Sprawled on the earth, lungs at a sudden struggle for breath, a shard of something he’d had thought he’d tossed away years ago, now reminded him an emotion existed: fear. Fang Lai’s expression was as unreadable as ever, but yet, and now, there was one thing to draw from him—he was unamused. A serpent always has fangs. An anvil had taken up residence over him, and the bystander’s gasps swirled to wails.

Yulin’s boredom, unopposed whilst Fang Lai’s twisted lips spoke nothing but told everything. The man’s glare had no one in particular, but rather regarded his robe specifically where hands had just grabbed him; offended him, as if the filthiest urchin had not only left behind grime but decided to vomit as a signature. Chin raised; the pressure multiplied, from an anvil to an iron chariot. Grisla’s whimpering did nothing to quell the steely rage.

“An ultimate disgrace, but no matter how much we must remind and scold, you pretend—or wish to forget, your place in this world. Who are you to question our Patriarch, our clan? To hold land rights when you contribute nothing, not half as much as families who’ve provided for decades and haven’t seen a fingernail as much as you have, is a privilege you’ve abused. And now, after vanishing off, you come back somehow even more wretched than you already were and make demands of me? Of me?!” Fang Lai said. He looked down on an ant, and when his boot fell on a wrist, and made the bone shatter, the spymaster’s child could only believe he’d crushed just a part of the large anomaly.

This pressure…! Houtian Enhancement, he’s not the same as he was four years ago,Grisla thought.

The man who blocked the sun’s falling event, said between slow words, “Do not go too far Fang Lai.”

“Nay, on the contrary,” Fang Lai said. He twisted his foot as though trying to experiment on what note of pain did Grisla shriek the highest. “We haven’t gone far enough. Xinrei seems to have forgotten you, but not I. Suppose its natural, as he’s been… occupied.”

He crouched low, with his voice a whisper and the breath tickling Grisla’s ears. “Xinrei might know nothing, however, my fallen star, I do. I know… everything. Who else, do you think can procure a poison and get away with it, if it’s for our Patriarch’s ends? My Fang family is more than some louts holding daggers behind a back. I must say, I was as shocked as you when I was brought in the know, and never knew our Lord could be so… devious. It makes me blush.”

Grisla’s widened eyes could fit the moon whole. “I’ll kill—”

Fang Lai’s hand stopped him. “Hm? Oh, you’re still believing in fantasies. Also, keep your mouth shut. Killing you so publicly wouldn’t be good, I’d have to get my wardrobe scrubbed again if you push me. If someone told me four years ago one day the mighty, brilliant, dragon-destined child named Grisla of Orlith would fall this hard, I swear I’d be dancing naked on Leimuth’s streets.”

He’d forgotten. There was more to his vendetta than what he said. Corruption had long ago reached the base of the clan, and so intertwined with it they walk as one. The Elders speak, and the people follow. Would he have to war against his people, too? For justice? He reached out for Juva, and it came but was powerless to resist the world weighing on top. He was thirsty for more power, somewhere! Behind his agonized yells, Juva that filled his muscles were like eggs to a wall. The gulf from Juva Solidification to Houtian Enhancement was too great to bridge. His rage filled him with stupidity and arrogance; now here he is, on his back at Fang Lai’s mercy; distant kin to.

You swore to kill two men, Lord of Leimuth and the surrounding area, acting Patriarch of the Grittus clan on Hannamith: Meng Grittus; as well as his father, the previous holder of said title, but now is a representative of the clan to this… ‘One-City Kingdom’, Seri told Grisla. Have you never considered the idea that this oath you walk on won’t include others, as well? In the worst case, you may have to kill anyone you share relations with on your quest. It’s unrealistic to surmise you can waltz in on your quest and murder them unimpeded. Blood begets blood, Orlith.