Far beyond the tall, black barrier- inside the walled city of Pilta; a man by the name of Kester eagerly ran a tattered, filthy rag along a splintered countertop. Throughout the ages, the counter had seen more debauchery than he, himself had. The family heirloom had followed the tavern itself and served as its centerpiece- its soul- for six generations. Revolutions, counter-revolutions, civil wars, genocide- through it all; the long line of Kester-men had self-stimulated their worries away by rubbing the poor, wooden countertop with a filthy rag just like his. The wood beneath his fingers had, unlike the rest of the city and its folk; survived through several generations. Around him; the empty tavern with its numerous stools and tables smelled of the ancient wood from which they had been crafted, but nothing was as meticulously and as nervously polished as his countertop.

He finally ran the rag over his brow and stained his blonde hair with the varnish with a sigh. Two weeks had passed since last he rented out one of the rooms above and it had been nearly as long since he had last laid his eyes on fresh ingredients for meals for his guests. All he had were the ample supplies of Capita pale ale and Zunstar red wine- neither of which were particularly popular with any of the locals. He paused and tasted the agitation that would usually come with the polishing of the countertop- the feeling that he should be worried, even if he was not. He reached beneath the counter and procured a ledger- a tall, heavy leathery thing filled with little but red lines of handwritten text.

Most in Pilta would’ve thought Kester a rich man. After all; he had inherited the business, free of loans and placed upon its own patch of land by the outskirts of the walled city... but in scanning the ledger; he could scarcely claim to be better off than the homeless scrounging for food by the riverside. He sighed and clapped the book shut before scanning the shelves behind him with a dreamy gaze. Back in the days where his tavern had been popular amongst the travelers; these now-empty, dusty, webbed shelves had been fully stocked with exotic foods and drinks- capable of catering to the needs of any man or woman who’d find themselves fortunate enough to step into his place of business- his home.

Back then; he had been a child- scuttling in between the tables to wait slobs and aristocrats alike- switching rags depending on whose tables he was working. Closing his eyes; he could even hear them. The laughter, the clanking of half-empty tankards and the music. Life itself had filled the tavern, whereas now... it was all gone. Had he been anywhere else; he’d have spat on the ground as he thought of his youthful days’ ignorance. He had rejoiced when he had heard the Inquisition would set up a garrison in Pilta and with it; they would bring three hundred men and their families. He had stood at the gate in ceremony with the mayor to greet the soldiers and welcome them to stop by his establishment for refreshments whenever their duties permitted. He thought back to the sinister smiles that had shone beneath the metal visors as he presented himself to the depraved men of the Inquisition. How little he had known of the nature of these men. He cursed himself for his foolishness, but he had played the fool for all the right reasons.

It had been night when the crowd had first made their true faces known, when they flung his door open with enough force to knock cups and tankards from the closest tables. Without introductions or the briefest of greetings, the crowd had demanded to be served the finest of his foods and brews. Kester had rubbed his hands- already counting the coins in his mind as he watched the hungry soldiers devour his filled pantry.

“Was everything to your liking, Sire?” He had asked courtly with a slight bow, treating them as if they were the finest clientele. The men had merely looked at him, before they had all snorted a laugh, as if he were humoring them on purpose. With confusion, he had looked to the sergeant as he had gotten to his feet and belched directly onto his face- leaving him with naught but gastrointestinal gas for payment. Kester had been dumbfounded as he watched the men stand from the table and leave for the door, one after the other- none of whom paid him as much as a smile for his services.

At first, only the one company of soldiers would step into his establishment from time-to-time in between their missions, but soon; word would spread of how the tavern served the finest of foods for the loyal soldiers of the Empire- all without payment. In a single night, a full company of men had drained his entire stocks, leaving behind but a few drops of precious spirits and a mere trail of breadcrumbs- all without offering a single coin to pay their dues.

His shoulders had been heavy with defeat as he had locked the doors of the tavern that evening... His wife had taken the devastating blow to their economy with more stride than he had, encouraging his lack of aggression with the words that had become so common on her lips; “Everything will be fine.” He released a profound sigh and turned towards the door, where he flipped the sign over- signaling that business was now closed for the next few hours.

As his heavy feet climbed the stairs, he heard a yelp of excitement in the form of a loud-pitched voice. She deserved better, he thought. The little girl with her white-blonde hair that awaited him every night, from the moment she heard the lock’s heavy mechanisms resound through the entry door. Though he loved the tavern with all his heart, the love he held for his daughter could not be measured in any worldly possession- not even food. He had gone days without sustenance, only to be certain that the few remaining stocks would suffice to keep his daughter’s belly full every evening. In fact, he had become so accustomed to the gnawing teeth of hunger that he felt little in the way of discomfort anymore, aside from the occasional light-headedness that plagued him as he ascended the stairs.

“Father!” As the door swung open, the white-haired girl embraced the knee of the massive man. Even from so far above her, Kester could see the fine work of his wife as she had carefully laid out the girl’s dress numerous times. Wistfully, he distended his long arm to embrace the girl and silently scolded himself for not being capable enough to purchase a dress that actually fit the ten-year-old. His wife stood from her chair in front of the fireplace- a tattered, retired chair she had so carefully repaired with her steady hand. Her blonde hair flowed freely as she stood from the chair with equally tattered rags and smiled.

“She did it again, Kess.” She nodded her head towards a seared curtain along the wall. Kester felt his stomach churn at the sight, but took care not to display his unease.

“We’ve been blessed with a powerful magus. Good thing her mom’s got a keen nose for fire...” Her smile faltered for a moment before returning with a minute reservation tinging the corners of her mouth.

“I’m worried, Kess. She’s so strong, much stronger than when she was a babe. I need to carry water around everywhere I go in case she has one of her tantrums.” Kester carefully pushed the girl from his knee and bent down to meet her eyes. With gravity in his stare, he spoke to the girl;

“Bess. You have to be careful. If the others find out about your abilities, th-“

“They’ll put me on the fire.” She spoke bluntly- again shattering her father’s heart. After careful deliberation, he slowly nodded his head. Her thin lips were locked in a smile, her blue eyes exuded the blissful ignorance of a child. The cruelty of the men that oftentimes wandered the tavern below her very feet would strap her to a stake and watch her burn for no other reason than the fact that she had been gifted with abilities they simply could not understand. He oftentimes cursed himself and the creators for having gifted him with such a wonderous child. Though neither Kester himself, nor his wife were magi, the creators had seen fit to bestow upon them a child that needed to be kept secret from the world as it seemed to crumble around her. He ruffled the white hair and stood to his feet.

“Damn right they will, girl. Did you apologize to your mother?” She rolled her eyes and nodded.

“I can’t help it dad. Sometimes, I just can’t control it... you wouldn’t understand.” She trailed off. If his father had been alive and if he had been the one to tell him something like it; he imagined the old man might’ve slapped some sense into him. But Kester was wiser and the girl was gentler. He knew, perhaps even better than her; that his ability to guide her through life had its limitations. When it came to magic; he knew nothing save from what he had seen in the Inquisition’s courtyards and the tall pyres to end the supposed ‘taint’ of the magi. He forced a courageous smile and ruffled her hair again.

“Damn right I wouldn’t understand. Magic and spells and whatnot’s beyond me. All I know’s what they do to little magical girls.” He knew it far too well... in fact; should he think about it for too long, he’d see their screaming faces beyond his eyelids as they twisted and contorted- screaming for their parents on those spikes. Bess saw the looming melancholy on her father’s frown and bowed her head in shame.

“I’ll do better, dad... I’m sorry.” He scoffed his bemusement, but before he could ruffle her hair; Maribelle grabbed her by the shoulder and pointed her towards the torn and ragged clothing on the patchwork bench next to the needle-and-thread.

“That’s enough of that. C’mon; let’s see some stitches.” Heeding her mother’s orders with the fervor of a guilt-stricken magus; the girl’s feet tapped on the wooden floor as she made her way over to resume her careful work. When Bess had finally left their earshot; Maribelle leaned close to whisper to her man; “She’s getting stronger, Kess... I can’t help but feel like something bad’s gonna happen soon.”

Kester bit his lower lip with a huff. He knew where this was going and shook his head to state; “No. I’m not giving her up- not to that man. I don’t trust him.” Hours had been spent discussing her future, but it always came back to that man. Up until recently; they had been in agreement- that Bess would outgrow her fiery antics, but now... he could see his wife’s hesitation- her doubt.

She continued whispering; “Kess... we’re one bad nightmare away from burning up in the night. I know you don’t trust him- you don’t trust anyone... but you need to at least talk to him. If nothing else; he could teach her how to control her...” The word magic left a foul taste in both their mouths.

Kester wrapped his arms over his chest and sternly shook his head. “No. There’s something about him. Something about that smile... I don’t trust him and I never will.” They were at an impasse- both as stubborn as could be. Up until now; they had at least been stubborn in the same position, but now... now; they were diverging.

Maribelle narrowed her eyes menacingly and prepared to devolve back into the same argument they’d been having for the previous year, but this time; he knew better than to allow her foul mood to fester. He passed by her and joined the girl at the table to watch her gentle fingers sternly work the needle and thread. Reaching over; he plopped her down on his lap- finally melting the icy wench’s heart to the point her resolve softened just enough to let her resolve fade away... for now. She knew, as well as he did, that this was not over- not by far. But for that moment... as Bess cut threads and patched cloth, all was as it should be. They were whole. A family.