Edward put on a shirt and some jeans. He looked into the mirror and gussied himself up. Despite a clear weariness in his demeanor, he looked fine, handsome even.

This should do.

He didn't want to look like a bum, especially not in his own home.

Especially not today.

He sat on a sofa in his living room, which was unusually sparse. The ebony coffee table in front of him had a little dust ring on top of it, like something had previously been there for a long time. All around, there were absences where things should've been, a standing lamp here, a chair there, even a television set. They were all missing.

Edward picked up letter that had been strewn carelessly onto the coffee table. It was slightly wrinkled, with many coffee stains on it and it had been read many times.

WRIT OF SEIZURE AND SALES

Pursuant to the judgement of bankruptcy made on 12 Aug 2009 to a one EDWARD LIM GUOXIANG, this writ of seizure and sales has been so ordered to recover any assets for the purpose of discharge the aforementioned's debt obligations.

A sheriff will be dispatched to the aforementioned's residence on the 15th of November 2009, to execute this writ.

Office of the Sheriff Singapore

Today was the date of the seizure. Three echoing knocks broke the peace.

They’re early.

As Edward opened the door, he was shocked to see his mother and not the sheriff. Rendered momentarily speechless, he simply stared, mouth slight ajar at his mum. She was the last face he had expected or wanted to see. Especially not now, especially not today.

He had kept his financial insolvency a secret from his family out of shame.

“Come let me see you. -"

His mother sprang a hug on him.

"-I thought you died or something! Why didn’t you call us back ? I brought your favorite congee-"

She then let herself into Edward's apartment.

Fuck me.

Just as he thought that his mother's timing could not be worse, the sheriffs showed up.

Fuck me right up the ass.

They were two men, each with ominous stickers in a folder. As they walked over, both of them presented their identification.

"Mr Lim, I am Andy and this is Mathias, we are from the Sheriff's office. We are here to execute the writ."

Edward was now caught between his mother who was in his apartment behind him and the two sheriffs in front of his door.

Andy, the taller of the two sheriffs, peaked inside the apartment.

"Mr Lim, in our experience, its best if all the residents remain outside -"

Andy gestured to Edward's mother.

"- while we go about our business, you do understand right?"

The implied ugliness behind that suggestion, the ugliness of seeing one's life reduced to dollars and tags, did not escape Edward. It was about to be multiplied, in the presence of his mother.

"Please give me a minute."

Edward swiftly ran back.

"Mom, this is not a good time, please."

"Are those your friends? You can introduce me, you know. There enough congee to share."

"Please mom, hey how about we have coffee downstairs?" Edward attempted a diversion. It did not work.

"What about your frie-"

The sheriffs walked in and began pasting seizure stickers on the furniture. A small army of movers started streaming in, carting off everything that was marked. The sofa, the table, the chairs.

"Edward! What are they doing? No! You can't take this-"

Edward's mother snatched away a decorative plate. As she slowly understood what was happening, she cast a forlorn look towards Edward.

He was in tears.

"Mum, I'm sorry."

For the next few years, Edward moved in with his parents.

"What were you thinking about?" Nazret asked.

Dawnstar had been lost in thought, looking over his siblings play tag around the sparse woods behind their hovel.

The mistakes of a past life. The mistakes of this one.

What they lacked now was money. Dawnstar and his siblings were fed, clothed and sheltered, but they had no money. It was arguable that whatever they had, their clothes, their house, was not even theirs.

The charity of an enemy was what supported them. It was a situation they all wanted to get out of. Oromia had since become an apprentice for a blacksmith in town but his income was virtually non-existent. An apprentice's payment was in mastery of the craft.

How long more could they live like this? How long before their circumstances change?

Dawnstar's mind had been kept busy since his first conversation with Oromia about their future some weeks ago. His older brother's plan was far too conservative. He knew of the ticking time-bomb that lay within himself - woebearer.

What if someone found out?

Despite being surrounded by people whom he had come to love over the past three-ish years, and despite knowing that they loved him too, he never felt more alone.

When he first heard about the term woebearer, it was in passing by one of the guards escorting them from port to the estate.

A little seed of dread grew in him then. He had hoped that what he was hearing was the casual hate that people can sometimes give to what they don't understand, like when his mother blamed millennials for 'ruining' phones. Under this hope of his, he was even willing to accept the kind of hatred that rose from prejudice, like the racist remarks that some of his more backward thinking colleagues used.

It was a vain hope.

As he learnt more through the dusty volumes and household gossip in the Ney estate, he had come to realize that this world's hate for the woebearer- this world's hate for him, was absolute. It was written of, spoken of, and institutionalized in this world.

And so the seed of dread grew a little stronger.

He then did what all men did. He ignored it. He procrastinated dealing with it. He denied that a problem even existed. He kept the thoughts of him being a woebearer locked away in the darkest recesses of his mind.

It was a con he was attempting on himself.

But to do so he had to compartmentalize. He had to deny that Edward ever existed before Dawnstar, ywt he needed Edward's knowledge to survive. He needed Edward's knowledge for his next gambit.

"Hey!" Nazret waved her hand infront of a spaced out Dawnstar. He snapped back from his dark ruminations.

"So what are you thinking about?" Nazret asked, once again. Her face drew a little closer than before.

How does one earn money? By charging for something that people want.

What does he know, what could he make that people of this world would want?

The only thing he had any expertise in was videogames, media markets and film editing. He was a history buff, an anime and manga geek, and a lover of literature. None of what he knew seemed practical. He had a theoretical knowledge of some crucial inventions, like the steam engine; he knew how it worked - the expansion and contraction of steam which provided work, but he had no practical knowledge of how to build one. Nor had he the capital to commission one.

The only thing left for him was something that he could make out of nothing.

Something that people would pay for...

Dawnstar looked to the forest. The sight of his siblings frolicking about reminded him of the mythical fairies, of the stories that people had imagined about them in his previous world. He had a sudden flash of inspiration.

"Hey Nazret. What do you think about putting on a play?"

The next morning, Lord Ney received two letters. One bore the personal seal of the king, while the other bore no seal at all.

The letter from the king read simply, "She is barren, find me another. Come to court, I have need of your talents. Almaric R."

The other letter was a little more mysterious, "I know the king has called upon you. Delay. You owe me this much. When you do come, bring my son along. Or else."

Ney took a quick glance around. An empty room and hallway answered his question. He then burnt the second letter with a lit candle that was on his desk.

Damn that woman.

He hadn't forgotten about the the agreement with Sunfire, he had simply hoped to run out her time. Not that caring for the children was in any way particularly difficult, it was the fact that he was bound to her that irked him greatly.

For once, he was not the party that gave out the threats. He was the one that received it. This, he could not abide.

Ney had wagered that she would be but a passing fad for the king, quickly used and quickly thrown away. That would've been ideal for him, since after the King's interest waned, he could simply find him another woman; which coincidentally was exactly what the King was suggesting right now.

Sure, she might have tried to reveal his missteps then, but at that point, without the King's favor, no one would've taken her seriously.

She would've just been another bad rumor that people told about him. It would've the best of both worlds for him - discharging the official duties of delivering a diplomatic gift, and avoiding any credible threat that may cause him to be repudiated. All he needed to do after was to get rid of the all loose ends, after her fall. Quietly.

He gave her three months, it was almost three years. The royal court threshed people like wheat, if it were not for his own personal animosity towards her, he would've respected her instinct for survival. She had managed to enthrall the king all this time, amongst that pit of vipers.

Moreover, he had grudgingly benefited from her rise - he had managed to secure himself multiple monopolies and commissions from King Almaric. Even his fief was increased.

Now her demise threatened to bring him down as well.

What should I do?

The journey to the capital itself would take about a month, a delay of two weeks could be easily enough excused. But at the time of his receiving this letter, the king would have already been waiting for that same amount of time. Ney didn't know how long he could afford stretch the delay. He would gambling with his majesty's patience.

So he did the next best thing. He sent him some entertainment.

Apparently the Dawnstar brat and his ilk had created some new play. He had named it A Midsummer's Night Dream. By all accounts, it was quite the amusing performance. But more importantly, it had elements that he could improve upon to appeal to his king's lascivious nature. For example, the fairies in the forest could be played by scantily clad women...

Ney chucked silently at his own ingenuity.

He called upon his trusted subordinate, Blankey, to obtain the manuscript and execute his plan. Blankey had been one of his newest associates, a son of a trusted retainer, he was the very image of a Ney man - shrewed and patient, with the typical olive skin and blond hair of South Acadians.

"Take this"

Ney handed over a pouch of several gold coins and a hastily written letter to Blankey.

"I want you to get the play from that brat, then head straight for the capital. Buy fresh horses on the way if need be. The money should be enough to recreate the performance. Make sure to include my revisions."

"As you wish, sire."

"Remember to express to his majesty our greatest regret for our tardiness. Loxley will help you with whatever you need in the capital. Do this well Blankey, and I'll see you managing a bawdyhouse of your own. Do not disappoint me."

"Certainly, sire", Blankey replied with a fire in his eyes, before departing promptly. Ney had a knack of getting the most out of people, and Blankey was no exception, no doubt he was already planning on how to manage his promised whores.

Lord Ney would give Sunfire one month before heading to the capital.

Dawnstar was heading back to the estate through the back-roads in the forest, together with several of his older siblings. They had earlier snuck out to perform one of their 'plays' at the local tavern and netted themselves some pieces of silver.

It was a good haul.

The forest, normally oppressive and dark in the night, was lit up by the make-shift troupe's exuberance. Their spirits were high, and they broke out into song, as they carried their props with them on the moonlit forest road. Even the crickets seemed to join in in their merry.

Yet, Dawnstar had been strangely silent. This did not go unnoticed.

Lorian, one of his fresh-faced older brothers who played a very handsome Lysander in the play, approached his dour sibling.

"Dawny boy-"

Lorian picked Dawnstar up and placed him upon his shoulders. That act that would normally have his younger brother break out a toothy smile now only served to emphasize his gloom.

Dawnstar remained deep within his own counsel. He was still thinking about the lesson he had with Edros and Ravenna on woebearers. It had been a disaster.

He hadn't realized how much of his past knowledge he had been revealing throughout these lessons. The potential fallout of his actions now haunted him.

How could I have been so careless and stupid?

It would be one thing if he were naturally so uncircumspect, but the truth was that part of him knew the risks, knew the danger. Between constantly thinking of a means to escape Ney's clutches, and being always on guard for what he might inadvertently blurt out, he was desperately exhausted.

Three years of worry and stress had left him burnt out. He was not careless because he was tired, rather, he was tired of not being careless.

Father Erdos was blessing in disguise. Though Dawnstar was initially wary of him, the way he spoke, the way he treated him with not only respect but interest made it so easy to talk like he did in the past.

He used to have these fascinating, deep, conversations with his close friends and fellow colleagues. Most of the time, the exchanges were about nothing really, but there was always an engagement with each another on a intellectual and emotional level.

Erdos was able to do that with him, and for once in three years of struggling and pretending, Dawnstar could simply be.

He could never be like that with his brothers. Since he had started teaching them, started planning with them a means for escape, they had seen him with a strange sort of reverence.

He was no longer the baby brother they had to change the diapers of, which almost all of them did, on their first journey to the estate from port. He was no longer the brother that would play hide and seek with them. He was no longer just their brother.

A distance had opened up between them, filled with the silent expectations they had of him, and the hidden secrets he kept from them.

Like how he was a woebearer.

Still upon his older brother's shoulders, Dawnstar had gently slid down in a piggyback. The gentle motions of Lorian walking had rocked him to sleep.

Neither of them, nor the troupe, were aware that Blankey was tracking them.