Alex came whistling with a light bounce to his step. And trailing him was...

Trista. His maid. The one who nursed him as a baby. The one who was always by his side. Clothes torn, bruised and battered, her eyes glazed over.

Death. He was going to bring death to them.

"M'lord, are you listening?" Ginger snapped out of his daydream and looked up at Trista who looked fine and well, and let out a breath.

'It's fine. That didn't happen'

"Of course Trista, you said some guests are being invited to the castle shortly?" Ginger responded

"Yes, I actually came just now to get you before the High Seat notices you missing" Trista said as she looked at Ginger's clothes. She had already examined him, and he had no scars or bruises, only those mud-stained clothes. But he seemed somehow different. As the one who had watched Ginger grow all this time, she could intuitively sense it. Something had changed in the Young Lord.

"Did anything happen, M'lord?" Trista tentatively asked

Ginger looked at her, and then behind him. Although he could no longer see those gates, he could still very clearly make out the high walls. Those walls surrounded the vast inner city, and they stretched for a long, long while. Within these walls, people lived colorful and luxurious lives. Outside these walls were common lives, and outside those...

"No, I just briefly fell in the mud"

---

Before Ginger returned to the castle, he washed himself in a public bathhouse and asked Trista to purchase some clothes, ones much more befitting his status. On such short notice, of course, those clothes were not custom-fitted, but it was enough for now.

He was back to being High Seat Azroth's son, intelligent and proud, but with a different air now about him.

----

The highest spire of Red-reed city's inner city belonged to the castle of High Seat Azroth. Currently within an office of the castle, a muscular ginger-haired man with a rough scar across his face was contemplating over his desk. In front of him stood a plainly dressed man who had a stoic expression.

High Seat Azroth looked over the roughly scribbled words on the letter and looked up to the messenger standing in front of him.

"What is this?" Azroth asked

"It's a letter, Lord, Sir" The messenger replied simply

"I. Can. See. That." Azroth stated, stressing every syllable, then continued "Is this a prank from Plystil?"

"If you mean High Seat Plystil, Lord, Sir, he is unrelated to this matter"

Azroth closed his eyes. What was this? He was currently in an ownership dispute with Plystil over an Artefact which was recently excavated between their territories. Of course, the Scholar's faction was also arguing for ownership of the Artefact; it would no doubt be a great source of knowledge for researchers of Conjury.

Items that could potentially provide such inherent research value were exceedingly rare. But Azroth wasn't interested in the Artefact. Rather, for him it was just a pretext for engaging in a territorial dispute. Azroth desired to escalate this conflict, and take as much as he could from it.

But then this letter arrived.

The Knights of Inquisition had arrived at the inner city, and wanted an audience with him? They suspect that he had stolen the Artefact? Since this was a point of interest between three factions of Imploy, they were going to investigate?

'Is someone trying to frame me?' Azroth was utterly confused by this development, but the only way to figure out what was happening was to meet the Knights of Inquisition.

"Fine. Leave then if that's all" Azroth said to the messenger who bowed unfazed, and took his leave without a word. Honestly, Azroth thought, everyone who worked at the inquisition was utterly revolting.

Once the messenger left, Azroth called a servant

"Order the chefs to prepare a feast. Also, tell my son to get ready"

---

Once Ginger left him, Thatch walked idly in the market place for some time, ensuring his face was hidden. He hadn't gained anything today, yet maybe he had gained a lot. Thatch didn't know. It didn't matter right now anyway.

That knight was here.

Thatch rubbed his neck and scratched his shoulder. He would be killed. A dead boy could tell no tales.

There was nothing he could do.

Did he have to leave this place, and make his way across the barren wastes again? Would he have to eat through corpses to survive again?

That Knight would probably get the High Seat to look for him. Thatch knew the Knight wasn't here for anything else. He knew it in his bones.

There was no way out.

As Thatch spent hours contemplating, he eventually found himself by the gates of the inner city. Why did his feet take him here? Was he now relying on someone else? Is that how helpless he was? Thatch clenched his teeth. If only he could...

Before Thatch got close enough for the guards to give him any notice, he turned to make his way back.

At that moment however, his eye caught a scene. One of the guards dragged a young dark haired girl by her hair and threw her onto the streets.

"Hope you had fun" The guard laughed and the passers-by either smiled at the scene or ignored it.

Thatch looked at the guard for a moment. He saw in his memory the faces of the sick bastards who unleashed The Under on his village.

Then he looked at the girl. Clothes torn, bruised and battered, her eyes glazed over.

He remembered his mother.

He remembered his sister.

The girl lay there, ignored. Thatch made his way to her after a while and pulled her up.

The girl numbly allowed herself up and Thatch held his gaze on her eyes.

"What do you want to do?" Thatch whispered

"..." There was no reply. A light of revenge flickered in her eyes before it dimmed, replaced by the dullness of suicide. She had only wanted to meet her father, though she had been warned against it.

"If you want to die, I can help" Thatch spoke softly

"..." Still no response

"Do you have a family?" Thatch asked. The girl shuddered, and a soft light returned to her eyes. Right. She had to go back to her mother. She...

The girl's eyes dimmed again. She couldn't. She wanted to die.