Above the pool, Eiddil stood with Malus. A puppet with its puppet master. Eiddil slumped to the ground, its sentience lost as Malus took it back. A shadow door opened next to Malus’ ear.

“I need the boy alive,” a maw extended from the door, a guttural growl sounding from it. “It is vital that he remains alive. The prophecy must be fulfilled. The consequences are undesirable if it is not enacted.”

“I know, stop bothering me,” Malus responded. “Isten is still alive, I just froze him to keep him temporarily in place.”

“Good. However, he saw the puppet being created. How are you going to deal with it?” The maw retorted.

“That was a mistake. Isten was not meant to hear Eiddil’s death, nor see the creation of the marionette…” Malus rubbed his chin in contemplation. “I have an idea of how to solve this affair.”

“I see. This must be resolved to a satisfactory degree, or it jeopardises the work we’ve already done.” The silhouette of the door closed, and space resumed to normality.

Malus shook his head.

‘Goddammit.’ He cursed.

He began preparing to recover this precarious situation, which first began with securing Isten and keeping him immobilized.

———

The sun glared down on Pentref the next morning. The day had come, displacing the darkness of the night. The sky was clear, though it seemed closer to grey than blue due to the dreariness of winter. The streets of Pentref were bustling, and the city came alive.

There was a knock at Isten’s door, and they barged into his room without his response. He was forcefully awoken, his eyes blinded as light entered his room. The maids had drawn open the curtains. Isten groaned in protest at the morning’s injustice.

His head was clouded with lethargy, and he felt exceptionally groggy this morning. However, once it cleared, he was struck by the horrific memories of the previous night. Isten’s body temperature began to rise from panic and anxiety, his breathing quickening.

His awakening was incongruous to his last memories of being frozen solid in a block of ice by Eiddil in his bathhouse. The rest of the memories of Eiddil were clear as well, though he was now in his feathered duvet bed.

Before he could think further on this matter, Trulliad pulled the curtains of his four-posted bed open and gave him a reassuring smile.

“Master Isten, it was but just a dream. You do not need to worry about it any longer, you are in safe hands now.”

Isten suspected that Trulliad had assumed he had nightmares of his previous encounter with the old woman back in the temporary encampment. However, by his reaction, he could only assume that he did not know what had happened last night. That’s if it even did happen.

‘Was it real? Did that really happen?’ He began to question his memories, if it in anyway seemed feasible that his uncle had turned into a monster overnight.

After all, it could have been a vivid dream, a figment of his imagination that drew upon motifs from the old woman’s death. It did seem to mimic what had happed in that scenario, just in the reverse.

“Trulliad, is Uncle Eiddil alright? Did anything happen to him overnight?” Isten asked, testing his sanity.

“Of course, Isten. I saw him only a few minutes ago in the drawing room with Malus and Lucien.” Trulliad responded honestly.

‘Phew. That’s fortunate.’ Isten smiled in relief. At least he could confirm that it was only a nightmare, something created by his stressed mind.

“Master Isten, it is time for you to get ready. Your family are waiting for you. They say they will not have breakfast today without you. From what I suspect, this is to make up for last night.” Trulliad said.

“Okay.” Isten kicked off his duvet, getting out of bed. Trulliad took Isten’s clothes from his wardrobe and dressed him. This time he wore a red doublet, white linen shirt, black breeches, and tall narrow boots.

As he dressed himself, he remembered that he had suffered an attack from Eiddil, a thrown dagger to the shoulder. He looked down, hastily peeling back his doublet and shirt, and checked to see if there was a visible wound.

However, Isten could not see any cuts on his left arm where the attack had grazed him. He traced his arm with his fingers, there were no indentations or scarring. Nor were there any lasting damage to his fingernails which supposedly were torn out.

‘What about my pyjamas?’ He remembered. ‘They would’ve been damaged.’

Isten returned to where he left them, picking up his blue and white silk pyjamas. He carefully examined the sleeve to see if there were any damage to the material. It was in perfect condition.

‘How strange. That was a particularly vivid dream.’ He thought to himself.

“It is time to go. You don’t want to be too late for breakfast, master Isten.” Trulliad broke Isten’s contemplations.

Isten nodded in response to Trulliad. They left his bedroom and walked through the network of corridors and stairs, reaching the drawing room.

His parents and both uncles were inside, towards the centre of the room. Isten gave a bow when entering, and he then sat down in a cushioned chair towards the side of the room.

It was a courtesy to let his parents and uncles finish their discussions before he could participate in them.

“It is nice to see you this morning, Isten,” Malus said with a grin. “Come, why don’t you join us rather than sit by yourself.”

“Thank you, Uncle.” Isten nodded and joined the group.

“Have you settled in well?” He asked.

“I believe I did. I am fonder of Pentref than I am of our families’ countryside manor.” Isten responded.

“Good. I’m pleased to know that. Did you sleep well? We didn’t mean to be out for so long last night so I couldn’t check in on you.” Morrigan asked.

“I think so, though as best as I could within a new environment,” Isten said. “I am still not used to sleeping in a different bed, you see.”

“It will get easier with time. You’ll see for yourself. After all there’s a war coming soon, and it’ll be good experience for you. I’m sure Lucien or Eiddil could get you a good rank within the army.” Malus laughed. He lit a cigar and puffed acrid smoke in Isten’s face. Isten recoiled, but quickly regained poise. His family ignored his slip in manners.

“I would need to learn Malevolency before I could join the army, though.” Isten grumbled.

“It would also require the war to happen in the first place.” Lucien interjected.

“And it would also require my consent! I am not letting my dear child go to war with those barbarians. They have no sense of honour! They’ve killed far too many of Reinheit’s nobles, who knows what they would do to our poor Isten!” Morrigan snapped.

“It seems you got good news last night, Lucien?” Malus asked.

“Indeed. The gathering has given us some rather encouraging information. There is a promising shift in the current state of affairs.” Lucien responded, a smile on his face.

Isten pondered about the information his father must have received, especially for him to change his attitude on the war with Praeteritum.

His contemplation was interrupted as the door was pushed open. Isten watched as a swathe of maids and servants flooded into the room with breakfast foods of all kinds. Plates were lined with meats, fruits, pastries, and breads. It was a feast that was only available to the very privileged.

Excited, Isten grabbed some pastries and jam, and put it on his plate. He loved pastries back at the manor, so he was pleased that he could have it now. It fragmented into small, glutenous shards inside his mouth with a soft crunch. It was true pleasure.

The adults took their time, however, choosing to ignore the food. Isten lifted his head from his plate, and saw that they were all looking intently at Lucien. Lucien placed a palm onto the table, shifting his weight.

“War is not inevitable, though people say it is. Praeteritum doesn’t want war, Citadel doesn’t want war, and least of all neither do we. Nobody wants war. There’s too much at stake these days. Praeteritum has finished their expansion and they’re now bordering the peak of humanity. The best civilisation has to offer. They cannot go any further. Of course, border skirmishes will happen, which is beneficial for all, though it won’t escalate further. They have nothing to gain and everything to lose.” Lucien spoke heavily, enunciating his words by staring deeply into each person's eyes.

“That would be true if it were not for the simmering of a civil war within Cymorth. Due to those religious nut jobs and the Pontiff, we are on the very precipice of a disaster. A catastrophic civil war! One that will enable our foreign adversaries to exploit.” Eiddil retorted.

“And that’s what I am here for, Eiddil,” Lucien smirked. “State security is the very nature of my work. I will not let our great nation fall due to the sabre rattling of any politician; abroad or domestic. Besides, the Pontiff and his cronies do not have as much influence as they think they do. Their political games aren’t a serious threat to Cymorth’s security.”

Surprised looks flashed on the faces of the other members of the Blodyn family. Lucien had been a harbinger of crisis just last evening; this was a major contradiction of opinion. Evidently Lucien knew something that they did not, and possibly the rest of Cymorth.

Isten chewed on another pastry, a dispassionate look plastered on his face. However, internally, his attention was hooked into the argument.

From Isten’s view, the risks that Cymorth faced were enormous. If he were to come to even a moderate conclusion, Cymorth was not as stable as Lucien made out it to be. There were far too many externalities that could topple Cymorth’s ship. All of them were centred around a form of war. He was uncertain if he could trust his father on this matter, despite Lucien's position as Cymorth's spymaster.

“You put our nation at risk with your hubris, Lucien,” Eiddil criticised. “You may have prevented wars, foreign and civil, as well as coups in your time. Even God knows you’re second to none at that. However, the situation is different this time. Too many people stand to gain from internal conflict.”

Isten watched as a dark cloud of anger descended on Lucien’s face at Eiddil’s comments. He was about to respond but, as if it were the devil himself, there was a knock at the drawing room’s door.

Without waiting for a response, a man walked into the room dressed all in navy blue aristocratic clothes. He handed a letter to Lucien, who opened it and read its contents. He guffawed, a huge grin on his face.

“Oh Eiddil, you were right! I am second to none at stopping wars and coups. I must thank your luck for discussing this with me. All your jibes about my hubris potentially ruining the country, and in the meantime I have just received the greatest of news! Another coup has been prevented!” Lucien lampooned with contempt, an arrogant look on his face.

He left the room laughing with pride. Malus, Eiddil, and Morrigan trailed after him, though Morrigan paused and turned to face Isten.

“I’m terribly sorry about that, Isten,” she spoke calmly, though pride burned in her eyes. “Lucien has been working incredibly hard recently, and it seems to have paid off with dividends. You should stay here at home. We shall return later, with good news I should imagine!”

“Okay! Tell Father that I am proud of him.” Isten said with glee. He withdrew his judgement that his father was underplaying the threats of Cymorth. He had just potentially watched history play out before him. His father just prevented a coup!

“I will do, Isten.” Morrigan left the room and Isten continued to eat breakfast in silence. Behind him, a door opened and Trulliad entered the room. He pulled the chair back and sat across from Isten.

“I have been informed that your parents have booked tutors for you to go see today. They are to test your aristocratic skills and to give you advice for your court debut.” Trulliad announced.

“Sounds good. Just let me finish my breakfast first then we will leave.” Isten replied.

He picked up another pastry, and took a bite. Once he had finished his breakfast, he stood to leave with Trulliad. Trulliad took the lead, and they climbed up the spiralled staircase before continuing towards the north-eastern wing of the first floor. They walked through the same corridor that Isten saw in his dream the previous night, though it appeared to be normal now.

His eyes were locked onto the ground. He refused to look up as he didn’t want to reminisce about his dream, nor did he want to find evidence of it being real.

They ventured deeper into the corridor, and eventually something caught Isten’s eye. An irregular patch on the carpet.

‘How strange, shouldn’t this carpet be pristine?’ He thought.

“One moment, Trulliad.” Isten asked. He bent downwards to look at the irregularity and saw that the carpet had been cut; beneath it was the dark oak flooring. He poked his fingers through it, and it lifted off the flooring.

“Trulliad, I think the carpet has been damaged over here.” Isten noted. Trulliad walked over and frowned when he saw it.

“That’s new, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it damaged before. I’ll send some carpenters to fix it later.” Trulliad responded.

‘It’s new…’ Isten thought to himself. A memory of Eiddil throwing a knife at him and missing popped up in his mind. ‘When it missed, it hit the carpet right? This can’t mean that it happened right?’

He moved backwards, and close by there was a doorway. Isten looked down the hallway and saw that his room wasn’t too far from here either. ‘This is evidence of the attack last night! My God, it was real!’ He inwardly screamed in panic. A sinking feeling rushed inside of him.

“Master Isten, you need to come along now or else we are going to be late for your tutoring.” Trulliad chastised, snapping him awake from his reverie. Isten shakily walked down the corridor, away from where he was attacked the night before.