Fain sidestepped, deftly, as an anxious servant nearly bowled him over. The markets of Molanter were crowded as ever, with patchwork stalls sprawled all over. Merchants yelled at anyone who dared passed by, advocating for the quality and necessity of their goods. One man noticed Fain’s expensive garb and his hesitation.

“You know I have some wonderful decorative rugs. A must have for any lord, really. Here let me show you.” He grabbed Fain’s hand, hoping to lead him to a selection of ratty rugs, covered in ornate red circles and crossing lines. Lyra sharply smacked the man’s hand away. Without saying a word, she grabbed Fain’s wrist and led him through the markets.

Lyra stood out in any crowd. Even without the fiery red hair, showing no signs of her age, it would’ve been easy to pick her out. She had a strange aura about her. To certain people she seemed warm and nurturing, while to others she seemed wild and dangerous. Fain had heard conflicting stories making their way through his keep’s staff. He himself had spent much time with Lyra and, to him, she seemed both.

Most high lords would be indignant that a mere aid would be so presumptuous. In fact, a small part of Fain was. However, Lyra wasn’t a mere house aid, at least not to Fain. She was his advisor, his confidant, and, perhaps most importantly, his barrier from the chaos of Molanter. For a few years after his mother had passed, Fain’s father had cycled through house aids, none seemingly up to the task. That was, until Lyra came along. His father had recruited her straight from the Outer Rings, not the Middle Ring, which was deemed odd. Even more strange, was the woman’s unerring competence. She came to the house, a worn and battered 30-something cycles, with every skill needed to help raise young Fain. In all honesty, he had more memories with Lyra than he did with his own mother. That thought was both warming and firmly guilt-inducing.

While Fain mused on this, Lyra had successfully navigated them to the side path that led to his uncle’s keep. They must have traversed at least a quarter of the city, but Fain had barely noticed. Lyra suddenly stopped, jarring Fain back to the present.

“My lord, why are we here? What reason is there for visiting Lord Sacriel, other than tormenting yourself?”

“We have to ask him for a loan, Lyra. We need more money.”

“Are you going to send out discs in place of wheat? Somehow, I don’t think the people will be as pleased as one would think.”

“Obviously not. But we could use the money to recruit more Blooms. Get more grain to plant.”

Lyra paused, no quick remark at the ready. Or at least not one she wanted to use. She looked at him, gently, almost pityingly. She knew the problem with that plan, just as he did, probably more.

“I didn’t want to say it before. But we both know it’s not lack of grain or Blooms that is the problem. Crops won’t grow without Evergrowth. Blooms can’t change that.”

Fain wanted to be angry. How dare she tell him something so obvious? Did she really think he was fool enough to not realize that? Why couldn’t she let him have this delusion? Of course, she couldn’t let him pretend more Blooms would fix it. Her friends and family, of whom she spoke so little, would starve. All of Molanter, and neighboring Circles, would. He sank down against a wall, one hand running through his hair, the other clenched tightly to his side.

“I know, Lyra. I know. I want to try those solutions, but I know they won’t work. If not…” He steeled himself, pushing back the terror. Once he said it aloud, especially to Lyra, it was a plan, not just a thought. Not just a nightmare. “If not, I’ll use the money to mount an expedition. The same one my father went on. We’ll have to go out and get the ingredient for more Evergrowth.”

That was answer she wanted. The right one. She offered him a hand to pull him back up.

“Don’t be frightened, Fain. Your father was a good man. A brave one. But you will have one thing he did not. Me. I’ll come with you. We will find what we need to make more Evergrowth.”

Those words helped Fain slam the gate in his mind and lock the fear out. He knew that already, but hearing them still helped. Even so, he couldn’t help but notice how the expedition was already a done occurrence to Lyra. Were his other ideas really that fruitless? Probably. He took her hand and pulled himself up, nodding appreciatively. Her touch was warm, too much so, almost.

He turned towards Sacriel’s keep and wordlessly continued onwards. Lyra followed just as silently, stepping behind him this time. It would be unwise to be seen by Sacriel’s staff with a servant leading the way. Even if that servant was one such as Lyra. It was a small detail, but he was glad that Lyra noticed these things. He would have undoubtedly forgotten and ended up giving his loathsome uncle more stones to throw at him.

The path leading to the gate of Sacriel’s keep was different than the main path it branched off of. Unlike the gravelly worn stone of the main path, this one was smooth, polished, and pristine. Fain felt as though he might slip if he didn’t tread carefully. Even more startling was the emptiness of the path. It was a stark contrast to the marketplace just a few minutes behind them. It was like leaving a party and pulling the flap closed behind you. You can still hear the hustle and bustle inside, but it quickly becomes distant, fading until you weren’t sure if you could still hear the noise, or merely remembered it what it sounded like. Fain actually found the sudden shift interesting. He was curious how Sacriel made it happen, as it was surely intentional. The answer was likely the same as most other Sacriel related questions- money. His uncle was the richest man in Molanter by far. That was the only reason Fain had swallowed his pride enough to come after all.

Finally, Fain and Lyra reached the gate that blocked off an imposing stone keep. It was a wide keep, one that would probably take a person at least an hour to completely circle, probably more. Even more daunting was the sheer height of the building. It was four levels high, completely built from a jet-black type of stone, with two large towers to each side. Even now, in the middle of the day during peacetime, Fain could see a person in each tower. Sacriel had paid a few dozen trashers handsomely to spend an entire year hauling the stone for this keep from the Outside. Thousands of brownings spent in what could only be described as an exercise in vanity. Worst of all, the entrance to the keep wasn’t the weedsprout flaps you would find anywhere else. It was a treasure outshining the rest of the keep combined. Two massive wooden doors, at least twice the height of any man, closed Sacriel’s keep off from the outside world. The wood displayed a polished wavy pattern, shining from the lacquering, and had metal rings jutting from each one. Yes, to add insult to injury, when Sacriel had his new keep, he chose an old Ancient residence like all the other High Lords. However, instead of using the jutting metal poles as a foundation for his home, he had ordered them ripped from the ground, building his palace from the ground up. In one fell swoop, Sacriel had shown himself to be disrespectful, arrogant, and heretical.

A guard stopped their progress towards the gate, holding out a hand. “Stop there. State your purpose. This is the property of Sacriel Harroputz, High Lord of Commerce, Wealthiest of all Mola-“

Fain irritably swatted the guards out of his airspace. “Yes, yes, you don’t have to list them all. Tell him the High Lord of Agriculture humbly requests an audience.”

The guard who had outstretched his hand paled. Common residents of the Inner Circle had lost hands for far less than sticking them in the face of a High Lord. He scurried, as much as a hulking guard in full leathers could, towards the wooden doors. Fain rolled his eyes at the man’s terror. He would never harm a commoner for something so frivolous. It was far too much effort, and Lyra would likely have strong feelings about that.

Just as he pictured the chiding, Lyra chimed in with a snide remark. “You know he likely would’ve recognized you if you spent more time being a High Lord, and less drawing.”

Fain rolled his eyes for a second time. It seemed like he would get a lot of use out of that gesture of derision today. “So you tell me Lyra, but if I did my duties, then you would have much more free time. Frankly, the thought of you with free time terrifies me.”

This quip piqued her interest. “What’s so terrifying about that?”

Luckily, Fain had a reply armed. He laughingly responded “You might go teach the serving class reading and arithmetic. I hear that’s the first step to a full blown revolt!”

Lyra’s eyes flared in anger. She turned to him sharply, hair raised almost like a wild flame. Fain felt sweat bead on his brown as nervousness set in. The remaining guard took a step back towards the gate, hoping to extricate himself from this situation. Perhaps that wasn’t the best joke to tell a lady from the Outer Circle. Fain cursed his poor judgment. He had really missed the harvest this time. Lyra opened her mouth ready to let him have it, eyes still flaming, and then, miraculously, closed it. The fire in her eyes went out as quickly as they started. Her enraged posture slumped. Even her hair had seemed to lose some of its red shine. Worst of all, her mouth had formed a deep frown.

Silence settle as Fain fumbled for an apology, the other guard still creating as much distance between himself and Fain’s camp as possible. It had only been a few minutes since the guard left to get Sacriel. How could it feel like eternity?

Finally, Lyra broke the silence. She spoke quietly, so soft that Fain could barely hear. “I really thought I taught you better. Education won’t lose you your throne. Callousness and greed will.”

Damn it! He really should’ve known better. Teaching was the thing that made Lyra come to life easiest. She spoke often about how she would try to educate children in the Outer Circle, though never disclosing where she herself got the skills. She used to teach Fain, when he was younger. And what a fantastic teacher she was. It came effortlessly to her. Knowledge spread from her like a wildfire. Back during their lessons, she would even educate him on the value of education, fiercely advocating for the lords to build schools in each Circle… He knew he needed to apologize.

“Lyra, I didn’t mean to-“

Of course, just then, a procession of fifteen servant left poured through the wooden doors, banging large weedsprout drums. The guard from before stumbled towards them, past the servants.

“High Lord Sacriel, Master of Commerce will grant you an audience, my lord. This way if you would.” The guard gestured his arm towards the now-open wooden doors. Fain couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping. A massive hall, wider then some rivers, stood before them. Detailed paintings of varying scenes hung throughout, like trees on the riverbank. The hall branched out into smaller streams, threatening to sweep unwanted guests away into hidden depths.

Fain looked at Lyra with pleading, apologetic eyes. This issue wasn’t done. He tried to convey to her his regret. Fain would make his apologies, genuinely, after this. Right now, however, he needed her solidarity, support, and wisdom. He didn’t know what he could outside of actually begging to convey this. Fortunately for him, Lyra relaxed, and straightened her posture. Fain could see that she wasn’t completely mollified, but she seemed to be willing to put it behind them for now. Ancients bless her! Fain had no clue what he would’ve done without her here. He straightened his own posture, and replied as lordlike as he could.

“Very well. Lead the way, guard.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Nephew! Wonderful of you to come visit. How long has it been since I last saw you? Five cycles?”. Sacriel sat on an exotic deep red chair, the wavy pattern imbued on the material mimicking wood. He was as loathsome as Fain remembered from his youth. His greasy black hair was slicked back, the curls unsuccessfully trying to fight their way to the front. He was unpleasantly rotund, exuding indulgence by his very being. Most abhorrent of all, were his beady blue eyes, which seemed to constantly scan the room for the threats. Fain didn’t even bother guessing what worried the man. Probably something to do with money.

Sacriel began to straighten the tassels on his ornate shoulder pads. As the man’s focus eased off him, Fain replied. “Far too long, indeed, High Lord Sacriel. I have been quite busy with my new role these last few years. No offense was intended, of course.” Fain added extra emphasis to the last few words.

Sacriel narrowed his gaze before plastering back on his eerily-wide smile. “Of course. Call me uncle, young nephew. I was saddened to hear of your father’s death. You know, you could’ve reached out to me for help at any time. You still can. We’re family Fain. ”

Fain resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He stepped forward, Lyra quietly following, and sat on the coach opposite Sacriel’s chair. The coach was not quite as grand as the chair, but it was still far more luxurious than those of his own keep. He pulled his back taut as he sat, fighting back the impulse to slump into the couch’s depths.

“I know…uncle. Those were trying times and my aid informed me of the letters of support you sent. They were…appreciated.” Fain loathed the games of the lords and it was evident in his voice. It was all so disingenuous-so posturing. More than that, he wasn’t very good at it. In fact, he was so unskilled in this regard that Lyra had handled most of his etched communications to the other lords. He wryly shook his head and collared his tongue, it would do no good to offend Sacriel.

Sacriel seemed to be in no rush to speed this along. “Yes. In fact, I believe that you and I can still accomplish great things together. Before I continue, would you like to send your aid to the kitchen or library? I’m sure my house staff could find a use for her as we discuss more sensitive matters.”

Fain turned to Lyra, half-expecting the stately woman to respond to that. Instead of the fire from before, Fain saw nothing in her eyes or posture. Her hair remained a flat red, prim and straight. She looked through Sacriel, as a person looks through the layer of dust atop stone. It was almost hard to tell which of the two nobility was. Lyra didn’t respond to his comment because she genuinely saw Sacriel as too beneath her to merit anger. She was right, in Fain’s map at least. Fain swallowed, reigning the sympathetic flash of indignation.

“No. Anything we discuss is for Lyra’s ears as well. She is my personal assistant and been an invaluable asset these past years. She is trusted.”

Sacriel waved a hand dismissively. “Very well, whatever you fancy. Take care not to be too lax with those beneath you. That was your father’s undoing.”

Fain ground his teeth and rose slightly, ready to stand. The main was clearly baiting him. Fain wasn’t stupid. Sacriel had barely even bother hiding his pleasure he saw the remark hit home. A good lord would trudge through such remarks for the greater good. His people needed him to make this deal. There was no use jeopardizing it over such an overt, senseless slight. Lyra sensed his anger. She discretely pulled him down to the coach, trying to remind him to settle himself. He wanted to be the lord she had spent years molded. But he was not that person. Not yet, with so many years ahead of him. Not now, with this worm of a man disparaging his father’s memory.

“Ah yes, Sacriel. If treating one’s staff with decency was a fault, then my father had that in excess. I personally think it’s why he was a far better lord than you can imagine being. It’s why his men stood by his side facing death. It’s why his legacy, my House, is still the most respect House in Molanter. Must drive you mad that all your discs can’t buy the people’s respect.” By the time Fain finished his fervent reply, he was on his feet, almost panting from the sudden change in effort. Standing next to, Lyra had risen as well. The look of disapproval Fain had expected was there, but there was a faint smirk on her lips. She was glad to see Fain speak on the importance of treating others well, and doubly glad to see it used as a stone to throw at Sacriel. Despite her collected demeanor, she found the man just as loathsome as Fain. She had told Fain so herself.

Sacriel’s expression darkened. As if the Chit was expecting to fling around snide remarks to another High Lord and not be challenged for it. He sipped a glass in front of him slowly, the yellow liquid inside clearly not cooled yet.

“I see you still have his temper as well. Your father was an idealist. There is no harm in that alone, but when mixed with a fool it is a quite dangerous combination. I hate to see it infect those I share blood with…again.” The man’s face remained controlled still, an almost disappointed note entering his tone. If Fain didn’t know better, he would’ve thought that Sacriel had actually cared, in his own twisted way.

He continued, the disappointment replaced by venom. “To clarify one misconception, nephew. The only thing keeping your house with any level of respect or power is the Evergrowth. It’s the only reason the other lords tolerated your father, and it’s the only reason anyone bears your incompetence. From what I hear, that quarry might have dried up.”

He drained the glass completely and carefully placed it back on the stone table, motioning for a serving girl to refill the glass with more steaming yellow liquid. His calm demeanor was not broken, but the venom in his voice intensified, threatening to poison Fain. “My propriety is wasted on you dear nephew.” He sighed and his face took on a pained expression. Had the man actually been expected a civil reunion between the two? Sacriel cleared the expression and donned his impassive mask. “What brings you to me Fain, if not familial bonds? I hear tales of Cataran’s treasure drying up. Speak boy.”

The serving girl, dressed in a simple brown cloth dress, scurried back in with a new pitcher. Fain tried his best to ignore the fear exuding from her, but it was too strong to overlook. Combined with the fading purple bruise on the girl’s cheek, it was rather clear how Sacriel treated his staff. In this matter, the rumors seemed to be rather accurate.

His rage already boiling over the brim, Fain could hardly control himself at seeing this. He took a few deep breaths. He would commit this, all of it, to memory. Now wasn’t the time. Unbound anger would do no one any good at this moment.

“Fine. I came here to ask for a loan, Sacriel. The harvest is poor this year, and I hope to hire more Blooms and buy more land. This could be more profitable for both of-“

“No.”

Fain was thrown aback. He knew his uncle would be difficult; there was a lot of bad blood here after all. However, in the end, this was for the best of Molanter. He had honestly expected his uncle to relent and give him the loan. Of course, Fain had come prepared for someone prolonged bartering and negation, but this outright rejection from the start was not expected. Fain needed this loan for all of Molanter to make it through the Frostwinds.

“What?!”

“I am not inclined to give you a loan, nephew. There is little reason for me to do so.”

“We could both benefit from this Sacriel. I came here willing to offer you three-fourths of my houses revenues this year. Think of the discs you could reap from this.”

This seemed to annoy Sacriel, more even than the previous exchange. He motioned two guards to approach. The two hulking men, dressed in leathers came towards them. Sacriel spat, “What use have I for discs, Fain?”

“Uh. I—“ Before he could string together an answer, Sacriel turned away from him and began whispering with his guard, a heavyset man in the fashion of the one outside.

“…ready…prepare it.” Fain could make out.

The guard looked surprised, and eyed Sacriel cautiously. “Are… sure…lord? ...preparations?”

“…six guards…vault...specific precautions…discussed…armed.”

Fain stopped trying to follow the conversation. The few words he could make out could mean a bevy of things and he really had no idea what was happening. He fidgeted in his seat, waiting for Sacriel to make his decision. Perhaps the man had decided three quarters of the revenues was too good a deal to pass up? He looked over at Lyra who was as confused as he was. After all, the proposal had come into existence after heavy editing from her. They had been convinced he would be unable to resist.

“Follow me nephew. There is something you need to see before we continue.” With that 5 more guards entered the room wordlessly. Sacriel rose and motioned for Fain to do the same. He looked towards Lyra and she nodded in assent. He reluctantly rose to follow. The guards formed a buttress between Fain and Sacriel. He led them down several winding corridors, almost at random. Each one was made of stone, but decorated in vivid dyes. The designs etched into the walls were centered around a different theme in each corridor. One hallway was pained in bright blues which bled into white and collided with sprawling greens-an abstract depiction of the Far Coast and the Great Forest. Another hall was almost entirely white, with small pockets of yellow. Another, one that took Fain’s breath away, was a massive backdrop of bluish-black, with startlingly bright yellow and white spots decorating it-the night sky. It was relatively accurate from what Fain could tell. He spotted the most tell-tale formation, a cluster of stars that formed a large ladle. Fain had stopped at this point, looking around the wall wildly, trying to find familiar formations. Sacriel turned back and saw this.

“Ah, I see you’ve noticed my decorations. This corridor took the most time.” He noticed Fain’s eye on the ladle. “I’ve always found it interesting that people can easily see the Ladle, but not the Great Chit formation it is a part of. Shows how shortsighted men are, I suppose.”

Fain was baffled. Sacriel had not only commissioned this accurate depiction, but was familiar with it. It wasn’t a hard observation that the Ladle formation was only a part of the larger Great Chit, but not many cared to notice. Or if they did, not many cared to comment. “Why?” he questioned. This made no sense.

“Why what child?”

“Why do you have this? Why do you know the formations and their names? Why?”

Sacriel sighed again, looking almost human. He looked at the mural wistfully. Then, snapping from his trance, he turned and motioned for the retinue to resume their walk. He called back, “It might surprise you to find that we all had dreams at one point Fain. Some of us just needed to cast them aside for the greater good.” After that interruption, the group moved along the beautiful hallways without another word.

Finally, they reached the end of a particularly long corridor and were left facing a plain stone wall, the ground decorated by a deep purple rug. Sacriel walked nonchalantly towards the dead end, and lifted the rug, revealing a wooden trapdoor with a silvery metal handle. He pulled the handle up revealing a ladder, made entirely of wood.

“Come. It’s time you understand the scale of the game you are trying to play.” With that he began climbing down the ladder, with four guards following after. The guards’ stone poles clanged against the back of the narrow chute, the noise echoing back up to Lyra and Fain.

Fain looked nervously at Lyra. “Do we follow?”

Lyra pursed her lips, looking almost confused. “I don’t see any other option. Let me go first Fain.” She began to move forward, but turn to Fain before descending and rested her hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you for what you said earlier. You still stumble at times, but you’re a good lord, Fain. Guard and foster your compassion. It’s what will let you rise above animals like Sacriel.”

Fain was thrown aback. “Anytime. And you know I didn’t mean tha-“ He tried to squeeze in the apology from earlier, but Lyra had already turned and begun descending down the chute. That conversation would have to be shelved to a later moon. Fain took in a few deep breaths, exhaling slowly each as Lyra had taught him. His body was alight with fear and nervousness, with no clear source. He tried his best to purge them with each exhale, but they clung to him. The nervousness pulled his hamstrings like a lute, his legs feeling just as shaky as plucked string. Worse, the fear seemed to have taken root in his stomach, clawing around, reaching up at times to throttle his heart and steal his breath. It was physically painful.

He had to do this. Be the lord that his subjects, and Lyra, believed in. He needed to find a way to lead them past it. Fain knew he wasn’t the man for the job, even if no one else seemed to realize the scam he had unwittingly pulled. However, at this very moment, he was Molanter’s best shot. He took refuge in this, using the thought to help pry the fear out of his insides. He took a final breath and descended down the chute.

Sacriel led them another passageway. Unlike the stone walls that Fain was accustomed to seeing, this passageway was made entirely from metal. This basement level was like no other Fain had seen. Metal was rare, not as rare as wood, but precious nonetheless. Molantians had no method crafting it on their own, and thus relied on what was left over from the Ancients. Even recrafting it was difficult, to the point where most keeps and homes were simply made around the metal poles from ruined Ancient structures. An entire hallway made of metal, illuminated only by the guards’ torches, was more than surprising. It was wrong on a fundamental level- eerie and alien.

While looking around in awe, Fain slipped on the smooth metal floor, his sandal failing to give enough traction. He broke the fall with his hands, one knee and one hand pushing against the floor. Lyra was immediately at his side, hooking one arm under his shoulder and pulling him. He was glad for this, even if he needed no help in getting up. The metal had sapped the heat from his hand, and even his covered knee, greedily. This had made him suddenly more aware of how cold and unwelcome this room was. If a room could be hostile, this one was. However, after helping him up, Lyra had stayed by his side, walking stride in stride with him. She radiated heat and this helped fend off the shivers that this room brought. For this, and her support, Fain was immensely grateful.

After what felt like a trek around the entire Circle of Molanter, the small group reached the end of the metallic hallway. The room had slowly expanded in height, until they had reached a point where it was three times a normal man’s height. At the end, was a massive metal door, with a giant silvery ring jutting out of it. Several thick weedsprout ropes were tied around the ring in various places. The guards each grabbed a rope and began to turn the monstrous ring, grunting in effort with each heave. Finally, the door gave a creak of relief, like a stiff joint being suddenly cracked. The guards dropped the rope and all four of them placed both hands on the door. They pushed in sync, and nothing happened for a moment. Finally, after a few tense moments, the door slowly swung open.

Sacriel stood with his back to the room. The room was lit, though no torches were present. Instead, glowstones lined the wall in several different rows. The light was almost blinding, as most stone-lit rooms held one glowstone at most. This barely mattered at the moment.

Lyra’s jaw actually dropped. “By the Ancients.” she whispered.

The sight of the room’s contents crashed into Fain like a tidal wave. It slapped him in the face like a sudden gust of wind after turning a corner. He almost dropped to his knees again, just from sheer shock.

Inside the room, that Sacriel stood so confidently with his back to, there was an ocean of discs. Moons, slices, and brownings were stacked to the ceiling. In this bizarre, metallic vault lay more discs than could be found in the rest of the Circles combined. More than any man would be able to count in an entire season’s time.

Fain felt his heart drop with frustration. His frustration swept through him, washing away the prior fear, and the current awe. It came as a certain realization did. If this wealth was Sacriel’s, then nothing he could offer the man would be enticing enough. Molanter really was doomed.