On the second day of preparation, the collector came.

A caravan of soldiers and camels dressed in Yalmae crimson strutted through the streets. Every door received a knock. The dreaded signal that time was up.

Sandhailer grabbed the scruff of Swordeater’s linen shirt, and pulled him faster through the streets, into a shaded alleyway.

“Why are we fleeing?” The man asked softly, resisting the tug. “There is nothing they would want from us.”

Immediately Sandhailer shook his head. He pushed Swordeater into a dead-end nook between two buildings.

“They want everything. Even if they don’t need it.” His eyes met Swordeater’s, who nodded rather shocked by the intensity of his words.

“But, they are only collecting taxes, aren’t they? It’s what they owe the empire for their protection, so if they don’t want,-”

Sandhailer grabbed Swordeater by his collar and pushed him against the wall, hard enough for the latter to gasp. Whilst he was still stunned, he drew his khinjar and pressed the tip in the soft skin between his jaw and neck.

“What protection, jayir? ” He spit the word at the man. “All you do is exploit and take. They don’t pay, because they can’t. So shut your mouth about things you know nothing of.”

Swordeater's breaths were rapid, his mouth firmly shut as his eyes darted down to the sharp blade against his neck.

Seeing the fear pleased Sandhailer, even if he knew it wasn’t entirely deserved. Figuring that he got the message across, he withdrew the khinjar and sheathed it.

“I’m sorry.” The words caught him off guard, as he hadn’t expected them from anyone. Especially not a man of the empire. “I don’t know,- I’m sorry I didn’t know. I was never shown, or even taught any of these things, but I am trying to understand.”

Sandhailer was about to turn around to address Swordeater, when a loud cry from the main street tore through the conversation. A woman’s cry, pained; afeared. And then a child wailed, a girl he presumed, although it was hard to tell. He shut his eyes firmly and tried to banish out the sound. His hand shot up to his khinjar, but he knew it was futile.

“Is that… can you tell me what that means?” Swordeater asked softly, startled by the noise.

“Its the price of not being able to pay.” Sandhailer opened his eyes and glared at Swordeater, even though he knew the man himself had little to do with the practise – he still embodied all of it.

But all he got in return was a confused, shocked headshake.

“Their freedom.” He growled back.

Swordeater’s eyes went wide, staring in the direction from where the crying came. The reverberating despair made it impossible to recognise words, but that didn’t make the knowledge of what happened any more bearable.

“I,-” rather sudden, Swordeater moved forward with purpose.

Surprised, Sandhailer grabbed his waist and pushed him back.

“What are you doing?” He hissed at the man, bewildered as to what exactly he was trying to accomplish.

“I can put a stop to this.” Swordeater responded, his eyes wide and locked on the direction from which the crying came. Simultaneously he clasped his upper arm where he kept the ruby bracelet.

Sandhailer let out a scoff, and shook his head.

“You can't." He said, but another cry made Swordeater push against him. The man was taller than him, and offered a fair amount of resistance now he actually tried, but he pressed him back against the wall by his shoulders.

"You're just a guard. Why would a collector listen to you?" Even if he was high up in the warrior class, the tax collectors went above nearly everyone, except perhaps religious scholars and royals.

In protest Swordeater shook his head, and as much as he had despised his words, his actions earnt him some admiration despite being woefully misplaced.

"He will have to listen to me,-"

Sandhailer rolled his eyes, and gave another firm shove to snap him out of this delusion.

"Your money won't help. This isn't about paying, this is about power."

He gave an agitated gesture back in the direction of the crying, which had lessened as they spoke.

"That is an example. And if you go there it will happen to you."

"They could not,-"

He grasped at Swordeater's shoulders and held him against the wall with even more strength, desperate to end this conversation.

"They will. You will never see your family again. Understood?!" With a glare up at Swordeater he tried to force him to agree. Despite his warnings he saw the man's eyes dart in that direction. He simply shook his head, not sure what else to say that would deter him.

If he wanted to toss himself to the wolves, then surely he could just let him. But something, whether it was empathy or pity, made it so he couldn't release his grasp until he knew for certain.

"I,-" A long, frustrated sigh escaped Swordeater, before he nodded and closed his eyes.

Sandhailer let go and straightened himself out. His fingers trembled from the adrenaline. The crying had stopped, but the quiet weighed in his stomach like a stone.

"I will change it." As he glanced back toward Swordeater, he saw the man clutch his waist. Perhaps the stress and pushing had hurt him, but if anything his mind appeared the most wounded. "I will make it better, I promise. When I get back I'll do better."

The man sunk down against the wall, and buried his head in his hands. Although Sandhailer's initial urge was to roll his eyes, there was a sincerity to the words. Even if they were naive, and couldn't come true.

There was a kind heart somewhere in there – and he hated that he could relate to that.

"Come on." He reached out his hand towards Swordeater. "We will return and prepare for tomorrow."

He had no illusions about ever being comforting, but Swordeater took his hand and nodded quietly. At the very least, the man hadn't given up yet.