"I turned from my hatred. And I walked. And walked. And walked. And walked. And—"
The Book of Garden Faith
by Milos the Coward
The empty hilltop overlooked the capital city.
That large city, the jewel of the Kingdom, sat as a majestic backdrop in the moonlight.
A few trees and bushes surrounded the hilltop. Nothing else.
No animal or insect stirred nearby.
Everything and everyone was gone.
As if warned.
An ugly finger poked through reality as if it were cloth.
The yellow fingernail pierced through with ease as if the air were a tent.
Pausing, it then cut vertically down, tearing a line in the very space above the hilltop.
More fingers, matching the first, emerged through this cosmic scar.
The two hands, grabbing each side of the tear, yanked them apart, creating a hasty doorway.
Had any soul wandered onto that hilltop that night, even peering through that gap for a moment would have cost them their sanity.
The large, dark hands stretched the space even further.
A young man, bent slightly to walk underneath those hands, came through the tear.
The dark hands shook with pressure, holding reality itself apart. As the man went through the doorway, the hands reduced the gap to a fine slit. The width of the fingers held the will of reality at bay.
The young man took in the sight of the large city below. A sight he had not experienced in what felt like lifetimes.
The grotesque fingers slowly retreated to where they came from.
A harsh, guttural voice echoed through the doorway.
"Good hunting, Dentes."
The man turned his head slightly to the closing gap, nodding once.
He looked to be in his early twenties. Pitch-black hair was brushed smoothly over his head to the back of his neck. With his clean-cut suit, it all gave the impression he was an academic.
But to a seasoned eye, something would be amiss.
No academic stood that still, their stance fearless and unconcerned.
He was tall, broad-shouldered. As if he had swung heavy weapons his whole life, fighting war rather than spell equations.
The man set his traveling case down and drank in the sight of his old city.
His dark eyes didn’t blink. Everything was exactly as he remembered.
In the distance through the city, the Royal Castle stood like a beacon. The man’s eyes narrowed, focusing on the keep.
Hatred and rage boiled through him instantly. They were always there, but hidden from the surface. The emotions were like old companions that had stayed with him through all his time in Hell.
Their time would come. All of them.
Every last one.
The anger vanished as quickly as it appeared, as the man was distracted by something startling.
He had forgotten what grass smelled like. It smelled fantastic, a scent from a dream.
Lifting his case, he turned from the sight and began to make his way down the hill. He continued through the silent forest until he eventually came to a road.
Horses and a carriage sat waiting.
An old driver sat on top at the front, face hidden by the collar of his thick coat. Both men ignored each other as the younger stepped in as a passenger, closing the door behind him.
The carriage made its way to the city.
Looking out the window, the young man quietly marveled at the passing streets. Even this late at night, citizens of all forms were on the move.
The nobility walked from their expensive carriages into theaters and restaurants. The tradesmen walked from their jobs into pubs or their homes. The city guards walked in between them, policing and keeping the peace.
It was too late for street performers or market stalls to still be out. But here and there, an eager performer drew a small crowd, hoping to earn a few late coins.
A small smirk lined the passenger’s face.
The city he grew up in, indeed, was the same.
But this time, he was not.
The streets eventually turned from noise and attraction to quiet and neat. Expensive narrow townhouses lay on either side of the long residential streets. Lampposts infused with mana led the way for the quiet carriage.
Stopping at a particular address, the driver tapped his foot.
The young man exited the carriage, closing the door behind him.
It took off quickly, neither the driver nor the horses looking back.
Looking up at the townhouse, many memories stirred again from a lifetime ago, better memories.
Walking up the small steps, he approached the front door and gently knocked.
The door opened, revealing an old woman with a polite smile. Sternly dressed, with gray hair in an organized bun.
"Good evening?"
"Good evening." The man smiled warmly as he took off his hat. "Professor Remus Blake, at your service. I take it you must be Ms. Harrow?"
The Housekeeper blinked for a moment, taken aback by something. But it vanished just as quickly, years of professionalism shining through.
"Yes! Please come in, Master Remus. This is your home, after all."
Remus thanked her, coming into the home as she closed the door behind him.
"I must admit, I was quite shocked at that letter. I’ve served this home and family for many years, but I never knew that Master Alec had a brother."
The woman looked him up and down politely. "But seeing you now, the resemblance is uncanny!"
Pausing, the woman clasped her hands. "I am so sorry for your brother’s death. It was a great shock to us all those months ago."
"Thank you, Ms. Harrow." Remus smiled with a nod. "We were separated as children by our parents’ decision. I’m afraid I don’t have many memories of him."
"Well, you look exactly like him, if I could be so bold as to point out!" Ms. Harrow declared. "Of course, Master Alec had blonde hair, like his father. I can see that being the only difference! Did your mother have black hair, maybe?"
"She did indeed." Remus lied easily.
"That explains it." Ms. Harrow agreed happily, making her way down the hall. "Would you like some tea before settling in, Master Remus?"
"No, thank you. It was a long journey. I am eager to retire." The young man refused. "I know you’ve been staying up waiting for my arrival. My apologies. Please retire for the evening yourself."
"Very good, Master Remus. Thank you. No trouble at all." Ms. Harrow smiled before making her way up the stairs.
Remus watched her go up. It was painful not to hug the old woman. To let her know how much she meant to him. How good it was to see her.
But that couldn’t happen. It was necessary.
Remus and Alec Blake were not brothers.
They were the same person.