12 prerequisites

When Rian went to answer the door today, he was surprised at the rather glum and gloomy expressions on the children's faces. Usually, they wore frowns or scowls that exuded hostility, but this time they just seem downright dejected.

"What's going on? Already tired of seeing me?" He closed the door and shifted his weight to his heels, leaning back. "Do I remind you of death that badly?"

Neither Careth or Merry felt the urge to reply. Rian noticed their unusual composure and went towards them, officially concerned. "Okay. What is it? Are we not going through the plan anymore?"

"We are," Careth answered, and gathered himself. "But we have a problem. A big problem."

"And that is?"

"Grandmaster Felluor Willdyer," Merry finished.

It seemed that the dread this name brings is universal, for Rian had to take a second to register before uttering, "You mean Sir Felluor?"

Careth nodded. "His Talent is—"

"Reading minds. I know, I know," said Rian curtly as he paced around the room. But rather than being worried or fearful as Careth was expecting, Rian's steps were pounding against the floorboards, his jaw clenched tight, and in his coal black eyes burned an uncontrollable flame of rage.

Out of a sudden, he shouted a harsh curse, and the children flinched in response. For one thing, a member of the Willdyer family should always watch their mouth and never express their vexation with such crude words. If Rian really wanted to be heir, Careth thinks he should first attend a lesson on anger management.

Rian caught their unbelieving stares and said, "Sorry. Excuse me," before heading to his bedroom and slamming the door shut. Careth and Merry turned to each other, perplexed on the sudden outburst.

"I'm going to check on him," Careth said, and Merry gave him an encouraging nod.

As the boy approached the door, he could hear faint shrill screams and muffled voices from the inside, sounding faraway, but ever present. Troubled, he opened the door immediately and saw Rian with his head in his hands, his outline pulsing and slightly disordered as the cacophony ensued.

—

'No, stop! Stop hurting him! I'll listen! I'll listen!'

'Oh, you'll listen? Well it's a little too late for that.'

'Grandfather... Grandfather please, please just let him go... please—'

"Rian!" Careth shook the teenager by his shoulders, and he finally snapped out of it. Rian's eyes followed the hands gripping his shoulders to the boy's concerned face, and stared absently.

"What happened? Are you all right?" asked Careth.

Rian slipped his hands off, exhaling sharply. "I'm fine. Sorry. I just remembered an unpleasant experience."

Careth pursed his lips. "Actually, Rian, I think it's best if you come clear to me now."

"What?"

Careth took a seat on the edge of the bed and played with his fingers. "You're part of the family, aren't you?"

Stunned by the presumption, he couldn't help but blurt again, "What?"

"Everyone knows the grandmaster as someone authoritative and commanding, but only those who lived with him know his true colours," Careth began. "You remembered that unpleasant memory right when I brought him up, and you were really shaken, which means you knew him personally. Am I wrong?"

He turned to look at Rian, and the young man shook his head.

Careth continued. "Moreover, I've been thinking. Why must the heir be Blessed? If the citizens could wield Talents, they could protect the town together, or form a special, Blessed team to ward off the monsters. But that's not the case, which means they cannot wield Talents and have to depend on us, the Willdyer family that has—potentially—Blessed descendants. In other words, the Willdyers are the only people who are Blessed in this whole town."

He finally asked the burning question. "You mentioned you're Blessed. So does that mean you're a member of the family too?"

For part of the truth to be figured out like that, Rian was at a loss for words. He took a moment to find the right words and answered, "Yes. You're quite right."

Careth's eyes lit up momentarily, but it dimmed again shortly after. "Thank you for being honest. Although, I did not enjoy the part where you lied about being the spare."

"I did not lie. Technically, I just didn't tell you everything," Rian defended and stood up while tidying his hair. "I'm still going to replace you when you're gone. It's just that if the plan goes smoothly, there's one less dead body."

"When you put it like that, I kind of wished I was not related to you." The boy smiled tightly.

Rian snickered. "Now that's just hurtful. Don't you attend some manners class or something?"

"I do. But it only made me learn how to insult sophisticatedly."

"What, is it that old hag teaching you? Miss Circumference?"

Careth giggled. "Right on point. I do agree she is a pain. But how did you know? Were you her student previously?"

Rian was about to explain when a knock interrupted their idle chat, and Merry poked in timidly.

"Is everything all right? I was getting worried outside."

Careth waved for her to come in. "Everything's fine. We just sorted out his identity. He's family as well."

"I see," Merry tried to act astonished. "So... is he your brother? Or cousin?"

"Do you want to know?"

Rian directed the question at Careth, his tone serious. Careth thought for a moment, considering both the emotional and rational weight he would have to bear if he knew. Then, he decided.

"No. We won't see each other anymore soon, anyway."

—

The trio proceeded back to the dining table and resumed their discussion.

"I know from experience that Sir Felluor is a strict stickler to the Tradition," Rian started. "So if he catches wind about you not being Blessed, he won't let you go."

"He may even know already. But he doesn't know what I'm planning to do. We just have to be extra careful," Careth said, and turned to Merry. "Tonight, I will sneak into the kitchen to get food. Could you help me obtain a weapon from the armory? I'll show you where it is later."

Merry nodded in agreement. "Sure. Leave it to me."

"And Rian, I know I may be asking a lot, but could you accompany me through the woods? Just for a short distance." He hid his gaze, embarrassed. "I'm... afraid to go in alone all the way. And it will be night as well."

Careth expected him to laugh and tease at his cowardice, but instead Rian replied coolly, "All right. Sure."

"Then it's settled. We'll meet at the front of Witherblaire at midnight. Then, you can finally be free," Merry concluded, giving Careth a determined smile. He returned it with hope.

—

There was still ten minutes left to seven before Merry had to leave. During this time, Careth led her to the east side of the manor, and opened to a room that was adjacent to the entrance of the dueling hall.

"I'd prefer something light, as I'm more of a runner than a fighter," Careth said, glancing through the fine selections of steel blades, revolvers and ammunition that glinted under a sole lantern. "But I guess the real thing will always be heavier."

"I don't think you'd have the strength to pierce flesh, so I'd say let the machines do it." Merry picked a pistol that her fingers could wrap around perfectly.

Careth rolled his eyes. "Fine. But don't take it now. There's maids who will check on the armory after dinner every day."

She placed it back where it belongs. As she did so, Merry was reminded once again of the lump in her throat. "Um, Careth..."

"Hm?" He was checking out the rifles.

"This would probably be our last day together, right?"

The armory went silent, as though there had been no one inside. Everything was still in place, and the weapons, shields and lantern were all audiences witnessing this soap opera unfold. Careth turned around, and even though he wanted to deny, he couldn't. So all he said was,

"Let's not talk about goodbyes now. We'll do it when midnight comes."