The wager.

The sun had just settled in the sky, painting the clouds a beautiful shade of orange; the settlement was starting to ring with life as the guards and instructors took their places. The torches on each pillar of the settlements were already put out by the guards as they waited for the one assigned to ring the morning bell to do his work.

Lesson was scheduled to start today. The days of leisure had come to an end, and the reason why they were all here dawned on them like the sun just had.

The heavy metal bell that was situated a few miles from the settlement. It was so huge it got itself its own building. With stones arranged one on top of the other and glued together with clay, the bell was hung high up and could only be rung by pulling a very thick rope which went over the top of the bell and sank down, surely caught in between many other machines.

The manner in which the tower had been built, the way the bell worked was nothing of his concern; all he was meant to do was ring the bell.

The heavy bell sounded throughout the mountain, not only waking up the trainees but also the Alvitir's household.

However, the only Alvitir that was yet to awaken was Ayra, for Alvitir and his son were already awake, dressed up, and ready to start the day. The only difference between them was that Alvitir had had a splendid night's rest even though plagued with what he had just discovered; he managed to get a good sleep.

Cillian was different; he couldn't close his eyes all through the night.

He knew the reasons for such, but addressing them was what he was reluctant to do.

He heaved a sigh and then walked out to meet his father who was waiting in front on the lawn with his entourage in tow.

The entourage consisted of the other houses; Balor and Stregobor and their personal servants as well.

Cillian knew seeing his sister there would be highly improbable so he didn't bother to look. His head was hung low as he approached the Head of the Houses.

"Greetings," he bowed slightly.

Alvitir gave his son a hard stare; his eyebrows were narrowed, giving his son a scrutinizing stare that couldn't be reciprocated given the fact that his eyes were pinned to the ground.

Alvitir opened his mouth, but the voice that could be heard wasn't his own.

"Did you talk to him?"

Cillian raised his eyes to meet Stregobor's. Their unvoiced, short tussle hanging in the air between the two of them. Cillian was reluctant to deliver an answer, and Stregobor equally exuded the idea of being reluctant to communicate with him.

Both were very prideful men, who had skill to back up their pride, to match their complacency. If given the chance to draw swords, to the eyes of the servants, a winner would be impossible to come forth. However, the men involved knew who the winner would be.

Cillian nodded his head, "I did."

"What was his response? What are your thoughts about him?" It was Balor this time.

It was so early in the morning, but he already had a goblet in his hand obviously filled with wine. The stench of the drink was heavily wrapped around him, making it very hard for Cillian to focus on the conversation.

"Well," he glanced ahead while digging through his memory for the events of last night and what Mordeu's response had been.

There was nothing.

"He didn't have a response. He just absorbed the information."

Stregobor's uneasy growl was deafening, "I think we should kill him."

There weren't any voices of controversion nor were there sounds of support. Alvitir only gazed at his son's frown that was aimed at Stregobor, understanding that his son was greatly displeased by his suggestion.

"What do you think?" Alvitir finally got the chance to talk to his son. "Should we kill him?"

"Isn't it better that way? What's the use of keeping the boy? It's normally one Red wolf per a lifetime, but now, there are two," Stregobor argued.

"A lifetime?" Cillian's discontentment was rather infectious. "It's been more than a hundred years; isn't this enough to be considered a lifetime?"

"So you advise that he should remain alive?" Alvitir interpreted the words of his son.

"Yes, Father. I think he should be given a chance to prove that he is not the menace we think he is."

"That was the same thing Tristan's father had thought about him, but what happened next? He drank his father's blood while watching the life drain from his eyes."

Tristan, the name of the Red wolf that was imprisoned, the one that Cillian was supposed to put an end to.

Stregobor nodded, agreeing with Balor's words impatiently. This was what he had been waiting for, someone to agree to his swift yet clean suggestion.

"Mordeu is different," Cillian found himself defending the man who made him lose the ability to get a good shut eye. "And even if he does eventually lose his sanity, I'm here, I will kill him."

Stregobor and Balor shared a look meanwhile Alvitir had his eyes pinned on his son, recognizing the strange passion and interest he had regarding Mordeu.

"We will give him a chance," Alvitir finalized, "but if his sanity does sink, it will be upon you; the punishment will be on you even after you have killed him."

Balor's laughter roared from his gut, "great parenting, if Mordeu does sink into insanity, the kingdoms are going to rip Cillian apart and you're sure you want to deliver him to them?"

Instead of waiting for his father's reply, Cillian answered, his hard stare pinned on his father's eyes that were nothing like his.

"I am certain that Mordeu will not lose his sanity and I am willing to give my life for that."

The heavy eye contact was persistent, "so be it," Alvitir finalized.

"