It had been five years since Alwold last spoke with his sister.

He hadn't spoken to her for so long that he certainly didn't intend to speak with her today and ask why he saw her coming out of the Strive through the Railing. Should he use this against her and report Pappe when he comes home? If he comes home. And that's how his thoughts drifted from plotting for Hale to mourning the deathly absence of his grandfather for their entire lives since their mother's arrest. Before he could look for her again, she had already disappeared, probably on her way back home.

Amidst the cobblestone streets of Kinnos Prime and its symphony of sounds, a black regal carriage drawn by two white horses raced through the main road to the Warden's Quarters. The sigil of Kinnos, a black stag on the flag fixed on the vehicle, rippled aggressively with the wind. A middle-aged man wearing an elaborate velvet caftan jacket stepped out with his pocket watch in hand, hurrying into the tall building accompanied by his convoys. Lithius Kinn was a glorified palatine, at least among the palatines that maintained order in their respective provinces, and even after close scrutiny, Alwold couldn't tell what of him Pappe found so despicable.

He turned to a corner, across the road when the carriages no longer passed by. Right before the theatre was the Meydan, the bustling square bathed in the midday sun where the street performers with nimble fingers attempted their best acts, dancing with strings to draw attention from the moneyed individuals, though they themselves were putting on their best acts to seem the least interested in the performers.

Alwold always wondered how they lived on with very few sicils they accumulated in a day. He couldn't tell if they were least bothered about the money since they were displaying their talents to the theatre in hopes of getting hired, or if they really needed the money. Whatever the reason, the Prime was most evidently for the affluent to indulge in. The same three performers had been there for years that made him wonder if they could be Primers posing as Strivers in broad daylight.

It had only been a week since he completed his final curriculum in Second Academia, and most of his peers had already found themselves their fonded partners, forevowing to their childhood darlings while he was still exploring this putrid world for a place he truly belonged, let alone in someone's heart, but that was the least of his worries.

His mind, still enraptured by the pages of old tomes and the wisdom of scholars long gone, reluctantly reacquainted itself with the unacceptable present. Ten years of studying history, mathematics and science, and he still didn't know how to apply those lessons to the enigma of his own existence, a puzzle that seemed to grow more complex with every passing day.

The air was rich with the fragrance of blooming bougainvillaea, spraying its pink teardrop leaves across the dark pavements, carried by a gentle breeze that managed to get over past the Girdle from the sea. Alwold could never know the islands and other lands the wind may have touched, however many there may be—his final curriculum's history book boldly established that the unexplored seas were a subject reserved for the Monocle's Navy. Only a lifeless lost slob would give himself away to Interior Service and join the Monocle.

But aren't I a lifeless lost slob too?

His hypocrisy sometimes even surprised him.

He stroked the books in his hand, wishing whatever he needed to know lied within those pages. And what if he did find the answers? What then? Would he be free of the fear of being taken away? Would the monocle spare him if he knew why one dreams? Why his mother dreamt? Why she never protested against the Ironhands like all who dream do when their fate of being locked away unfolds before them?

He stood from the bench and left the Meydan. His home stood at the far end of the Banker's District, where the printing press his grandfather owned was located too, right at the intersection where it connected to the Printing District. A short array of large houses made of limestone was built on either side of the wide plane tree-lined street. As the name of the street implied, most of his neighbours worked in the Bank of Kinnos, and a couple of others were professors in its Academiums.

The black gates to the gated residence were guarded by a pair of watchmen, though he acted mostly as a dispatcher rather than overseeing the security of their homes, because this was Qardis, the safest zenith in all the lands of Thelessia, the leaflets from the printing presses would say.

The gates opened before Alwold could inform them to, the watchman nodding respectfully for the young master to walk to his home with his books in hand.

He stepped into the arched doorway between the columns that held their tiny black porch, and then closed the door behind him, silently. Turning around, he almost knocked into a curly-haired maidservant, only it wasn't a maidservant, it was his sister. For some reason he locked eyes into her brown ones, neither shock or anger or any emotion taking over. She slid past him before he did, and they moved their separate ways.

The maidservant he thought he saw when he almost crashed into Hale was in his bedroom upstairs, exiting with a bucket and a mop. The Striver gestured a bow and opened the door she just closed for Alwold to enter.

The lethargy of the entire morning swept over him as the door closed behind again. He trundled to his mosaic of bookshelves on the wall and lazily placed the Athenaeum's property by his Pinewood bureau. Seeing the desk tidy with all the papers properly stacked onto a corner and his inkpot refilled somehow bothered him. It wasn't how he remembered leaving the desk last. The scribbles of numerous citations and references were all filed neatly underneath the book that said 'A Discourse on the Qardian Arts and Performances Post-Atonement'.

He would tell the maid not to touch his study, although today was past the hundredth time he wasn't going to. She probably might never step into his room if he complained.

He removed his black overcoat and loosened his tie, collapsing onto the chair like he arrived home from a war. Why did he have to feel so tired early in the day? His fingers were on his temples while his eyes rolled up to the shelves that were suffocating with the pages of his restless quests for answers. Without moving he glanced outside at the window—a grey sky that got darker than before he arrived home. He glanced at the clock—a generous amount of two hours to remain locked in before he went down for lunch, ensuring Hale already ate before he was going to. Pappe wouldn't be home today like he had said, and he certainly wasn't going to be home tonight if he was on his furtive business trips in another Province. Tomorrow he would go to the Athenaeum again, just to visit the haberdasher and see if purchasing a new pair of gloves could be afforded. It was a paradox—feeling that you had so many things to do when you truly had nothing to do, except feel miserable.

There was no telling how, but the image of his mother crashed into his mind, followed by the realization that he does not remember his father anymore, which was then followed by the couple he saw in the Meydan earlier today, each of their hands holding one of their little boy's. When he opened his eyes, the white ceiling of his room blurred. He blinked and his sight was clear again, disallowing the tears to escape. He remembered a girl from the Academium that studied in the same lectures as him accepting a dainty little white rabbit from the boy who proclaimed he had been accepted into the University of Caelin with pride. She would probably go with him too, fulfil her dreams of studying chemistry while also getting to live with her forevowed. Some people are born lucky. And living in the Prime did not make a difference. Love was biased. And it only came to you if you deserved it.

Alwold felt he didn't deserve it. How could he, when he doubted himself if he even loved his sister enough to talk to her again.

* * *

"Have you ensured the maidservant left?"

"She left right after I returned home," Hale answered Pappe.

"Did you see her leave?"

She shifted a look at her brother.

"I'm sure—"

"So you didn't." Phylex placed the spoon down on the table hard, dabbing his thin mouth with the napkin. "Did you see her leave, Alwold?"

Alwold's spoon hung suspended by his open mouth. "No. Because I wasn't here."

"Why weren't you? Where were you in the evening?" their grandfather asked sternly.

"At the Athenaeum? I was returning books."

Pappe Phylex sighed heavily his whole soup must've turned cold. The candelabras weren't doing a good job in lighting the dining room, or at least that's what it felt like. "Every week there's something you two have to do that makes me consider retaining back staff again." He gave the looks at both his grandchildren. "We promised to stay heedful of any unfortunate eventualities and small blunders like these are exactly what leads to them. Are we going to lose any more family again? Huh?"

Alwold imagined the Ironhands coming after Hale. Although the frown his grandfather had on him erased that thought away.

Hale's eyes were on her finished bowl of dinner. The room spoke of silence quiet enough that the muffled sound of carriages running outside reached their ears. It was the same dinner every day when their grandfather was home for the night. Quiet, tense and particularly uneasy.

"What do you read, Alwold?"

"What?" Alwold shifted his sight at his grandfather, surprised.

"I asked, what do you read these days?" Phylex questioned softly.

"Uh... history? Just history."

His eyebrows hopped. Phylex looked like he wasn't pleased with what he heard. "You visit the Athenaeum because you read history? Was Second Academia not adequate enough for you?"

"Yes? Why?" Alwold was still perplexed. There was no telling what Pappe thought behind those pale brown eyes of his. "I mean, yes, I read History."

"You are certain?"

"I am?"

"And not because you have taken yourself to see someone?"

"What?"

Hale giggled discreetly.

Alwold fought the urge to frown at her. "Absolutely not," he said. "If there was any truth in what I said I would have asked you before getting myself a rabbit."

"Fair enough," Phylex said, rising. He drew out his pocketwatch fastened by a gold chain to his waistcoat and read the time. "Very well, I will be taking my departure shortly, I had left work in the logistics department to resume tonight. The watchmen have the quarters guarded, rinse your bowls in the basin before stowing them away, and douse the lights in your rooms by ninth hour. I shall return tomorrow noon, or evening should I be late."

Alwold remained seated nonchalantly, tearing pieces off the half-eaten chicken on his plate.

Hale groaned standing up. "Can't we retain at least one person for the night to do these chores? I'm exhausted."

"After what you did?" Alwold muttered under his breath, glaring at her when she wasn't looking.

"We are never recruiting anymore Strivers in this residence," Phylex said authoritatively, returning from the racks where the cutlery was stowed. "I assumed that was made clear. We shall either live like the Strivers or give ourselves into the Lawkeepers to be taken away, and the prospect of the latter isn't very bright." He grabbed his coat hung by his chair and put it on. "I've arranged the housekeeping from the Dema residence next door for their services here for the upcoming week, starting tomorrow. No fraternizing with any of them, mind you. Should either of you dare to disobey me, you'll find yourselves in the Interior Service, rubbing shoulders with the Ironhands you both so passionately detest."

We might as well live in the Strive, Alwold thought.

Pappe slicked his grey hair back and left with the brown briefcase, his checkered coat vanishing into the shadows leading to the hall. His footsteps against the marble floor died and silence greeted them again, before Hale let out a heavy breath. She walked lazily to the wash basin next room and left to her room as well, leaving him alone at the table. He stood, wondering.

You send our mother away and now you have the audacity to ask for more staff in this house.

Alwold's vision blurred with a tear forming in his eye. He leaned over the clay vessel, arching his back and hanging from his shoulders. This time he allowed the tear to stream down his cheek and drop on the water.

He tilted his face skyward, heaving sobs like he was begging for an end, a resolution to his life, an antidote to the suffering he was burdening himself with. Because no one can know, no one should know. This pain was his, and it was not to be shared, because no one would care to care.

Amidst the polished counters and mosaic-tiled walls in the kitchen, he was the only piece of rust lingering too long. He contained his sobs looking at the glasses and vessels arranged in the racks. He was sniffling and used his sleeve to wipe his nose, while an idea churned in his head.

Pappe was gone, Hale was out of his sight, he had time for himself, and tonight didn't feel like a night he'd want to spend sleeping. He had plenty of days ahead for that. Right now, he needed to heave the weight in his chest out. And he wasn't going to do it at home. He thought about what Despa Deniz had told him yesterday at the Athenaeum.

He tip-toed on the stairs to his room to grab the black overcoat. He switched his shoes with boots and chose a black wide-brimmed hat to complete his guise. He climbed down the stairs stealthily once more and walked past the shadowed hall of his house to step outside.

A half-moon hung low in the sky, allowing light strips of clouds to run past her as she gave colour to the night's ceiling, a deep blue radiating from its light. He could feel the air cold behind his neck, though the collar of his coat reached almost to his chin so he could sink his face behind it if he recognized anyone in public. But this chill in the back of his neck was an eerie sensation. He looked up behind him at the window where Hale's room was situated. The doors to her balcony were closed, and there was no sign of light. Free of suspicion, he proceeded moving forward.

One of the watchmen with a lamp in his hand noticed his approaching and turned to his surprise.

"Can you fetch me a carriage. I'm taking a stroll to the Square."

"But Sey Phylex—"

"I will be back before midnight."

The watchman glanced at the other standing by the gate, and without a word, he opened the gates to the nearly silent road. One of the residences on the end of the avenue received its inhabitants and sent their carriage away approaching back in their direction. The watchman signalled it and the coachman stopped his horses. Alwold stepped out of the gates while his guard opened the door for him to climb inside.

"Where to, Sey?"

Alwold brushed his fingertips on his chin and under his nose, feeling the bristles of hair on his face. "Meydan, The Whispering Chalice," he answered, attempting to voice it a little deeper than he would.

A tavern was not for a seventeen-year-old at this time of night, but so was it not for the rest of his peers who were going to be there.

___ _______________ ___

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