The plow slipped from his hands and thudded into the furrows. His daughter's shrieks tore in the morning.
"Father! Please,father!"
The delicate butterfly pin gave a brittle snap. Half of it clung stubbornly to her hair, while the broken wing slipped free, tumbling down until it kissed the soil.
One of the men in the grey coat clamped his palm over her mouth, muffling her cries. The other stepped forward, boots sinking into the soft earth.
"Leave her!" the farmer shouted, stumbling toward them. "She's done nothing!"
A sharp kick to his chest drove him flat into the dirt. Soil filled his mouth. The man above him sneered, long coat swaying with the wind, a silver watch dangling at his breast. As it swung, the farmer glimpsed the dial, the date carved clear: 13th of The serpent.
"Your daughter's wanted," the first knight said. He threw her across his shoulder like a sack of grain, her fists thumping uselessly against his back. "The high ones asked for her."
"She's twelve," the farmer rasped, spitting mud. He dragged himself to his knees, clutching at the man's leg. "Tomorrow's her name-day. Please… take me instead."
The knight only laughed. His boot cracked against the farmer's jaw, splitting skin. The first knight mounted his broom, coat snapping in the air, and rose above the field with the girl bound and weeping.
"No!" The farmer stumbled after them, chasing their shadow across the furrows. His hands clawed at empty air.
Something wrenched him back .An arm, a fist. The second knight hurled him down, straddled his chest, and pinned him. The silver watch swung again, glinting cruelly in the light.
"You beg too much," the knight growled.
"You monster!" the farmer gasped, gripping his collar, dragging him close.
The reply came in fists. Knuckles cracked bones, split lips, and broke teeth. Again. Again. The farmer's hands slipped from the coat. Blood spread into the soil. His breath grew shallow, then still.
The knight stood, wiping his hands, glaring at the spatter across his coat. "Ruined. I'll need another." With a whistle he mounted his broom, lifting into the pale sky.
The field lay silent, save for the drip of blood from broken earth. Beside the body, a small yellow button gleamed in the dirt.
Beyond the black wall, where the kingdom's shadow ended and the sun broke over the horizon, the cries of the field faded into silence. Somewhere else, far removed from blood and dirt, red wine spilled across a wooden floor, pooling dark as blood.
Arthur rubbed at the stain, his hands moving by habit though his thoughts wandered.
The wooden floor gleamed under the soft afternoon light, polished to a dull shine. Arthur wiped down a glass, slower this time, though it was already spotless. His hands moved by habit, his mind elsewhere.
"Are you going with me or not?"
Kit's voice drew his attention. He stood across the long table, hands in pockets, black hair slightly mussed, a quiet grin on his face. Arthur pulled out a fresh glass, eyes flicking to Kit's face.
"No, I don't think I'll be free from work today, maybe on the 15th of the serpent." Arthur said, though the words sounded hollow even to him. He turned back to the table, polishing.
Kit leaned forward, gesturing at the empty bar. "Come on. Nobody comes to the bar after four."
"Don't be a fool. A man might forsake his wife, but never his drink."
He set the glass down, sighing.
The bell above the door chimed, sharp and sudden. Arthur looked up.
She was there. Black dress, pale skin, black hair spilling from under a wide black hat, the red flower glinting faintly above the hat. Her clicking heels echoed in the quiet bar. Each step made his heart stutter.
"I am thirsty," she said, tilting her hat back. "Can you make it go away, young man?"
Arthur swallowed hard. He nodded, fumbling with bottles. Focus, Arthur. Just focus on the drinks.
The first glass was poured. His hands shook as he placed it in front of her. His gaze caught hers blue eyes, unblinking, commanding.
Arthur caught Kit's stare :too sharp, too long. His friend's smile didn't reach his eyes.
Arthur's concentration wavered. His leg slipped. The glass of wine flew through the air, landing squarely on the woman's dress.
"Oh! Sorry! Please forgive me!" Panic shot through him. He grabbed a towel, heart hammering.
Kit rushed forward, eyes sharp and focused. "Please forgive Arthur. It will never happen again."
The woman took the towel, giving a warm smile. "It's alright. I don't mind."
Arthur exhaled, body slackening slightly. Kit's face burned red beside her, and the warmth that filled Arthur's chest was confusing and distracting.
Another slip. Another spill. This time, a large chunk of liquid splashed over her head. Silence.
Arthur's stomach dropped. The woman slowly opened her eyes. They widened in shock at Kit, drenched from the spill. Arthur froze.
"Ah! Please forgive me!" He rushed to the door, but she shook her head and giggled softly, dabbing at Kit with the towel.
Arthur slammed the backdoor shut behind him, muttering to himself. "You bastard… I am not doing this ever again."
Outside the bar, he settled onto a wooden bench, notebook in hand, sketching the central tower. The wind rustled the pages. The backdoor opened again, but footsteps were muffled by the grass and trees surrounding the bar.
"Hey, Arthur," Kit said, sliding onto the bench beside him, hugging him tightly.
"You idiot, I can't breathe," Arthur complained, covering his notebook with his arms.
"Thanks, brother. I owe you." Kit sat back, grinning.
Arthur glanced at him. "Did she say anything?"
"No, she thanked me. And here, please take this." Kit handed over a small pouch, heavy with coins.
Arthur frowned, shaking his head. "Again, you fool. In the last two months, I've never had a problem with money. You're still giving me more."
"Take it. I know you need it more than I do. If a brother won't help in need, who can we trust?" Kit's grin widened.
Arthur stopped, looking at Kit's smile. His heart beat faster than usual. For a moment, the world narrowed to just this.The smile, the gesture and the warmth between them.
"You bastard," Arthur muttered, a mix of exasperation and something unrecognizable. "Why are you working in a bar if you're rich?"
Kit stood, gaze shifting to the central tower. "That's my passion." His voice shook, the smile fading slightly. Arthur noticed.
"Okay… let's go to work. Otherwise, the senior staff will get angry."
"Yeah… let's go." A paper butterfly floated past the small garden behind the bar, carried by a faint breeze.
Arthur looked up at the clouds. "Something terrible is going to happen today."
A figure approached outside, a man in a long gray coat. His steps were purposeful, measured.
Arthur clenched his notebook, the paper trembling under his hand. He watched the shadows, the world beyond his little garden ,and realized that today would be different. Today, nothing would stay calm.
Arthur was wiping the counter when faint cries reached him from the street outside. At first, he thought it was children playing, but the tone ,high-pitched and frantic made his stomach tighten.
A cluster of people had gathered along the edge of the road, voices rising and breaking in panic.
"Please! My daughter! She's gone someone help me!" a woman wailed, her voice cracking into sobs.
"They'll take all of them if we keep silent!" a man roared, fists pounding against the cobblestones.
Somewhere in the press of bodies, a boy's voice rose high and thin: "Mama, don't let them take me,please!"
Arthur set the glass down, listening. Even through the walls, the panic carried pleading voices, sharp and desperate. He couldn't see them, but he imagined mothers clutching their children, fathers cursing into the dirt. The sound alone was enough to make his stomach tighten.
"They're just commoners… who cares?" from the crowd of drinkers, a man shouted, a cruel voice full of certainty.
Arthur's heart thumped. His fingers traced the rim of a glass, cold sweat forming at the base of his neck. He realized he could feel the panic in the air,the same panic that must have gripped the people running alongside the Black Wall.
The clang of boots on the cobblestones rang next, followed by the shimmer of something metallic.
Arthur's heart hammered in rhythm with the ringing steel. A cold sweat broke over him, though no one else in the bar seemed to notice. He narrowed his eyes toward the street outside.
A knight stood before the roaring crowd, sword glinting in his hand, blue jacket snapping in the wind. Another followed close behind him.
"Girls in this town are getting lost again and again! Is this a small problem for you?" a man screamed, his voice cracking.
The knight shimmered with the weapon's glow.
"No… run!" someone cried, and the crowd scattered like leaves in a storm.
A swing of the sword cut through the air with a sharp whoosh, followed by a scream that pierced even the bar's walls.