The sun fell beneath the sky shrouding the cold kingdom of Pizah’Ria in darkness. Distant crows called through the quiet kingdom to their brethren, spilling clandestine tips as to where best to safely pick strewn about sausage and cheese chunks left behind the busy tavern alleys.
Lord Afton looked over the city, his city, with a certain king of hunger. These people who loved him, cheered him from beneath his balcony by day and spoke his family name with reverence, were nothing more than his pawns. Tools in his grand scheme. Tomorrow night would be the start of it, plans tying into what would someday be his great pattern. And when the picture became clear those same people would beat down the castle doors, pitch forks and torches in hand, denouncing his name in the fires of their vengeance.
But by then…it would be too late.
By then…their children will have given him the sacred Remnant coursing through their innocent souls.
Lord Afton would be immortal by the time the city folk realized what he had done. But he was nobility, a refined gentleman. Never would he soil his fine silk coat with their blood.
He turned from the balcony and peered into his workshop, grinning as he took in his metal creations.
Their children would do that for him.
Tonight would be his last night of true mortality. Unsurprisingly he did not relish it one bit. The lord moved through the workshop, past the cold hollow eyes of his constructs staring blankly ahead. In the coming weeks they would come alive with the souls of sacrificed children plucked from the city. Tonight however they were nothing more than metal husks in the distinct shape of different animals.
A chick, a rabbit, a fox and a bear.
Lord Afton turned quick on his heels once he entered into the lit hall and locked the door behind him, clipping the key ring to his belt. None but he were allowed within. His family did not know what he was plotting in the confines of such a sacred place. If they did…Lord Afton knew they would protest.
He took the stairwell down to the dining area and found his right hand and oldest friend Henry at the table. Beside him sat Charlotte picking at her food. The house staff always ate after the noble family they served, and while Lord Afton did not think of Henry Emily as his personal servant, he was glade the man and his daughter did not forget their place.
Henry rose to his feet and bowed, Charlotte immediately did the same, albeit awkwardly.
“My lord is there something you need?”
Afton shook his head. “No. I was walking, clearing my head. Have you seen my son Charlotte?”
Charlotte paused, then shrugged. “Not since this evening before your dinner, my lord. We sparred in the courtyard and then he left rather quickly afterwards.”
Afton nodded, looked upward and yelled at the top of his lungs: “MICHAEL!”
Charlotte jumped at the intensity of his call, leaning into her father for support. Lord Afton took silent note of that. He knew the girl feared him. She was likely the only one who saw through his false facade of the benevolent lord of the land.
A teenager. But still practically a child. Perhaps she might…
No. He wouldn’t do that to Henry. Not unless she made herself a problem.
The lord looked to the entrance of the dining hall and awaited his eldest son.
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