A lone caravan rolled down the dusty trails on the heels of a pair of horses, laden to its brim with cargo in the night. Part and parcel of that cargo was a man clad in armor from head to toe, and a greatsword resting between the little space that had been afforded to his legs. The back of the caravan was crammed with crates of varying shapes and sizes to the point that there was barely enough space for him to breathe, but he was just grateful that the trader who owned it had let him ride in the back at all.

  The rumbling of the ground underneath as the caravan rolled by had been his only companion during the journey, so much so that its shift from a ground, sandy trail to a cobbled path was jarring to the man, whose armor rattled loudly from how the caravan shook on the new terrain.

  A few minutes after they had taken to the cobbled path, the caravan came to a halt, sending a pang of fear through the man. Hearing voices converse right outside the caravan, his thoughts raced to possibilities that he had been driven straight to the nearest guards of the kingdom to be given away as a prisoner. He could hear the vague chatter of dialog between multiple people on either side of the caravan, and it made him clutch the greatsword tightly to himself. As he pressed his ear to the cargo nearby, the accursed knight heard a distinctive jingle of currency before the caravan started moving again, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

  It was another few minutes before the caravan stopped again, and this time he heard the driver walk around it to the back end, unlatching the door and acquainting him with the light of day once more. “We’re at Leona, that’s all you paid for. Off you go now.” the driver motioned for him to get lost.

  That was one thing Gareth Knox was quite eager to do. Slinging his greatsword over his back, he nodded a simple thanks to the driver before walking to the closest street he could find walking deeper into the city.

  Looking around him, Gareth found a sense of comfort that he was on the interior of the towering stone walls of the city. Everything wasn’t as he had hoped, but he trudged on regardless. A city weathered by the passing centuries and plagued by a thin layer of smog beyond the Veil was something he could bear, for the sake of his own life. He trusted the adventurer who had guided him here with all his heart – surely there would be upsides to living in such a place?

  Wandering through the narrow, winding alleyways between buildings, he soon came to realize that the state of the city wasn’t just isolated to the outer ring, but that it got worse as he got closer to the center. Where structures didn’t crowd the streets themselves, the people had taken to expanding their own businesses well outside the bounds of their homes, and the stench of unwashed refuse lay deep-set in the uneven brick-lane roads. He kept his sights low from the uncaring eyes of the locals, not wanting to incite any new problems when he already had so many.

  Gareth hadn’t been wandering for long in search of any form of recognizable establishment among the squalor of Leona before he heard someone address him from left field.

  “Oi! Oi, you! Wench with the long steel!”

  Gareth stopped in his tracks to look back at a man who seemed to be clad in a guard’s outfit, although the kingdom’s crest had long been washed out and remained only akin to a stain on his attire. He also wore little to no armor, only sporting a pair of pauldrons and greaves over his loose-fitting, discolored clothing. Gareth didn’t respond to the calls, instead looking around himself to check who was being harassed.

  “Whatcha lookin at? I’m talking to ya, ya sod!” the guard hollered as he got closer until he was within arm’s reach of Gareth, a hand placed on the handle of a hammer resting at his side. “I ain’t ever seen ya round these parts before, so spill it- what’s yer business?”

  “I- I’m seeking asylum!” Gareth blurted out, unnerved but not quite scared of the guardsman’s stinging verbosity. “I was sent by Ni-”

  “Asylum! Ha!” The guard laughed before Gareth could finish, looking to either side of himself before staring at the armor-clad man with an incredulous face. “Well then- pay up! If yer gonna ask for asylum, ye gotta pay the tax.”

  Gareth took a step back upon being greeted by this new information, quietly cursing himself for spending all the money not used for food on the caravan to Leona. “I don’t have any yet, but I can work-”

  “No taxes means yer living off our lord like an ungrateful cretin! Thoo!” The guard bellowed, before spitting on Gareth’s plate mail boot. “I should have ye imprisoned for such a crime!”

  “I am willing to work!” Gareth repeated himself, attempting to stick to non-violent solutions as best he could at the moment. Garnering attention to himself would be dire, he decided, as he backed a few steps away from the guard.

  “Work!? Oh, ye will,” The guard took every inch he was given on Gareth, before grabbing his arm and beginning to drag him along. “Ye will answer to the lord himself for tryna leech off his mercy!”

  Gareth mostly stayed quiet and obedient as he was dragged through the city in a heavy-handed manner. As brutish as the guard seemed, this still seemed like a helpful endeavor for the oathbreaker. He was about to meet the city’s “lord” or so it seemed. As they lumbered through the city, the weathered and rustic city structure gave way to a much grander establishment – a decorated yet dilapidated castle lay in the middle of the chaotic city, sporting the largest expanse of continuous greenery he had seen all day. It still seemed all too elaborately constructed, as if that was the sole claim to foliage the city possessed in good faith.

  It wasn’t long before Gareth was dragged into the interior of the castle after a short yet rude exchange between the guard escorting him and those who had been sleeping while leaning on the gates. The interior of the mansion seemed no different than the garden outside – a painstakingly curated and elaborate attempt at preserving what little nobility remained in the structure he imagined had once been the home of a celebrated ruler.

  The guard burst into the central court without any care for order or permission, still dragging Gareth with like the way a vicious dog would drag its prey through the dregs of the street. There was clamor, chaos and an overall air of insubordination everywhere the eye could see as clear as day within the court. Numerous men on either side of the court argued over their own concerns, but at the head of the room, Gareth spotted an old man sprawled over a throne. He could only glance up for a moment before he was thrown down to his knees and the guard started shouting.

  “MY LIEGE!” the guard began, raising his volume so that his voice would be heard over the others. “Yer loyal servant brings you a miscreant! A tax-evading urchin, picked up from the streets that I so diligently protect. Such kind are a blight upon our fair city of Leona!”

  Gareth looked up at his escort with furrowed brows and intense confusion written over his face, but before he could protest there was a sudden hush in the court, caused by the old man raising his hand to call for silence.

  The old man cast his gaze down at Gareth, his pruned and wrinkly facial features trembling ever so slightly before he looked to his side. A younger, cloaked man suddenly appeared from behind the throne to offer his ear to the elder. “Who is this man?” his feeble voice reached no ears other than the ones at his side.

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  There was yet another silence before the cloaked man spoke, this time addressing Gareth. “Did you not hear the lord?” He shouted with impunity dripping from his voice. “State your name and purpose!”

  “G-Gareth Knox, sir!” Gareth replied, kneeling on one knee to make himself more presentable. “I come humbly seeking asylum! I will work–” he began justifying his case, before the cloaked man raised a quivering hand, indicating for him to pause.

  The old man moved once more, turning to his aide and speaking with the cadence of a withering bush. “Do we… grant asylum?”

  “For freeloaders, we certainly do not, my liege,” The cloaked aide spoke softly, before placing a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “If milord would let his aide handle this?”

  “Yes, yes… go ahead.” the old man waved his arm once before returning to his stationary repose.

  “As Leona’s law states, we do not offer asylum. Who is spreading this misinformation? They too must be punished-”

  “Nikolas! I was sent here by a good man, Nikolas Wallace. He said to mention his name when I arrived, but I never got that chance.” Gareth exclaimed, glancing back at the guard who had dragged him there with a scornful gaze.

  The cloaked aide froze upon hearing the name, leaning down to get a better look at Gareth. “Care to repeat yourself? Who sent you here?”

  “Nikolas Wallace.” Gareth spoke, nervousness creeping up his spine. Had everything thus far been a cruel trick? He wanted to believe that he hadn’t been misled.

  The old ruler shifted once more, beckoning his aide closer with a grunt and asking him something unintelligible, to which his aide responded in kind. “Our scribes have deciphered it to be the identification of a spy. Allow me to dispose of him,” After a barely noticeable nod from the geezer, his aide addressed the court once again. “You, guardsman. You’ve done our lord a good service today. You may leave this criminal to my discretion. Return to your post, with a reward.”

  “Of course, milord,” The guard nodded, waiting a few seconds for a servant from one of the side rooms to appear with a small pouch on a platter. “All hail Leona!” he exclaimed, quickly pocketing the pouch before scampering out of the court with the dignity of a glorified hamster.

  Gareth was still panicked, worrying about what this meant for his fate. He spotted a pair of guards arriving from the same side room the servant had appeared and quickly spoke up, hoping to appeal to the dilapidated ruler. “I’M AN INNOCENT MAN! PLEASE– I NEED YOUR HELP!”

  “Take him away for interrogation. I shall see to it… personally.” The aide spoke, looking down at Gareth with a cold scowl.

  Looking around himself, there were multiple guards, all armed with polearms aimed directly at Gareth. It dawned on him that fighting wasn’t an option in which he lived, and that he would still have to make it through the rest of the city if he did make it out of the castle alive. “YOU HAVE TO RECONSIDER- PLEASE! I’LL WORK TO PAY THE TAX-” He continued to shout, hoping to hit a chord in the hearts of anyone within the court as he was dragged away.

  Starved of food and light, Gareth sat in a dark, dingy, cube-shaped cell which lay completely barren of any features. His sword and other belongings had been confiscated, though they were unable to get his armor to physically part from his body and thus had left it on him. He silently cursed his fate as hunger claimed the last of his strength, and bemoaned the name of the last person he trusted – Nikolas Wallace. To think someone would do something so elaborate as send him off to a city riddled with such blatant corruption… it sickened him.

  Gareth had no concept of how much time had passed, but at some point the door to his cell swung open. A cloaked man walked in, locking the door behind him. It was the same man who had been at the elderly ruler’s side, his personal aide.

  “Who sent you?” The man questioned, pulling the cloak back to reveal his face. Cold, calculative eyes stared down at Gareth, the left one having a scar running right beside it, and another across the side of his neck. “I want real answers. Lie to me again, and I will have you skinned alive.”

  Gareth shuffled as far back as he could into the corner of the cell, wary of the man before him. “Nikolas. Nikolas Wallace.” was his only defense against the question levied on him.

  “And what was this Nikolas like?” The man prompted him again, clenching his fists as he approached his armored prisoner with an air of authority.

  “I- I don’t know… I only met him once,” Gareth replied, shrinking as the scarred man got closer. “He told me to come here and ask for– AUGH!”

  The scarred man stepped forward, raising his leg and bringing it down on Gareth’s stomach with as much force as he could muster. “Remember! What was he like!?” He commanded the knight with another steel-tipped strike to his gut.

  Despite the plate armor protecting him, there was only so much Gareth could withstand in his weakened state. “UGH- H-he wore a mask! I didn’t see his face! Please! He looked like a rogue, that’s – that’s all I know!”

  “DON’T LIE TO ME! WHO WAS HE?” The scarred man didn’t take to Gareth’s answer kindly, kicking him again before leaning down to begin punching him. Despite the steel helmet in the way, the man showed no acknowledgement to the growing pain as he caved the metal into Gareth’s skull. Blood was spilt, both that of Gareth and of his assaulter. The ordeal went on for a few minutes, only coming to a halt when a woman appeared at the door of the cell.

  “Roman, stop!” The woman called out, at which prompt the scarred man looked back at her with bloodlust in his eyes. Leaning against the cell door and supporting herself, the woman’s posture would have seemed unusual, if not for her somewhat bloated belly indicating the reason for her strain. “Do you think he’s really alive?” she asked, placing a hand on her stomach to support herself.

  “No… there’s no way,” Roman shook his head, walking back towards the woman with an empty laugh. “I have everything right now… we have everything right now. There’s no way he’ll ruin everything we’ve worked for, Selene!”

  “Maybe it’s just a coincidence, Roman,” The woman spoke softly to him, casting a cursory glance at the beaten down Gareth lying still in the corner of his cell. “Leave him be. He doesn’t deserve it…” she reasoned, taking Roman’s hand and placing it on her stomach. “This is the first we’ve heard of his name in years…”

  Roman’s expression softened as Selene guided his hand to her stomach, and gradually his scowl morphed into a weary smile as he listened to her. “He’s never coming back, I know. But just the thought – I’m only afraid because of you, and what we’re going to raise soon.” he said, closing the door behind them as he led Selene out of the cell.

  “I know you are… and sometimes, I am too.” Selene said, placing a hand on Roman’s scar and making a wiping motion on it, as if something so paltry would get rid of it. “We’ve gotten away with many things over the years. He was just a small part of… one of those many things.”

  “Yes, but right now? After all these years, now is when his name resurfaces?” Roman took a deep breath, chiding himself. “He was already capable of a lot back then. Maybe we should make arrangements to leave Leona…”

  “Travel isn’t good for me right now…” Selene let out a protracted sigh, leaning against the exterior wall of the cell. “This has to be a coincidence… it’s not so strange for someone to have the same name.”

  “So what do you want me to do?” Roman asked, frustrated by the restrictions her situation put on them. “Set this man free to roam the city?”

  “He wanted asylum, right… give it to him.” Selene suggested, though her position relative to Roman certainly made it more than just a suggestion.

  Laying in a pool of his own blood and occasionally coughing up more with no signs of help, Gareth let his eyes close and embraced the darkness of the cell around him. As the conversation outside continued, he could only think of one thing right now – the power of just one name, which had brought him all the way to Leona, and had now landed him in this desolate cell.

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