“I am Niel!” the boy declared with a triumphantly haughty grin, though Joe didn’t quite understand what was so competitive about meager introductions. He jabbed a finger towards the other hooded man behind him. “And this is my older brother – Wick… Wick… ”

“Wicksie.” The said older brother supplied helpfully.

“Ah, yes, Wicksie.” Niel corrected himself without any shame. “We are travelers bound westward! We would ride all the way through these treacherous fields and valiantly reach the very frontiers of Triciella!”

It was painfully obvious that he was a bad liar, and even more obvious that the taller man was not, in fact, a ‘Wicksie’, but the fake name sounded so similar to ‘Pixie’ that Joe was willing to let it slide for now.

The boy beamed at her with the same haughty grin, and Joe realized that he was waiting for a reaction. For what purpose, she didn’t know, and frankly didn’t even want to know. Everything about him looked like a pain in the ass to deal with.

“I see.” Now Joe kind of understood why Prince Alastair preferred short, clipped phrases. They were lethally effective in most situations, but not against dense, clueless idiots, unfortunately.

“Ah, is that all you hafta say?” The boy visibly deflated, and Joe felt a twitch in her eyes. Was he actually fishing for compliments?

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here though.” Nero asked gently. Niel sent a skeptical look at Nero, as if ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. Joe realized that he had actually been fidgeting in nervousness all this while, and she herself wasn’t the reason.

It was Nero.

“We lost our horse as well.” Wicksie piped up from his place in the corner, his face as serene as ever. “Although, the circumstances are quite different for us. We’re lucky that we hadn’t encountered any bandits on our way.”

Then he paused, and whispered almost wistfully.

“Or maybe the bandits are luckier that they didn’t get in our way.”

Joe had caught a glimpse of the shiny black scabbard hanging from his belt and gulped.

“We got caught up in a devil’s dew.” Wicksie continued, as if talking about the weather and not a near-certain death-trap. “Or more accurately, my horse got caught up in one. We could not sense the pocket in the dark. One moment I was standing on the flat ground, and the next I know, my horse was falling down a pit that wasn’t there in the first place. I managed to leap away in time thanks to Niel, though.”

Joe imagined what it was like to suddenly fall into an endless pitfall without rhyme or reason. She didn’t like the feeling at all.

“And then when Niel got off his horse to help me up, there was another trap near his feet. This was probably man-made. We avoided it narrowly, but his horse got hit near the neck. It startled and ran away before we could do anything.”

“A man-made trap?” Nero leaned forward, intrigued. “What kind?”

“Some triggering mechanism to shoot poison darts.” Replied Wicksie. “A bit old-fashioned idea, but the trap looked like it was freshly laid. But judging from your experiences, Mister Oren, why it was set up in the Grimm canyon is anybody’s guess, isn’t it?”

“The bandits.” Joe felt that familiar fear creep into her limbs, the smell of smoke and steel and freshly killed human bodies littered on the ground. The memories of the attack and the subsequent bloodbath was still imprinted on her mind like a dirty stain.

Her muscles tensed up all the way to her throat and Joe realized belatedly that her limbs were shaking.

“Looks like that was your first brush with death.” Wicksie commented nonchalantly. “And the bandits certainly did quite a number on the two of you.”

His gaze lingered on Nero a moment longer.

“Yeah yeah, but they’re gone now.” Niel’s obnoxious voice rang loudly in the room, grinding her hideous thoughts to a halt. “You guys are here alive and well. Poison darts or whatever, they couldn’t really get what they wanted anyway.” He peered down at her pale face. “So what are you getting all panicky about, idiot?”

Joe felt a hint of a smile creep on her face. “Oh? Worried about me, are we?”

That must have hit the nail right on its head, because the boy turned away with a pout and huff, mumbling something like ‘As if, idiot!’

“It is most curious indeed.” Wicksie said, “We had cross the canyon ahead of you. And we were merely two people all alone in the dark without horses or any way out. Why hadn’t the bandits ambushed us as well?”

Nero let out a bitter laugh. “I think we know the answer to that if you give it some thought. They were obviously waiting for us. No matter how you look at it, that trap must have meant for us. You two merely happened to trigger it before we could arrive. Must have thrown their plans in a loop for a while.”

Nero’s earlier words rushed back to Joe. It didn’t seem all that unlikely that someone had actually paid the bandits to ambush them specifically.

“Forgive my curiosity, did you two not follow any bubblebirds on your way here?” Nero asked again.

This time it was Niel who answered. “We did too. But it ditched us halfway from the capital and ran away before we reached the canyon.”

“I told you that we should have put the bird in a cage.” Wicksie quipped sagely, shaking his head in disparagement.

“That’s not how it should work!” His younger brother (?) insisted. “At least I thought that we could count on her and mumble mumble mumble –”

He sounded awfully petulant about it. Joe wondered if he actually believed that the damned bird would sweep them off to safety like a silver (pink, maybe?) knight. Hah! Gullible fools, all of them!

“At any rate,” Ted Hawkins stared at the hooded duo, his face twisted into an uncharacteristic simmering rage, “You two were lucky that you weren’t pursued by the bandits. And judging by the words of these two –” He jabbed a finger at Nero and Joe, “Luckily, they managed to escape the bandits from the canyon, got their horse injured and hobbled all the way to Mirlock.”

“You must have injured the bandits real good.” Ted continued with a cruel smile. “Those bastards rarely leave their targets alive unless they can’t help it. Killed off quite a few of ‘em, I reckon?”

Nero nodded solemnly, but his so-called ‘niece’ couldn’t answer. The lump was back in her throat when she recalled just how she had gone about a killing spree in the middle of the ambush.

And relished the bloodlust in it, no less.

Joe sensed a pair of inquisitive eyes on her. Niel was watching her with a strange expression on his face. It was weird that he hadn’t made comment about her appearance and its implications all this while. With a bloodied dress and torn hem, nicks and cuts all over her arms, wild hair and a frigging longsword strapped on her back, Joe doubted that she looked anything like a normal, respectable young lady of her age.

But Niel finished his scrutiny and merely shrugged, as if he’d finally found the answer he was looking for. Not a single word was spoken on her –ahem, interesting appearance, and not another glance was spared in her direction. The boy clicked his tongue and plopped back into to chair, the hood pulled over his disinterested, blue eyes.

The door to the study opened in that moment, stopping Joe from pondering on her wayward thoughts. In came a bustling, plump woman with the most winsome smile on her matronly face, holding a tray of steaming soup bowls and what look like fresh herbs and bandages.

“Quite the crowd here, hmm?”

The older woman smiled indulgently, and strode purposefully into the study without waiting for a reply. Once she placed the tray on the wooden desk, her eyes roamed over Nero critically. “So you’re the lass that needs looking after, hmm?”

Nero could only let out an uncertain smile at the words, but Joe had to bite her lips to stop herself from collapsing into fits of giggles. She didn’t think that she’d ever live to see the day someone called Nero a ‘lass’ that needs ‘looking after’, of all things. Apparently, Wicksie found it funny as well, because an unexpected snort of laughter escaped his lips.

“You could at least knock, sister.” Ted Hawkins pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

The older woman waved his words off dismissively. “Oh, whatever for? Not like I’d catch you doing something foolish, hmm?” then she turned her firm gaze on Joe, and the girl almost flinched back under the stare.

“And what is a young girl like you doing in those blood-stained clothes, hmm? I swear to the goddess, adults who couldn’t take care of children shouldn’t drag them around the kingdom willy-nilly.” She stared pointedly at Nero.

The man coughed into his hands and averted his eyes. Joe couldn’t help the surge of amusement that welled up in her chest. Oh how she wished that she had a camera to commemorate this scene!

Ted’s fearsome sister never waited for a reply. She grabbed hold of Joe and unceremoniously began dragging her out of the room. “You finish treating the men, you hear me Ted?” She called from the door as the younger girl struggled in her strong arms. “I’ll see to it that this dearie is properly cleaned and cared for. Goodness me! What is she doing with a bunch of smelly, grouchy men?!”

“Mi—Miss !” Joe began hurriedly, lest the misunderstanding spiraled further out of control. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I–we don’t really have time for—”

She couldn’t finish her sentence. The door slammed shut after them.

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“I could only find one of my old dresses for you, Joey dear.” Mathilda, Ted’s older sister handed her a plain, pale blue shirt and a pair of loose trousers. Despite all that had transpired, Joe could almost cry in relief. Wearing fluffy, ‘ribbon’-y and excessively expensive dresses day in and day out would do that to anyone. Oh, how the girl longed for a pair of comfortable pants instead those modestly billowing skirts with a penchant for tripping her over at every step.

She shrugged out of the stained dress and gladly wore the old clothes, coarse and worn out from years of use. Mathilda unceremoniously pulled out a hair brush from somewhere and wheeled her around towards a tiny mirror hanging from the wall. “Sit tight, dear.” The woman commanded sternly, but her hands were gentle as she patiently combed down Joe’s wild, windswept hair.

The younger girl sat ramrod straight in front of the mirror. She was admittedly a little awed and tad afraid of this stern, and strangely kind person. It was a different sort of fear than what she felt towards Patricia Winsten. That woman scared the shit out of Joe, and simultaneously pissed her off to no end. Mathilda Hawkins, however, somehow reminded Joe of her own mother, strict and scary and strangely resilient all through her life.

“We were a family of six, once upon a time.” Mathilda began quietly, as her hands worked itself in the knots of Joe’s ebony hair. “My father, mother, three brothers and me. I was the oldest of the four siblings. That was probably over two decades ago.”

Joe listened without a word to her wistful voice, well aware that the conversation was something immensely delicate for the older woman. Some conversations were not easy to make, especially to total strangers.

“During those times, the bandits used to run rampant in this area. From the mighty cliffs of the Grimm Canyon, and all the way to the Western outpost, it was death and chaos and destruction all round the year. Our village was but an inconsequential speck caught in the middle of the bloodshed.” Mathilda continued somberly. Joe tried not to think about her own experiences, but the bloody images were hard to get out of the head.

This time, there was a bitterness in her voice when Mathilda spoke. “The previous king had done nothing to protect us. Mirlock back then was even smaller than what it is now, far way from the King’s Highway, nestled between the desolate Grimm canyon and a bizarre forest. They couldn’t even bother to spare any of their imperial forces for some commoners living out in the boonies!”

“Did you ever—” Joe began and then gulped, “Did you ever encounter the bandits?”

There was a quiet chuckle, but it sounded sad and self-depreciating. The girl immediately wished she hadn’t asked. “I didn’t, but my parents did. They were on their way back to the hamlet from Riseindell. Our family used to make medicines from the rare herbs that grow in more humid parts of the canyon, and sell them in the royal capital. That day they had taken my youngest brother with them. It was little Dian’s birthday after all.”

Joe stared at Mathilda in the mirror’s reflection in horror.

The woman never noticed. Her eyes looked as if they were still relieving a long gone dream, unwilling to wake up to reality. “They never returned home that day. Next morning a group of merchants from the neighbouring town had found their mutilated bodies near a cliff, all money and clothes taken away. Signs of blunt weapons, messy struggle, and burnt goods spread across the place; it was the obvious work of bandits. And we—we could only nod along as the others gave their condolences and left us behind.”

It suddenly dawned on Joe that even a seemingly flawless video game world had its own struggles and dirty secrets. People who weren’t born special or with silver spoons in their mouth lived and died meaningless deaths; this was no fairytale world for mere rabble and their pathetic lives. Fairytales only revolved around the prince and princesses, heroes and heroines and all those special, prophesized chosen ones.

Joe remembered Ted’s curious shift in demeanor when he heard their encounter with the bandits. How his face had morphed with subtle glee when he’d learnt about how they’d made the bandits suffer. The same bandits that had taken away his parents all those years ago.

“Where is your other brother, Miss Mathilda?” Joe asked, even though she already knew the answer from Nero.

Mathilda’s hands shook as they gently braided her hair. “Ah yes, Rylbert.” She smiled sadly. It was the smile of a woman who had vowed to carry more burden than she could bear to. “He took the news of our parents’ death the hardest. Ted was exactly your age when it happened. But Ryl, he was a teenager on cusp of becoming an adult. His whole demeanor changed after that, and I could do nothing to pull him out of his grief.”

“Ryl left home the next year.” Mathilda continued. “He joined the imperial army and worked himself to the bone. I remember how terribly upset Ted had been. ‘You’d just go and join the scumbags who will never lift a finger to help us!’ He’d screamed. But Ryl was adamant. He said that instead of waiting for change, he wanted to be the change himself.”

“And looking back, he did change it from the inside. When the new king was crowned, Rylbert slowly but surely climbed the ranks and made a name a name for himself in the army. Under the new king, the whole area was scoured by the army. All bandit groups were pinpointed and arrested, the ones that managed to escape had run back to the Casterwing mountain.”

“We had finally got our long desired peace in our lives.” Mathilda smiled as she finished the braid. “And now those bandits are back again. It’s going to be the same cycle of death over and over again.”

Suddenly Joe could see the tired, frail woman beneath the tough expressions and patient smiles. This was a person who’d seen too much grief in her life, and kept living on despite that. It sounded optimistic at first, but the girl knew that this was the only way of living that they’d known their entire lives.

Even the people far away from the chosen ones had all stories of their own, but there was no one in the world who would learn their stories after they died.