Kismet’s Tale

      Old Fred stood in the garden enjoying the fair wind. It was then that he saw the car that his young sir uses. He opened the gateway, and led the car to the garage. 

“Sir?” 

When Old Fred approached the door. He noticed that there was a musty smell of smoke, wine, and women on the young sir. The familiar smell reminded him of a certain establishment

“From Velvet, young sir?”

The young sir looked up. “That’s right,” he grinned slightly. “You really know your stuff.”

The young sir got out of the car. He remained firm and steady. His back still sharpened and straightened. He smelled of alcohol, but there was none of that unsteadiness that a drunk would have.

“I trust that the young sir had taken time to relax?”

“Hmm, you could say that Old Fred. I doubt that I’d hang around Velvet club like that, but I do like that place. Peaceful and elegant.”

“Indeed.”

The young sir looked at the lights coming from the kitchen and the living room. “Looks like someone’s home. Is it Mimi? Rigel?”

“I’m afraid not, Sir. It’s the Miss.”

“Natalya?”

“Yes,” Old Fred took a bottle and sprayed it on him.

“Why?” He raised a brow.

“Sir, must understand that it is for the best.”

The young sir entered the door. Old Fred followed and saw the young sir and the young lady locked eyes. There was a tension among them that Old Fred could only describe as confusion and tension.

“Hey, Natalya.”

“Mavin,” she looked at him from top to bottom. “Got yourself loose?”

“Yeah, what about you?”

“Doing fine. I had things to do, so I was quite busy.”

“It’s good that you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I can’t say if it’s enjoyable.”

Old Fred wondered about the two. His young sir was someone who walked with sureness and a clear focus on what he wanted to do. Though Old Fred preferred the naive foolishness that his young sir had before the tragedy of Jorvi. Seeing the young sir looked unclear when it came to a person made him curious.

The young and sir and the young lady went to the kitchen with a strained silence accompanying them. Old Fred started to serve them with his cooking. Taking out the roast from the oven, he handed the two the cuttery, and stood aside watching them.

The young sir ate without speaking. The young lady stayed silent as well, eating without uttering another word coming from her mouth.

Old Fred didn’t know what to say. There was an almost polite distance that the two did not cross. It was a sore thumb that stood out. The two could see it, but refuse to acknowledge it either. He saw that the two would not resolve it, and thus choose to ignore it as well. There are things that need to be solved by their own volition. There was pride and confidence in the young sir and the young miss. He understood that even though they tolerated each other, there was still a wound that prevented them from speaking calmly without tension.

After all, it was easy to say that they do not mind what happened, but in truth, Old Fred could see the hesitation and apprehension within the two. That visceral reaction to the person that had almost murdered them.

But there was more between them now. As if someone had placed half-wall in front of them. They had the politeness to speak softly to one another. However, Fred knew that something had happened.

With their plates emptied. Old Fred cleaned up and let the two relax in the living room. It was unsettling seeing the two stare and steal a glance at one another. If it was the kind of stare that hinted curiosity, it would have been fine. 

Wariness and Suspicion. But he could not blame them. If he was in their places, Old Fred would have felt even more than wariness. He would have felt the fear of living with someone who could match them in skill.

Old Fred had to remind himself that the two were not the children any longer. They were no longer the younglings that had cheerfully looked at the world.

The young sir had become a man who distinguished himself in the battlefield to the point that he was called a ghost that might appear anytime. They feared his name and even told tales that a ghost carrying a scythe in the form of a rifle would tear through their soul. He had seen the posters and propaganda against the young sir, causing fear and anger in the hearts of the people abroad.

Fate plays a strange game, Old Fred eyed the young miss.

One was a ghost that caused fear among the hearts of the people that reside within the Three Alliances. And the other was a Lady of Death that caused her name to be feared. However, her name resounded proudly and profoundly among her people. Those who know her in the Empire only have praise for her skill and efforts in the field.

‘Lady Bellatrix’ she was called adoringly. A woman who has proved her mettle on the field of battle. While she would have been bathed with accolades and praise. The young sir would have been met with fear and dread.

After all, he was the one who had almost taken her life in the field of battle. The one who scarred her, proving that the Ghost was much more skillful than the Lady of Death.

And now the two lived in the same house, staring at one another. Old Fred had asked himself if this was right. That they should stay in the same house instead of letting wounds heal. He didn’t understand the reasoning behind the young miss’s actions. Why would the young sir let the miss inside the ancestral house. If he had wished for it, he would have found a place for her despite the reputation of outsiders among the Imperial Citizens.

Time passed within the Ancestral House. Old Fred stayed in the garden, watching the starry skies. His old bones seem to have loosened.

Unconsciously, he reached for someone’s hand. That habit had never gone away. That painful feeling had never left him. 

“Sooner or later, I hope Rigel is ready,” Old Fred told himself. “I’ll be coming soon, dear.” he wished sincerely in the sky.

The house had become quiet. The only light was the lamp that was placed on the table. Old Fred had always enjoyed sightseeing. Though most would ask him to rest. He would not comply. He didn’t want to spend the last days of his life dreaming. There are good dreams once in a while, dreams where his flame was still around.

My love, the time where we spent was magical. I had loved your kind gaze, and the way you spoke fondly of those who you call your children.

...but do you honestly believe that children could win a war?

Father, please let me fight.

Old Fred blinked. He held himself and thought of the younglings he had sent to war.

Among the 108th nobles that lived in the Empire. There were about thirty of them that he had personally taught and befriended. Fifteen had returned alive and well.

Some were maimed and unable to walk. There were others whose heart had grown cold. Some had decided to struggle and content against what had happened to them. And there are others who bottle it all in. Some are consumed by an invisible goal that they set their eyes on.

Young Master…?

Uncle Fred...Father...Mother...they are sleeping already. Tell the Hounds, no, everyone that could wield a weapon to bring the fury of Lazon to these beasts. Burn their nest. Burn their offsprings...I want every single demifiend in this region to be at our mercy...let them become cattle...I want them neutralized. Now do what you are told, Uncle Fred. Let none survive.

Uncle Fred. Mavin is young. He might not be the brightest, and he might not even have the honor of being the head...but a child like him should stay happy. I wish that he would live his life.

“Madam...I failed you,” Old  Fred said to the wind. None would hear him. He wouldn’t allow anyone to hear him.

My Emperor...what have you called me for?

Do you believe in honesty, that these children can win a war?

Yes they can. We have no choice but to believe that they can, your highness.

...You really are a good steward. I wish I had you instead of the fools that I have with me right now.

Bathed in old dreams of the past. Old Fred looked around him. For two years he had attended eighty funerals for those who he had taught. He could remember their faces as clear as the day. The young became old enough to carry their rifles.

Send them to the field.

Teach them how to fight as you had done so.

They shall return home carrying their medals.

...or back in coffins.

There were only two types of people that would come out after his tutoring. The ones who would stay long enough to be a proud soldier of the Empire. Or those who would be buried.

He couldn’t count how many young ones that they had sent to him, asking to be taught. An honor that he would never refuse and at the same time, a punishment he was willing to carry on his shoulders.

The daughter of Wilde.

The son of Tomas.

He was rather proud of them.

But he also thought of a dream. A world where the young shouldn’t go to war. Where the old had to fight instead of those who still have so much to live for.

A world where the young boy who loved to see the stars on top of a windy hill would smile with the same naivety.

A world where the young woman who played in the snow plains with her wooly dog would smile at the snow falling on top of her nose.

A world where the imperial siblings would enjoy their time in the Vyadin River, boating, and lovingly caring for their sister instead of  playing schemes.

A world where a young man who had become a Viscount would only think of the health of his mother.

But it was only a dream of an old man who helped in making children into tools of war.

I will be surely punished by the heavens one day, Old Fred thought.

But he will wait for that day to come. 

He took out a pocket watch and looked at the photograph above it. The wizened smile that she had. That lovely warmth that naturally attracted everyone.

“I wanted to be like you, my sweetest,” he said to himself.

He closed his eyes. The image of a blue dress. A blackboard in the middle of a garden. Young children that sat on their desks. He had always admired that graceful way she taught children. 

The way she looked so happy.

He didn’t want to forget.

And yet he found himself opening his eyes. Treasuring that thought, afraid that the memory might disappear. He closed his pocket watch and looked back to the stars that he had come to see in this fine evening.

Even if he knew what they were talking about. He could only watch them in the corner. Watch and guide them with the little time that he had in this world.

“Oh black Raven, when will you come for me?” He recited an old song. “I have served you for years and I now beg for your mercy. Oh merciful black raven, I plea for your warmness, the kindness that you give to those who have woes. I eagerly await your mournful caw. The day where you come for my eyes and bring me to the boatman who carries soul. Oh black raven, let your reaping be smooth, and take me to where the dead rest...”