❝Lyra observed that her tendency to lash out at ignorant villagers had been rapidly decreasing as she focused her energy on training. The hurtful words the villagers threw about so casually around her, or the disapproving looks they gave her as she...
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The night fell upon the village of Rentore like a thick plush blanket. The cobblestone streets were empty of the usual grumble of wagons and excited shouts of the merchants. The wind blew through the hills in soft sweeps.
It was the type of silence that was rare in such a robust kingdom of many wars and conflicts. Rentore was different. The inhabitants relished the quaint calmness.
It was unusual for someone to muster up the courage to venture away from this peaceful hometown.
But Nathaniel was a curious boy.
Each month his father would arrive home from his travels, looking enormously disheveled and smelling of leather and horses. Before his elder sister had even gotten the chance to slop a ladle-full of mash on his father's plate, Nathaniel had already bombarded him with questions.
"Was Princess Avalon watching the match?"
"Which dragon was victorious?"
"Did the Master make any predictions?"
He would grasp his son's shoulder with a heavy muscled hand and utter a dry chuckle. Sometimes he wouldn't even bother to answer a single question. Solely for the purpose of teasing his eternally curious son.
But of course it was natural for Nathaniel to feel this way. His father was a wonder to everyone in Rentore. The villagers' eyes trailed after the infamous Wiktor Sepian everywhere he went.
He felt a proud fire warming his heart to have a man who had achieved such high honor, to be living among them.
Nathaniel was now sitting on the rickety wooden fence, waiting, as usual.
The Sepian family home was situated on a hill on the outermost edge of Rentore. It was a humble old structure of thick moss covering stone, resembling most of the buildings of the village. However, it was its location that made it those most remarkable spot.
From this vantage point you could see all of the winding streets and sloped roofs of the village.
When Nathaniel was a young boy he enjoyed pretending he was a spy. He would write down any observations of who he deemed to be the most mysterious inhabitants.
One of these people was Lord Malachi.
He was a tiny sniveling man who wore rings on every finger and rarely left his enormous house. But when he did, he engaged in the most fascinating activities: late night meetings with hooded horsemen, nervous pacing around the perimeter of the marketplace.
Nathaniel had spent many evenings perched on the fence scribbling his deductions.
Eventually when his mother found his scrolls tucked under his pillows, she scolded him brashly. She proceeded to throw his hard work into the fireplace.
