The Leviathan was dead. The castle was ours. But the rain outside Mournwatch Keep didn't stop. It drummed against the thick basalt walls, a relentless, rhythmic pounding that sounded like the world trying to get in.

  Inside the only dry room we could find the old servant’s kitchen it was quiet.

  There was no war here. No politics. No Livia screaming about mud.

  Just the Falkens. And me.

  We had found an old iron pot. Olenka had found some dried beef, a few sad-looking potatoes, and some of Melina’s "non-radioactive" carrots.

  Now, the smell of stew filled the damp air. It wasn't a feast. It was barely a meal. But in the flickering light of the hearth, it smelled like heaven.

  I sat in the corner, polishing Cinderbrand, watching them.

  Gutrum Falken sat on a wooden crate near the fire. He had taken off his heavy wolf-pelt cloak and draped it over a sleeping Astrid. Astrid wasn't asleep, though. She was pretending. One eye was cracked open, watching the pot bubbling over the fire.

  "Is it ready yet, Grandmother?" Astrid whispered, her voice small.

  "Patience, little Scorpion," Olenka scolded gently, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon she had conjured from somewhere. "Good soup takes time. Bad soup takes urgency."

  Gerald Falken sat on the floor, sharpening his dagger. The wet whetstone made a rhythmic shhhk, shhhk sound. He looked tired. The dark circles under his eyes were deep bruises. He kept his left hand the one with Kordula's black ring tucked inside his tunic, hiding the shame.

  Mary Berg stood by the window, staring out at the black rain. She was shivering, though she wouldn't admit it.

  "Mary," Gutrum rumbled. His voice was deep, like earth shifting. "Come away from the cold. The window offers nothing but ghosts."

  Mary turned. "I'm keeping watch, Lord Father. The Drowners might return."

  "If they do, they will slip on the floor," Gerald joked without looking up. "Let the fish-men break their necks. Come sit, Ice Cube."

  Mary’s lips twitched. A tiny, almost invisible smile. She walked over and sat next to Gerald. He immediately bumped his shoulder against hers. A silent "I'm here."

  Olenka ladled the stew into chipped wooden bowls.

  "Eat," Olenka commanded. "You are all skin and bones. If the wind blows, the Falken line ends because you all floated away."

  We ate in silence for a moment. It was the best thing I had ever tasted. Warmth spread through my chest, chasing away the chill of the Leviathan’s water.

  "When this is over," Astrid said suddenly, struggling to hold her bowl with one hand. "When we win..."

  She looked at her father.

  "...can we go back to Falkenberg? To the real mountains? I hate this swamp. It smells like wet socks."

  Gutrum chuckled. It was a rare, rumbling sound. He reached out and ruffled her hair.

  "Aye, Scorpion. We will go home. We will rebuild the Wolf’s Den. And you will learn to hunt snow-bears, not Monsters."

  "I want to build a house," Gerald said softly, looking at the fire. "Not a castle. Just a house. Wood. Glass. No stone. Stone remembers too much."

  He looked at his hidden hand.

  "And no rings," Gerald whispered. "Just... quiet."

  "I want a garden," Mary added. Everyone looked at her. She blushed, looking down at her soup. "Nothing useful. No potatoes. Just... white flowers. Things that grow in the cold and don't ask for anything."

  "A noble dream," I said from my corner, raising my spoon. "I just want a bathtub made of solid gold. And maybe a heated toilet."

  They laughed. It wasn't a forced laugh. It was genuine. For a second, the weight of the war, the debt, and the monsters lifted.

  Gutrum looked at his children. He looked at his mother. He looked at me.

  His face softened. The hardened General melted, revealing the father underneath.

  "We have lost much," Gutrum said quietly. "We have lost limbs. We have lost honor. We have lost our home."

  He put his hand on Gerald’s shoulder. He pulled Astrid closer. He nodded at Mary.

  "But looking at this..." Gutrum whispered. "...at this pot of thin soup and this fire... I have never felt richer."

  He raised his wooden bowl.

  "To the Pack," Gutrum toasted.

  "To the Pack," we all whispered back.

  Astrid leaned her head on Gutrum’s chest. Gerald rested his head back against the wall, eyes closed, finally looking peaceful. Mary was smiling. Olenka was humming a lullaby.

  It was perfect. It was safe. It was the happiest moment the House of Falken had seen in years.

  I closed my eyes, listening to the rain, feeling the warmth of the fire. I thought: Maybe we can do this. Maybe we can actually have a happy ending.

  BOOM.

  The sound didn't come from the sky. It came from the courtyard. The massive iron doors of the Keep the ones we had just barred didn't open. They screamed.

  The warmth in the room vanished instantly.

  "What was that?" Gerald was on his feet in a second, dagger drawn.

  "Movement," Mary hissed, her eyes snapping to the door. "Something... bright."

  I stood up, Cinderbrand in my hand. My heart hammered against my ribs.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Stay here," Gutrum commanded, grabbing his axe. His face had turned to stone again. The Father was gone; the Wolf was back. "Wilhelm, with me."

  We ran out of the warm kitchen, leaving the half-eaten soup and the dreams of gardens and snow-bears behind. We ran into the cold, wet dark of the courtyard.

  And there, standing in the rain, shining like a cruel sun, was Archbishop Desmus.

  The dream was over. The nightmare had arrived to collect the rent

  "I am rich," I whispered to the rain. "But I cannot buy this off."

  Below, in the flooded courtyard, the water rippled. The gates didn't open. They simply dissolved into white light.

  Archbishop Desmus walked through the wall. Behind him, the air shimmered with the heat of a thousand invisible suns. He wasn't alone. Behind him stood a phalanx of The Seraphim Guard.

  They weren't here to fight. They were here to collect.

  Desmus held a scroll that glowed with burning script. He walked to the center of the courtyard, his boots splashing in the black puddles.

  "The Anunnaki have spoken!" Desmus roared, his voice cracking with religious ecstasy. "The ledger must be balanced! The genetic defects of Wilhelm Storm, Mary Berg, and Astrid Falken must be paid for!"

  The doors of the Keep burst open.

  Duke Gutrum Falken walked out. He wore no armor. Just a simple linen tunic and trousers. He looked like a man walking to the gallows, but walking with his head high.

  Behind him, the family scrambled out. Mary, Astrid, Olenka. And Gerald.

  "I am here," Gutrum announced, his voice steady as a mountain. "I accept the terms. Daily penance. For them."

  Desmus smiled. It was a terrifying sight. "Excellent. The transfer of sin is approved. You will be lashed until the bone shows. Every morning. Every evening. Until the defects are purged or you expire."

  "No!"

  Gerald Falken sprinted across the wet stones. He threw himself between Desmus and his father.

  "Take me!" Gerald screamed, his hand gripping his sword hilt. "I am younger! I am stronger! My father is the Duke! He is the General! You cannot break him!"

  "Gerald, stand down," Gutrum commanded, his voice low.

  "I will not!" Gerald turned to face his father. Tears mixed with the rain on his face. "You raised me to protect the weak! You raised me to be a shield! How can I look at myself in the mirror if I let you bleed for me?"

  Gerald pointed at the black ring on his finger the ring of Kordula.

  "I already sold my heart, Father! Let me sell my back too! It doesn't matter anymore!"

  Gutrum looked at his son. He saw the pain in Gerald’s eyes. The desperation of a young man trying to carry the weight of the world.

  "You are right," Gutrum said softly. "You are strong."

  Gutrum stepped forward. He punched Gerald in the face.

  CRACK.

  It wasn't a malicious hit. It was a calculated, brutal strike to the jaw. Gerald stumbled back, stunned. He fell into the mud.

  "But you are not the Father," Gutrum growled.

  Gerald roared and scrambled up. He didn't draw his sword. He tackled Gutrum. Father and son crashed into the black water. They wrestled in the mud, grunting, straining.

  It was heartbreaking. It wasn't a fight for dominance. It was a fight for the right to suffer.

  "Let me do it!" Gerald sobbed, trying to pin Gutrum’s arms. "Please, Dad! You're old! You'll die!"

  "I will not bury my son!" Gutrum roared, reversing the hold.

  Gutrum slammed Gerald into the mud and pinned him there. He held Gerald’s wrists with hands that were shaking, not from weakness, but from love.

  Gutrum leaned down, his face inches from his son’s.

  "Listen to me," Gutrum whispered fiercely. "You gave your life to the Shadowgroves to save the King. You have done your duty."

  He looked at the black ring on Gerald's finger.

  "You carry the thorns, Gerald. That is enough pain for one life. I will carry the whip."

  Gerald stopped fighting. He went limp in the mud, sobbing uncontrollably.

  "It's not fair," Gerald choked out. "It's not fair."

  "No," Gutrum agreed, wiping mud from Gerald’s cheek with a bloody thumb. "It is fatherhood."

  Gutrum stood up. He pulled Gerald to his feet, then shoved him gently toward Olenka.

  "Hold him," Gutrum ordered his mother.

  He turned to Desmus. He stripped off his wet tunic, revealing a back that was already scarred from years of war. A broad, strong back.

  "I am ready," Gutrum stated.

  "Father!" Mary screamed, trying to run to him. Wilhelm held her back. "Don't look, Mary," I whispered, turning her head into my coat. "Don't look."

  Astrid stood frozen. She looked at her empty sleeve. She knew. She knew every lash was for her.

  Desmus uncoiled his whip. It was made of braided wire and glass shards. [ ITEM: THE SIN-EATER ]

  "For the Bastard Wilhelm," Desmus intoned.

  CRACK.

  The whip tore across Gutrum’s shoulders. Skin split. Blood sprayed into the rain. Gutrum didn't scream. He grunted, his knees buckling slightly, but he stayed standing.

  "For the Bastard Mary."

  CRACK.

  Another line of red fire. Gutrum’s hands clenched into fists. He stared at the dark wall of the Keep, focusing on the stone.

  "For the Broken Astrid."

  CRACK.

  This one was deep. It cut to the muscle. Gutrum let out a sharp hiss of breath.

  "And for the daily interest..." Desmus whispered.

  CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

  The sound echoed off the basalt walls. The rhythmic tearing of flesh. Gerald fell to his knees, clutching his head, screaming silently with every blow. Astrid watched, tears streaming down her face, her holographic arm flickering violently as her emotions spiked.

  Finally, Desmus stopped. Gutrum’s back was a ruin. A map of agony carved in red.

  Gutrum swayed. He nearly fell. But he caught himself. He stood up straight. He turned to face us. Blood ran down his back, staining his trousers. His face was grey with shock.

  But he smiled. A weak, reassuring smile directed at Astrid.

  "See?" Gutrum rasped, his voice wrecked. "It... is nothing."

  He looked at me. His eyes burned with an intensity that scared me more than the whip.

  "Wilhelm," Gutrum whispered. "Win the war. Make it worth it."

  He collapsed.

  "Get the Doctor!" I screamed, releasing Mary. "Fenris! Now!"

  As they carried the unconscious Duke into the Keep, leaving a trail of blood in the rainwater, I stood alone in the courtyard with Desmus.

  Desmus wiped his whip clean on a white cloth.

  "A sturdy vessel," Desmus noted, adjusting his glasses. "He will last... perhaps a month. Before the shock stops his heart."

  He looked at me.

  "Do not waste his pain, Master of Coin. Every day he screams, you get to live."

  Desmus vanished in a flash of light.

  I stood in the rain, clutching my chest where my heart should be. I had 185,000 Gold. I had levels. I had power. But looking at the blood in the mud, I realized I was the poorest man on earth.

  I walked to the spot where Gutrum had stood. I knelt and touched the red water.

  "I promise, Uncle," I whispered to the dark. "I will buy the whole damn world if I have to. And I will burn the church that did this to you."