-Duke Harlanou-

  I sit in my study reading over my reports. A faint frown reaches my face as a report about a failed snatcher strike in Port Town arrives. Two level 60s and a 65 were expensive to raise, and losing them to someone without arms who couldn’t even wield their primary weapon was unacceptable.

  I set aside the report and move on to a letter from Harrock Slate. Hardrock is one of the dwarven Runic Grandmasters in the northern mountains. His clan has considerable influence in our kingdom by regularly stationing their rune masters in mutually important strongholds. His clan is a longtime political rival but not someone who can simply be ignored.

  “Duke, hands off Port Town.”

  I can’t help but find myself puzzled and irritated. Typical dwarves ignoring all matters of civility or respect for their betters. Though I can’t help but question, how did a no-name disposable knight who doesn’t have a hand warrant someone like a clan master issuing such a vague warning? Port Town is only important because it was our sole connection to trade with the neighboring continent, and it was regularly guarded by at least four knights and supplemented with skilled craftsmen. Including a dwarven rune master and smithy who had been sent by the dwarven clans.

  Irritation makes me furrow my brows. It was hardly worth confronting a bunch of territorial runesmiths about something like this. It seems I’ll have to hold off on sending a follow-up team for now. Ignoring the warning issued by the dwarves will interfere with my oncoming plans. I have spent the better part of the last century accumulating power, and I won’t be tipping things off prematurely here. Indeed, it was the snatchers' fault for offending the dwarves in the first place. I’ll have the captain of the snatchers compensate me enough to fill the value of the knight.

  I stand up and look out over the dark and barren lands around my castle. Ever since the kingdom was formed, two factions have stood prominent. My faction, the Level faction, supports the ideas of empowering humanity through the blood of the weak. History has already proven that weakness is drawn from lacking ambition to fight. It was my destiny to push humanity back onto the path of blood.

  The more who die, the stronger the survivors, and eventually even the greatest beasts will be within my reach. For now my enemies are the Wisdom faction, which assumes that humanity's success stems from the use of tools and intelligence and focuses on a mastery of crafts to build weapons to defend ourselves from monsters. The level faction has long had the upper hand, but conservatives of our own faction support Wisdom out of a misguided sense of necessity for powerful crafters to make weapons strong enough to use.

  However, centuries of stalemating and decline have shown that inaction is a poison slowly destroying us. I look out as a storm begins to drift towards my castle. I faintly clench my fists as I think about the fools increasingly raising my irritation.

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  A bolt of lightning streaks out toward my castle, and I snap. A moment's flash, and before a breath passes, a vortex of wind sweeps into the sky and splits the storm cloud. As a noble, the only duty holding me from beginning my campaign was preparing my heir to ensure even if I failed, our cause would endure. As soon as my heir has unlocked her status, I will take my enemies by storm; I'll slay everyone who has ever stood in my way, and I will kill until even dragons flee from me. Before, I was too young, and my father cautioned me to direct my bloodlust upon humanity's enemies, but I know we will never surpass them unless we consume ourselves first.

  I stare down the valley I have carved into the storm. I will rip and tear all until I can reach the gods. Then I will kill them and shape the world in whichever way I please. I turn back into my castle and regain my poise as I resolve to finish the reports before I de-stress by hunting a suitable beast.

  -Callen-

  Sis and I follow the family as we are led into our new home. It’s a small cabin with only two rooms and a makeshift outhouse. Inside it’s bare of furniture and haphazardly cleaned. I can already feel my hands itching to fix it, as hours sorting the libraries in Master Yoren’s workshop instilled a minor obsession with cleanliness. I already know it’s something Sis doesn’t understand because even after years of helping Mother with her work at the orphanage, she still didn’t have a cleaning skill.

  “This cabin is usually a temporary shelter for survival training in the guard. It hasn’t gotten much use ever since the noble who used to manage Port Town and insisted on the training got eaten.” Grandpa introduces us to the history of our home. Meanwhile, Sis and I are having a serious meeting.

  “This place is way too small.” Callia

  “Agreed. I don’t want to be stuffed into a communal sleeping room. Grandpa snores too loud.” Callen

  “Not to mention it will make my plans for Mom and Dad difficult!” Callia

  “Plans?” Callen

  “I’ve been trying to hint to Mom and Dad to get us a sibling.” Callia

  “ . . . “ Callen

  “I suppose if we had a younger sibling, our competition on who is the better older sibling might calm down,” Callen

  “You know it won't.” Callia

  I look back at Callia and realize I had been far too optimistic. If I were honest with myself, at best a sibling would be a victim of our rivalry, and in a worst-case scenario, they might become a new competitor. Despite that, I also secretly liked the idea.

  “Right,” Callen

  “How about a truce while we make a new cabin?” Callen

  “Deal, but I want more than a cabin.” Callia

  Right as we finish our conversation, Mom bops both of us and firmly declares.

  “Callen, Callia, no silent twin conversations when someone is talking, especially family. I’m sure your grandpa would like to know what is so important that you’re ignoring him.” Mom directs both our attention to Grandpa, who had been blabbering about guard duty or something. Now he was glaring at us for blatantly ignoring him. In sync we both dash for the window but dangle helplessly when he snatches us.

  “You little ones used to be so much better at listening. I suppose this old man will just have to make sure you listen.” He leaned forward while bringing his head close to our suspended bodies. “I think I’ll keep you in place until my teaching skill levels up again. That way I know you paid attention.” Despair fills me and Sis as the old man gets a rope to dangle us from a tree, all while talking to us. It appears figuring out home construction will have to wait as Grandpa begins teaching us about how every noble who has ever lived here has met an unfortunate end, and thus we have a mayor. I suspect this punishment may end up much longer than intended as Sis and I begin to fantasize about our forest manor.