It was with purpose that I strode towards the momentous gates making up the entrance to the baron’s estate. Towering, red goliaths they were, made of thin steel rods. It would be only detrimental to my cause to not make an appearance as their superior. For me to come without an entourage was unexpected, but the lesser was supposed to provide goods, shelter, food, and men to their better, were they not?

  Although there was a winding, carved out pathway leading to the top of the sheer cliff side, I chose to scale the earthen soil, making my way up the long way. Atop this man-made mountain rested a humble palace, crafted of stone and bedrock, coated with a thick bronze layer.

  I patiently waited outside the entrance for a servant to come and escort me inwards, which one soon did, opening a heavy lock with an equally unwieldy key to allow me entrance. The servant’s attire was nothing notable, just the usual drab cloaked over a malnourished man or woman who was unfortunate enough to be born into it. There was no use in trying to free such a person, not only because they wouldn’t have an idea how to use their newfound freedom, but also for the reason of them serving my same cause. The man who walked ahead of me on the dull cobblestone pathway in this late hour was my servant as much as he was the baron’s.

  I sidled into a dimly lit entryway, long but straight, continuing to follow the man wordlessly down the corridor. The air was the opposite of fresh, and it reminded me of a different time, long ago. Eventually, we made it to a slim doorway, made of nothing other than a slab of wood. Through the other side, I heard loud chatter and banter, as well as some vibrant music and the clanking of drinks on a table. Since the makeshift door lacked a handle, I thought to push it inward. I must have applied too much force as the door creaked its way to be fully open, exposing me to the crowd in wait. Quiet fell quickly enough to leave me nervous despite my high status. I shivered a little, but drew myself up to my full height and perfect posture as I knew I must. Those gathered around long wooden tables piled high with assorted meats and surrounded by half-full flagons of mead forced a hush as they intently observed me. I was hardly worried about their gazes tearing to my soul, but more worried about why I hadn’t received an enthusiastic greeting and instead…this. At least I could be relieved that none had stopped sipping slowly at their drinks, befuddling them enough so as to not be able to cause me harm.

  “Identify yourself!” commanded the baron, who sat on a lofted, silver throne. He was a large, beefy man, with a brown fur coat draped over his broad shoulders, with a belly stuffed full and a rug made of direwolf pelt beneath his feet. “What is the reason for this banquet crashing? Who do you think you are?” He rested his chin on his fist, mirroring his skinny vassal who sat on a second, slightly smaller throne, on the baron’s left. Two plated arms, belonging to two of the baron’s soldiers, wrapped around each of my arms to hold me in place. I pushed them aside with little effort, causing both to stumble and topple over in their far too excessive armor. Wordlessly, I removed the obscuration charm I had donned to avoid detection by the baron’s patrols. I preferred my visits to be a surprise in all cases.

  The second I did so, the noise levels went through the roof, and many stood to greet me, as if thinking me their equal, clanking down their flagons before being shut down by the baron and told to allow him; as such, they sat. Rising to his feet and carefully stepping down a short stairway that led to the main level of his manor’s current banquet, a level he seemed to think was beneath him, he approached me. I waited for his advance, which was unbearably slow, and shook his hand gingerly.

  “Alaric, my boy!” The older noble greeted merrily. “I remember the day we first met,” he chuckled, “must have been at the king’s conference where you made quite the entrance! I remember it like it was yesterday.” Turning to face his guests, he motioned to me, and said, “This, for any who may not know, is my close friend, Alaric. You may know him from his exploits in the Aurus-Elysian conflict?” Some general applause. Most knew of me already and felt it was just too much to make a commotion about it twice. I stood motionless, telling him wordlessly that he was overstepping. The force of mana was enough to send such a message by intimidation.

  “Oh…well…I was just…Only joking, only joking! Of course. Earl Alaric, I am so very pleased to have you in my humble residence this evening. May I ask what you may have come for, or if you simply are travelling through? I can provide you with a caravan if so–Unless you already do?” The baron re-greeted, clearly shaken at my showing of authority here and unsure how to act. His rambling visibly bored his audience of gathered relatives, merchants, and aristocrats. He must have assumed I would hide in the heart of my land to avoid areas closer to the fighting.

  “I came personally to make sure you would receive this,” I answered, extending a tightly sealed white envelope. The baron seemed only mildly surprised that I would just hand over such a valuable item, with the surge in paper pricing in recent years, but snatched it from my hands, tore it open, and began reading over it. I watched him do so, and just watched him snap his fingers repeatedly to his side inconspicuously. This, I suppose, was my greatest mistake in the encounter. I felt cold steel press into my wrists, similar to the feel of the bars outside. I thought nothing of it; perhaps I had just grown too careless, thinking I could get out of any situation I put myself in.

  My hands were shackled behind me; a knight had crept up without drawing my notice—or so they thought. Their nonexistent threat wasn’t worth the effort, but perhaps that was just my hubris after countless battles prior. When I didn’t resist, they moved on to binding my legs with rope, tightening each knot methodically. Impressively, even clad in full plate mail, they weren’t especially loud.

  Meanwhile, the baron had nonchalantly returned to his throne, his expression indifferent, as though the scene unfolding before him wasn’t worth his attention. “Eat up, men. Days like this don’t come often,” he bellowed. His vassal was far more engaged in the eye contact department. A smug, shit-eating grin spread across his face as he locked eyes with me, his delight unmistakable.

  "Unhand me," I said, my voice calm and measured. "You needn't help them. Wouldn’t you do better working for me?" My words hung in the air, but the knight gave no reply. Instead, he backed away, his gauntleted hands releasing the rope after securing the final knot. Silence was the only answer I received. “The salaries I offer for a single man would beat out his pay by many fold…”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Now, Alaric-” the vassal started, clearly miffed at my disobedience of his attempted capture. I interrupted him, reprimanding, "Address me by my title."

  “No, I will not address you by your title, Alaric!” The vassal shouted merrily. The gathered guests still just stared. “Or should I say, ‘your highness?’ I don’t think that will be quite necessary…Now then, you seem to be in a bit of a troublesome situation…How about…I don’t know, lowering some of those tariffs and taxes your manor has set? Your domain hasn’t been doing so well as of late, and you weren’t exactly stepping in to stop the money collection, now were you?”

  “I don’t believe I will do that.” I countered, standing still with my bondings still restraining me.

  “And what makes you believe you have the leverage here?” The vassal asked.

  “What makes you believe I can’t escape at any moment?”

  “The exits are blocked. You have no way out.”

  “Well, I have no reason to lower your taxes. You know that they’re all going to the war effort.”

  “Why should we have to spend our hard earned money on your stupid war? You know nothing will come out of it but death.” The vassal chuckled at his own statement. Nobody else reacted to our conversation, including the baron, who continued to sit there neutrally. The silence was unnatural and our voices just echoed in the large stone hall. “In fact,” the vassal started, “can you even prove that the money is going to what you say it’s going to? Nobody has a clue of how you got here and you took your title by force…besides the taxes, while we have you here, why don’t you tell us of your origin?”

  “That isn’t a problem at all…I have some journals with me which can help tell the tale, which judging by math path, I’m sure you know already, right?” He did not seem to know, so I kept speaking as if he did. “I like to have a diary where I note my experiences,” I answered, “but were I to comply, I would need to access them, and I can’t do that in this state.”

  “Do you expect me to untie you? That would be foolish. You would take my head on a pike the second you were released. No, tell me now.” The vassal further commanded.

  “I would beg to differ, but I will comply with your requests to know my story.” I stated, before a blade was levied at my heart. “Calm yourself! I said I would comply!” The knight did not strike but did not move their sword. What he did next was rather unexpected, as he swung the sword down to break the restraints around my hands. Truly a brave action on his part, betraying his lord in such a way. They did not free me entirely, but adequately for me to find my own written accounts. I only hoped my guests would all shrink in their seats at me, being partially freed and capable of striking back, especially that useless vassal. I reached deep into my cloak and pulled out two journals that seemed in disrepair, with pages hanging out and the covers torn off.

  The vassal pleaded with his eyes. His expression told me, “Sorry!” It told me, “please forgive any insolent things I may have said or done!” Perhaps that was just my hope to see remorse in him. For him to recognize me for who I was. I deserved it, after all I’d done. All I’d done for him without him understanding, even if it was impersonal. The effort I’d put forth to combat the Aurus legion. The motion I’d set forth.

  “Now then…enjoy the tale you wished for so badly, and allow it to serve as adequate entertainment for your guests as you scan over the letter I so kindly have given you.”

  “It all started, the important bits I mean, the night of Autumn’s equinox, a day seeming as normal as any other. I suppose the only shift in any sense was my beginning to journal in here; could that count as a sign?

  1/13

  Dear Diary,

  My therapist told me to write in here, so here goes. First entry.

  Once upon a time, there lay a great kingdom stretching to the farthest reaches of the world, as mighty as it could be.

  While not the wealthiest compared to the grand empires of old, its people made do with what they had, forging a legacy unmatched in its ingenuity and resilience. They built something extraordinary, something the world had never seen.

  Though threatened by opposing forces, nothing could have challenged the wellbeing of the monarchs more than the dragon, who nested just outside of its walls, demanding tribute of food and currency in exchange for its nonaction.

  I, the dragon, would know nothing of the prisoner kept behind lock and key, buried deep under the castle’s outer reaches, yet still I toil.

  My fingertips grip the corroded iron bars, trembling as I pull with every ounce of strength I can summon. The bars, weathered yet unyielding, dig into my palms, refusing to give under my grasp. My teeth clench, sweat stinging my eyes as it trickles down, and my shoulders ache with the effort, but the iron remains as immovable as stone and I keep myself captive in a prison of my own design. The cruel irony of it all only haunts; The bars are wide enough to fit through with ease, yet here I toil. The front door is right there. I can just go and open it. Return to the outside world. Just…leave.

  I live not in that kingdom. I live here. Somewhere.

  My name is Alaric. Alaric means an inaccuracy and imperfection adorning any image I might create of myself. In English, the name means “Ruler of All,” something I have no plans on being nor getting close to. For me–Get this, me, to be a leader? An ambitious figure when I hardly have ambitions of my own and haven’t led a single thing in my life? My name is an eternal, depressing calm before the storm. Just another high set expectation for extreme success. It means stupid nicknames, torment aplenty, biting aggressively at my fragile ego.

  The name’s Alaric Ashford. It means carrying on the legacy of my great-grandfather on my father’s side. That same great-grandfather who had changed the family name to better fit his own entitled self, showing off the wealth he had amassed, which had disappeared before ever coming close to touching my hands. Ashford. Real sophisticated in his eyes, I’m sure. It meant weird looks when I told my name to any who cared to listen. To me, it meant nothing but uncertainty. I have no middle name. My parents never cared to think of one. I never cared much about my name past my younger years. I’ve always had other things to worry about, other things to fix, other things to do, to change. That shouldn’t fully minimize the issue into a void of nothingness. True, it doesn’t really matter, and Alaric isn’t a bad name by any means…Still, wouldn’t something…simpler, much more standardized, be better? I don’t want to be a diamond in the rough. I don’t want to be glinting against an oppressive darkness of normalcy. I want to be normal, no more, no less, just that. If only.

  You know, I’m a random guy, really, not important. Shouldn’t that make me normal? Being just a childish, dumb guy…A guy who can’t say anything without being laughed at…A guy who sounds like he’s never spoken out loud before? Even a guy who refused to get an actual profession or do much of anything out of his own sense of greed for relaxation? A guy who squandered a scholarship to a decent college just to grieve, maybe? How about a guy who also just lied about that since he wanted to seem better than he actually was? Even when I tell this to no one. Isn’t that an interesting thought?”