“… we should kill him.”

That idea, that possibility had been swimming in his heart ever since his first conversation with Cillian. Cillian’s countenance had changed as if Mordeu’s words had been directed at him. Even though his excuse could be that Kai was his friend and as such was obligated to take offence, it still did not justify why his mood would sullen in that manner.

Mordeu turned around and smiled, “But then, you told me you only desired women and that was really all I wanted to hear.”

Cillian had stopped walking ever since Mordeu brought Kai up. He knew of Mordeu’s utmost dislike for people who had these feelings for their fellow gender. Cillian had no opinion on Mordeu’s emotions, but yes, he would prefer if Mordeu would just shut the hell up.

He forced out a smile, “I think we should go back, it’s already late. It has been a long day for you.”

Mordeu looked around, surely they had been walking in the dark for a while, their source of light had been the bright moon and so Mordeu never realized how far gone time was.

Still, he didn’t feel the slightest hint of fatigue. He wanted to walk further, maybe to the end of the world. He wanted to keep talking to Cillian. However, Cillian didn’t share that desire with him.

Mordeu felt a certain kind of way upon that realization.

Cillian didn’t give him even a minute to agree or disagree, he had already turned around in the direction of his house. He intended to hide in his courtyard forever if it meant avoiding Mordeu.

But he could not avoid him. His desire was irrelevant. No matter where he turned to and for what reason he did, his life, his reality was tied to Mordeu’s. And the only thing that Cillian found utterly terrible about it all was that Mordeu was so greatly displeased about people like that and would not shut up nor keep Kai out of his mouth.

Mordeu watched as Cillian continued walking away, his heart lurched with uncertain disappointment, the sinking feeling pulsating in his reality. Though he had come to accept that Cillian was obviously walking away, nevertheless, he thought he would be generous enough to spare him a glance.

A short, fleeting glance would be okay.

However, with long strides, a calmness from the heavens, and the air of divinity, Cillian walked away, stingily.

The sun had just settled in the sky, painting the clouds a beautiful shade of orange. The settlement was starting to ring with life as the guards and instructors took their places. The torches on each pillar of the settlement were already put out by the guards as they waited for the one assigned to ring the morning bell to do his work.

Lesson was scheduled to start today. The days of leisure had come to an end, and the reason why they were all here dawned on them like the sun just had.

The heavy metal bell that was situated a few miles from the settlement — it was so huge it got itself its own building. With stones arranged one on top of the other and glued together with clay, the bell was hung high up and could only be rung by pulling a very thick rope which went over the top of the bell and sank down, surely caught in between many other machines.

The manner in which the tower had been built, the way the bell worked was nothing of his concern. All he was meant to do was ring the bell.

The heavy bell sounded throughout the mountain, not only waking up the trainees but also Alvitir’s household.

However, the only Alvitir that was yet to awaken was Ayra, for Alvitir and his son were already awake, dressed up and ready to start the day. The only difference between them was that Alvitir had had a splendid night’s rest. Even though plagued with what he had just discovered, he managed to get good sleep.

Cillian was different. He couldn’t close his eyes all through the night.

He knew the reasons for such, but addressing them was what he was reluctant to do.

He heaved a sigh and then walked out to meet his father who was waiting in front on the lawn with his entourage in tow.

The entourage consisted of the other houses; Balor and Stregobor and their personal servants as well.

Cillian knew seeing his sister there would be highly improbable, so he didn’t bother to look. His head was hung low as he approached the Head of the Houses.

“Greetings,” he bowed slightly.

Alvitir gave his son a hard stare, his eyebrows were narrowed, giving his son a scrutinizing stare that couldn’t be reciprocated given the fact that his eyes were pinned to the ground.

Alvitir opened his mouth, but the voice that could be heard wasn’t his own.

“Did you talk to him?”

Cillian raised his eyes to meet Stregobor’s. Their unvoiced, short tussle hanging in the air between the two of them. Cillian was reluctant to deliver an answer, and Stregobor equally exuded the idea of being reluctant to communicate with him.

Both were very prideful men, who had skill to back up their pride, to match their complacency. If given the chance to draw swords, to the eyes of the servants, a winner would be impossible to come forth. However, the men involved knew who the winner would be.

Cillian nodded his head, “I did.”

“What was his response? What are your thoughts about him?” It was Balor this time.

It was so early in the morning but he already had a goblet in his hand, obviously filled with wine. The stench of the drink was heavily wrapped around him, making it very hard for Cillian to focus on the conversation.

“Well,” he glanced ahead while digging through his memory for the events of last night and what Mordeu’s response had been.

There was nothing.

“He didn’t have a response. He just absorbed the information.”

Stregobor’s uneasy growl was deafening. “I think we should kill him.”

There weren’t any voices of controversion, nor were there sounds of support. Alvitir only gazed at his son’s frown that was aimed at Stregobor, understanding that his son was greatly displeased by his suggestion.

“What do you think?” Alvitir finally got the chance to talk to his son. “Should we kill him?”