The attic door flew open beneath a forceful pull and struck the wall with a heavy thud, sending thin trails of dust cascading from the frame like ashen snow. Salazar emerged from the darkness beyond with a grimace, brushing whatever grime still clung to his jet-black hair as he stepped into the hallway. He had spent the better part of the last hour combing through the rafters and floorboards, transfiguring every rat, spider, and cockroach unfortunate enough to cross his path into inlays, tiles, sealant, and whatever else he required to patch the countless gaps littering the roof.
Before that, he had spent hours crawling through cramped spaces beneath floors and behind walls, tracing the maze of aging pipes that snaked throughout the sanctuary and replacing whichever sections looked moments away from bursting. Even the ancient heating system had finally stopped rattling like an explosive device counting down its final seconds, though getting it there had required considerably more patience than he cared to admit.
He dragged one hand down his face before slipping his wand back into the holster at his side, then drew a deep breath and released it slowly as he surveyed the hallway. A year ago, he would have considered everything he had done today profoundly beneath him.
The very notion of a scion of House Slytherin crawling through dust-filled attics, repairing broken pipes, or concerning himself with leaking roofs would once have struck him as absurd. He would likely have called anyone mad for suggesting it, because poverty and squalor had once seemed simple enough to explain. People were born into unfortunate circumstances, certainly, but remaining there had always appeared to him a matter of choice, or more precisely, a failure of will. The weak remained weak because resignation was easier than struggle, while those with sufficient conviction fought their way toward something better.
His father had taught him that much.
Salazar's expression fell as the familiar lesson resurfaced, and something unpleasant twisted inside him at the realization that, once again, he had spent years allowing his father's convictions to masquerade as his own.
A faint hiss drifted from the vent along the wall. Salazar glanced over his shoulder, and the hardness in his expression eased into a small smirk. "Yes, I believe we've quite thoroughly exhausted ourselves for the day. Many thanks, my dear. I suspect this entire endeavor would have been considerably more arduous without your assistance."
Another hiss answered him.
His smile softened as he looked down at himself, taking in the dust clinging to his coat, the grime darkening his sleeves, and the sweat that had long since ruined whatever dignity his appearance possessed when the day began.
"I'm afraid you are entirely correct," he said. "The man I was a year ago would have scorned this sort of work and anyone foolish enough to suggest I take part in it." A quiet chuckle escaped him as he brushed unsuccessfully at one particularly stubborn smear of dirt. "I suppose spending enough time around Godric inevitably infects one with his insufferable way of thinking. Father would be positively furious if he could see me now."
The vent answered with another quiet hiss.
"Oh, I have no doubt," Salazar replied, though the humor gradually left his face. "Father would despise everyone beneath this roof. In his eyes, the weak exist to serve the strong, and anyone reduced to slavery must simply have lacked the strength necessary to preserve their freedom."
His emerald gaze lowered toward the worn floorboards.
"But what of those born into it?" he asked. "What strength were they supposed to possess before they could walk, speak, or even understand the chains placed around them? Are they to blame the Fates for assigning them a life they neither asked for nor deserved?" His jaw tightened. "I find the very notion abhorrent. I refuse to believe there are souls brought into this world for no greater purpose than to suffer at the pleasure of others."
For a moment, only the muted sounds of East Eden filled the hallway. Somewhere farther down the corridor, children laughed together, their voices carrying faintly through the aging walls. Salazar's eyes drifted toward the sound.
"I hold little sympathy for those who lose their freedom through their own cruelty," he continued. "Peter Creedy comes readily to mind, and I certainly shed no tears over what became of him. But when I look at children scarcely old enough to understand what the collars around their necks even mean, or at people whose only crime was being born to someone already in chains, I find it increasingly difficult to indulge the old argument that suffering is merely proof of weakness."
Another hiss sounded through the vent.
"I suppose one might put it that way," Salazar replied. "There will always be winners and losers, the fortunate and unfortunate, because such imbalance appears woven into the very nature of existence. Yet I fear the scales have a rather unpleasant tendency to reward wickedness while demanding virtue endure whatever remains."
He shook his head, his expression souring. "And as far as I am concerned, one cannot parade about proclaiming oneself pious, righteous, or civilized while treating another thinking being as property merely because some law says one may."
Silence lingered for several seconds before another hiss came through the vent, softer this time. Salazar's smirk slowly returned.
"Do I believe all of this will eventually come to a boil?" he asked, apparently repeating whatever had been posed to him. "Oh, I have absolutely no doubt, my dear. Resentment such as this does not simply disappear because those in power find it inconvenient to acknowledge."
His emerald eyes caught the dim light for a moment, the color shifting subtly toward amber before settling again.
"I only pray it happens sooner rather than later," he continued, his smile sharpening as he turned toward the distant sounds of the sanctuary. "Because if the Gods are feeling particularly generous when that day finally arrives, I should very much like to find myself standing directly in the middle of the fray."
The sound of footsteps against the parquet drew Salazar's attention toward the end of the hallway, where Rowena rounded the corner with her shoulders sagging beneath the weight of the day. She released a long breath as she approached, and when her sapphire eyes finally lifted toward him, a tired smile softened her expression. "Oh, all done on your end?" she asked.
Salazar folded his arms across his chest as his gaze drifted toward the ceiling, taking in the sections he had managed to patch and the lingering signs of decay he had been forced to leave behind. "As much as humanly possible, I'm afraid. This building is not simply in disrepair, Rowena. I daresay it is perilously close to being condemned altogether. Frankly, it is a miracle the place remains standing, much less habitable."
"Well, you did what you could, Salazar, and that's already more than enough." Rowena offered him a soft smile before glancing back over her shoulder toward the quarters she had only recently left. "I never realized how exhausting teaching could be, especially with younger children. I suppose I owe several of my tutors an apology."
"And I, apparently, owe one or two tradesmen the same courtesy," Salazar replied, the smirk on his face widening briefly before his attention returned to the worn hallway around them. The humor gradually faded from his expression as his thoughts shifted back toward everything he had seen that day. "Still, denying education to the enslaved strikes me as an especially vile overreach."
"You know as well as I do why they do it," Rowena said as her own expression became more serious. "Knowledge is power. It becomes much harder to control people once they can read, write, communicate privately, or understand exactly what their masters can and cannot legally do under the Ius Servitium. Add to that how many secrets get spoken freely inside private homes, and the Guild has every reason to fear what an educated slave might learn and eventually share."
"I'm well aware of the reasoning, Rowena," Salazar replied, his expression tightening as his emerald eyes moved across the cracked walls. "Knowing why something exists does not make the notion any less repugnant. I cannot imagine being forced into ignorance any more than you could imagine being forbidden from reading the books you love."
"On that, we completely agree," Rowena said, though the exhaustion in her face gave way to something more solemn. She hesitated for a moment before continuing, as if deciding whether she truly wanted to recount what she had learned. "Personally, I think the whole thing is tragic, but the older slaves are the ones that bother me the most."
Salazar's attention sharpened as he looked toward her, though he allowed her to continue without interruption.
"I learned today that once slaves reach a certain age, a lot of masters simply decide they're no longer worth keeping," Rowena continued. "Some try to sell them cheaply, and others just abandon them."
The faint trace of humor that had remained on Salazar's face disappeared entirely.
"There's a woman in the quarters named Arti. She's pushing seventy now," Rowena said, pausing as she gathered herself. "She was sold to a mill when she was young."
Salazar's jaw tightened at once, and the anger in his expression made it clear that she did not need to elaborate on what kind of mill she meant.
"It was exactly what you'd expect. She told me she could barely remember a time in her life when she wasn't pregnant or recovering from one." Rowena's sapphire eyes softened as she remembered the elderly woman. "She lost count of how many children she brought into the world, and eventually age caught up with her. Once she could no longer bear children, her master decided she was useless."
Her words grew quieter as she continued, and Salazar's fingers slowly began drumming against his sleeve. "One day, he left her on the side of the road and simply never came back. Like someone abandoning an old pet once it becomes inconvenient. If Ruben hadn't found her, I don't know how long she would have survived out there."
Salazar let out a slow breath as his gaze fell toward the worn floorboards beneath them, his expression darkening beneath the weight of everything they had seen since entering East Eden. "I swear, Rowena, Avalon manages to be a place of extraordinary beauty and equally extraordinary cruelty. When we first met Godric, I mocked him for believing he could change any of it. I thought his convictions were naïve, perhaps even childish." He shook his head faintly, the admission settling heavily upon him. "I was a fool."
Rowena watched him for a moment before her expression softened. "We all were, in different ways. But this is bigger than any of us. Even Godric."
"Perhaps," Salazar replied, lifting his gaze back toward her, though the look in his eyes made it obvious he was unwilling to accept helplessness simply because the problem was vast. "But that does not mean we are obligated to stand aside forever."
A faint smile returned to his face, though there was little humor behind. "And should the opportunity ever present itself to change something meaningful, I sincerely hope we possess enough sense not to squander it."
An explosion suddenly tore through East Eden with enough force to make both of them flinch and lose their footing. The windows rattled violently in their frames as the shock rolled through the building, shuddering across brick, stone, and timber all the way down to the foundation. Dust sifted from the ceiling in thin trails while the floorboards creaked beneath their feet, and for a brief moment the entire sanctuary seemed to groan under the strain.
Salazar steadied himself against the wall and snapped his gaze upward. "What in blazes was that?" he asked, his expression tightening as another faint vibration passed through the structure.
"I don't know," Rowena replied, already turning toward the stairwell. "But it sounded like it came from downstairs."
For a split second, they stared at one another as the same realization struck them both.
"Helga..."
Neither of them needed to say anything more. They turned toward the hallway at once and broke into a run, their footsteps hammering against the parquet as they raced for the stairs.
****
The front doors of East Eden exploded outward with enough force to rip them from their hinges, sending splintered wood, shattered glass, and torn brass fittings scattering across the pavement. The sound of cracking timber and metal striking stone rang through the dimly lit street as the last rays of sunset stretched long shadows across the Projects, leaving the streetlamps to cast their pale glow over the wreckage. The two Authority Agents were thrown through the ruined entrance and hit the asphalt hard, rolling several times before coming to a stop. One curled around his stomach with a groan while the other clutched the back of his head, both of them struggling to recover from the impact.
"Pop Pop Hufflepuff used to say that if you give a man power, you won't just see his true nature revealed, you'll find out there's almost no limit to the ways people can be inhumanly cruel when they know there won't be any consequences." Helga stepped through the shattered entrance with her amber eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched so tightly that every word seemed to strain through her teeth.
She descended the steps at an unhurried pace, never once taking her eyes off the Agents waiting below. "When I was little, I listened to Pop Pop's stories and thought that was all they were. Stories about horrible people doing horrible things somewhere far away from me. But he also taught me that no matter how dark or cruel this world gets, I should never stop believing there's still some good inside each and every one of us."
She drew a sharp breath as she reached the bottom of the steps, and although the anger in her face never softened, there was something wounded beneath it now, something far more personal than simple rage. "That's why I smile as brightly as I can and laugh as hard as I do, because no matter how ugly things get, I've always figured the world could use a little more light and a little more joy. I wanted to believe that mattered, and I wanted to believe that even the worst person still had something inside them worth reaching."
Her gaze hardened as amber fire began rolling across the metal of her gauntlets, growing steadily brighter while she advanced into the street. "Then there are people like you. People like Astrea and Geddas, people who hurt someone just because they know that person can't fight back, and who don't even bother convincing themselves they have a good reason anymore. They do it because they can, because nobody stops them, and because somewhere along the way they learned that having enough power means they never have to care what happens to the people beneath them."
The two Agents forced themselves back onto their feet while she spoke, one fumbling for his wand as the other dragged his sword free, but Helga barely acknowledged either movement. Her attention remained fixed on them as the amber glow spread across her gauntlets and reflected within her eyes.
"And the worst part is that some of you actually enjoy it. You laugh while people beg you to stop, you get a kick out of watching them suffer, and the worse it gets, the more fun you seem to have because hurting somebody weaker is the only thing that makes your miserable little lives feel important." Her fingers curled into fists, the metal around them groaning beneath the pressure. "You've got the badge, you've got the law, and you've convinced yourselves that means you're holding all the cards."
Helga took another step toward them, and the fire around her fists flared with enough intensity to cast shifting amber light across the street. "But what makes me hate it even more is when people like you actually start believing it. When you convince yourselves that you're justified, that having authority somehow makes everything you do righteous, and that no matter how many people you hurt, you still get to call yourselves the heroes."
Her breathing grew heavier as years of carefully restrained anger finally began pushing through everything she had spent her life trying to believe. "I'm sick of it. I'm sick of people walking all over anyone too weak to stand up for themselves, I'm sick of people hiding behind a badge like it gives them permission to do whatever they want, and I'm sick of cowards laughing in somebody's face because they're so damn sure nobody will ever have the nerve to punch them back."
Her entire body trembled. "I'm sick of Norsefire, I'm sick of the Tower, I'm sick of the Authority."
The pavement cracked beneath her boots as power surged outward, thin fractures racing across the asphalt while the amber flames around her gauntlets flared brighter.
"Most of all," Helga said, baring her teeth as she lowered herself into a fighting stance, "I'M SICK OF YOU!"
The first Agent snapped his wand up, and the tip immediately flared with that familiar sickly green glow, but the incantation never had a chance to leave his lips. Helga exploded forward with enough force to shatter the concrete beneath her boot, closing the distance before he could even process that she had moved. Her fist came around in a brutal hook and slammed into his cheek, the impact folding his face inward with a sickening crack as bone gave way beneath her knuckles.
She did not stop there. The first blow flowed into another, then another, and soon her fists were hammering into him in a relentless barrage that struck his face, ribs, torso, and sides so rapidly that his body barely had time to recoil between impacts. Blood sprayed with every hit, his uniform darkening as Helga drove him backward one punishing step at a time.
The second Agent charged in from her flank with his sword raised, a ragged cry tearing from his throat as he brought the blade down toward her. Helga turned at the last instant and caught it in one gauntleted hand. His eyes widened as the steel shuddered against her grip, but Helga only tightened her fingers until the blade cracked and shattered apart in her palm. Before he could retreat, she drove a fist straight into his face and sent him reeling backward, then surged after him, seized the front of his uniform, and slammed her forehead into his nose. The first impact staggered him, the second nearly folded him in half, and when Helga resumed pummeling him with heavy punches, he could do little more than absorb the punishment.
A spell struck Helga squarely in the back from the Agent she had battered moments before, forcing her to stumble forward several steps. His eyes widened when she slowly looked over her shoulder, the fury in her expression making whatever confidence he had recovered vanish almost immediately. Helga seized the Agent in front of her by the uniform and hurled him bodily toward the spellcaster, sending both men crashing together before either could properly brace.
They had not even begun to fall when Helga launched herself after them, one fist already drawn back as amber light blazed around her gauntlet.
"Svartalfheim," she growled.
Her fist crashed into the back of the nearest Agent with such force that the impact carried through both men at once. The resulting shockwave tore across the street, rattling windows in their frames and sending dust cascading from the surrounding buildings as Helga drove every ounce of momentum through the strike.
"Smash!"
Both Agents were hurled straight into the road, their bodies ripping through the asphalt as they tumbled across the street in a violent spray of dust, broken tar, and shattered stone.
Helga stood in the middle of the ruined street with her chest heaving, fury still carved across her face as she stared toward the crater where the two Authority Agents lay motionless. Her shoulders remained hunched and her arms hung low at her sides while amber light continued to pulse faintly across the metal of her gauntlets. The commotion had already begun drawing residents from their homes throughout the Projects, and one by one doors opened while windows slid upward, revealing stunned faces peering out at the shattered road, broken masonry, and the trail of destruction stretching away from East Eden.
A sharp metallic crack rang against the side of Helga's head as something struck her hard enough to snap her attention sideways, then spun away and clattered across the asphalt beside her boot. She lowered her gaze and watched a throwing knife bounce once, twice, before finally settling in the street, its silver edge catching the amber glow spilling from her gauntlets. For several seconds she remained completely still, and when she slowly turned toward the direction it had come from, the anger in her expression had given way to something colder.
Farther down the street, Lester stared back at her from unsteady legs, one hand still outstretched from the throw while his other arm remained wrapped tightly around his abdomen. Helga's earlier punch had left his face swollen and grotesquely misshapen, with the left side caved inward, one eye sealed beneath a spreading bruise, and his jaw bent badly enough that fragments of broken teeth slipped from between his lips along with streaks of blood. Whatever rage had convinced him that throwing the knife was a good idea disappeared the moment he realized Helga was still standing, and his remaining eye widened as disbelief overtook what little confidence he had left.
"The... hell?" he muttered, his breathing turning ragged as his fingers began to tremble. "H-How...?"
Disbelief quickly curdled back into anger, and Lester clenched his hand as several more knives slipped into place between his fingers. He hurled them toward Helga in rapid succession, but each blade struck her with a hard metallic snap and ricocheted away as though it had hit solid stone rather than flesh, scattering harmlessly across the road around her. The final knife came straight for her face, and Helga caught it inches from her eyes without so much as flinching. Her fingers closed around the steel, tightening until the blade groaned between them and finally shattered inside her grip, leaving jagged fragments to spill through her fingers and scatter across the asphalt.
Lester could only stare as the broken pieces struck the ground. "W-What are you...?"
Amber fire surged violently across Helga's gauntlets before he could finish the question, and she launched herself toward him with enough force to fracture the pavement beneath her boots. Lester stumbled backward and reached for another knife, but there was no longer enough time to throw it. Helga closed the distance in an instant, drawing her fist back with every intention of driving it straight through him, only for another figure to step between them at the last possible moment and catch the blow against a long, polished wooden scabbard.
The impact thundered through the street as the stranger braced himself behind the weapon, his boots grinding against the asphalt beneath the force of Helga's punch. He wore the same gray Authority uniform as Lester and the other Agents, though unlike them, not a single part of his appearance seemed disordered. His uniform sat immaculate against a lean frame, his short black hair remained neatly kept, and his fair complexion only made the narrow, almost foxlike shape of his eyes more striking beneath a thin smile that never quite seemed to reach them.
"Ooh, that was quite a blow," he said, the scabbard still braced against Helga's fist as the force of the impact shuddered through his arms and down into the street beneath him. "How very scary."
With a sharp push, he forced her back just far enough to create space, but Helga lunged again before he could say anything more. She threw one punch after another, each strike carrying enough force to break stone, yet the young man slipped aside with unnerving precision, twisting his scabbard once and then twice to bat aside her attacks while maintaining that same thin smile even as the pressure of her assault began to show in the tension around his eyes.
"Now, now, can't we just settle down and talk this over?" he asked, ducking beneath another swing before redirecting the next with the flat of the scabbard. "I really don't want to—"
Helga answered with a roar and hooked a punch toward his face, the sheer force of the swing displacing the air around them. His expression finally tightened as he snapped the scabbard upward and struck her arm aside, then inverted the weapon in the same motion and drove the butt of it into her chest hard enough to knock the air from her lungs and send her flying backward. Even then, Helga refused to let go, and her gauntleted hand clamped around the scabbard as momentum carried her away, ripping it free from the blade and exposing a long curve of polished silver that caught the last light of the setting sun.
Still airborne, she twisted her body and hurled the scabbard back like a javelin, forcing the young man's eyes to widen just enough to reveal silver irises beneath those narrow lids as he braced himself. The scabbard slammed back over the blade with a violent clang, and although he managed to catch it cleanly, the force still drove him backward, his boots grinding across the asphalt before he finally came to a stop.
Helga hit the ground and immediately surged forward again as the mechanisms around her gauntlets shifted and locked into place, the amber blaze intensifying until it spread around her arms and shoulders in the shape of an enormous spectral badger. The creature seemed to form from the fire itself, teeth bared and claws spread wide as it moved with her, mirroring every motion while Helga pulled her fist back for another strike. The young man watched her approach for only a second before doing something that made even Helga hesitate, tossing his sword aside so that the weapon clattered across the road while he straightened and spread his arms, leaving himself completely open.
Helga's eyes widened, but her body had already committed to the punch, and her fist stopped less than an inch from the bridge of his nose. Even without contact, the force behind the halted strike exploded outward through the street in a violent shockwave that cracked windows along both sides of the road, ripped leaves from the trees, and hurled dust, scraps of paper, loose debris, and broken trash down the block while fractures raced across the asphalt beneath their feet. For several seconds, the entire street disappeared inside a cloud of grit and motion before the air slowly began to settle again, revealing the young man still standing exactly where he had been.
His thin smile had become noticeably more nervous, and for the first time he glanced over his shoulder toward the devastation behind him, taking in the split pavement, shattered windows, and the long trail of destruction left by a punch that had never actually touched him.
"Ooo," he murmured before looking back at Helga. "You really are a scary person." His silver eyes narrowed slightly beneath the returning smile as he added, "Miss Hufflepuff, I presume. Just as terrifying as I expected from the one they call Unbreakable."
Helga held the young man's silver gaze for several seconds before the fury in her expression finally began to ease. She lowered her fist, and the amber flames surrounding her gauntlets faded as the metal plates unlocked with a mechanical whir, folding over one another until the weapons contracted back into the bracelets around her wrists.
"Helga!"
Both Helga and the young man turned toward the ruined entrance of East Eden, where Salazar and Rowena stood amid the shattered remains of the doorway, staring in horror at the destruction spread across the street before them.
"By Hecate, what happened?" Rowena demanded as her sapphire eyes swept across the fractured asphalt, broken pavement, shattered windows, and the mangled streetlamp farther down the road.
Her gaze eventually returned to Helga with a mixture of disbelief and alarm.
Salazar's emerald eyes followed the same trail of destruction until they settled upon one of the unconscious Authority Agents lying inside a crater several yards away. A nervous smirk tugged at his lips as he took in the gray uniform. "I have several theories, though I suspect the uniforms provide more than sufficient evidence."
His gaze shifted toward the young man standing before Helga, and whatever amusement remained in his expression disappeared.
Before either of them could say anything more, Ruben pushed past them and descended the steps, his broad frame carrying him directly toward the stranger with an expression that made it abundantly clear there would be no friendly reunion. "First Hector, and now you. I'd say this is a surprise, but considering you've always been his right hand, I suppose I should've expected you eventually." He stopped in front of the younger man, forcing him to tip his head upward slightly to meet the orc's gaze. "It's been a while, though not nearly long enough, Serizawa."
Serizawa's grin returned, every bit as thin and crafty as before. "Oh, that is cold, Ruben-san. The rest of the Authority may speak your name like some cautionary tale, but personally, I always find it a pleasure seeing you."
"Spare me the pleasantries." Ruben folded his arms across his chest as his patience visibly thinned. "The law is perfectly clear. Caerleon is a Sanctuary City, and the Authority's jurisdiction ends at my doorstep." His hazel eyes shifted toward Lester, who was barely managing to remain upright farther down the street. "And yet somehow I walk into my own dining hall and find none other than Lester 'The Jester' Djangles raising the same kind of hell he's apparently made a career out of."
A low growl rumbled through Ruben's chest as he looked back toward Serizawa. "The Authority may have finally found its balls when it comes to throwing its weight around with the other administrators running havens across this city, but I don't have the time or the patience to extend another shred of tolerance toward you people. Laws exist for a reason, and I've already made more excuses than I should have for your Agents and their behavior."
"There you go again, running your pigskin mouth!" Lester snarled from behind them, blood and saliva slipping over his battered lower lip as whatever sense of self-preservation he possessed apparently failed him once again. "You don't know when to quit, do—"
"Djangles-san!"
Serizawa's voice cut across the street with enough force to silence him immediately. The pleasant smile disappeared for the briefest moment as he turned toward Lester, his narrow eyes opening fully to reveal the cold silver beneath them, and the sudden change in his demeanor was enough to strip whatever anger remained from Lester's face.
"I would ask that you keep your mouth perfectly sealed," Serizawa said, controlled despite the warning beneath it. "You and your compatriots are already in quite enough trouble without you making matters worse every time you decide to speak. You've been in this city for barely a week, and believe me when I say you have long since exhausted my patience, just as you have the Commander's."
Whatever rage or defiance had been holding Lester upright seemed to drain from him at once, leaving him silent as Serizawa turned his attention back toward Ruben. The thin smile did not immediately return. Instead, he straightened, brought his hands neatly to his sides, and bowed deeply before the orc.
"Please accept my sincerest apologies on behalf of myself, my men, and, most importantly, the Authority," he said. "You are entirely correct. Laws exist for a reason, and what happened here was nothing less than a gross overstep of jurisdiction and an abuse of power. There is no excuse for Agents under our banner entering a protected sanctuary, threatening its residents, and behaving as though the laws they enforce somehow do not apply to them."
Serizawa slowly straightened from his bow, his expression remaining unusually serious as he glanced toward the ruined entrance of East Eden and the destruction scattered across the street. "Rest assured that I will personally see to it that East Eden is compensated for the damage caused here, along with any other losses resulting from this incident."
His silver gaze shifted toward Lester, and although the familiar smile returned to his lips, there was nothing particularly pleasant about it now. "And I will also ensure that those responsible are held accountable." His eyes narrowed slightly. "In every sense of the word."
Ruben gave a dismissive scoff, clearly unimpressed by the apology as his glare shifted toward Lester. "Like I said, spare me. This isn't the first time something like this has happened, and I know damn well it won't be the last. Every organization needs a mad dog they can let off the leash whenever it suits them, then drag it back in front of everyone and beat it publicly just so they can claim they handled the problem."
His attention returned to Serizawa, and the contempt in his expression sharpened. "You and Hector can keep playing your little games for now, but consider this your final warning. The next time someone from the Authority comes into my haven uninvited, I'm not wasting my breath arguing jurisdiction with them." Ruben leaned forward slightly. "I'll ship them back to you in bags."
Serizawa opened his mouth to respond, but Ruben raised a hand and cut him off before he could get a word out. "And for the record, don't even think about pressing charges against her." He tilted his head toward Helga, who was still standing nearby with the bracelets resting quietly around her wrists. "You were trespassing, your men threatened protected residents, and she responded in kind. Frankly, you should all be grateful you're still breathing."
Ruben's eyes shifted toward Lester again, and his expression darkened with open disgust. "Although, when it comes to certain people, I can't say I'm particularly happy about that part."
"Never crossed my mind," Serizawa said as he raised his head and gave a small nod. "And believe me, I'm well aware of the particular foolishness that comes with showing too much audacity in the presence of the Badger of Terra herself." His silver gaze settled on Helga, and the thin smile returned to his face. "The one who bested the Iron Hands, a man who was once considered so monstrous that plenty of people genuinely believed he was unstoppable."
Helga's eyes narrowed further, prompting Serizawa to lift both hands in a gesture of surrender.
"Ooh, if looks could kill," he said with a faint chuckle. "Anyway, I believe I've taken up enough of your evening already." He glanced toward Salazar and Rowena before looking back at Helga. "But before I leave, kindly allow me to introduce myself properly."
He stepped back and flourished into a courteous bow, one hand sweeping outward with almost theatrical grace. "Lieutenant Kamo Serizawa. A pleasure." Straightening again, he offered the group one final nod. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I wish you all a good evening."
With that, Serizawa turned and walked past them, pausing only long enough to retrieve his sword from where he had discarded it before continuing down the street. Lester opened his mouth as though he intended to say something, but Serizawa lifted one finger without even looking back.
"Not a word out of you."
That was enough to silence him. Salazar and Rowena watched Serizawa continue down the road just as the distant growl of engines began carrying through the street. Tires scraped across the asphalt as several Authority vehicles rounded the corner and pulled to a stop near the destruction, their doors opening almost immediately as roughly a dozen Agents climbed out. More than a few of them froze for a moment when they saw the shattered pavement, broken masonry, damaged lamppost, and unconscious men scattered across the street, but Serizawa merely gestured with one hand and sent them into motion.
Several Agents hurried toward the two men lying motionless inside the crater, while others moved to help Lester. He immediately snapped at them with an angry growl and brushed aside the first pair of hands that reached for him, his battered face twisting with humiliation as he shot one final hate-filled look toward Ruben and Helga before finally limping toward the waiting vehicles.
Only after the Authority began clearing out did Salazar release a slow breath and draw his wand from its holster. "Well, that appears to be over and done with." He glanced toward Rowena, and the look exchanged between them was enough to communicate what came next. "Shall we?"
Rowena sighed as she pulled out her own wand and stepped beside him. Together, they raised their wands toward the wreckage and spoke the incantation in unison.
"Reparo."
Magic swept across the street almost immediately, drawing every splinter of wood, shard of glass, broken stone, and twisted length of metal upward from where it had fallen. The debris moved as though time itself had begun reversing, shattered pieces of the entrance fitting neatly back together while hinges straightened, the torn doorknob slid into place, and cracks in the surrounding wall sealed themselves one after another. Across the street, loose bricks returned to the cratered masonry, the damaged asphalt smoothed over, and the bent lamppost groaned as metal pulled itself back into shape.
Within moments, the devastation that had swallowed the entire block was gone, leaving East Eden and the street beyond looking almost as though nothing had happened at all.
When Ruben placed a hand on Helga's shoulder, she nearly jumped out of her skin, whipping around with both fists raised and forcing the orc to take an immediate step back. The violence in her movement was instinctive rather than deliberate, her amber eyes still narrowed to pinpricks as though some part of her had not yet realized the fight was finished.
"Whoa, easy now. It's over," Ruben said, raising both hands where she could see them.
Recognition slowly returned to Helga's face, and as her irises began to widen again, the tension knotted through her shoulders gradually loosened until she finally lowered her fists. "I-I'm sorry." Her gaze drifted past him toward the last fragments of broken brick and splintered wood floating back into place beneath Salazar and Rowena's magic. "I didn't mean to..." She hesitated as guilt crept into her expression. "Your building, it's..."
"Helga." Ruben reached for her shoulder again, and this time she did not flinch beneath his hand. "It's okay. Honestly, I should be thanking you." A warm smile softened his features as he glanced back toward East Eden. "You had a hell of a lot more courage than I did today. Buildings can be repaired, broken furniture can be replaced, and whatever else got smashed can be mended sooner or later, but what you showed everyone here today is worth more than any of that."
His eyes lingered on the sanctuary entrance before returning to her. "Especially that girl inside, and every slave under that roof. You showed them there are people willing to stand up for them, people who aren't afraid of the Authority, and maybe, after seeing that, they'll start believing they don't have to be afraid of them either."
A small smile touched Helga's lips at that, although it faded when she looked around Ruben toward the retreating Authority Agents farther down the street. "Who was that, if you don't mind me asking?" she asked. "You two seemed to know each other pretty well."
"I must admit, I find myself wondering the same thing." Ruben and Helga turned as Salazar and Rowena approached from the restored entrance, and Salazar slipped his wand away beneath his coat. "Though under the circumstances, I am considerably more interested in how those mongrels have become emboldened enough to disregard written law so openly. One would imagine even the Authority would possess enough self-preservation to avoid trespassing upon a protected sanctuary."
"I agree," Rowena said, glancing toward the departing vehicles before looking back at Ruben. "We've already seen what happens when the people who are supposed to enforce the law start treating it like a suggestion instead of something that applies to them too. Caerleon has suffered enough from that kind of thinking."
Ruben let his hand fall from Helga's shoulder and exhaled. "First off, the Azian man is exactly who he introduced himself as, Lieutenant Kamo Serizawa. Like Hector, he was still a rookie when I was with the Authority, and like Hector, he built himself a reputation fast. Those two have been joined at the hip for years."
His expression tightened as he watched the distant figure of Serizawa disappear among the other Agents. "Compared to the Commander, his skills are a little wanting, and he's nowhere near as tightly wound as Hector, but don't let that easygoing attitude fool you. Serizawa is every bit as vicious when the situation calls for it, and every bit as dangerous. Between the two of them, they've crushed dozens of slave rebellions and torn apart more Libertas cells than I can count. He's Hector's right hand, plain and simple, and Hector trusts that man with his life."
Ruben rubbed a hand across his jaw before continuing. "Lester, though, is a different story. That bastard's been a walking disaster since the day somebody was stupid enough to pin a badge on him. Excessive force, abuse of power, ignoring protocol whenever it gets in his way, and that's only the stuff that actually makes it into the reports."
Salazar's mouth curved into a dry smirk. "Forgive me, but I had rather assumed that description applied to the Authority as a whole."
"Believe me, even by their standards, Lester's special," Ruben replied. "He's the guy they'd hold up as the shining example of everything an Agent isn't supposed to be." His gaze shifted toward Helga. "And you had him figured out the second you saw him. The only reason he ever wanted that badge was because it gave him permission to hurt people, especially slaves. Problem is, slaveowners tend to get upset when their property comes back missing teeth, fingers, or half the blood in their body because the Authority couldn't keep one of its own animals on a leash."
Ruben shook his head as he pressed two fingers against his temple. "I honestly can't remember how many times they've suspended him. If he isn't putting slaves in the wards, he's beating civilians, roughing up protesters, or starting something with anybody who looks at him wrong. The worst incident I know of was when he nearly killed a member of the Union after the man confronted him for using his slaves as target practice."
"By Hecate..." Rowena murmured, one hand rising to cover her mouth as her eyes widened.
"And just like you said," Helga replied, her expression hardening again, "the Authority refuses to get rid of him because he's useful."
"Pretty much." Ruben looked directly at her. "Same reason Captain Astrea lasted as long as she did before you put her down something fierce, and the same reason the Council allowed Burgess to sit in that chair for years while everyone around him knew exactly what kind of monster he was."
The comparison settled heavily between them, and for several moments none of the three students said anything, because by then the implication hardly needed explaining.
Ruben clapped his hands together, breaking through the heaviness that had settled over the group. "Well, let's put all of that aside for now. Besides, I'm pretty sure letting Miss Helga's work in the kitchen go cold would qualify as a crime all on its own." A smile returned to his face as he motioned toward the sanctuary entrance. "Come on. I'm sure all three of you are starving, and everyone inside would be more than happy to have you stay for supper."
That was enough to draw a smile from Rowena, Salazar, and Helga as they turned back toward East Eden.
"We'd be honored," Salazar said, though the moment his eyes shifted toward Helga, a familiar glint of mischief crept into them. "And besides, for all that you lack in magic, scholarship, or really anything that could be mistaken for academic ability, you do compensate rather admirably with your culinary talents."
Helga beamed at him and tilted her head. "Aw, thanks, Sal, that's so—" Her smile faltered as the compliment finally caught up with her, and her eyes narrowed. "Hey!"
She punched him in the arm hard enough to make him recoil with a hiss. "Ow, you absolute beast!" Salazar complained, clutching his arm as he glared at her in wounded disbelief.
"Jerk!" Helga shot back, though the anger in her tone was already giving way to a grin.
Rowena sighed and shook her head while Ruben laughed under his breath, and together the four of them started back up the steps. As they crossed into the sanctuary, Helga drifted alongside Ruben while Salazar and Rowena moved a little farther ahead. The laughter faded from her expression as her thoughts returned to what Lester had said earlier.
"Hey, Ruben," she said quietly, drawing his attention. "That thing Lester said about Nell... what was that about?"
Ruben's expression changed almost immediately. His eyes widened for the briefest moment before a trace of unease settled over his face, and he let out a slow breath as he looked ahead. "That, unfortunately isn't my story to tell. I think it's better if you hear it from Nell herself, assuming she's willing to talk about it." His gaze shifted toward Helga. "But I should warn you now, it isn't a happy story."
Helga's gaze dropped toward the floor as they continued down the hall. "At this point, I'm starting to wonder if any of them have even one happy memory left to hold on to."
Ruben was quiet for a moment before giving a tired nod. "Such is life, Helga," he murmured. "Such is life."
****
The soft tinkling of spoons against porcelain was the only sound filling the dining room of the Sheriff's residence as Bastion, Arianna, and Elias ate in near silence, broken only by the occasional scrape of cutlery, quiet slurp, or muted sound of chewing. Bastion nudged a cube of beef around his bowl with his spoon before finally scooping it up with a mouthful of broth, and the moment he tasted it, the rich blend of salt, smoke, and spices settled across his tongue while the meat practically melted apart in his mouth.
He honestly could not remember the last time he had eaten something this flavorful after weeks of surviving on takeout and whatever tavern food he could find, not because money was an issue, but because plenty of businesses throughout Caerleon had made it expressly clear that anyone affiliated with the Tower was no longer welcome. Unfortunately for Bastion, that blacklist included more than a few restaurants he had grown rather fond of before the Siege. And with Rem and Family's kitchen still under construction, it would be at least another month before the inn and its restaurant could reopen its doors.
From the first spoonful, he had been fighting the urge to react like an excited child, keeping his appreciation carefully contained while the tiger therian across from him continued shooting him one nasty look after another. It had started getting on his nerves several minutes ago, and by now Bastion's mismatched eyes had settled squarely on Arianna as he took another slow spoonful of stew without breaking eye contact, turning the meal into a petty contest neither of them seemed willing to acknowledge aloud.
"You know," Elias said at last as he lowered his wineglass, "it doesn't take a blind man to notice that the two of you have been acting like a pair of brats since we sat down." He sighed and leaned back slightly in his chair. "So, let's make this easier on everybody. Why don't you tell us a little about yourself, kid?"
Bastion blinked and finally looked away from Arianna. "Me? Come on, old man, you already know—"
Elias's expression tightened before he tilted his head pointedly toward Arianna, his brows rising just enough to make the meaning obvious even without sight. Bastion caught on, released a resigned sigh, and set his spoon down beside the bowl.
"Name's Sebastian Reinhardt, though everyone calls me Bastion," he said, his gaze drifting back toward Arianna despite himself.
"Reinhardt?" Arianna cut in before he could continue, curiosity momentarily overpowering whatever irritation she had been nursing. "As in Wilhelm Reinhardt? The Overdeath?"
"My grandpa, yeah." Bastion leaned back slightly. "Spent most of my younger years at Wallace Academy."
He paused, almost expecting the usual barrage of questions that followed whenever someone heard the name of his alma mater, and although the faint twitch in Elias's brow suggested the old man knew exactly what he was leaving unsaid, neither he nor Arianna interrupted.
"After that, I enlisted in the Clock Tower, got dragged into a war I sure as hell didn't ask for, and somewhere along the way they slapped stripes on my arm and called it a reward." His eyes lowered toward his bowl. "Shit lotta good that did."
"Language," Elias said calmly.
Bastion grimaced at him. "You serious?"
"At my table? Yeah," Elias replied.
"So, you're the one everybody's been talking about," Arianna said, pulling Bastion's attention back toward her. "The half-therian grandson of the Tower's legendary hero. Grandpa's talked about you a lot since he got here."
Bastion blinked and looked toward Elias, who seemed to sense the stare despite his pale, sightless eyes and answered it with an innocent little shrug.
Arianna's mouth curled into a smirk. "Guess he left out the part where you're a shameless perv."
Bastion's expression twisted immediately. "For the love of the Gods, would you cut it out with the perv shit—?"
"Language," Elias interrupted again, without the slightest change in tone.
"Oh, piss off!" Bastion snapped as he threw both hands toward Arianna. "You're really gonna sit there and let this nudist call me a perv when she walks around butt naked with everything hanging out for the whole world to see?"
Arianna's face went bright red as her tail lashed sharply behind her, and she bared her fangs at him. "Hey, you're the one who walked in without knocking! Who does that? This is my home, not yours, and besides, Beastias therians are a lot more relaxed about clothes and—"
Elias suddenly broke into laughter before she could finish, covering part of his face with one hand as his shoulders shook. Bastion and Arianna both stopped mid-argument and stared at him, each wearing the same baffled expression before Bastion gestured toward the old man with both hands while Arianna mirrored him from across the table.
"Oh, Gods, if this isn't a tale as old as time," Elias managed once his laughter finally eased. He drew in a breath, exhaled through another chuckle, and shook his head. "I swear, I've heard stories about Wilhelm and Amarilla starting out almost exactly like this."
"Ama... who?" Arianna asked, her whiskers twitching.
"My grandma," Bastion answered.
"Ah..." Arianna murmured, settling back into her chair.
"I told you, I never knew your grandmother personally, but people talked," Elias continued. "From everything I heard, the old lady was every bit as fiery as Wilhelm and didn't give a damn who knew it. The man was twice her size and probably could've snapped her in half without trying, but Amarilla had balls of steel and apparently never once acted impressed by him."
A grin tugged at his mouth as he rolled the stem of his wineglass between his fingers. "Little trivia, she was a Vagabond from a place called India in another world. Came here with her parents, and eventually they opened a little restaurant in Camelot. Then, wouldn't you know it, your grandpa gets reeled in by the smell of good food."
Bastion and Arianna listened quietly now, their earlier hostility pushed aside by the story.
"Long story short, things happened and Wilhelm and Amarilla fell hard for each other, but from what I heard, their relationship was one hell of a whirlwind." Elias chuckled as he remembered the stories. "Those two argued constantly, yelled at each other, threw things, broke things, probably scared half the neighborhood more than once, and somehow they always found their way back to each other afterward."
The humor in his expression softened as he stared down into his wine. "Wilhelm was a wreck when he lost her. They might've spent half their marriage at each other's throats, but nobody who knew them ever doubted how fiercely they loved each other."
His smile returned as he lifted his head toward Bastion and Arianna. "There used to be this running joke that the two people who fought the most were usually the first ones who'd end up together."
Bastion and Arianna stared at him for a second before both slowly turned toward each other, their expressions souring almost in perfect synchronization.
"With her?!" Bastion exclaimed.
"With him?!" Arianna cried at the same time.
"I'd rather die!" they both shouted together.
Elias propped an elbow on the table and rested his cheek against his fist, leisurely picking up his wineglass with the other hand and giving it a slow swirl before taking a sip. The smile on his face widened as he lowered it again.
"Funny," Elias said, still wearing that knowing smile. "That's what they said too." He took another sip from his glass before turning his attention toward Arianna. "Your turn."
Arianna's face twisted immediately. "Huh? Seriously? You want me to just lay everything out for this p—"
Elias leveled his gaze toward her before she could finish, and although the warning in his expression was obvious, it softened almost immediately as he tipped his head toward Bastion.
Arianna let out a long sigh, her tail flicking behind her as she finally looked across the table. "Arianna Kane," she said flatly. "I'm fifteen, and as you can probably already tell..." She gestured between herself and Elias. "He's not actually my grandpa."
"Yeah, no shit," Bastion replied with a smirk, only to catch Elias turning toward him. He raised both hands before the old man could say anything. "I know, I know. Language. Sorry."
Arianna rolled her eyes, but Bastion continued before she could fire anything back. "Still, I'm kind of surprised you're not enrolled at Excalibur Academy, especially since we're literally in Caerleon."
She scoffed and pushed her spoon lazily through what remained of her stew. "Kinda hard to get into a magic academy when you're mundane, genius. Every race has people who are born without magic, and I'm pretty sure I don't have to explain that to you."
Bastion's expression softened almost immediately, and a faint flush crept across his face as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. Sorry." He glanced down at his bowl for a moment before adding, "If it makes you feel any better, my mom's mundane too."
"Well, Arianna's homeschooled," Elias said, stepping in before the awkwardness could linger. "Magic's useful and all, but plenty of people have proven they can get by just fine without it." A proud smile pulled at his mouth as he turned slightly toward her. "Besides, I'd put money on her running circles around half the students at Excalibur when it comes to anything that doesn't involve waving a wand."
Arianna's expression softened at that, and she gave him a small smile before returning her attention to her food.
"So, what happens after all this?" Bastion asked as he leaned back slightly in his chair. "You thinking about joining the Tower someday, following in Grandpa's footsteps like I did?"
Arianna opened her mouth to answer, but Elias cut in before she had the chance. "Cute, kid, but no." He shook his head, and whatever amusement had been in his face faded as his pale eyes shifted toward Arianna. "We've had this conversation more times than I can count. The Clock Tower is the last place I want her anywhere near."
Bastion's gaze narrowed. "That's a little hypocritical coming from you."
"Call it whatever you want," Elias replied, his tone remaining even as his expression tightened. "You and I both know what happens to people who throw their lot in with the Tower. Best-case scenario, maybe she gets lucky and ends up like your grandpa." His hand lifted, gesturing toward himself with a dry, humorless motion. "If she doesn't, then she could just as easily wind up like me."
Bastion's expression went slack as his gaze shifted toward Arianna, catching the confusion written across her face in the twitch of her whiskers and slight furrow of her brow. He let out a slow breath and looked back toward Elias. "Yeah, that'd be a Godsdamned tragedy, especially after the state Burgess left the damned Tower in."
"Anyway, she's got plenty of time to figure out what she wants to do," Elias said, apparently deciding there was little point dwelling on it any longer. "World's a big place, and there are plenty of roads she can take that don't end with a badge pinned to her chest."
Bastion's mouth curled into a smirk as he glanced toward Arianna. "Might wanna cross professional stripper off the list, though. Don't think anyone's gonna be lining up to watch Miss Washboard over here give them a show."
Arianna's face immediately flushed deep red, and she shot to her feet so quickly that her chair scraped backward across the floor. Both hands slammed against the table hard enough to rattle the bowls, glasses, and cutlery as her tail bristled behind her. "Alright, that's it! You asked for it!"
A growl tore from her throat as her fingers curled and glossy black obsidian claws flashed from their tips. She lunged across the table and swiped at him, but Bastion had already leaned back just beyond her reach, wearing the most infuriating grin he could manage before springing to his feet and bolting away as Arianna came tearing around the table after him.
"Miss me, miss me, now you gotta kiss me!" Bastion called over his shoulder, tugging down beneath one eye and sticking his tongue out as he fled toward the living room.
"I'm gonna kill you!" Arianna snarled, accelerating after him with enough speed to make his grin falter.
"Damn, you're fast! Guess you really are aerodynamic when there's barely anything slowing you down!" Bastion shouted as he disappeared into the next room with Arianna right behind him.
"Come back here, perv!" she yelled, followed almost immediately by the crash of something being knocked over and Bastion's laughter echoing through the house.
Elias remained at the table for several seconds, listening to the chaos migrate deeper into his home before releasing a long, exhausted sigh. He picked up his glass, finished what remained of the wine in one swallow, and set it back down with the weary resignation of a man reconsidering several of his life choices.
"Sweet cheese and crackers," he muttered to himself, "sometimes I really don't miss being a dad."