The Wanderer’s right arm blurred a punch into Harith’s wrist, causing his fingers to snap open. Before the dagger could hit the ground, the Wanderer caught it with his mechanical hand.
Harith grunted as he held his wrist.
"I mean you no harm," the Wanderer whispered, stepping into Harith's space. He flipped the dagger in his grip, pointing the tip directly at the father's chest. "But do not push me into doing so."
"What's going on in here?" Helen’s voice suddenly pierced the tension from the hallway, followed by her footsteps.
The Wanderer crossed his arms, burying the stolen dagger beneath his right elbow, as Helen stepped into the small room.
She blinked, her eyes darting between the two tense men. "Did someone get hurt? I heard a loud thud."
Harith stared at her, his jaw clenched in silence.
A reassuring smile broke across the Wanderer's stolen face. He stepped forward. "Oh, don't worry, mother. Father was just showing me his old sword, but it slipped from his hands. You know how heavy that old steel is." He turned his gaze slowly back to Harith, the hidden dagger beneath his arm subtly shifting to point toward the old man. "Right... father?"
Harith swallowed the lump in his throat. "Leave us alone, Helen. And close that door behind you."
Helen looked between them worried. She reached out, gently touching her husband’s shoulder. "Don't push yourself, Harith. We aren't young anymore," she murmured softly before turning around and closing the wooden door firmly behind her.
"There is nothing here we can offer you," Harith said. "What do you want?"
The Wanderer waved the dagger between his fingers. "It doesn't matter what I want. You will obey my instructions, or everyone in this house will pay the price."
Harith sat down heavily on the straw bed. "We have suffered enough... Just leave, and I swear to the Light I won't speak a single word of your existence to anyone."
"I'll leave. But not right now," the Wanderer replied coldly. He lowered his gaze, pointing the tip of the dagger down at the black weapon. "First of all... what the hell is that thing?"
Harith rubbed his swollen wrist, staring blankly at the dark metal. "That is ‘Defiance’. It is our family heirloom."
"I don't care about the name. What is it made of?" the Wanderer whispered back.
"It was forged from the core of a fallen meteor, along with two other sister blades," Harith said reluctantly. " ‘Judgment’, which rests inside the Red Citadel... and the third, which resides in the capital of Valoria ‘Justice’ , Altharion's personal sword." Harith looked up, his eyes locking onto the Wanderer's masked gaze. "They are attuned to our bloodline. Only a true Dragonborn can wield them without being destroyed."
"Enough with the history lesson," the Wanderer cut him off. "How did you know I wasn't Vincent?"
Harith covered his face with his uninjured hand, and his thick shoulders began to shake. "Because he died," Harith choked out, tears finally spilling over his wrinkled cheeks. "I watched them... I watched the men in the masks murder him in the dark."
He began to sob quietly. "I couldn't save him! I was too afraid to move... and I couldn't even find the strength to tell my own wife that her son was never coming home."
The Wanderer stared at the weeping old man. Slowly, the tension in his arms loosened. He lowered the dagger to his side, the hostility draining out of him.
As he looked at the broken father, sadness crept over Vincent's stolen face.
The Wanderer pulled himself back to seriousness, burying the sudden rush of empathy deep down. "Does anyone else know about this?" he demanded.
Harith simply shook his head, unable to form words through his grief.
"Come on!" Helen’s voice cut through the grim atmosphere. "Get out here before Sunny devours the whole thing!"
The Wanderer glanced at the door, then back at the broken father. "Let's get out there. We will continue this later. But for the time being... you better play along."
Harith nodded, wiping the tears and drawing a deep breath to compose himself.
They both stepped out of the back room to find Helen smacking the back of Sunny's head. "You've had your share, you pig! Leave them something to eat!"
Sunny, his cheeks completely bulged with a mouthful of food, mumbled, "Vincent will just buy more! He's loaded, Aunt Helen. He has a ton of gold coins now!"
Helen turned her attention to her husband gasping, stepping closer. "Harith, you've been crying. Your eyes are blood red."
The Wanderer stepped between them. "Yes, well... my father got a bit emotional about my return. He just didn't want the great Harith to be seen crying in front of you."
Helen's worried expression shifted into a smirk. She put her hands on her waist, looking past the Wanderer at her husband. "Oh, is that so? Come on, tough guy. Grab a bite before it gets cold."
They all sat down at the small table, eating and chatting like a completely normal, happy family. Sunny suddenly lunged across the table, snatching a piece of chicken off the Wanderer’s plate, and jumped backward out of his chair.
"Get back here, you little rat!" Helen shouted, kicking off her slipper and hurling it across the room. It hit Sunny right on the shoulder, making the boy yelp with laughter as he guarded his prize.
The Wanderer laughed loudly. "Let him eat, mother. I've had more than enough."
His laughter faded, however, when he looked over at Harith. The older man was just staring blankly at his untouched plate, his hands trembling slightly against the wood.
A wave of guilt washed over the Wanderer. Feeling terrible for threatening a helpless father, the Wanderer stood up from the table and headed to the main door.
"Where are you going, Vincent?" Helen asked.
"I'll take a walk," he replied, keeping his back turned so she wouldn't see the conflict in his eyes. He paused at the threshold, glancing over his shoulder. "Sunny. Join me."
They stepped out together into the cool night air.
Sunny walked a step ahead, a bounce in his stride. "Where to now? I know a bakery down by the lower plaza that sells pastries meant for the nobles. People say the taste is the closest thing to real magic. Let's go grab some!"
"Sunny, do you know how to get into the Red Citadel?" the Wanderer asked, ignoring the suggestion.
Sunny stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around, staring at the Wanderer..
"You don't know?" the Wanderer repeated.
"You've been incredibly strange since you got back," Sunny muttered. "First that kid with the message, then 'Zero,' and now you’ve somehow forgotten that we literally snuck into the Red Citadel all the time when we were younger?"
The Wanderer hesitated, but he quickly adjusted his tone to keep his cover intact. "I didn't mean sneaking past the outer perimeter for fun. I need to investigate something within its inner walls. Like official work that allows me access."
Sunny leaned in and whispered. "Is it the Owl thing again?"
The Wanderer nodded. "You could say so."
Sunny let out a sigh, looking down at his worn boots. "You've changed, my friend. You used to tell me absolutely everything."
The Wanderer placed a hand on Sunny’s shoulder. "I've been through hell, Sunny. I promise I'll tell you the whole story, but right now, I desperately need to get inside that fortress."
Sunny rubbed his chin, pacing around the Wanderer. "The Red Crowns won't let a Black Crown like you past the courtyard, Vince. They wouldn't even let you in to scrub the toilets." He stopped, snapping his fingers as an idea hit him. "Your father might have a way. He used to tell us those old tales about his Red Crown cousin inside the citadel. They used to be incredibly close. Remember?"
The Wanderer played along. "Ah... yes. You're right. I should ask him about that."
After Sunny aggressively insisted on buying the noble pastries anyway, they headed back to the slums, as Sunny carried the pastries like a trophy.
When they pushed open the splintered door, the house was quiet. Harith was sitting alone in a corner on a squeaking wooden chair, his back turned to the room, staring blankly at the clay wall.
"Aunt Helen! Come taste this, it's absolutely heavenly!" Sunny shouted, completely breaking the silence as he bolted straight into the small kitchen area to find her.
The Wanderer closed the door and walked over to the corner, standing behind Harith’s shoulders. "We need to talk," he said quietly.
Harith kept his eyes locked on the cracked clay before him, his voice trembling with disgust. "I can't look at my dead son’s face. Please. Can't you just leave us alone?"
"I am not exactly thrilled with my stay in Hosar either," the Wanderer replied.
He stepped around the chair, forcing himself directly into Harith’s line of sight. He looked down at the grieving father. "So if you want me gone, you better help me leave as soon as possible."
Harith reluctantly pushed himself up. He looked at the Wanderer's eyes. "What now?"
"Sunny told me you have a close cousin inside the Red Citadel," the Wanderer said, keeping his voice low. "I need to get inside. As a guard or a laborer it doesn't matter. Find a way to use that connection."
Harith walked past him. "That was a lifetime ago. We are different people now. He wears the red mantle, I live in the mud."
"You have to try," the Wanderer replied, not caring for the politics of Hosar.
Harith turned his head. "Trust me, that man won't even look me in the face anymore. Think of another way, and I'll help you if I can. But that door is welded shut."
The Wanderer began to pace the cramped room. Then he looked at the older man. "If the Dragonborn factions hate each other so much, why do the Red Crowns let a Black Crown like you keep a precious heirloom?"
"They tried to take it from my grandfather," Harith said with pride touching his voice. "But he was clever. He convinced the Citadel council that he had sold it off to a foreign merchant to pay his debts. We hid it ever since."
The Wanderer suddenly went silent, spacing out.
Harith watched the sudden shift in the stranger's eyes.
His eyes widened, and he quickly stepped directly into the Wanderer’s space, aggressively pointing a finger at his chest. "Don't you even think about it! I would gladly die before I let those arrogant red-heads lay a single finger on Defiance!"
"Calm down," the Wanderer said smoothly. "You just agreed to help me, didn't you?"
"Anything but this!" Harith shouted in a harsh whisper.
The Wanderer raised his hands slightly, backing off. "It's okay. I might not even need it after all. Let's just get some sleep." He looked around the small house. "Where did Vincent sleep?"
Harith pointed toward a worn couch in the corner, then walked straight back into the single private room, closing the door shut.
The Wanderer laid down on the hard cushions, resting his head against his arm. He stared at the ceiling, processing the absolute chaos of the long day he had just survived, before drifting to sleep.
The next morning, the Wanderer’s eyes snapped open as the early sunlight pierced the cracks in the wooden door. He sat up, only to find Harith sitting on a stool nearby, an iron shovel resting between his knees.
The Wanderer looked at him confused.
Helen passed by the main room, carrying a pile of laundry. She caught sight of them and let out a warm laugh. "Oh, you're finally awake! Your father stayed up the entire night guarding you like a hawk." She shook her head affectionately. "The old man thinks you're going to slip away in the dark and leave us again without a notice."
As she stepped out of the house to hang the clothes, the Wanderer stood up, stretching his aching muscles. He looked down at the stone-faced harith. "I promised you last night that I mean you no harm."
Harith gripped the wooden handle of the shovel tightly. "And that's supposed to be enough for me? I don't even know your real face."
The Wanderer walked past him toward the door, fixing the collar of his uniform. "Believe what you wish."
"Are you going to the Red Citadel?" Harith called out, in a worried tone.
The Wanderer glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. "Don't worry about your piece of scrap."
An hour later, the Wanderer arrived back at the imposing gates of the Red Citadel.
The same guard from yesterday stepped forward, his hand dropping to the pommel of his sword. "Sir, I really don't wish to resort to violence today," the guard said with clear annoyance. "Please, just leave the premises."
A slow smile broke across Vincent's face.
"Go tell the Red Crowns," the Wanderer said loudly, "that I brought them Defiance."