Ch61 The Two Crowns

The Wanderer spent the remaining hours of the night roaming the streets of Hosar. He walked until the cold desert air turned into the biting heat of the morning sun, deliberately giving Harith and Sunny space to process the horrific truth and avoid another explosive confrontation.

When he finally returned to the house and pushed the door open.

Harith and Sunny were sitting in the exact same positions as the night before, their eyes bloodshot and hollow.

Helen was the only one moving, she rushed over worried. "Where have you been all night, Vincent? I’ve been worried sick!"

The Wanderer slipped back into his role. "I had some business to take care of, mother." He looked past her at the silent family, then back down at her. "Have you gathered your belongings yet?"

Helen was confused. "Why would I do that?"

The Wanderer forced a reassuring smile. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. "I think my father couldn't believe the news yet. Mother... we are moving. We're going to live inside the Red Citadel."

Before Helen could even process the words, Harith slammed his hands onto the table and stood up. "I never agreed to this!"

Helen looked between the two men. "I don't understand... What happened yesterday? Harith, you and Sunny spent the entire night huddled in the corner whispering like ghosts." She turned back to the Wanderer, laying a hand on his back. "Son... what are you hiding from me?"

Harith quickly stepped forward and aggressively pulled her hand away. "Don't touch that man!"

"What in the world is going on in my house?!" Helen shouted. "Someone speak to me! Now!"

The Wanderer took a steadying breath. "Please, mother, just go grab your things. I need to speak to my father alone for a moment."

"I am not moving a single inch until I understand what you are all hiding from me," Helen said.

The Wanderer and Harith locked eyes, a silent battle of wills passing between them. Finally, Harith turned to his wife.

"This bastard wants to give Defiance to the Red Crowns,"

Helen gasped, stumbling back a step. She stared at the Wanderer. "Have you completely gone mad, Vincent? You know your father would never accept this!"

The Wanderer kept the ambitious son role. "We have been rotting in these slums for far too long," he said. "I think it's finally time to reclaim our true heritage. What good is a legendary sword if we're starving in the dirt and can't even use it?"

Helen stepped toward the Wanderer, anger flushing her face, and slapped his cheek.

The Wanderer’s head snapped aside, as Harith quickly lunged forward, grabbing Helen by the waist and pulling her behind his back, shielding her with his own body as if expecting the Wanderer to strike back.

But the Wanderer just stared at her, without a word.

"Your father and I raised you to be the hope of the Black Crowns!" Helen shouted from behind her husband's shoulder, tears of betrayal spilling over her eyes. "And you want to just give up on everything? Hand over our bloodline for a plush seat in their castle?!"

Harith turned back to her rasping. "Go now, Helen," he said, gesturing for her to leave. "We need to talk."

Helen pointed a trembling finger at the Wanderer. "If you continue with this madness, Vincent, you can pack your things and leave to whatever shit-hole you've been hiding in for the past months! You are no son of mine!"

With a choked sob, she spun around and stormed into the back room, slamming the wooden door behind her.

Harith whispered. "You can do whatever you want. Play your games, chase your ghosts... but leave us out of it."

The Wanderer gritted his teeth, rubbing his cheek, He whispered back. "Leaving Vincent’s family behind in the mud will raise questions. I'm already walking a fine line here."

From the corner of the room, Sunny slowly raised his head. He aggressively wiped his nose on his sleeve. "If we help you..." He paused, locking his gaze onto the stranger. "What do we get in return?"

Harith snapped his head toward Sunny in shock. "Sunny! What are you talking about?!"

The Wanderer crossed his arms. "Living like a noble inside the citadel walls isn't enough for you?"

Sunny stood up. "No. I want the head of the man who killed Vincent."

Harith’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief, his breath catching in his throat.

The Wanderer shrugged. "My plan is to take down the Owls anyway. Consider it a done deal."

"And you won't even see Defiance again," Sunny countered sharply, stepping forward. "We help you build your lie, we play our parts as much as you want. But you will also make sure we keep our new noble status even after you leave this place. We don't go back to the dirt."

The Wanderer paced between them. "Securing a permanent legacy like that... that's going to be a tough thing to do."

"Those are the terms," Sunny said, standing his ground.

"Sunny, no! We cannot trust him!" Harith pleaded, grabbing the boy's shoulder.

Sunny, held his arm back. "Uncle Harith, we are doomed either way. The Owls know who Vincent was, and the Red Crowns are watching us. We might as well make use of the hand we've been dealt. Vincent... Vincent would have wanted us to survive. He would have wanted us to keep living."

The Wanderer watched the exchange, and raised his hand, clicking the button by his ear.

The synthetic flesh of Vincent's face split down the center, pulling back and solidifying until it reverted back to the porcelain mask of an Owl operative. The Wanderer pulled the mask off his face, showing his true features.

He looked at Harith, his voice rougher and deeper without the vocal modulator. "Sunny is right. And like it or not, we are going to have to trust each other for this to work."

Harith stared at the Wanderer's real face. He looked down at the floor, the fight draining from his shoulders. "What are we going to tell Helen?"

The Wanderer put on the mask again, switching back to Vincent's face.

"Just tell her the truth," the Wanderer said. "We aren't giving them Defiance. We are just using it as leverage to take everything they owe you."

Harith reluctantly walked toward the inner room. The moment he pushed the door open and stepped inside, the shouting matches began.

The Wanderer and Sunny stood in the main room, listening to the furious arguments echoing through the thin clay walls.

Sunny kept his eyes locked on the Wanderer's stolen face, studying the way the synthetic skin moved. "You need to learn about us if you're going to keep this act up," the boy muttered. "We might run into someone who knew Vincent personally."

The Wanderer leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "You seemed to be convinced to help me remarkably fast, kid. Why?"

Sunny pointed at the Vincent mask. "Because you promised to avenge him. That's all I can think about right now. Nothing else matters."

The Wanderer nodded slowly. "Then start teaching me. What exactly happened between the Crowns that made them hate each other so damn much?"

Sunny took a deep breath. "It all started after the Great Depression. The memories of everyone in the world were wiped out. But the Dragonborns... we had scripts. A lot of them were lost or destroyed over the years, and mythology tales have been woven into what's left."

He leaned back against the table. "But mainly, we don't even know the real name of the First Dragon, nor the identity of the monster he fought. The legend says he was just a regular man blessed by the God of Light, who sent him a great sword made of pure brilliance that only he could wield. With the monster's dying breath, it let out a final curse. We assume that's the reason why no one remembers the old world."

"And how is this related to the Dragonborn feud?" the Wanderer pressed.

"The curse caught the First Dragon's bloodline," Sunny explained. "His firstborn son was frail and couldn't fight a day in his life. His second son was the toughest warrior in the land, but his hair was cursed a vibrant fiery red, all red hairs are his descent. We descend from the third son. The first mage."

The inner door flew open.

"Alright! Alright, do as you wish!" Helen shouted from inside. "I am absolutely certain your ancestors are cursing you from their graves right now!"

She marched out of the back room, she casted a glance of pure anger at the Wanderer, before grabbing a worn canvas bag and packing the few belongings she possessed.

The family moved like a funeral procession through the streets of the slums, heading toward the citadel. Helen walked a few paces behind the rest, in a protest of their actions.

The Wanderer slowed his stride, matching Harith’s heavy steps. He leaned in whispering. "You lied to me about Defiance's origin, didn't you? Yesterday you told me it was forged from a meteor along with two other blades."

Harith glanced sideways at Sunny, who was staring fixedly at the road ahead, then let out a sigh. "Everyone in our bloodline knows the truth. The three swords were reforged by the First Dragon himself. He gave one to each of his three sons." He looked up onto the Wanderer’s mask. "I was hoping your tongue would slip in front of Jericho. I hoped the Red Crowns would realize you were a fraud and kill you far away from us."

The Wanderer sidestepped, cutting in front of the old man. His right hand clamped down on Harith’s shoulder.

"No more lies," the Wanderer warned. "From now on, we speak nothing but the truth to each other. If not for my sake, then at least for theirs."

Harith casted a sad glance back at the angry Helen, before pulling away from the Wanderer's grip and continuing his march in silence.

When they finally reached the looming gates of the Red Citadel, the armored sentries crossed their halberds to block the path once more.

The Wanderer stepped to the front of the group. "Didn't my uncle inform you? I have unrestricted access to get in and out of the citadel?"

The lead guard cleared his throat, his eyes darting nervously toward Harith, Helen, and Sunny. "He did, sir. Lord Jericho gave the order. But... he explicitly stated it was only for you. Not your family."

The Wanderer laughed, then shoved the guard aside, clearing the path. "Try to stop me then," he said, gesturing over his shoulder for the family to follow.

Jericho was waiting on the threshold as if he knew they were coming. He stood with his arms crossed. "I don't think your family is going to fit into our arrangements, Black Crown," Jericho said.

The Wanderer stopped, looking back at the lord with a mocking grin. He ran a hand through his own hair. "What, you honestly thought I'd leave them to rot in the mud while I live up here? Please." He pulled his hair, acting surprised. "I'm not a Red Crown! I actually care about my blood."

He walked right past the patriarch, flanked by the rest of the family.

Jericho's gaze settled onto the older man. "Long time no see, Harith."

Harith didn't look at him. "Long time indeed, Jericho. Specifically, ever since your arrogant father banned me from entering these gates."

Jericho smirked. "You will have to excuse my dead father. He didn't want the blood of traitors to defile his walls."

Harith dropped his canvas bag into the dirt. He stepped directly into Jericho's face. "You are the actual traitors here, you red scum!"

"Come on now," the Wanderer shouted at them. "We are going to have a vast amount of time to exchange insults over dinner. Follow me."

Jericho’s jaw clenched, but he held up a hand, signaling his guards to stand down. he assigned some servants to guide the newcomers to the eastern wing of the citadel.

The guest area was entirely isolated from the main military and political quarters, sealed off by heavy doors, but it was just as lavish as the rest of the fortress. The floors were polished white marble, the high ceilings were adorned with gold leaf, and expensive silk drapes hung over massive windows.

The family stepped into the grand suite, their eyes scanning the glamorous environment.

Harith spat onto the polished floor. "I prefer my home in the slums. At least the dirt there is honest."

"Get used to it," the Wanderer said, closing the doors behind them. "We won't be leaving anytime soon."

Helen stood near a carved velvet sofa, her eyes wandering around. "We didn't need this much space to be happy, Vincent," she said bitterly.

The Wanderer looked at her. "We can be a family anywhere, mother. An upgrade won't hurt us."

Helen snapped her head up, staring at him with eyes still burning with anger. She turned her back on him and marched off to check the rest of the place.

Harith turned his gaze to the Wanderer. "Now what?"

The Wanderer leaned back against the door. "I don't know," he shrugged. "Do whatever you want here. Order some food, sleep on a bed that isn't made of straw. Explore the guest wing."

He pushed himself off the doorframe, grinning over Vincent's face.

"As for me, I think I'll go ask my dear uncle about Nigel."