Aiden opened the food clay pot from Mrs. Hopkins and sipped the beef soup, already cold. The meal smelled rancid, with a metallic tang that clung to his tongue. For an entire week, he had shut himself away in his room, doing nothing but nibbling at snacks. His appetite was gone. His will to live seemed to dwindle. Though he knew the food had spoiled, Aiden still warmed it over the brick stove and served it in an earthenware bowl.

“You could die eating that.”
Duncan appeared out of nowhere, like a ghost.

Aiden ignored him, his eyes dull.

Duncan snatched the bowl away. “This is not what a man does when faced with trouble. You hate being called a child, yet your behavior proves exactly that—you are a child.”

“Could you leave my house?”

“This isn’t your house.”

Aiden rose to walk away, but Duncan caught his hand and reached for an egg on the hanging rack. Without warning, he cracked it over Aiden’s head.

“Are you insane?!” Aiden shouted.

“Now you’ll have to bathe.”

Aiden grabbed another egg from the basket and retaliated. The servant refused to yield. Back and forth they went, until the kitchen turned into a battlefield of eggs.

“Do you have a death wish, old man? Damn fool!” Aiden cursed.

Duncan chuckled. “You know, in a story, you’d be the antagonist.”

“I don’t care!”

The battle raged until their baskets ran empty.

Only then did they notice the chaos left behind. Sticky yolk spattered everywhere, pots and pans scattered across the floor. Aiden imagined his mother’s reaction and decided he had better escape—but again, Duncan stopped him.

From his coat pocket Duncan drew a pair of iron shackles, snapping them onto both their wrists before Aiden could react. “No one leaves until this kitchen is clean,” he declared.

Aiden ground his teeth, glaring in frustration. Reluctantly, he helped his servant tidy up.

After cleaning and bathing, Aiden sat on the balcony, gazing at the orange sky. The warmth of sunlight and the gentle touch of the wind soothed him. Slowly, he began to realize Duncan’s antics were nothing more than attempts to pull him out of despair—though in the most infuriating way possible. As always, Duncan appeared with a cup of hot tea.

“Better now?” the servant asked.

“Don’t think a silly egg war makes me forgive you. I can never forgive what you did.”

“That’s fine,” Duncan replied calmly.

Aiden lifted the cup and took a sip.

Duncan smiled as he watched the boy’s hand.

“What?” Aiden asked.

“The way you hold the cup, with your little finger raised—it’s just like your mother.”

“Don’t mention her.”

Duncan leaned back, his gaze wandering to the sky as he drifted into memory. “When she was young, Anna was much like you. She defied her parents, because her views were different. Now she must be feeling what her father once felt.”

“Are you deaf?” Aiden snapped, though curiosity pricked at him. “What do you mean alike? Did Grandfa exile his daughter for ten years? Did he hunger for power so much he sacrificed humanity itself? If we count it all, Mom’s sins could already fill a mountain.”

“You simply don’t know.”

“That’s what everyone says—I don’t know this, I don’t know that. How could I know anything, when all you old people ever do is stage a play?”

“Some things are better left unknown.”

“Then don’t tell me anything. You cannot make me sympathize with her. You cannot make me take her side. She is wrong.”

“Yes. Your mom is wrong.”

Aiden glanced at him in surprise. “Then why are you still with her?”

“I am not on her side. Nor yours. I am here for both of you.”

“You can’t stand in both black and white boxes at once. You know that. I am clearly on the opposite side of Mommy.” Aiden finished his tea in one gulp and rose to leave.

“Where are you going?” Duncan asked.

“Walk.”

“You’re still being punished.”

“Don’t give a shit.” Aiden strode off.

Duncan made no move to stop him, only smiled and murmured, “He’s becoming more like her.”

Aiden walked among the townsfolk, wrapped in a brown coat and a black scarf drawn over his head to disguise his face. At first he only wanted to clear his mind, yet he could not stop himself from observing, from pondering. People exchanged smiles and greetings, though fatigue lingered in their expressions. There were no beggars, no vagrants. They seemed… happy. It was not as he had imagined. The world looked fine, even as corruption spread unchecked.

Am I the one who’s wrong? he wondered.

Without realizing it, his steps carried him into a park crowded with children. Their laughter rang through the air, while their parents watched from a distance.

Aiden stood beneath the shade of a tree, drinking in the sight. A smile tugged at his lips, tinged with sorrow—reminded of snowy fields and a mother’s watchful gaze.

He lingered there, lost in thought, until something caught his eye. Dusk was falling, and families began to leave. One parent, however, forgot her basket. Aiden hurried to retrieve it.

“Excuse me, ma’am, you left something behind,” he called.

The woman turned. “Oh! Thank you. How careless of me.”

He handed it back, but not before glimpsing a slip of paper inside: For Queen Anna.

“Forgive me—I didn’t mean to pry,” Aiden said. “But… is this truly meant for Queen Anna?”

“Yes. It is.”

“May I ask why?”

The woman unwrapped it. Inside were three pairs of knitted gloves. “Because Queen Anna has done much for me. This gift is not only for her, but for her sons as well. Raising them alone must be difficult. So I hoped this might help her mend her bond with them. I know what it is like, being a single mother.” She stroked her little boy’s hair.

“You’re remarkable,” Aiden said.

“Thank you. I made these myself. I only worry they may not be worthy of her, since surely she could buy something finer.”

“They are wonderful. She—and her children—will treasure them.”

The woman studied him for a moment, then smiled. “You’re remarkable too. So young, yet you think like an adult.”

Aiden blushed faintly. “I’m not that remarkable. Sometimes I feel small, and act like a child.”

“You are greater than you believe. Don’t lose heart.” She took her son’s hand. “I must be going. Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome.” Aiden waved as she left.

The sun dipped lower. As he walked home, her words lingered, reshaping his thoughts. Perhaps his mother was not as monstrous as he believed. People loved her—not blindly, not as fanatics, but as fellow human beings. Maybe the system she built was not so corrupt after all.

The wind brushed gently across his face, coaxing a smile to his lips. He lowered his hood. In that fragile peace, something struck him. Not a sound, nor a sight—a blow. Someone had crept up from behind and struck his back. Not hard, but enough to jolt him.

“Give me back my father!” cried a voice—a girl’s voice.

Aiden froze. He instantly understood the weight of her words.

“Don’t just stand there!” she sobbed, tugging at his coat. “Give me back my father, you villain!”

Aiden had just begun to rise to the surface of thought, when the darkness pulled him under once more.

Next Chapter: Chapter 8: The Avenging Angel