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I don't know exactly how much time has passed. All I know is I've watched the sun and moon cross the same window more times than I can count. The weather changed—I went from relying on the fireplace almost constantly to not needing it at all. The cold slowly disappeared, and the air in the room became dryer, lighter. That tells me at least several months have gone by.
But beyond that, nothing else has changed much. The routine is still the same: wake up, eat, shit myself—although less often—observe, walk, sleep. Day after day. The maid—the same quiet, nervous woman—started coming less often. They didn't feed me just milk anymore; now there were tasteless thick warm porridges. Bland, but at least something.
And so it continued. Until one day, without warning, things changed. My father—armed as usual, wearing his metal breastplate, greaves on one leg, and red clothes—entered the room, lifted me in his arms, and for the first time, we left. I passed through the door that had kept me locked for so many months.
The journey was long, descending what seemed to be a tower—steep stairs, uneven steps built in strange proportions; no one could walk there without watching every foot placement. Along the way I saw dozens of new faces—servants, guards—heads bowed at my father's passing. No one dared look up. Not as many as I expected, but enough to know we were in a place defined by hierarchy.
Finally, we stepped outside. It wasn't exactly a castle in the usual sense, but a fortified tower—tall, robust, with attached buildings and an exterior stone wall. From where I stood I couldn't see much, but the fresh air hit me like a wave, and for a moment, I simply breathed.
We continued and soon reached what looked like a training yard. A dozen or so men-at-arms practiced swordplay. Controlled duels, lunging, blocking each other's cuts without killing. Some wore shields, others partial armor—filling the space with the clang of steel and impacts against shields.
"So this is your new offspring, my lord…" said a man approaching loudly, clad in chainmail and a dusty doublet. He removed his helmet with a sigh, gesturing toward a wagon that had just passed through the fortress gates.
"Yes, Rudolf… unlike the others, I have high hopes for this one," replied my father without looking at the knight, eyes fixed on the training field. He tracked one soldier's every stroke, every step, every mistake. "And how did it go this time?"
"You'd have to ask the scout for the full report, but there are issues… Nothing nice, honestly. It strikes me as odd so many beastmen are moving toward the same village. Not their usual behavior. But luckily, we intercepted a group before they did much. They only managed to kill a couple of livestock heads. So you could say it went well… for now. But their presence will likely linger before they move on again."
"How many were there?" my father asked sharply, turning as though expecting a number to confirm his worst suspicions.
"Many… too many for what's typical in this region. But they stayed in the woods, didn't cross the river. As I said, they didn't accomplish much…" Rudolf hesitated but was cut off by my father.
"One of those ungrateful dogs must have fathered a malformed cub and kept it hidden. You know well such things attract beastmen like flies to carrion. When we go there, we'll have to give those bastards a clear reminder of what happens when the laws are disobeyed."
Rudolf nodded silently, his gaze dropping to the ground.
"And what about your new wife? Is she well, my lord?" the knight asked awkwardly, glancing quickly at me.
"What would I know?" my father grunted. "That damned woman gave birth and ran off with her father. Good riddance. I don't have to hear her anymore asking for dresses, perfumes, Altdorf fabrics. I thought I married her to spoil her. She forgot the only reason I lowered myself to take a commoner was for her dowry. I wouldn't have sullied my bloodline otherwise, but I needed gold for the mine."
"you managed to get the Emperor's permissions to exploit the mountains?" asked Rudolf, mixing curiosity with respect.
"Yes. It cost me more than it should have. I had to bribe half the nobility to get an audience with Luitpold, then almost emptied my coffers to offer suitable tribute. But I succeeded. Now I hold the mining rights for the entire stretch of the Grey Mountains, from the Wastelands to Eilhart. It's all mine—mine, as long as I pay the Emperor his due, of course." My father's voice rang with pride as he gazed toward the mountains just visible in the distance.
"And what about… you know, the vampires?" Rudolf asked, lowering his tone as though he feared even speaking the name.
"Bah… stories. Tales to scare children and superstitious peasants. I'm disappointed you believe in them, Rudolf," my father snorted. "Here we deal only with what can be seen, weighed, and exploited. They've already found veins of iron. With Sigmar's blessing, soon we'll discover something more valuable. And that wealth will fill my coffers. When that happens, we'll end this ridiculous dispute with the Von Kesselheims once and for all. Reinsfeld is mine by right."
My father continued speaking, and I listened closely—not just for the content, but for the rhythm and tone.
I was beginning to notice patterns in the Reikspiel. Many words were the same as the German I knew; others differed, but were easy to deduce from context and pronunciation—it felt like hearing a blend of archaic dialect and regional variation. If they continued speaking like this every day, it wouldn't be long before I could speak it fluently.
"So, what about Heinrich? I see him training here, but... wasn't he serving as squire to…?" Rudolf began, in a friendly tone, but didn't finish his question. My father's reaction was instant.
"That good-for-nothing..." he spat through clenched teeth. "He fell asleep reading books and failed his duties as squire. And when he was supposed to accompany his lord into the forest, he refused. Why? Because he was scared. He was scared. Do you realize that?"
He paused, each word dripping with resentment. "Damn it… you know the humiliation it was for me to get my son serving one of the Count von Haldenfels's heirs. An opportunity like that doesn't come twice. But no… he couldn't be like Wilhelm…"
My father lowered his voice, but not his rage. "Wilhelm was the perfect heir. Squire of the Reiksguard. Strong. Disciplined. Almost finished with his training. And he had to die so… pitifully. In a tavern in Altdorf, shot dead by some miserable drunks. A stupid brawl. A badly placed stab. And Heinrich…"
He nodded toward the training yard, as if the sight alone disgusted him. "Heinrich isn't even his shadow. He's a woman in a man's body. Soft. Cowardly. A useless bookworm hiding behind excuses."
"We can still teach him courage, my lord. It's not too late," suggested Rudolf carefully, choosing his words. "Besides… you shouldn't speak so harshly of your heir. Only two of your eight children remain."
"Morr claimed their lives because they were born weak. They died of the first fever. There's nothing to be done with fragile offspring," father replied, without a trace of pity. Then he looked at me, holding me firmly. "But I have high hopes for Albrecht."He adjusted me in his arms.
"Really? … well, he seems healthy," said Rudolf politely, watching me.
Carefully, my father set me down on the floor in front of him. "Come on, Albrecht… show him why you're my son," he said, pride and expectation in his voice.
Supporting myself with my hands on the cold stone floor, I stood up with minimal effort. My body responded smoothly. I took steady steps toward him, balanced, without faltering. I stopped right in front of his boots and looked up. "Father," I said, my voice clear though slightly thin. I knew I was playing my role, and I did it gladly.
His reaction was audible: "Ha, even better!" he said, joy in his voice. "Where'd he learn that? … Probably some talkative servant," he added—his tone showing no doubt, only satisfaction.
"Impressive… when was he born?" asked Rudolf, surprised, observing me anew.
"During the last Harvesttide," father replied, "He's been astonishing me. This one is a growing warrior. I won't make the mistake I did with Heinrich, letting his mother educate him. But then again, my dear wife lies dead, and this commoner I took to replace her shows no interest in raising the child to age seven. So from now on, he's under my strict care."
He began walking toward the training field, with Rudolf and me following. "Before we ride off to deal with that beastmen problem, I want you to bring your son along. Even if he's young, it's best they start getting used to each other now. Tell the other knights too, when they return with taxes. The sooner they learn their place, the better, don't you think?"
"Of course, my lord. That won't be a problem. They'll all be eager for our children to train together… Have you arranged a tutor for him?" asked Rudolf, his tone genuinely interested.
"I spent a year's income on a good tutor from Altdorf for Heinrich, and what did I get? A sissy," my father spat, suddenly raising his voice. "Hold that sword properly and fix your stance—you're an embarrassment!" he screamed at the young man training alone. My brother—by what I'd just heard— bowed his head in silence
"So I've decided to leave him in the hands of a Sigmarite priest," father continued, glancing at Rudolf for approval.
"Ah… well… I suppose that's a good idea… but…" Rudolf hesitated, scratching the rim of his helmet still in his hand. "Weren't they the ones who educated you? And you yourself said… you know… reading and writing were never your strong suits."
"So what? You can leave him with a chaplain. It's not essential. I'd rather he know how to wield a sword than a pen. It's far safer to kill a bandit with steel than with words," replied father, sarcasm in his voice.
I saw uncertainty flash across Rudolf's face. Maybe he thought, by linking his son with me, he could ensure a proper noble education. But not with this man as father. A man who seems to despise teachers, books, and anything that doesn't involve yelling or wielding something sharp wouldn't allow that.
Father returned his attention to Heinrich, screaming corrections at every position, every movement, every tiny mistake in how he held the sword—hips, grip, elbows, openings in his guard. Every misstep triggered another barrage of orders, demands, and comparisons. Heinrich staggered, gasped, but said nothing.
Until he collapsed.
His knees gave out. The sword hit the ground with a hollow thud. He managed to stay upright for a few seconds, then fell to his knees.
My father looked at him with disgust, as if he'd seen a pig trying to walk on two legs.
Without another word, he scooped me up and turned. Then he walked back into the tower.
Soon after, I was back in my room.
My prison.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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