Chapter 2 The Ocean (part 1)

"The ocean brings to shore what the waters didn't get to swallow. It's the place where ancient and mystic creatures hide away. It suggests that something new will come to you like the wave arriving at the seaside. Yet, the ocean is unstable and sometimes wild.

You have to watch out for your own actions because you will never know where they will lead you to."

Michael.

For a few hours, I remained unconscious; either didn't I manage to understand where I was, nor whether was I floating still on the high seas. I opened my eyes and the only thing I could see was my hand tied to a barrel by a couple turns of rope.

Only water all around me.

My last memory dated back to some hours before, when I was on board the "Vela del Sud," the same ship that was bringing me back home after years of war, suffering and bloodshed. I was strolling over the deck, watching the water shattering against the ship's stern. Leaned against some barrels of wine, some cabin boys were muttering under their breath, and they stared at me.

At one point, one of them addressed me with arrogance: "Well, well, well." He had thrown an empty bottle to the ground and dried out his beard with the sleeve of his filthy shirt. "The soldier deems us worthy of his presence."

I ignored him. Indeed, I didn't have any intention of getting into the umpteenth battle; I had enough of broken bones and bleeding flesh. And I perfectly knew that, if only he'd dared to lay his hands upon me, I would've knocked him out in less than thirty seconds. It was my absolute record.

Irritated, he walked up to me. He put a hand over my shoulder and signed his own death warrant. I grabbed his hand so fast that he didn't even notice and broke his wrist with a rapid elbow movement. He fell onto the ground, crashing and wailing like a child. The others stood up from the field and aided the man, pushing him away from me.

It was only then that the fun really started. Three of them thought they could knock me out: they tried to hit me several times by circling me up, but my senses had developed particular independence and I was able to perceive a strike coming behind my back, through a sole movement of air. I hurled one of them against the barrel of wine, another one I stunned him by crushing his head onto the mainmast, the third one pulled himself back from fighting, running away in such a little-manly manner.

It was only at that moment that I realized that ship counted more cabin boys than passengers; a small crowd of angry men was forming around me.

Needless to say what later happened. I only remember that someone hit me in the head, a punch ran over my jawbone, then somebody fastened me to a barrel and threw me down from the deck, straight into deep water.

Lucky for me, the seashore wasn't much far, but either way, I spent half a day floating semi-unconscious on the water surface.

I passed out for a few seconds but then I shook myself off that numbness.

I closed my eyes once again, more and more convinced that I would die right there, dragged away from the tide, clung to that sole means of survival. I felt my head set ablaze and the shooting pain around my jaws wouldn't show any sign of stopping. I turned my head to the opposite side and only then I realized that something was moving towards me.

I rubbed my eyes but the salted water prevented me from focusing on what I was looking at. I caught the glimpse of a figure moving along the surface of the waves; it held to the barrel and I was sure that it was about a person and not some marine predator. But then the human being grabbed a rope which kept me tied with one hand.

I wasn't surprised by the fact that someone had plunged into the water to save me, but I was shocked to find out that it was too small a hand to belong to a man's. I tried to oppose the pain in my head and I raised it to gain a better visual of my savior; I saw a little wrist, a thin and slender arm, long drenched hair and pink lips. Then my head fell backward and I lost consciousness, as I woke up on a beach shortly after.

The young lady unbound me from the barrel, laid me down to the ground and dragged me away from the waves. The sky was orange and the sun was setting over the horizon. I couldn't seem to move, I couldn't seem to speak; my throat was dry, wholly corroded from the sea salt; my skin was burning due to the hours spent tied to the float.

Then, I finally saw her.

She leaned towards me and, at the exact moment I saw her, every physical pain of mine disappeared. It was a lady, had still the face of a baby but the body of a woman; her long hair, perhaps brown perhaps red, fell down on my chest and dripped on my body; she gazed at me with two eyes that had the same color of Monte Cremisi plains and I wondered to myself if I was dreaming, or if, maybe, I was having a vision.

She half-closed her eyes, peering into me with great attention, as though I was something new to find out, for her. Her eyelashes were so long and thick that, near those emerald-colored irises, resembled lavender bushes, the same my mother loved to grow when I was a little child. Her lips were red like blood, rich and full; they seemed to invite me to taste them. I asked myself whether she was a siren; she saved me from the waters, dragged me to the shore, I hadn't seen where she turned up from nor understood how she could find the strength to swim with such a heavy weight. I tried to raise my head to see if she had the tail, but I fell back down, hitting on the sand. It was an absurd thought, I admit it, but at that moment sun and salt had gone to my head.

She held my face with both hands, rubbing my temples; incredibly, I began to feel my pain slowly going away. I opened my eyes and I saw myself reflected in those irises: I was totally twisted, with hair pressed on my forehead and half a face; a red eye, inflamed by salt, and a big bruise on my jaw.

She pulled the hair aside from my face and touched my forehead lightly with her thumbs. That scene, indescribable and magnificent paralyzed me. She was so absorbed in gazing at me that maybe she didn't realize how I was gazing at her.

More than ever, I convinced myself that she was a siren, thus, to dispel any doubts, I decided to try touching her, to make sure she was real indeed. I moved one hand toward that face at such a short distance from me, and I touched it: her skin was soft and warm, and her cheekbones became even rosier as I passed my fingers over them. She left lips ajar, perhaps she would speak to me, but didn't get to say a word.

It was then, that she got away from me.

I didn't understand why she did it; I was so confused I couldn't distinguish anything but the sound of roaring waves. Any other noise bombed my mind like the burst of cannons.

She moved away from me and I heard a pounding of waves. I tried to stand up with all my power, but the only thing I could get was to fall down on a hip. I remained laying down to watch the sea and I saw her, there into the waters, swimming offshore and then vanished.

Many times I wondered if I had gone crazy and, after a long discussion with my mind, way more rational than myself, I came to the conclusion that I imagined everything. I had been under the burning sun for hours, I'd swallowed salted water, I'd hit my head; all these reasons were sufficient to make me believe that siren was just a figment of my imagination.

I fell back on the sand, spitting out all the water was to be found into my stomach. I inhaled the smell of soil and I was extremely glad to be finally on the coast.

It was in that instant, that I heard some steps coming from the jetty of the port. They were two guards and walked up to me. They lifted me off the ground and looked at me with uncertainty. They couldn't have any idea of who I was and I, for one thing, wasn't able to give them such information.

I saw them bending over to observe me. They scrutinized me with amusement, then looked and giggled between each other; one of them said something to the other, but I was so dazed I couldn't understand a single word. I could only hear scattered syllables, while the splash of waves obfuscated any other sound. The other one observed me more closely, but I didn't see his face because the sun, setting behind him, blinded me.

"Catch him!" Ordered the first guard to the second. "The King might want to see him."

The soldier caught me, yanked me and tied up my wrists. He pushed me along the quay and then right into town. He threw me down the backseats of an automobile and closed the car door with very little tact. Then I heard the rumble of the engine turning on, and lastly, the road running by under the tires. I managed to lift up far enough to look outside the window, and my sight slowly started being less blurry.

I began to recognize some facades, some alleys. The city remained pretty much unchanged as when I left it, years ago: women still thronged a wooden shack that sold fabrics and drapery; others, a counter of trunks where hens and chicks were exposed; men, instead, crowded up where merchandise was bartered, screaming and yelling; they patted each other' shoulders, while rummaging for hunting tools and gadgets and different types of handworks; there were sheds still, built up under the houses' awnings, which covered big water vessels where several kinds of fishes swam; a little further on, there were some big brutes, flailing around to cut, with large knives, parts of animals flesh hung up to the beams.

Across the streets and their crosses, casks and caissons were parked everywhere. Some wooden boxes had been piled up next to what seemed to be the carpenter' shop; others were still fastened to the horses which towed them.

In some dwellings, doors and windows had been bricked over with timber flitches and upon many of them, those ways older and more precarious, great white X's had been painted. I perfectly knew what they meant: they were warnings, signals that death had taken place there. And undoubtedly not because of the plague. No.

The evil had borne a different name within the kingdom of Monte Cremisi: Victor Delfalco, the King.

Anywhere across the city, fabric drapes with the drawn emblem of Delfalco royal family hovered around. It was made of a high lush peak, whereon twirled a dreadful-looking falcon, great wings spread, talons in plain view, and above this latter, there was a precious royal crown enclosing the frame of the entire standard.

Legend has it, that the first citizen of Monte Cremisi, still land with no name, came to these valleys from far away; a falcon had followed and accompanied him through his journey, then it perched on the peak of a great mountain, the highest among others. The man had decided to build his castle over there, and then he'd given birth to a prosperous, mighty empire. The name of Monte Cremisi was later attributed in the summer of that year, when the valley and the mountain filled up with red poppies and the city was crimson-red-colored.

At one time, that standard was a symbol of respect and honor, but for me had just become a usurpation to traditions of our past, since Victor had taken power.

The vehicle passed before the houses' doors and I pretended not to remember the bodies left burning across the streets, that night of many years ago.

The sentinels stopped the car at the entrance of King Victor's castle, shielded at the foot of a rocky mountain, the same mountain which the reign took its name from. A third sentinel verified the back seats of the automobile, then nodded to someone and the gates opened. The car left again and parked just ahead.

The two forced me to come out and dragged me right into the mansion.

The extreme poverty of the city suddenly vanished: large precious chandeliers, mirrors as high as a wall, amber columns and golden trimmings all over the place. All that shininess went to my head and I closed my eyes all along the way. My irises couldn't yet stand all that light.

The gateways of the great room were opened and I saw him, seated on the velvet armchair, with long brown amber hair framing the pale face. He was bent over a wooden table, intent on cleaning parts of a rifle he'd taken apart. When the doorways of the room were closed, he looked up to me just for a moment, then he returned to his doings. His irises were blood-injected. He wore a black suit and a leather gilet; from under the sleeve of his shirt, an elegant golden watch popped out; he had his jacket enormously full of medals of honor, and two handguns stuck into the holsters on his sides.

One of the watchmen pulled me a tug; I would have thrown him a right-hand punch if only I hadn't had my mind in a thousand pieces. Instead, I fell on my knees, right in front of the King.

I would have never wanted to see his face at that moment, not in that mood, yet I wound up doing it.

One of the guards said to him: "We've found him on the dock, my King."

He stared at me, gripping his eyes: "Welcome back, Captain Castiglione." He murmured with sealed lips.

The guards who had led me to the palace exchanged troubled glances between themselves: only now they realized that I was their new captain directly called by the King to lead his special troops, and so them too.

The King noticed that detail and snickered. The dimples he had on his upper lip and cleft chin disappeared for a moment; as he got back to be serious, they reappeared and I felt a sort of disgust for him, even though I didn't know him; his reputation preceded him and I felt nauseated only by hearing his name.

"There was a barrel in the same place where we've found him; probably, he was left out in the sea by some vessel and the current brought him to the shore, my King" one guard clarified, filling up a minute of embarrassing silence.

Victor placed one part of the rifle on the table and leaned towards me: "Really a nice entry stage, captain." He said to me with a sneer. Although I hadn't surely made a first good impression, the King seemed pleased to have me there in front of him, with half a face black and blue; the situation must've been pretty funny to him.

He gave a glance at the watchmen and whispered: "I want you not to tell anyone how captain Michael Castiglione had arrived." Then he returned to address me: "It is not certainly appropriate that your folder is ruined for such a trifle."

He stood lost in thought for a few seconds, then he went back and talk, but this time with such a low tone that I could sense his harshness even the conditions I was in: "Back from the land of the dead" he murmured, leaning his back against the chair.

Without even noticing, I had frown my eyebrows and I was staring at him with contempt. The screams of innocent people being slaughtered resonated inside my ears. The freezing cold of blood-stained snow seemed to lay upon my skin and a shiver went throughout my guts.

Victor continued to scrutinize me with that curious and amazed look. He stood up and got around the desk to draw near me. He approached me with slow steps, by making the medals pinned to his jacket jingle. He stuck out so that I could look him in the eye while he said: "I want you to recover, captain, very soon also. You are here for quite a specific reason." He had a gruff and subdued tone of voice: he caused me a revulsion beyond measure. The lushness he flaunted was too great an offense to be accepted, with all the poverty and suffering I had seen and been through. King or not, I would have liked to pummel him. But I was a soldier and at his commands, too; so I stayed in silence and nodded out.

He turned, went back to sit behind his desk and kept looking at me with that joyful grimace: "You can't even fathom how much your experience will be convenient for us here." He wrapped his fingers on top of his stomach and watched me with a certain satisfaction.

Suddenly, he gazed at the watchmen with anger and hatred: "What are you waiting for?" He yelled. "Accommodate Captain Castiglione and leave!"

The two of them immediately obeyed and escorted me, this time in a way gentler manner, towards a small sofa near a crackling fireplace. Later, I heard their steps fading away and a door shutting.

King Victor grabbed a seat in front of me, looked at me with curiosity and an evident desire to ask me a thousand questions.

"I heard big things about you, Captain Castiglione. May I call you Michael?"

I attempted to assume a peaceful, unkind at all tone:

"Yes, Sir."

"Best soldier within the academy; best soldier on the field: captain of those troops who'd led our warriors onto victory in the great war." He was so fanatical and complacent about what he was saying that I wondered if I wasn't mistaken yet and perhaps we weren't speaking two different languages: "You are a hero."

"There's nothing heroic in breaking some bones and cut off other men's throats." I was indignant.

"It's war." He said, with a flash of strange lightning in the eyes. His back bent towards me, as though he meant to persuade me.

I emulated the same position as his and drew near him just enough he could see my hatred in the eyes: "No, Sir. They're men. Just men fighting each other without any motive."

"Possessions. Economy. Progress. Supremacy. Wealth. Honor. I could make you a list of many other thousand reasons." He told me with arrogance. The hatred I felt for him intensified by the minute. However, in war, I learned to keep friends close and keep enemies even closer. Therefore, I endeavored to remain calm and obedient.

Perhaps had he comprehended my silence, perhaps only wanted not to drag on with the discussion, thus he changed the subject and informed me: "Your accommodation is ready; I will make you escort, captain, and right by tomorrow I expect you to start working with the troops already. I have a particular mission for you, but I demand all your attention and concentration thereupon." He observed me as though I was completely covered in mud. I reeked of wet dog and wine, I could understand his reaction. Maybe I would have done the same.

"Go, now." He said while standing up. "See you tomorrow, Captain Castiglione."

I stood up with difficulty, dripping salted water down on the parquet. As soon as I exited the palace, I breathed the pure and fresh air, which had nothing to do with that vicious and fake atmosphere which was inhaled inside the castle.

A soldier guided me to my lodgings.

Passing through the training camp, I realized it was deserted.

Even though it was late morning, there was no trace of a mere soldier, except for the boy who accompanied me up the stairs of the grand mansion assigned to the residences of officials, sub-officials and for me.

I already began to feel better and to see reality more clearly.

"Where is everyone?" I asked the young soldier. Upon his uniform, I saw a pin with his name written on it: Philip.

"On a mission, Sir." He answered me. "The King has given specific instructions so that every soldier will be employed in different areas of the city."

"For what purpose?" I asked sarcastically. "War is over. Moreover, anyhow, it has never been fought here."

Mine was meant to be a quip, but Philip stopped and looked at me with the terror in the eyes. I ceased to laugh and I immediately realized that the situation was more serious than I thought. Then he looked himself around, just to make sure there was no one, he moved closer to me and whispered: "Sir, here is being fought a war that is nothing like the wars you had fought before. Evil is lingering across the streets of Monte Cremisi like a phantom. It's almost incorporeal, elusive like a gust of wind."

I was quite astonished by that information. I thought I would have put my arms aside forever, instead, a new era of battles and death was unfolding ahead of me.

I didn't ask him for anything else. I intended to put my questions directly to Victor.

Hours went by before my mind returned to be clear and rational.

I laid down under the covers, studying that image of a woman with my mind. Was it a dream, yet it was too much tangible just to be my fantasy. It must not have been a oneiric representation of my brain. Maybe, I just distorted reality; did I enrich a tangible memory with surreal hues, perhaps?

My mind felt very confused about those few moments that bound me to that figure. Darkness and incomprehension hovered around those memories. All the rest was clear and limpid, instead.

When I reopened my eyes the following day, I discovered that lucidity had returned, but along with that, also the perception of pain. Jawbone was achy, eyes red still because of salt, hands full of wounds.

I wore the Captain's uniform, brown and black, full of pins and medals; I heard something clinking with every move. I looked myself in the mirror and I felt ridiculous. I tore every shining and useless thing away from me. When I finished, I felt even more lightweight. I piled up at least seven-hundred grams of useless stuff on a small table.

I was about to go out, as I noticed a pair of keys hung up next door: they were the keys of a car, a BMW judging from the initials on the fob. Looking out of the window, I immediately saw the lavishly parked automobile. It was way too much for me. Like everything that surrounded me.

I came down to the parking lot, messing about with the keys, then I threw them into the BMW and headed to the stables. Young troopers who were checking out the general quarter and the offices started to notice my presence. In my passage, they stood at my attention and gave me a formal salutation. All those conventions were utterly foreign to me.

Coming back to the city life after years spent in war was traumatizing, as much as the opposite process. I had slept on rocks and stones, on floors and also on bare soil, and laying down on a bed made me feel like falling into empty space. It has often occurred that I hadn't slept for days. Some fighters in my regiment had gone mad. Hunger, sleep and thirst had only become a few of our thousand torments.

Trying not to remember those times too much deeply, I mounted on a horse and I exited the walls of King Victor's impregnable fortress.

Monte Cremisi sparkled under the sun rays. The powerful slope rose up strong and elegant over the city, perching upon its presence. The mountain, once an active volcano, was snow-covered on the highest peaks.

It was impossible to see its splendor because a string of fog enveloped it almost entirely and clouds occluded about half the sight of it.

A thousand years ago, a tremendous eruption had covered it completely, the city had been buried under tons of lava and the whole surrounding area had been flooded with blazing embers and bursting lava. From that day, the village later-arising and all the fields around it were called Monte Cremisi.

In front of me, behind the mountain, the ocean loomed up on the horizon, and beyond that, northwesterly, Vulcano; northeasterly, the realm of Dresner was located; Monte Cremisi separated both kingdoms by the ocean. Every realm was connected to the other through a series of prearranged naval routes. The long untarmacked road leading from Victor's palace into the heart of Monte Cremisi divided the King from the people he reigned over. It took me twenty minutes before catching a glimpse of a citizen or signs of civilization along the path.

On an electricity pylon, I made out a manifest hung up with the King' stamp affixed upon his signature. It delivered a series of regulations that every citizen must have followed: curfew at sunset, the percentage of taxes to pay, sentinels patrols and whatnot.

That thing appeared so absurd to me that I didn't stop to read right to the end.

Once into the hotspot of the city, I realized how life had changed during my absence, and not because of war repercussions. Peasants looked up to me with contempt, soldiers with admiration and hope; many houses were abandoned, others destroyed, food ran low and lots of people begged for money on the street. Ahead of that day, I had never seen so much poverty in Monte Cremisi.

Too many looks were pointed onto me and upon the steed saddle, I attracted even more attention. I dismounted from the horse and proceeded on foot. People walked away at my passage. At first, I didn't understand why but then I saw it. Right before my eyes. In the middle of an immense square, once adorned by plants and flowers, the land wasn't green anymore. The grass did no longer grow. The majestic centuries-old tree shaded over the bare soil. Upon its branches, hung to nooses, there were seven corpses.

The stench of their decomposing flesh was concealed by the continuous come-and-go of the wind, carrying the river's humidity.

The Hanging Tree.

I felt my blood boiling in my veins. I clenched my fists with so much strength that my own nails sheared the skin through.

The blood of dead bodies had stained the dirt with rot-red; the centuries-old oak tree branches were cut through scars to earlier other logs; its leaves had utterly blown away. People even only avoided to gaze at that tree; they passed around it as if it was enclosed in an invisible bubble.

That's when I noticed another of those leaflets hung on the outside door of a house. I grabbed and read it attentively.

King Victor had given specific orders, both to soldiers and citizens:

At the behest of King Victor Delfalco,

the citizens of Monte Cremisi will be, from today, subject to daily supervision on the part of his majesty guards.

Anybody resisting or harboring rebels will be executed from the court of his majesty. Anybody proving to sympathize with rebels or anybody accused of being a rebel himself, will be put to death and hanged.

The citizens loyal to his majesty will not be halting their work, will continue to provide the city with raw material, will not make resistance to the royal guards, will retreat to their homes at sunset, will not give shelter to rebels, won't help them out in any way.

Anyone standing accused of violating the laws aforementioned will be brought unto the King, in chains.

From now on, the citizens of Monte Cremisi will be obliged to refer the rebels' position to the guards.

I trust that the citizens will collaborate with his majesty.

In Witness,

personal council of his majesty.

H.

My indignation for that individual that considered himself as a king, had now reached a really severe level. I rolled the flier into a ball and thrust it into the pocket of the jacket. Then, I picked up the horse in a rush and came back to the palace with the rage moving every step of mine.

I entered the King's room without further ado. I closed the door with a thud and slammed the leaflet down onto his desk, spilling the ink inside a small pot. He was writing something on a sheet with a beautiful vintage pen. He remained stony-faced, calm and relaxed, as though I walked tiptoe into that room.

"I want explanations, and I want them now." My voice sounded vigorous like thunder. I could see the spilled ink trembling, whilst I uttered those words.

He placed the pen back into his case with a disarming calm. Then he gazed at me with a half-complacent smile and gestured for me to sit down.

I was reluctant, in the beginning. I pondered that offer, or order of his, and eventually, I sat down, but I silently ground my teeth. The King became aware of that; it was the tickling of my jaw and the big pulsing vein on my neck that betrayed me.

"Captain Castiglione" he began, with a placid tone. "Monte Cremisi is no longer the city that you remember of."

"But I perfectly know, King, what war is, and it just looks like I've found it here again, in Monte Cremisi. It has ended, elsewhere. Here it seems it's just begun." I dryly replied.

"Precisely so, captain." He stayed still. Just uttered those words, then he fell silent as though that answer should have satisfied me.

I folded my arms, staring at him with disdain: "The war I fought has seen two hostile kingdoms confronting each other for various reasons. Here, I only see soldiers persecuting poor people." I paused a little bit, just to make him better taste my last words: "Soldiers, who take orders from you, King."

He stared at me in silence. His firm look showed no sign of detaching from me, sure that I understood his motives. Having to choose between sticking a knife down his throat or breaking the silence, I opted for the second: "I'm listening to you."

Nothing else was he waiting for: "It has been some years now, that some fellows have been trying to undermine my dominion." He started explaining to me. "These few individuals, with time, had become dozens, later hundreds. They go by the name of Rebels. They are men and women. Boys and girls. Old people and even kids. They're imposters and delinquents that damage my power and their influence appears to be growing day by day."

"Is killing your solution?" I asked with resentment.

He banged a fist onto the desk: "No" said by a whisper; a lock of hair split his face in two; he seemed to be deformed, while speaking to me as if he had turned into a monster. "Not a solution, but a reprimand for all the others." In his eyes, the rippling image of The Hanging Tree became definite; I could see dead corpses hung up by the neck; branches of the oak appeared to me like the tiny fingers of the grim reaper.

Then, Victor pulled his hair off the face and got a grip on himself.

"They have a leader, captain. I don't know who he is, but they're recruiting more and more followers. And with them, there's the subject R, also." He went on.

"Subject R?" I asked, with impatience.

King Victor looked at me; it seemed like he wanted to talk to me but then he stiffened. I immediately sensed that something was off in his behavior. He stood up and went to the window, pulling aside the curtain so as to look outside.

"Subject R is the reason why you're here, Captain Castiglione."

I stood up as well: "Was I called back for duty to help you affrighting the city and seize a civilian that you consider dangerous to your own safety?" Rather than a question, mine was a shout.

Victor got back to look at me and seemed surprised: "Captain, you're here because I have decided so. You are under my command, you are a soldier of mine and, as such, not only must you address me with respect, but also obey my orders without batting an eye."

My body was in tension for the endeavor of remaining still. I nodded a yes and Victor went back to sitting at the desk.

"Henceforth, captain, every search of yours will be projected into the finding and seizure of subject R. Make some investigations around town, question people, do whatever you like, but bring subject R up to me. Alive. Chained. And unscratched." He said dryly.

"Won't you tell me anything about the subject?" I asked.

"You needn't know anything, Captain Castiglione. You'll know everything when the time comes. For now, it's enough for you to know that the subject was already captured some time ago but he managed to escape. He dug dirt on my reputation, weakened my power and disobeyed my orders." He massaged his temples, closing the eyes. Then he looked at my face and concluded: "Keep me informed, captain."

He nodded, showing me off to the study's door.

I didn't make me say it twice: I turned around and left swiftly from there.

I had a foot already out of the study, and another question to ask him came to my mind. I turned around, and he was examining some hand-drawn maps.

"Sir?" I asked.

He stared at me for one second, then he got his eyes off the papers and poured himself some brandy.

"What does R stand for, Sir?"

He listened to my question with attention. Sipped the brandy. Then he put the glass back and waited for the liquor to go down his throat.

"Rebel, Captain Castiglione." He answered me. "It stands for Rebel. It's the moniker that rebels have given the subject."

Once I got my response, I rapidly waved goodbye to the King and left.

That was the first time I heard that name.

I could yet not know such a case would've turned my existence upside down.