A month before the clash in the valley.

The revolt was just beginning and Bure, in his study, was inundated with reports on the situation.

His local lords underestimated the issue, and soon from letters trying to downplay the narrative, there were calls for help and fear for their lives.

Already some small villages had been occupied by the rioters, and two families of small nobles were massacred.

The clock was ticking and the revolt was growing too fast. Initially everything could be ended by agreeing to a few small concessions, but those stupid and bumptious little feudal lords decided to demonstrate their strength and authority by killing the families of those protesting. Soon it grew from a few hundred to thousands of rioters. The petty lords had a few dozen guards, though well armed they could not resist and soon abandoned the lands they administered by fleeing to Cortoga.

As he was reading yet another plea for revenge and justice from a small feudal lord he heard a knock at the door.

It was late at night, except for his room and some guards keeping watch outside the door and in the palace, there was no one around.

His office was located in the city government building in the central square, at that hour there was not a soul around so a visitor was unlikely to come, perhaps it was yet another letter of complaint from some silly little nobleman or news about the movements of the rioters.

-Next. -

At his words a worried guard entered; he was obviously uncomfortable. He knew better than to annoy his lord for silly reasons, but the matter seemed urgent.

-My lord, there are people in the lobby. There are two of them, a middle-aged man and a hooded woman. The man says he has important information about the riot and will reveal it only to you. -

Once he had finished speaking, the guard stood still and rigidly looking at the count. The latter had not yet moved and continued to write something.

-Did they say anything else? -

As he asked he continued to write.

-Yes my lord, the man said something that he said could get him to you right away. He said, "All severed heads roll the same way." -

As he spoke these words the guard began to break into a cold sweat. He expected the count's outburst and subsequent punishment, but instead the man in front of him froze.

He stood still for a few moments without moving and then continued to write.

-Let them pass. -

As the guard sighed with relief and was ready to leave he was called back by the Count.

-Wait. -

The soldier froze in place, suspecting that the reprimand for interrupting the Count would still come. Slowly he turned and stood at attention ready to take the reprimand.

The Count gave him a perfunctory look before speaking to him

-He... -

As he was about to speak he froze for a moment not knowing how to ask. He wanted to know where his son was and to warn him that he would not go to dinner with him. But the words died in his throat. He had not seen him for days and wanted to know if he was preparing for the expedition they were going to organize between now and then.

But he had not been able to have an in-depth talk with Allen for some time now. They could not go on like this, Alessia would not have wanted to....

He tightened his lips in a sneer of disdain for himself and his cowardice as a useless man and father.

Dejectedly he looked up at the waiting soldier who, watching the Count and the visible changes of mood on his face, was literally thinking about what death awaited him.

-Leave it alone, go... -

The guard sighed quietly, gave a salute bringing his arm to his chest and quickly ran out.

As soon as he closed the door Brune got up from his chair and walked to the large floor-to-ceiling high window that occupied his back. He looked at the cloud-covered sky and the little moonlight filtering through it.

Another sleepless night awaited him. Another night of loneliness. Yet another night without her.

Sighing, he returned to his desk and sat down, taking a letter from the drawer. In the letter was the Marquis' warning that if he did not resolve the rebellion within a few months he would send his legion of Sauran slaves to take his head and every member of his family.

He held immense incompetence against him; because of his slowness in resolving the matter he had become the laughingstock of the nobility in the capital. If Brune did not finish the matter soon he would wash every inch of Kalis with his blood to erase the disgrace.

Bure was a count of the kingdom of Pettern. His family had ruled over Cortoga and the entire Kalis plain, the so-called breadbasket of the kingdom, for over two hundred years. Countless small fiefdoms centered on agriculture surrounded the port city that Brune ruled.

Agricultural goods of all kinds poured into the port and then, down the river, were shipped throughout the kingdom. Although not the most prosperous province of the marquisate Galina was the most vibrant.

Or at least those who could benefit from its riches lived comfortable and carefree lives. Bure did not understand why, but for some time the air in the nobility had changed.

In the period of his grandfather's rule, although the family's wealth was not so different from what it is now, the lives of the masses were at least partly protected. Bure remembered carriage rides with his grandfather through the lands they administered. The workers were happy and willing to work, the feudal lords were generous to their workers and were repaid with loyalty and trust.

But one day everything began to crack.

After the death of his grandfather, or perhaps better said after the death of his grandfather's generation, the nobility began to be more ... vicious. Parties and pageantry took more and more hold in every family. There was not a day when a ball, tournament or party was not organized.

Bure was still young and carefree. He spent his mornings training or hunting with the sons of his feudal peers. Evenings, on the other hand, he hopped from one party to another squeezing his youthful energy to the fullest.

When his father died in an accident he was only 20 years old. Suddenly from the carefree and superficial world in which he drowned his days he was forced to take note of family duties. His mother, though still young and beautiful, was completely broken after his father's death; she spent her time at the window of her room looking at the garden. Day after day she began to speak less and less and hardly ate.

One morning they found her dead in a sapphire blue suit richly adorned and combed, she had slit her wrists and left to die sitting on a stone bench near a pond. Bure later learned that there was where her father had proposed to her, the dress she was wearing was the same as then.

After that day, his life became even heavier. The death of his parents left him alone and he escaped grief by immersing himself in his work. Perhaps for this reason he was oblivious and distant from the changes around him.

At the age of 25 he married the daughter of the Count of Ferizia, he was the son of an old friend of his grandfather's and was happy to marry his daughter off to the grandson of a man to whom his family owed much.

Her name was Alessia, she was as beautiful as the sun and full of life in her young age. When they first met he had recently turned 24 while she was just 17.

The age difference was not important, the feelings born that day from their first meeting were already great enough for him to realize that in the other they had found a suitable companion with whom to spend their lives.

The first years were wonderful, Bure and Alessia spent their days living immersed in their growing love and soon they were expecting a child.

Happiness touched a new point, and the months before the birth were full of expectations and plans for their future family of three.

But fate had not stopped cursing young Bure's life.

Alessia did not endure the birth, she only had time to see her newborn son, little Allen, before heavy bleeding caused her to faint and then die.

Bure did not even look at her son. He took Alessia's bleeding body and, wrapping it tightly around his body, began to rock, crying out in pain. The death of his parents had not distraught him as much as that of his beloved.

At that moment he remembered the face of his dead mother in the garden, the face of someone happy because he could find a lost beloved.

He came to his senses only the next day; he was without strength. In his arms lay Alessia, pale and cold as snow. Only her lips were still a tiny touch of red.

He leaned forward and lightly kissed her. Then he lifted the body and laid it on the bed.

When he turned to leave the room he noticed the cradle he had built with his own hands for the waiting child. He walked over and looked at the baby.

Throughout the night he did not make a sound as if he understood his father's emotions and did not want to disturb him in his grief.

Bure looked at his newborn son who reciprocated with a ridiculously serious look as a small adult.

-It's just you and me. We are alone ... alone ... -

Tears lined his face, he took his son in his arms and began to hold him lightly to his chest. Only then did Allen begin to cry as if he understood his father's words.

Time flew by from then on, and for Bure all days passed the same.

The son Allen proved to be a good fighter and of marked intelligence, but perhaps the grief of Alessia's death left them detached; they were afraid that too much closeness would cause memories to resurface in the other and so they limited their contacts. Allen made an effort not to burden his father's life and thus not to give him trouble by working hard. Bure placed his son alongside first teachers and then military instructors, their contact over time became lighter and lighter until they met only at dinner when they exchanged a few words.

At the age of 10 Allen learned that his father was remarrying. She was the daughter of a wealthy merchant. Her father decided to marry her mainly for the dowry; he lay with her only on the wedding night when the fumes of the alcohol in which he had drowned himself gave him the impetus he needed to consummate the marriage. From then on they did not touch each other, they had separate rooms, and the woman, Krizia, lived like a recluse in a gilded house.

Although they had lain together only once from that night a son was born.

Bure did not even witness the birth.

Time passed again, the second son, Berton grew up with boundless strength and unparalleled arrogance. He often beat his subordinates or servants. He vented his father's visible disfavor for his existence toward the weak and insignificant beings around him. He did not have the courage to openly address himself against his elder brother, but with more and more little tricks he tried in every way to shade his existence by making him out to be weak.

His thirst for battle turned into the pursuit of confrontations and fights. He was given the task of guarding the borders by his father at the age of 16 and soon slaughtered hundreds of people, finally venting his hatred and resentment in a fulfilling way.

His bloodlust and increasingly brutal ways alarmed Bure's advisors, but this one was totally indifferent to that second son. He had no desire or time to devote to him.

Since he remarried he began to notice the changes around him.

If even the wealth in the region was increasing and the family was as prosperous as in his grandfather's time, the people were dying.

The increasingly vicious nobility began to squeeze the masses to satisfy their needs for luxury and pageantry.

The people suffered but no one seemed to care. And indeed, Bure was not much affected either. He nostalgically recalled trips with his grandfather and the smiles they received from the laborers working in the immense wheat fields, now a gray cloak covered the region but he was not too impressed.

As long as they worked and wealth and production did not decrease he was not interested in their happiness.

If he was not happy why care about others, even worse, why care about the lives of those insignificant people?

He put the Marquis' letter back in the drawer and while he waited for guests he continued to write replies to his inept subordinates.