2412, Iclis 05, Jyda

Tobin sighed and leaned against the backrest of the carriage. Ariam cocked an eyebrow at him. "What?" he fired at the knight. "I am tired. That is all."

But it wasn't everything. His heart hasn't stopped pounding since they deposited the purged in a safe spot where they could restart their lives. Gods, just planning for this first task fried the living daylights out of him.

He hadn't counted on the Sovereign being the one behind the purges. At all. And in giving her free reign over Cardina, he had just legalized taking a soul from their own home under the guise of criminal activity and dumping them into someplace worthy of their alleged crimes. He also hadn't counted on the Civil Corps being used for purposes not aligned with the reason for their existence. Instead of protecting civilians, whether they be from the Commons or Disfavoreds, the Sovereign made them the ones dispensing justice. Except justice could have enough meanings with Synketros involved; and Tobin learned how easy it was to make up a crime and brand someone a criminal.

So, when reports from Ariam's platoon informed him of Civil Guards imprisoning people and shipping them off into containment centers to be shipped elsewhere, Tobin had to act. It's a violation of a person's most basic right, which was to go where they wish and not be forced to be anywhere they didn't want to be in. But it wasn't for that sole reason at all. Maybe—just maybe—he felt guilty for not thinking things through with his deal with the Sovereign, and pushed preventable misery towards his people.

That's why he had to fix it, no matter what mess he found himself in, and no matter what sacrifices he had to make. It's a dangerous promise, for sure, but it's something he could make without hesitating because he had screwed up in the most epic way a king could. He thought himself to be smart, but without knowing the rules of the game or even what game they were playing, intelligence could only do so much. No one could win in a game of karavag using the pieces and the rules of metina.

Tobin rested an arm over his throbbing eyes, slumping his shoulders to get rid of the tension still gripping it. Sweat made his scalp damp and his arms and palms slick. He shouldn't have insisted on bringing a cloak with a hood. Unbelievable—how he forgot the notches the heat outside the Nobility region could rise to.

Ariam shifted in the seat opposite Tobin, no doubt crossing and uncrossing his legs as if he didn't know what to do with them. The Captain had been a great help in all of this, starting from securing the routes out of the Royalty and Nobility region for Tobin to travel on without being caught, to working out the finer details of the plan, including the locations of the camps and the resources they'd be using.

Of course, a nagging feeling sat at the recesses of Tobin's gut. What if Ariam was the Sovereign's spy all along? He had done nothing but be cooperative to Tobin's demands. What would happen should he prove to be from Synketros, slowly leading Tobin to committing a crime the Sovereign could easily fault him for?

Tobin removed his arm from his face, letting the stream of the moonslight hit his eyes through the carriage's windows. He didn't dare draw the curtains back in fear of someone from the Commons or the Nobility recognizing him. Which also begged the question—"Where are we?" he asked aloud, echoing his thoughts.

Ariam's gaze flicked from the world beyond the curtains towards Tobin. Unlike him, the knight stuck two fingers past the curtain and lifted it a bit. A beat passed. Two. "Nobility region, Your M—Tobin," he said, remembering too late not to call him by ridiculous and meaningless titles outside the Royalty region. "We are just past the Temple of Magic."

Right. The Temple.

When he lived in the Commons, visiting the famed Temple in the Nobility was nothing but a lucid fantasy. He would wonder what it's like running through the wide corridors or touching the altars or seeing the legendary High Priestess. He didn't even know if the Temple really had wide corridors, or altars, or High Priestesses. But now...

Now, he could simply saunter inside and demand an audience with whoever's in charge. He could do that, sure, but it didn't mean he would. There were things he swore to never do even if he had a crown on his head and a territory to feed.

"Are you sure we helped them even though we cannot send them off?" Tobin asked once more, knowing Ariam would snap anytime soon. It might be the fifth....no, sixth time he voiced the same question.

Praise be to the gods for his patience. The Captain of the Guard merely withdrew his fingers from the curtain, letting it fall back over the window, and turned to Tobin. "We helped them the best way we can," the soldier answered. For someone barely older than Tobin, Ariam had a good head on his shoulders. "As long as Synketros does not get them, we can rest assured we are not helping tyrants gain power in this territory."

Tobin pursed his lips until they hurt. It's true—the only thing they could do was to masquerade as the Civil Guards who were supposed to transport the people gathered from the Disfavoreds or the Commons to wherever the Sovereign wanted them to be. Maybe she's drafting them into her army, giving her more numbers, and in turn, more power; or maybe she's roasting them in an open-pit fire while cackling under her breath like a deranged witch. Either way, Tobin preferred his people undrafted and...well, unburnt.

What's worse, though, was that the batch they freed were just in a day. Those who were purged before the news could reach Tobin and before any of them could act were already gone by the time Ariam's soldiers caught wind of the relocation camps. Tomorrow, the Civil Guards would be working nonstop to deliver the insane quota the Sovereign had set. She didn't care if there was no one left in Cardina. All she wanted was a quick way of refilling the people she lost from whatever war she waged in other territories.

Exhaustion the next few days would bring already crept into his bones. He had already made peace with the fact that there would be days where he just had to miss out on freeing the purged. With three reasons, being: one—he had to show up in Court and in front of the Council almost every day to discuss other issues brought about by the Sovereign's arrival; two—he had to have energy and enough rest for the next raids; and three—the Sovereign was bound to catch on should her promised shipments start to not make it one after the other.

It was bad enough—how Tobin couldn't save everyone who would fall victim to this wicked system he helped approve. Somehow, it was worse knowing he was the one who would be dictating who would be saved and who wouldn't.

Fate must have no heart to be able to hand out punishment, sacrifice, and hardship as if rain on a dry field.

When they passed through the bridge crossing the moat surrounding the Royalty region, sunlight peeked through the hazy veil of clouds, marking the second day Tobin was away. He could only get a day and a half to himself before the Council noticed his absence and made a fuss about it, in turn making the word reach the Sovereign faster. Even foregoing sleep and taking a proper bath, he was still cutting it close.

They disembarked from the carriage in front of the gates to the first palace. Tobin wrinkled his nose at the amount of walking he had to do before he reached the meeting hall just in time for the morning session to commence. He squared his shoulders and massaged his calves. Then, he started sprinting. Ariam, even though he was probably more dead tired and battered than Tobin, followed suit without holding back.

By the time they reached the corner leading towards the hall which ended with the meeting hall, a Civil Knight's armor clanked behind them. They turned to find one of Ariam's soldiers catching up to them, having run from the palace by the region's entrance.

"News from our scouts," the soldier doubled over and braced his knees in an attempt to bring back his breath. Guilt gnawed at the base of Tobin's gut. Running with all that heavy armor on couldn't have been a pleasant experience. "I only received it this morning."

Ariam opened his mouth to no doubt command the soldier to compose himself first before speaking to the king. Tobin beat him to it by holding up a hand as the tutors taught him. It meant silence or, if done quickly enough, shut up. "Breathe for a moment, please," he said to the soldier who blinked back at him as if he wasn't sure if it was still the king he talked to. "I will wait."

In the previous monarchy, it's an eternal sin to make a royal wait. But Tobin had already established in ways more than one how he wasn't part of that pompous band even though they dress him to be.

Moments passed in silence save for the harsh breaths the soldier took in and blew out. When he could speak without running out of air, he straightened and ducked his head at Tobin. "I have news from the scouts which arrived this morning," he reported. "Would Your Majesty want to hear it now?"

Tobin bobbed his head. The soldier dug a sheet of parchment the size of his palm from his pocket. "The scout sent this message bearing the words: The Sovereign appeared angry after someone caused chaos inside her ranks. Rumors of Synketrian soldiers being freed circulate the platoons camped in the borders between Disfavoreds and the Carleon city, Asopus."

One word caught his attention. "Go back a bit," he said. "Did the message say 'freed'?"

Panic crossed the soldier's face as he held the parchment to his face and double checked the Ylanenla koset scrawled in it. He blinked. "Yes, Your Majesty," he concluded. "It says 'freed'."

Tobin and Ariam, as if sharing a temporary linkage of the mind, exchanged glances. A plan started brewing in Tobin's mind, and from the looks of it, Ariam was beginning to put it together on his end as well.

Freed. The word brought both hope and dread to Tobin's gut. He thanked the soldier and advised him to never breathe a word about it to anyone save for the King and Ariam. When everyone was on their separate ways, Tobin turned to the Knight who never left his side.

"Say, Ariam," Tobin scratched the side of his face. "Would you mind traveling for a bit?"