The silence in the study was thicker than the dust on the forgotten ledgers. Talos Vogler did not panic. Instead, a terrible, cold focus settled over him, the same focus Gunther had seen in his own reflection since drinking the potion. The gambler was gone; the field commander remained.
"The worst-case scenario," Talos repeated, his voice low and steady. He stood, moving to the map on the wall. His finger traced a route from their manor, through the dense Hinterwood, to the coast. "There is a cove, here. Little more than a fisherman's scrape. A man named Halvar. He owes me a debt that cannot be recorded in any ledger. He will get you to Indaw Harbor. From there… you will be on your own."
"Us? What are you talking about?" Gunther's sharp mind was already calculating supplies, travel time, the variables of two children on the run.
"You and Karl," Talos said, his back still turned. He walked to a section of the bookshelf that seemed solid and, with a specific pressure on the carved hawk's head, caused a small, hidden compartment to spring open. From it, he withdrew a heavy leather satchel. "The remaining family jewels. What little gold I could liquidate without raising alarm. And these." He placed the satchel on the desk with a thud, then added the two potion formulas—the one for Lawyer that was now a part of Gunther, and the one for Hunter that was meant for Karl. He wrapped them in an oilskin pouch, his movements brisk, efficient. "This is your inheritance now. Not land, not title. Potential. Guard it with your life."
"Father, you and Mother must come with us," Gunther said, the logic clear. "A unified force is stronger than a divided one. Your knowledge is an asset."
Talos finally turned. The firelight carved deep shadows into his face, making him look both ancient and ferociously alive. "No, son. That is the first lesson of a true retreat: you leave a rearguard. If we all flee, they will hunt us like rabbits. Eckhardt's hounds will not stop. But if we stay… we become the fixed point. The focus. They won't think 2 children can survive on their own... But you're not a common man anymore, you're a beyonder."
"That is a suicide mission. The probability of your survival is negligible." The words were cold, factual. The part of Gunther that was still a boy screamed in silent protest, but the Lawyer's mind ruthlessly suppressed it, treating it as irrelevant sentiment.
"It is a transaction," Talos corrected, his flinty eyes holding Gunther's. "Our lives, for your future. For the chance that the Vogler name does not end here, cowering in the dark. It is the only move left on the board." He stepped forward and gripped Gunther's shoulders, his hands like iron. "You must be the one to protect Karl. You must be the one to advance, to gain the power we were denied. You must become so strong that no one can ever take what is yours again. Do you understand? This is not a request. It is your charge."
Gunther looked into his father's eyes and saw the absolute, unshakeable finality there. The argument was flawless. The premise was sacrifice; the conclusion was their escape. There was no loophole. "I understand," he said, his voice flat.
"Good. Now, listen. Wake your brother. Dress him in dark, sturdy clothes. Do not let him pack toys. Only practical items. Meet me at the stables in ten minutes. Do not wake your mother. I will do that."
—
Gunther moved through the darkened house like a ghost, his enhanced perception mapping every creak of the floorboards, every sigh of the wind outside. He entered Karl's room. His little brother was a small lump under the blankets, breathing the deep, untroubled breath of the innocent. For a moment, Gunther hesitated, the sheer weight of what he was about to shatter pressing down on him.
Then he pushed it aside. Sentiment was a flaw. Action was required.
"Karl," he said, shaking him gently but firmly. "Wake up."
Karl stirred, mumbling. "Gunther? Is it morning?"
"No. We're going on an adventure. A secret one. You must be very quiet and very brave." He was already pulling Karl's rough-spun trousers and a dark woolen tunic from the wardrobe.
"An adventure?" Karl's eyes widened in the gloom, more excited than afraid. "Like in the stories? With pirates?"
"Something like that. Now, hurry." Gunther helped him dress, his fingers fumbling slightly with the buttons, a strange contrast to the razor-sharp clarity in his mind. He allowed Karl to bring his small wooden dagger, a concession to morale he logically assessed as necessary.
They crept down the back stairs, avoiding the third step from the top that Gunther knew groaned under any weight. The grand hall was a canyon of shadows, the stoic hawk on the rug seeming to watch them flee. As they passed the half-open door of his parents' bedchamber, Gunther heard the low, urgent murmur of his father's voice, followed by a sharp, stifled cry from his mother. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated grief, quickly silenced. He forced his feet to keep moving, one in front of the other, towards the kitchen door.
The cold night air hit them like a physical blow. The moon was a sliver behind racing clouds, casting a feeble, intermittent light. They hurried across the damp lawn towards the stables, the scent of dew and impending rain thick in the air.
Talos was already there, but he had not saddled horses. Instead, he stood with two large, worn rucksacks. Elinalise was with him, her face a pale, composed mask in the darkness, though her eyes were red-rimmed. She had thrown a heavy cloak over her nightdress.
"Horses will be too loud, too easy to track," Talos said, handing a rucksack to Gunther. It was heavy with provisions. "You go on foot. Through the woods. Stay off the roads."
Elinalise fell to her knees and pulled Karl into a crushing embrace. "My little hawk," she whispered, her voice thick with tears she would not shed. "You must be good for your brother. You must be strong."
"I am strong, Mother!" Karl said, confused but embracing her back. "Are you coming on the adventure too?"
Elinalise looked up at Gunther over Karl's head, her eyes conveying a universe of love and despair. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head.
"Not yet, Karl," Gunther said, his voice unnaturally calm. "They will catch up later." The lie tasted like ash, but its structure was sound. It was the optimal falsehood to ensure Karl's compliance.
Elinalise stood and turned to Gunther. She cupped his face in her hands, her touch impossibly gentle. "You have your father's mind and my stubborn heart. Use them both. Keep him safe." She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. It felt like a blessing and a farewell.
Talos thrust the heavy satchel into Gunther's arms. "The cove. Halvar. Remember." His jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. "Now, go. Do not look back. No matter what you hear."
That was the final command. The flaw in any emotional goodbye was the delay it caused. His father had eliminated it.
Gunther nodded, slinging the satchel over his shoulder. He took Karl's small, trusting hand in his own. "Come on, Karl. The adventure starts now."
He turned and led his brother towards the dark line of the Hinterwood, the trees looming like a wall of judgment. He walked, not allowing himself to hurry, projecting a calm he did not feel. Karl, buzzing with excitement and half-formed questions, trotted beside him.
They had just reached the tree line when the first shout rang out from the direction of the manor. It was not a cry of alarm, but a guttural command, followed by the sound of shattering glass.
Karl froze, his head whipping around. "Gunther? What was that?"
"It's part of the adventure." Gunther said, pulling him forward, his voice leaving no room for argument. The Lawyer in him analyzed the sound: the breaking of the front-facing study window. A tactical entry point. The assault had begun.
Then the screaming started. It was Hemmel, the butler, his old-man's voice raised in a shrill cry that was cut off with brutal suddenness.
"Gunther!" Karl whimpered, trying to dig his heels in. "That's Hemmel! They're hurting Hemmel!"
Gunther's grip on his brother's hand became vicelike. "Don't worry, they're just trying to scare us, you'll see them all fine when they catch up later." He began to jog, dragging Karl along, forcing him into the oppressive darkness of the woods. The undergrowth snatched at their legs, branches whipping at their faces.
From behind them, the sounds of violence escalated. More shouts, the clash of steel, a roar that could only be his father. Then, a woman's scream—his mother's—piercing the night, a sound of such utter terror and agony that it seemed to freeze the very air.
Karl let out a sob, stumbling. "Mother!"
Gunther acted on pure, ruthless instinct. He stopped, spun, and clamped his hand over Karl's eyes, pulling his little brother's back against his own chest, shielding him from the view of the house. He himself looked back.
Through a break in the trees, he saw the manor. Torches moved like vengeful fireflies in the windows. The front door was splintered open. And on the gravel drive, illuminated by the flickering light from within, he saw them.
His father, Talos, was on his knees, surrounded by three dark figures. He was wounded, but his head was still held high. And his mother, Elinalise, was being dragged from the house by another, her nightdress a ghostly white, her struggles feeble against the brute strength that held her.
Gunther's new senses, his ability to see the flaw, the breaking point, zeroed in on the scene. He saw the exact angle of the sword at his father's back. He saw the vulnerable grip the man had on his mother. He saw a hundred different ways the scenario could play out, and in every single one, his parents died.
He saw the sword plunge into his father's back.
He saw the knife flash at his mother's throat.
The sounds were mercifully distant, smothered by the wind and the trees. But he saw it. He saw the exact moment the light left their eyes, the moment the last vestiges of the world he knew were extinguished.
He did not cry out. He did not sob. A coldness more profound than that of the Lawyer's potion settled in his veins, crystallizing his heart into a diamond-hard gem of purpose. The data was recorded. The premise was confirmed. The world was a place of violence and loss, where power was the only true currency.
"I can't see!" Karl wailed, struggling against his hand. "Gunther, let me see! What's happening?!"
Gunther held him fast, his own eyes dry and burning, fixed on the now-still forms on the gravel. The torches began to move through the house, searching.
"It's nothing, Karl," he whispered, his voice a hollow, dead thing. "It's just the wind."
He turned, finally, pulling his sobbing brother deeper into the consuming darkness of the woods. He did not look back again. The boy, Gunther Vogler, was gone, left behind on the bloody gravel of the drive. All that remained was a vessel for a promise, a living weapon forged in loss, and the cold, unwavering knowledge that he and Karl were utterly, irrevocably alone.