Kevin's measured tone set the stage for a tale that would leave Rick and Christie reeling. "Over the years," he began, his voice deliberate and calculated, like a man who had seen too much and forgotten too little. The kind of voice that commanded attention, yet hinted at a depth of emotion he kept carefully guarded.
He paused, letting the silence hang in the air like a challenge. "There have been couples who claimed their children were conceived by accident," he continued, "and others who chose parenthood with open eyes. Yet, both groups shared a common thread." The flame of the lantern on the table danced, casting soft, golden shadows on their faces. Outside, the wind groaned through the cracks of the wooden walls, a mournful sound that made the story feel all the more real.
"They hid themselves from the public eye until the birth," Kevin said, his words dripping with a quiet intensity.
The room seemed to shrink, the shadows deepening as Kevin's expression hardened. "It didn't matter," he went on, his voice low and steady. "For those who dared to bring life into this world, their newborns were hunted." He straightened, his eyes glinting in the faint light, and raised his hand, dragging two fingers across his throat. The sound was jarring, a stark reminder of the brutal reality he described.
Rick flinched, and even Christie's composure faltered. "By thugs in Lepanga's service," Kevin said, his voice unwavering. "In harsher cases, both parents perished with their child, cut down mid-flight, clawing at hope with dying hands. And if fortune abandoned them, their infants were taken, while the parents were left behind, condemned to whatever tortures Lepanga's henchmen devised. The children were spirited away to his castle."
He leaned forward, his eyes burning with a quiet intensity. "Don't ask what becomes of them. No one knows." The room seemed to tighten, the air thickening with unspoken questions. Rick's lips parted, the question already forming – What does he do with them? – but the words never left. Kevin's eyes met his, sharp and knowing, silencing the thought before it was spoken.
Rick's stomach twisted violently, a storm of disgust, sorrow, and anger rising all at once. The feelings tangled together until he couldn't tell them apart. For a moment, his childish sense of justice roared to life – bright, fierce, and utterly untempered. Yet even that righteous flame could not make sense of such cruelty.
To kill the helpless. To steal children. What kind of logic could ever justify that? Even morality itself seemed to lie shattered, ground beneath a tyrant's boot. Kevin had spoken Rick's unspoken question as if the boy's mind were a book he'd already read. That realization struck Rick like a physical blow, leaving him hollow and cold.
Across the table, Christie said nothing, her silence not an absence, but an awe-inspired reverence. Her gaze clung to Kevin, unwavering, feverish, caught between fascination and pride. The lamplight gilded the edges of her hair and face, softening her beauty, until she looked almost unreal. The grim tale faded around her, and all she saw was him – her husband, his voice measured like scripture, his gestures commanding but calm.
Kevin's scholar's tongue, his storyteller's poise, and the subtle flex of control behind his every word suited him perfectly. Christie thought she saw a glimmer of something more, a spark of intensity that went beyond mere storytelling.
As Kevin's tone darkened again, Rick's eyes snapped back to him. "And as for those pretentious ones who claimed their children were conceived by accident," he began, letting the silence grow fat with expectation, "they sold their own infants to slave traders." The words hit like thunder, and Rick's face went white.
"Slave traders!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking, echoing off the walls. "Slave traders!" He shouted again, louder, as though repetition might make it less monstrous. His small hands balled into trembling fists, and his chest rose and fell in uneven bursts.
Kevin didn't flinch, instead crouching slightly, lowering himself until his eyes met Rick's. His hand rested firmly on the boy's shoulder, a silent anchor. "Calm, kiddo," he said, his voice rough, yet gentle. Christie moved in perfect sync, pressing a cup of water into Rick's hands. The gesture was quiet, practiced, almost prophetic – as if she had poured it knowing this moment would come.
Kevin sighed, a flicker of weariness ghosting across his expression. "Chill out, lad," he said, letting his tone shift just slightly, teasing at the edge of humor to thin the suffocating air. "You shouldn't blame them too much. Escape from here? Impossible. To break free, you'd need power that borders on the divine – or a trick that defies reason itself."
He rose again, his voice deepening as the storyteller returned to his throne. "Josh Lepanga has been a master mage for over three hundred years. His men? Thugs, assassins, mercenaries, and criminals the world's already forgotten. Each one sharper, nastier, more cunning than the last. Every follower of Lepanga has a ledger so soaked in blood, not even a Divine Magus could tally their sins. Around here, crime isn't a shame – it's a badge of honor."
The words hung in the air, weighty as iron. Rick listened, his breathing slowing, his grip steadying on the cup. The panic had receded, but disgust still clawed at him, raw and unspent. Christie eased back into her chair, her posture remaining alert, her admiration for Kevin laced with something else – curiosity, a spark of hunger for knowledge that mirrored his own.
As Rick's brow furrowed, the thought of people selling their own children scraped against his mind like sandpaper. He pressed his lips into a thin line, his mind racing with the implications. Kevin's eyes narrowed, the flicker of the flame reflected in his gaze.
"Supplies come the usual ways – smuggled, traded, stolen," he said slowly. "Whatever keeps this place breathing. As for officials? Lepanga makes sure the region stays sealed. Those who try to intervene... vanish. And anyone outside who dares poke their nose in quickly learns that Lepanga's reach is far longer than they imagine."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice until it was barely above a whisper. "The world thinks this is just a quiet village." The words struck the room like a closing door. Rick shivered, not from the cold, but from the weight of what he now understood. The walls around them suddenly felt closer, the air heavier.
For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Kevin leaned back, reclaiming that half-mocking, half-professorial air that came so naturally to him. "Good question, lad," he repeated, his voice smoother this time. A wry smile ghosted across his lips. "Seems you're ready for a proper history lesson after all."
Christie exhaled, the faintest smile tugging her lips as she folded her hands beneath her chin. Rick, still trembling faintly, could only brace himself. Kevin's stories were never short – and they were never, ever merciful.