It was a little past noon when Ed made his way to the breakfast table. Stone was already there, working on his third plate of Mechmian foodstuff. A floating try before her, Susan entered with more food and a jug from the kitchen “door” which looked like a solid crystal rectangle. Ed didn't think he'd ever get used to walking directly into what appeared to be a solid surface. Even after years of living in one, watching someone else emerge from the solid surface still triggered something in his brain that insisted ripples, a glow, or sparkles should be there.

  Her black, almond-shaped eyes full of reverence, Susan made chipper small talk as she unloaded the cart and poured Ed a drink from the pitcher.

  “We'll have to stop at the next town during the day for a shopping trip. We need essentials for the wererabbit. “ She's huge, so we can't share,” Susan said as she took her time with her meal.

  “I'm actually really excited to have another girl here.” Especially one with her family gift. Family gifts were my minor. They're fascinating in their uniqueness. Most people don't have one, and the likelihood of passing them down is so rare.”

  Blinking, Ed glared at the young, excited young lady, “You aren't meeting her. The fewer people known we have a cartographer with us, the better.”

  “That's genius! I can study her from afar like a real researcher! I'm so lucky!”

  His glowing blue eyes focused on his plate, Stone grunted disapprovingly, but he was ignored. He eyed the kitchen hungrily, but remained seated. He was annoyed with himself for considering stress eating and eating for enjoyment.

  The Mechmian foodstuffs were filling and provided exactly the nutrients needed. The taste and texture of the various foodstuffs were carefully designed by the machine's artificial intelligence to optimize meal enjoyment. However, even non-magical beings could taste and derive more enjoyment out of food made by hand. Both Stone and Ed wished the Mechmian hadn't planned to use the convenient foodstuff generator machine for most meals. It was distracting.

  “Study her? She's just a wererabbit. They're pretty common,” Ed replied, trying to be properly annoyed with Susan's nonchalance while eyeing the door. He couldn't read minds between the sections of the crystal or the outside. Normally, this was the only way to get even a little quiet from the loud minds. However, right now, it felt a bit unnerving not to know.

  “She probably has the dual-cursed family blessing. It is found in what is assumed to be less than 10% of the Lunesul clergy. Those with it have two channelings,” chatted Susan excitedly.

  Rubbing his eyes, Ed couldn't stop himself from biting, “Why do you think this girl is dual-cursed?”

  Tilting her head, Susan seemed confused by the question for a moment. It was as if she were a bright student with low self-confidence and an aggressively demanding instructor, “Huh? She kind of has to be, right? Wererabbits are lower-prey caste and so wouldn't be allowed to train as berserkers. I don't think she's lying about her job. She handled your bow too well not to be incredibly well-practiced. Which means she can't just be a wererabbit.”

  Thinking, Ed took a long drink of the refreshing sangria Susan had lovingly prepared for him. The girl had a point, and the newcomer did have metallic-silver hair that was almost liquid.

  The deep gravely voice of the white knight came into the room low and unbidden. It's southern Heimheim twang gave it a dangerous, almost threatening quality, “Marshal 25:85.”

  “Can't you just commit a little sin and get rid of the curse for a little while?” Ed complained, exasperated, “I won't tell your mother you gave in.”

  With a glare and a flared nostril, the white knight began to clean up his dishes. His hurt flowed from him like a hot gas. Ed didn't need his empathic abilities to immediately feel guilty.

  “I'm sorry, man. I shouldn't have said that. I've been drinking,” Ed recanted remorsefully as he momentarily forgot he was trying to free Stone from being a mind slave. He remembered as he sputtered his apology to the big man whose skin was rapidly forming red scales. The temperature in the room was slowly rising, but Ed was too ashamed to notice. There were some things that should be off-limits, even for a plan such as his. He wished he could take all the pain away, but pain was something that sculpted a person. Without the pain that molded him, would Stone still be a white knight?

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The quiet cupboard was dark, and the child was hungry. He didn't know how long he'd been inside, but it felt like too long. The boy didn't mind the dark, but the silence was oppressive. He felt alone and worthless. He was nothing. The cupboard drank in whatever sound he may or may not have made. When he was younger, he'd screamed for hours and never made a sound inside the special quiet cupboard. His throat had hurt, but that was nothing compared to his soul.

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  The door opened, but the boy knew better than to rush out without being bidden. Would he have food or freedom? He listened carefully, barely daring to breath. He needed to hear a voice, any voice, any sound to defeat the oppressive silence.

  “Out,” came his mother's sickly sweet voice. The boy moved swiftly so as not upset the woman more than she already was. The ten-year-old boy was tall for his age, but he still seemed small in his mother's eyes. Like most of the population of Heimheim, she was the child of mixed breeds. Her mother was a mix of demon, devil, and human. This had given her skin and eyes a distinct red-and-black color palette. Her father was the son of two nephlimems, so instead of demon horns rising upwards, her horns grew and twisted around her head, like a halo attached to the back of her head. The horn wasn't thick since she was young (not a day over 200 years old, by her own account).

  Dressed in black, deep red, and purple, she was an imposing figure under her broad-brimmed hat. Her black lips curled in a wicked smile as if she'd just thought of a wonderfully wicked idea. She was the Witch Baroness Enots, and she was doing a poor job of trying to hide her frustration.

  “Have ya thought about yer future? Ya know ya gonna be a knight here, guarding the border between the mortal plane and hell with yer pa. What kind ah knight is ya gonna be?”

  The bruised boy straightened himself to his full height and looked her dead in the eyes. The angelic blue eyes had skipped a generation, but the full force of judgment magic was there, powerful and dangerous. It reminded her of her father. She hated that misogynistic cheating bastard that her mother kept forgiving for some inconceivable reason.

  “Ma, I is gonna be a white knight,” the boy growled through three rows of sharp teeth with conviction. He didn't understand what that meant. He saw white knights as heroes who selflessly saved princesses from evil. They were healers and defenders. They gave of themselves altruistically to save the weak and innocent. To him, that was honorable. To her, that was the problem.

  Black knights protected people from scumbags through any means necessary. Their acts condemned them to hell, where they'd work keeping scumbags away from the border for eternity. That was a sacrifice greater than any wishy-washy white knight had the guts to do. White knights vacationed in heaven when they died. Where was the honor in that? How could her son be so selfish? The baron would be devastated to not work beside his son forever. Her son would tear the family apart for an easy life.

  Worse yet, her kind boy would probably die for some ungrateful weakling. He'd give and give until there was nothing left. That was what white knights did. She didn't want him to die selflessly. She wanted him to live for himself. She had told her husband that she would set the boy straight. Before that, she had promised to give him a son so powerful that none would question the line of succession. The most powerful natural born black knight of the family was Baron. Currently, her husband was baron; his pride depended on his son someday wresting the role from him.

  The witch raised an eyebrow at the lanky boy before her and wondered where she'd gone wrong. She'd read all the literature about raising a black knight. She'd done everything by the book to get the best possible outcome, yet here she was at odds with a defiant little rebel. If only she had more time. The train would be at the platform soon, and if he wasn't on it, she'd have to go to the local one. The local one was good, but the prestige of The Book in High-Mountain alone was better. It was the best in the universe, and her son had been accepted.

  Her voice was threatening and hard, “Boy, the decision is yers. That much is true. I think we both know I can make ya change yer mind. Stop making this hard, boy.”

  The boy didn't reply, but he didn't back down either. Where was this defiance when she wanted it from him? He never complained about hardships. He took unfair punishments without a fuss. He obeyed orders and folded quicker than a lawn chair. She'd wanted him to learn to fight the injustice. To truly feel right from wrong in his soul and fight. Why this fight of all things?

  “Fine. Boy, if ya want to be a white knight just to spite me an' yer pa, more power to ya. However, you should speak yer mind now. Tomorrow is the day when ya will only reference that damned holy book yer idiot uncle preaches from. That is, until ya sin. When ya sin, when ya go down the dark path, then and only then will ya communicate like a normal person. Let's see how long ya last without conversating with that little friend of yers,” the witch wrapped her words in magic as she tightly wound the curse. Such simple and easy ways to temporarily lift the curse allowed her to make it powerful and otherwise unbreakable. Not even she would be able to remove it fully once it took hold. She was at once proud and ashamed of the curse upon her oldest child. If only it hadn't been necessary. Part of her hoped someone would break the curse, but that was unlikely.

  She was bred to be a powerful witch; she was the apprentice of the current most powerful witch in the coven, and she took her role as wicked witch of Heimheim seriously. Witches were rare since many of the most powerful lines had seen their death during the various Witch Wars of not so long past. Hers was one of the most ancient lines, intertwined with powerful demons, until her pitiful, weak-willed mother had fallen prey to the promise of a better life or some equally foolish farse. Not that the boy's grandfather was weak, his magic just hadn't fit the breeding program's ideals. How would they ensure the best traits were passed down?

  She hadn't wanted to curse her son, but it was for his own good. Someday, when he was a black knight, he'd thank her for saving him from himself.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  "Oh. I didn't even think of that. Yeah. I think you're right. The readings support your theory. It does feel like an ice element channeling," Susan excitedly replied to the hulking white knight as she looked up from a slate that Ed hadn't even noticed she'd opened. She bit her lip for a second before continuing, "Oh, do you think it could be a tri-curse blessing? It's rarer, but I'd bet money that hair is a sign of mercury channeling. It's the only thing that makes sense. Speak of the devil. I gotta bail. Have fun today."