“Isn’t that what it takes to be a knight, to be strong?”

“That’s…not wrong?” Thomas hesitated and, within a fleeting moment, he swore he felt his heart beat. A vague notion stirred deep in his memories. The pain faded along with the thought. He cursed aloud.

His curse echoed in the silent ruin, and Mr. Fisher stopped dead in his tracks, a bead of sweat rolling down his cheek. Thomas was apathetic.

He knew exactly where the lycanthrope was waiting and it wasn’t around the corner. However, an echo did peak his curiosity. He motioned for the hesitant father to follow him around the corner, where wood gave way to a metal bridge spanning over (what used to be) a massive, greenhouse garden.

That meant their destination was close. Penelope shifted around on his back, prompting him to glance over his shoulder. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“I-I’m sorry,” Penelope apologized, her entire body tensing. “I just…I don’t like this p-place.” She was shivering, even more than usual.

That was only to be expected. The garden’s exterior wall, an enormous array of empty squares, had collapsed inwards – the squares of stained-glass it used to hold jutting out of dry flowerbeds like gravestones. Without the wall to act as shelter, the elements could finally lay claim to the greenhouse. The wind celebrated its victory by dancing over barren pots and lazily gnawing away pieces of withered plants.

‘It should be near here,’ Thomas thought as he scanned the rest of the space. Above him was a third-story bridge, likely linking two hallways on the floor above, but he didn’t want to go up. If he walked across the second-story bridge he would have gone too far. He found what he was looking for below; a stone door in the wall opposite to the exterior. The last thing he needed to find was a circular stairway, conveniently on the opposite side of the second-story bridge. He sighed.

“Father…” Junior’s voice trailed off. Thomas turned around to find Mr. Fisher kneeling on the ground. White puffs of air emerged along with his labored breaths. Thomas stepped forward, intending to offer the weak man some much needed help, but he hesitated. Despite Mr. Fisher’s sorry condition, he was not a weak man.

Thomas saw it, just in the way that the father kept his head up. Even though exhaustion threatened to throw Mr. Fisher into a grave, his eyes were glued to the path ahead. “I needed…a breath was all,” he wheezed.

Junior tried to squirm away but he tightened his grip in a display of strength that he shouldn’t have been able to summon. His knees buckled as he tried to stand and one of his knees fell to the ground with a dull crack. With a grunt he forced himself up. His legs wobbled but at least he was standing. “Let’s keep moving,” he said. Although he was facing Thomas, he wasn’t talking to him.

Thomas looked from Mr. Fisher to the stairs, then back to Mr. Fisher. The family was shaking like wet dogs. Thomas his back to them and walked over to the stairs, which led down to the first-story. ‘I gave them each several layers of clothes but they look worse than when I found them.’ Just a little further and it would be done with.

Mr. Fisher trudged after the young noble until the moment Thomas descended. He hadn’t hit his limit yet. He hesitated but not because the stairway shook when he stepped on it. He, much like his children, all stared at the door Thomas wanted to go through.

“Thomas,” Mr. Fisher spoke softly. “Are you sure this is the way we need to take?”

Thomas crossed his arms. “I know where the lycanthrope ran off to and this is the only way to get around it.”

“Not down there?” Mr. Fisher asked as he gestured down the hallway. Thomas shook his head. “We aren’t going outside yet?” Again, Thomas shook his head.

Mr. Fisher knew something that Thomas didn’t. They were hiding something from him. Did they know what he was planning? Had they come this way before? Was something special about the library? He bit his lip and motioned to follow.

Mr. Fisher did as he was told, step by step. Junior clung tighter to his father’s back, even making the man stop a few times so he could breathe. “Just don’t look at it,” Mr. Fisher whispered into his son’s ear.

“I don’t want to go back there,” Junior whispered back.

“I don’t either,” Mr. Fisher whispered.

Curiosity made Thomas lean back and whisper into Penelope’s ear. “What are you guys all afraid of?”

She silently pointed a finger at the door leading to the library. Now that Thomas was closer, he could see dozens of footprints. He sniffed the air. The door wasn’t even open yet a blast of color filled his vision. There were more scents than he had found in the ruin’s entirety by a factor of three, and they were much more dense. “The library. That’s where they locked us up.”

The last steps squealed the loudest before Mr. Fisher touched down in the garden. He looked expectantly at Thomas to lead them onwards.

Thomas lowered his head. Tossing out any more half-baked lies would be spitting in the man’s face. They were close enough. Thinking back, he could have taken the kids from the start. Mr. Fisher wouldn’t have a chance at catching him.

Penelope pointed outside. “Is this it?” she asked. “Have we made it?”

“Just a short walk from here and we’ll be drinking hot soup around a fire,” Mr. Fisher said as he took in a lungful of fresh air.

Thomas shook his head. “We’re not leaving that way.”

“We haven’t gotten far enough yet?” Junior asked. “Where did you say it ran off to anyway?”

‘I didn’t say where,’ Thomas thought. ‘Do I really have no other option?’ He knew exactly where Shay was. Was that helpful? What was he going to do, fight it? Maybe if he ambushed it. Blood would draw the lycanthrope out. So what? If Thomas was caught by its fangs and or claws, he was done for. Even if he managed to win, that wouldn’t solve anything.

He had to do it.

“Where are we going if not out there?” Mr. Fisher insisted. “Thomas, why are you so quiet?”

“We need to go through that door,” Thomas said as he meekly pointed to the door leading to the library. He took a step towards it and Mr. Fisher stepped in his path. Junior finally squirmed free and hid behind him.

“Penelope,” Mr. Fisher urged. “You’ve let him carry you far enough.”

Thomas glanced over his shoulder at the girl, whose face had gone deathly pale. “P-please put me down,” she stammered. Thomas obliged and she limped to her father’s side, wincing as she put weight onto her bulging feet.

“I’m leading you guys out of here,” Thomas insisted. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“We’re starved and weak but don’t take us for fools, or maybe you really are a noble,” Mr. Fisher insinuated. “Is this all a joke to you? Is that what this was?”

“I-I think we should trust him,” Penelope meekly chimed in. “He has been through a lot. I’m sure he knows what he is doing.”

“Sweetie, we can talk about this later,” Mr. Fisher said as he patted the top of his daughter’s head. He turned to face Thomas. “We, the townsfolk, brought this all on ourselves when we begged bad people for help. That’s a mistake I don’t plan to repeat. We were stuck in that library for days without food, water, nor even the space to relieve ourselves. We were manacled to the walls. What do you have to say for yourself, leading us back to that place?”

Thomas closed his eyes and rubbed the sides of his temples. His headache reignited with far more pain. “Please, I’m begging you to just get in the library.”

“No. I’m sure there’s a path around that-“

For the final time Thomas’s stomach rumbled. He snapped. “Just get into the fucking library so I can be done with this!” He screamed out, his eyes flashing abyssal black.

“By the goddess!” Mr. Fisher exclaimed.

“Father, what’s wrong with him?” Junior gasped.

“I don’t like this,” Penelope cried.

Mr. Fisher reached into his shirt and fumbled out a figure of the goddess and held it out as if the small piece of wood would shield him. The sight of it added to Thomas’s headache. His consciousness was fading.

He was standing at a cliff’s edge. Just a small nudge and he would plunge down into the dark. He didn’t know if he would come back.

Mr. Fisher swallowed his saliva as he faced down the monster. He was fully aware of how weak he was. “I don’t know what manner of creature you are, Thomas,” he blurted out, desperate. “Please, don’t lay a hand on my children. They haven’t done anything. Please have mercy. I’ll give you anything.”

Thomas cursed and fell to his knees, crying out from the blinding pain. He couldn’t think because he was hungry and because he was hungry…he was hungry. So, so, so hungry. He shook his head.

‘No no no. Keep it together. I still have time but I can’t think of anything else to do!’ The father was much too skinny, too little meat. He eyed the kids and licked his lips. They didn’t deserve to die, no matter what. What had they done? The future be damned. Why did they have to be sacrificed for the sake of others? No, they didn’t have to be sacrificed. ‘That’s it!’

“You’re willing to give up anything, even that little figurine?” Thomas said with the last shreds of his willpower.

“Anything,” Mr. Fisher said.

“Stop,” Junior said as he ran in front of his father. “Don’t do this. We haven’t done anything to deserve this.”

Thomas stepped forward, pulled out his spear, and reeled his weapon back.

“Stop!”

Blood spilled across the ground.

Screams echoed throughout the ruin.