Nobleman

In his dream, he was back on the blood-soaked fields, surrounded by the chaos of war—the clashing steel, the cries of the wounded, the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground. Smoke choked the air, and the metallic scent of blood hung thick. And there, amid the turmoil, was his older brother, Gareth, standing like a beacon before him.

Gareth had always been larger than life to Kieran. He was taller, and stronger, with a quiet intensity that drew people to him. He had been the perfect warrior, a leader, a voice people would follow to the ends of the earth. Kieran had idolized him, every decision, every gesture. But on this day, Gareth looked. . . different. There was a weariness in his eyes that Kieran had never seen before.

“Kieran!” Alistair called, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of battle. Kieran ran to him. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, his breaths coming quick and shallow. He placed a hand on Kieran’s shoulder, steadying him amid the madness.

"Kieran. . . I have to go," he murmured, his voice cracking but full of determination. 

Kieran’s jaw tightened. “I want to help.”

Gareth´s lips curled into a sad smile, and he shook his head. "You can do more good back home. Believe me, little brother," he said. "I thought that fighting would bring honor, that we’d change things. But all it does is break people, turn them into something they’re not. I was wrong." He sighed. "I was wrong, but I´m glad I chose this. Better me than you."

“But you’re. . . you’re the strongest person I know,” Kieran whispered, feeling a crack in his conviction. “If even you can’t- ”

"Funny," his brother chuckled, coughing. "You´re smarter than me. And you´ll be even stronger than me. Strength isn’t about fighting, Kieran. It’s about knowing when to stop, and when to let go. Why do you think people hurt each other? Why can’t we forgive each other?"

After the deafening sound of a blast in the distance settled down, he continued. "We don´t have any enemies. . . none of us has any enemies."

The sounds of battle grew louder, closing in around them. Gareth’s gaze softened, his expression filled with sadness as he looked at Kieran. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll find another way, that you won’t let this world turn you cold.”

Then Gareth stepped back, his gaze turning cold, distant as if he were fading into the mist.

The sounds of the battlefield intensified, the chaos consuming everything as his brother´s silhouette faded away, lost with the smoke rising up in the air.

With a jolt, Kieran woke, drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged as he sat up. He could always hear the echoes, and the feeling lingered long after he woke up. 

The rain fell over Arnem that morning, as it did every other morning, casting a cold but deceivingly serene glow on the sprawling city below. Kieran watched it all with a mixture of pride and bitterness. He wore the elegant robes required of a nobleman, deep burgundy and trimmed with silver- an outward display of rank and power. But the silk and embroidery were heavy on his shoulders and he never did like the way he looked in them. 

Below him, the Twelve Sectors of the city were coming alive, each bustling with its own distinct energy. Speakers crackled to life throughout the noble houses, blaring the familiar slogan, “As you can see, it’s another beautiful day today, in all twelve sectors throughout the nation of Arnem!” Kieran could recite the speech by heart now. It was the same tune each day, every morning without fail, reinforcing the illusion of peace and unity. A unity built on fear and force, in Kieran´s opinion. 

 His brother would´ve agreed.

Kieran sighed, his eyes drifting to Sector Twelve, where the slums sprawled out like a scar on the city’s otherwise perfect face. The palace guards liked to joke about it, calling it “the underbelly,” as if it were some distant, insignificant place that only existed in the abstract. But Kieran knew better. He had seen it with his own eyes- the crumbling homes, the hollow faces of workers, and the cruelty of the Prowlers who maintained order. Life there was harsh.

“Another day in paradise,” The voice broke through his thoughts. Kieran turned to see Leanna standing behind him, hands on her hips. She came over and leaned against the windowsill, arms crossed, a smirk on her face that didn’t reach her eyes. "C'mon, scoot over a bit, will you?"

Kieran chuckled. "What could a Prowler possibly want from a lowly nobleman like me?"

"Lowly indeed," she said. "How have your meetings with Shadowblade been?"

"Keep asking me that wherever we go, and an official is bound to hear you sooner or later. Are you trying to get me killed, Lea?"

"But you never answer . . ." she said. "Why are you even associating with them in the first place? Is it . . . because of Gareth?"

Kieran hesitated, then nodded.

"Listen," she continued. "I don´t want people to die either, but working with them to plan a rebellion is insane. You´ll end up at an execution ceremony with the rest of them, and I do not want to see that. I . . . can´t be a part of that."

Kieran sighed, then tried to dodge the subject. He really didn´t like talking about it. 

"I don´t talk to Shadowblade. I got assigned a Proxy, and we´re communicating regularly."

"A proxy, how poetic.” Her voice softened, just a little. “I warned you not to get too attached."

"They are capable, and Shadowblade is a good leader. Sometimes a little reckless, but bold. He inspires them, Lea, even when they´re up against a wall."

He exchanged a look with Leanna, who raised an eyebrow. He let out a sigh, shaking his head and looking away. "Look, not everybody is as gifted as you are. Not everybody is born with the ability you possess. I . . . can´t just sit here and attend balls, eat lavishly, and allow servants to take care of all my needs."

“You always were a fool for causes that would get you killed.” The corners of her lips quirked up in a faint, sad smile. “But just remember, Kieran, you’re a nobleman. No matter how much you despise it, you are. And if the rebellion falls . . . they’ll remember the noble who helped them. And if that happens, I will not be able to help you.”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "I know."

To that Leanna waited a few moments in silence, then poked him with her elbow. "C'mon, help me carry the boxes," she said. 

"Boxes?"

"The tools you helped pay for to contribute to Aloy´s experiments, remember?"

"What?" he said, horrified. "I never paid him anything!"

"I bet," she laughed. "He probably helped himself, figured you wouldn´t mind."

They smiled, picked up two boxes each and left, Kieran´s voice still sounding through the doors.

"I don´t. But I thought it was common courtesy to tell one´s friends about something like that!"

"It´s him we´re talking about, he just blew up his lab a few days ago. . ."

By nightfall, Kieran retreated to his quarters, exhausted by the sudden Ghoul attack at the sector border. Almost the whole Prowler force had been deployed to the operation, including Leanna. He hadn’t heard from Max and the silence was gnawing at him. Although, he figured they just didn´t need him right now. They had no obligation to tell him everything that was going on. 

The comm device on his desk buzzed, breaking the quiet. Kieran snatched it up, a mix of relief and apprehension flooding him. 

“Max?”

There was a pause, a crackling of static. Then an unfamiliar voice came through. “No. . . not Max.”

Kieran’s frown deepened. “Who is this?”

A heavy sigh on the other end. Whoever it was seemed to struggle with his words, like he was searching for the right thing to say, or deciding how much he should say. "Name's Finn," he muttered at last. “I. . . I work with Ed.”

 “Where´s he, then?” Kieran asked, his tone icy.

Look, this- this isn’t his idea, alright?” he replied, his voice sounding strained as if trying to maintain composure. “It’s just. . . Max’s busy.”

“Busy?” Kieran repeated, incredulous. “He’s never sent anyone in his place before.”

“He, uh, trusts me, I guess. Said you’re. . . important to the mission. Wanted to make sure everything’s fine on your end.”

Kieran’s frown deepened. The vagueness, the avoidance. “Funny. Max’s usually very precise in his requests. And Ed always does things himself. So forgive me if I’m not exactly inclined to trust some random voice on the comm. If Ed sent you, then give me specifics. What’s going on? Where is he?”

Finn’s tone turned even more evasive, his voice barely above a mutter. “Look, it’s not my place to say. Just. . . just know things got messy. That’s all I can tell you.”

“Finn, you’re telling me absolutely nothing. Either you’re playing games with me, or something happened. Which is it?”

The pause stretched out, and Kieran was about to speak again when Finn’s voice, now tinged with a raw, desperate edge, finally broke through.

“You really want to know?” Finn’s voice was tight, his restraint slipping. “Fine. You want specifics? Max is dead. Alright? They- they got him. YOUR Prowlers raided the lair, and he. . . didn’t make it.”

Kieran’s breath caught. He swallowed. “How?”

Finn’s voice rose, taking on a rough edge. “How do you think, nobleman?” he snapped. "They broke in and strangled him, that you want to know? You´re the one who sent them in the first place! You never called us filthy slaves? Those filthy Downers? Not calling us that is the only thing you didn´t do!"

Kieran shook his head reflexively, his eyes wide. 

"YOU GUYS ARE THE ONES WHO TRAPPED US HERE! YOU TREAT US LIKE ANTS! And you do NOTHING to stop that. I guess you finally decided you´d played long enough, so you sent the Prowlers. One of our comrades is dead, while you just watch from the warm and glittery place behind the castle walls!"

Kieran opened his mouth to argue, to defend himself, but the words faltered. Finn’s anger was raw, his grief bleeding through every word, and once again, Kieran felt a pang of shame.

“I didn’t know it would come to this,” he admitted quietly, the edge in his voice fading. “I. . . I didn’t want anyone to die.”

There was a pause on the other end. Finn’s voice, when it came back, was softer, but still trembling with barely contained emotion. "Sure you didn´t. . . listen, we do not have time for your hypocrisy right now. Do NOT call us again. We don´t need you. You´re soft. And you lack the resolve to actually do something."

"Goodbye."

The line went silent, and Kieran was left alone with the weight of Finn’s words, the grief in his voice lingering in the empty air. For the first time, he felt the full burden of the decisions he’d made, the consequences that rippled far beyond his control.