Chapter Ten

“I care enough about you to never say I love you; I would have to kill you if I loved you.” That was one of the more cherished memories Secrat Copé had for Father Toucan Veras. Looking back, Secrat wasn’t entirely certain why he considered it a cherished memory, per se. Like everything when it came to Veras, he supposed ones’ understanding of him was based on ones’ ability to read between the lines.

Secrat had been a lowly, abandoned nothing person when Father Veras took him in as a child on the lower districts of Italina. Since then, he would like to think he had developed a certain understanding for Father Veras that few actually had. It was from that understanding Copé had found the courage to disobey him and argue on his own behalf – sometimes it worked out for him, other times he was outright banned from the troupe and discarded.

Veras wasn’t cuddly and soft beneath his rough exterior, but there was a more compassionate side to him, deep down. He showed it on occasion, whether he meant to do it or not. The night he banished Secrat Copé from The Red Flux, for example. Father Toucan Veras might have crushed all Copé’s fingers (another tally in Secrat’s recent injury list he had forgotten about), but he did it with such love and affection. After all, he could have stomped on both of them.

Older and more experienced thieves, tiered as the Elite and the Grandfathered (the Grandfathered having emphasis on the older component), were also allowed to sometimes see a different side to him, but it was never intentional. Father never meant to show that side to himself.

He wasn’t a preacher or anything like that, that wasn’t why Secrat called him Father. Secrat called him it because he was the man who raised him at a very young age. To this day, The Thief wasn’t for certain whether Toucan Veras could hear the distinction when Secrat said it versus when somebody else said it. He certainly didn’t think he would ever tell him. Everyone else called him Father because he was the leader of The Red Flux.

There was no doubt that he was a man of God, however. In fact, he practiced the stuff almost religiously, and took it on as one of his many unhealthy obsessions. They couldn’t judge unhealthy habits in The Red Flux. Everyone had one and few of them were savory. Although they all donned the badge of standing for freedom and liberty, that was only half the story. The Red Flux was a rag-tag group of criminals, neanderthals and misfits. No one could judge. Well, then again, that wasn’t exactly true. Father Toucan Veras could judge – it was the perk that came with his unhealthy obsession being religion. He parented over everybody, and it wasn’t merely about being a leader to him, his eccentricities and bullshit ideology could sometimes spread of everything in The Red Flux.

Toucan boldly stood against The Aeonians. To him, they were the undisputed Soldiers of Evil. He believed that all of the chaos and wars that happened all those centuries ago were supposed to end, but not because The Aeonians provided a way to wall each other off from one another. Like a preacher, Father Toucan gave sermon-like speeches and dressed in decorative clothing. Nobody ever said anything about it, and that was because he had the fear. Some rationalized that his reason for his hardened exterior and tyrannical behavior was because it was what was needed to be a strong leader. That such an approach was what was necessary to keep such a group of broken people in one piece. Personally, Copé had always assumed Toucan simply liked the way it made him feel. Even if he couldn’t control the rest of the world, he could control his own small, little sector.

The Red Flux traveled often. It was with the territory of being thieves. They migrated about the Unprotected Wilderness and infiltrated major cities. They did this at night. That was when they did it the most, at least. Some occasions called for their rule to be broken, such as when they were stealing from Hardan or in the deserts.

In spite of his earnest desire to do so, The Red Flux wasn’t run with an iron fist. The fact was, it couldn’t be. This wasn’t the type of people that generally respected authority. Rather, the approach had to be more calculated than that. Toucan Veras was careful to create a sense of unity, to make it feel as though his rules were everyone’s chosen rules and principles.

There were about one-hundred members in The Red Flux, give or take.

Secrat Copé had never cared enough to offer them a proper head count.

There were children, tiered as Novices, who were often cared to by either troupe members who didn’t participate in heists for whatever reason or Grandfathered members – experienced members who were too old to do heists and instead helped with other objectives.

The usual big heist called for about five to ten members, and more often than not, more than half of the troupe was absent from the campsite.

The Red Flux members all made certain not to shit where they eat, and if they thought they were being followed, that only left a couple of options for them. They could either lose their tail or risk having The Red Flux’s main camp be discovered. If they did that, they were better off dead.

This had only happened once in The Red Flux’s brief history, and it was before Secrat was a member. Even to this day, he wasn’t aware of the complete story, but it was something along the lines of Toucan Veras crushing a man’s head in with a large stick. Whether or not there was any truth to it though was neither here nor there, and chances were it was a wise tale meant to induce fear. The Red Flux’s equivalent of having a “Beware the Unprotected Wilderness” sign, but there’s was “Beware Father Toucan Veras and the Very Large Stick”.

After that event, they relocated to an area between Acera and Italina, and in the times when travelers were passing through, they were certain to hide any connection to thievery. Everything ran smoothly, and they hadn’t been completely wiped out yet, so it would be fair to say they were successful.

Secrat carried his wearied bones and battered limbs forward, walking onto the muddied grass from yesterday’s rain, since stopped. His clothes almost as black as charcoal, which was far removed from the way they started. One of his arms bandaged heavily and both of his arms covered in dried dirt and mud. His hair had always been a dirtied blond, but even such a definition looked like an understatement at his current sorry state. Every part of his body hurt, but there was no part of him that wanted to stop to rest once more, all of him wanted to end the heartache and shift his fate. He walked and walked until a garden of tall grass came to sight, nay, not a garden, but a collection, harvested by nature, he shoved through them. He nearly stumbled over the roots of large trees and had to brush the ticks that tried their way up the forest of his leg hairs. His leggings, since ripped, exposed his knees. The very second the tall grass came to an end, he could flourish in his own arrival.

The Red Flux was exactly how he had left it. His eyes looked over the land like the sun’s rays, fluttering throughout the scenery. He had never felt nostalgic before – not about a place. He had felt nostalgic about an activity, like bedding a woman or drinking his weight in wine, but never a place, certainly never a place he called home.

A dirt trail led up to The Red Flux’s village, and, at the center of it all was a flag hanging up from a large stick, carved smoothly. Like everything else in The Red Flux, it was intentionally minimalist.

Secrat looked at his hand. His fingers remained stiff from Toucan’s boot and he still couldn’t make a perfect fist, but at the palm of his hand was the most telling thing about him. It was the symbol of The Red Flux. What looked like the letter ‘C’ with a stick puncturing it at the side was meant to be a crescent moon with a knife stabbed into it. Whether anybody else could decipher the crude carvings made into each of their flesh was not very important. It wasn’t for them. It was to let the members of the troupe know that there was somewhere they belonged and that there was somewhere they could call home.

Home.

There was that word again.

Surrounding the flag were a series of rocks, put around it for decoration, Secrat supposed. Across from that was an area of sticks, a burnt pile, used for gatherings where Toucan often tallied his troops. Other times, it was spent for celebration, an activity that The Red Flux did often. There were horses too, kept inside of a fenced area crudely brandished out of makeshift parts. Most wouldn’t even know it was there at a first glance. It was a deliberate act not to draw too much attention to them. That was one of the many ideas instilled by Toucan. You can steal. In fact, that is what you are supposed to do. However, you can never steal from family, and that is what you are when you are with The Red Flux, you are family.

Secrat’s eyes went over to one of the dwellings. At worst description, The Red Flux could be described as a rather crude bunch. Although they did have tents and tarps, and more proper dwellings, those were largely reserved for the Elite and the Grandfathered. For the Novices and the Prospects, they kept it simpler and far less comfortable. They dug holes, as big as their hearts desired. It wasn’t very pleasant and was more than a little behind with the times, but it was treated as a rite of passage for members looking to advance in the troupe. They threw wood over the hole and slathered it with grass to shelter it from the rain. Some of them had flowers on theirs for decoration, mostly women, but there were some particularly flamboyant men welcomed in over the years as well.

None of them were the same and all of them had specific traits about them. There were little mementos and items that showed off their so-called individualism.

The Red Flux had a Trophy Room as well. It was the part that most of the effort and pride went toward and the only part of the village with any sense of style, it was also where the Elite Thieves bunked. The Thief among thieves, Secrat Copé skimmed for its location, but, before he could place it, he felt a spear pressed up against his stomach.

Copé sighed.

First a sword, now this.

“Lukas,” Secrat said, ever so warmly.

Lukas Lewis wasn’t nearly as receptive, however, and his eyes showed both anguish and passion in them. It didn’t look like hatred, at least. That was what Copé had expected to see. He had no doubts there was some of it there, deep down (and, maybe, even, not so deep down), but, for the most part, it looked like fear and uncertainty, an uncertainty in ones’ self, like conflicting emotion. That was what Secrat Copé got out of the look on his brow.

“What are you doing here, Copé?” The words sounded unlike Lewis.

The words reminded Secrat of when he talked to the knight back in Acera. How the knight tried to come off fierce and respectable, and Lukas, like him, came off phony and fake. Lukas Lewis was a far cry from what Secrat would call respectable and most certainly wasn’t fierce, but Secrat could tell he still felt emotional turmoil caused by their last meeting. The two of them had once been friends, or, at least, the closest thing Copé ever really had to friends. Casual acquaintances that tended to get along and meet for drinks. None of that seemed to add up to very much though. After Copé took the life of Elson Mans, all of that seemed completely forgotten to him.

Copé deemed this a proper moment for one of his smirks, realizing how often they had benefited him in the past. Meanwhile, Lukas Lewis brought his spear back and readied it, feigning a preemptive strike.

“Uh-aha…,” Secrat said, always a wordsmith, backing away, his hands up in a pleading gesture.

“I am well aware that I am not your favorite person. That said, if you could find it in your heart to prevent from whacking me, I promise you I will never ask you for anything ever again. Honest.”

Secrat put his smirk away, realizing now how little it had benefited him in the past. Meanwhile, Lukas Lewis lowered the spear down, holding it with one hand at his side. Secrat looked down at the stick and noticed the sharp rock on the end of it. At least it appeared as though Lewis only intended to bonk him over the head with it and now tear into his flesh. Lukas Lewis’ expression didn’t change or falter.

“Thank you,” Secrat said. “And now, I must ask you for something, my dear friend. Something else I promise I will repay you for once I have had a couple nights of sleep.” Secrat resisted the urge to smirk, realizing his smart ass ways weren’t helping him.

“I won’t be seeing you after a couple nights. I will ask again, why are you here, Secrat?”

Secrat heard Lewis slapping the spear against his own thigh. He was always a nervous fellow, Lewis never could keep his emotions in check. He was similar to a fire always lit, nothing was hidden or too obscured when it came to him.

“I need to speak to Father,” Secrat said, his eyes neither pleading nor apologetic in their gaze.

Lukas Lewis’ stare said a lot more than his words ever could. The man still hadn’t forgiven him!

“Toucan is away,” Lewis replied.

His voice was unsteady, as though that same fire always lit was on a wick, it sounded like he could explode at any moment. He was lying, however. Secrat could easily see that much. Lukas had always been a terrible liar. He was a terrible liar and terrible at withholding his emotions when he was hurt or angry. Secrat smiled at him and offered his response: “Where is he then?”

“I am afraid it was a wasted trip on your end. He is away and won’t be back for several days. If I were you, I would crawl back into whatever gutter you crawled out of to come here.”

Lukas Lewis’ composure regained itself now, his voice was no longer cracking and the spear by his side no longer trembled. Perhaps it was because the monster he built up in his head had proven exaggerated. Secrat wasn’t a monster to be chased out and barricaded out by his own clan. He was no more a monster than any of them. Or maybe it was for another reason. When Lukas Lewis said ‘gutter,’ his eyes looked at the tattered clothes Secrat donned, filthy and ruined. Maybe he realized the person he built up in his head as formidable or a threat had proven exaggerated.

Secrat’s smile regained itself, but Lewis’ expression remained.

“That’s a shame – as you can probably surmise, I am not very fond of the gutters I crawled out of. Luckily for me, I don’t believe you are telling me the truth right now, Lukas.”

“You need to leave, Secrat. You are not welcome here anymore and if you press the issue, I will have your head on this stick.”

Lukas Lewis’ face was blood red, and for all it was worth, at that moment, Secrat really believed Lukas Lewis meant what he said. That amused Secrat a little bit. He wasn’t intimidated by Lukas Lewis. He would never be afraid of him. This was the same boy that had thrown back beers with in at rundown pubs in earlier years. He was a lightweight then and he was a lightweight now. They fought around as kids, and as kids, Secrat always won. He not only wouldn’t be afraid of him, he couldn’t be afraid of him.

He did flinch, however. Lukas Lewis was overly sensitive, but he was never one for loud words or tantrums, even as a kid, and that little addition caught The Thief off guard. The spear was pointed up, right beneath Secrat’s chin and Lewis looked like he was contemplating his kill.

Something soon made him cease and withdraw his blade. He lowered his spear down again and backed away. Secrat turned his head and saw his savior, it was a woman named Mirai and a small child whose name escaped him. Mirai was Lewis’ mother. She was not old, but wasn’t necessarily youthful either, late forties, if he had to guess. In front of her black hair, strewn up in a ponytail, she wore a look of fear. The small child appeared frightened as well.

“Lukas, what is going on?” Mirai’s voice called out after him.

Her voice was not shaken. She wasn’t afraid for her own safety. Mirai was formidable. Her look of fear was for her son’s sake. She had raised him, after all. She had seen all the many fights he had lost to Secrat when they were children. Her voice was meant to be soothing, meant to calm her son down.

Lukas stopped and looked at her for a second, but only a second before his neck jerked back and he faced Secrat once again. Copé’s eyes were on Mirai, who hadn’t looked over at him yet.

“Go back inside,” Lukas Lewis replied calmly.

“Oh, well if it isn’t Mother Lewis. It is wonderful to see you again,” Secrat said, sounding enthused.

Part of him was sincere. He never hated nor disliked Mirai. Their relationship he would have describe as cordial or even friendly in the best of times. The amount of damage his expulsion had done to his reputation would take a long time to prepare. Lukas Lewis’ deranged, morbid interpretation of the night’s events likely hadn’t done him any favors either. Secrat could only imagine how much Lukas Lewis exaggerated each moment, making Secrat out to be a cold-blooded killer who slaughtered one of his own for no reason. It was an accident, you fool, Secrat thought, but, for now, held his tongue. He needed to nip these ridiculous assumptions being made about him. He needed to be the more thoughtful, kinder Wunderkind Thief.

“And look at you,” Secrat said, looking over to the small child. “You have gotten so big since I left.”

Even if I can’t remember your name.

That didn’t seem to make Lukas very happy and it wasn’t supposed to. All Copé wanted to do was stall long enough until one of the Elite thieves came outside. They had a much lighter head about thing such as murder and would be more helpful to him than Lukas.

“You didn’t leave, you were banished. Exiled never to return,” Lukas interjected.

“Lukas, what is he doing here?” Mirai asked.

Before Secrat had a chance to answer Lukas’ question for him, Lukas fired back instead: “He is leaving. Take Ansh and go back inside.”

To Secrat’s surprise, given everything he had ever known about Mirai, she held her tongue and did as she was advised, walking back down the dirt steps, beneath the stick-made roof and into her humble abode. Mirai was a good woman. Or at least that was the impression Secrat always had of her. She didn’t help with the heists, so he didn’t see her as much in recent times (even less now that he had been given the boot by Father Veras). She was one of the few members that stayed at home and looked after the children. Copé had been raised to respect that, and truth be told, he could never have imagined a world as dull and dreary as having to look after a bunch of ankle biting monkeys.

Secrat waited until both Mirai and Ansh were both out of sight before he spoke again.

“I understand you are a little miffed at me right now and one day both of us will have to sit down, have a cup of tea and hatch this all out, but I am not in the mood for you right now. You don’t know what I had to go through to get here, but, if you did, you would know that going through you wouldn’t be that much more. What I am in the mood for is to atone for myself with Father. I don’t need to atone with anyone else,” Lukas beamed at The Thief, who then added: “At least not now.”

That didn’t set well with Lukas. Once again, Secrat had expected as much. What he did not expect was Lukas’ reaction to be so violent. Lukas dropped the spear to the dirt. Copé looked down at it with something reminiscent of relief, … before Lukas Lewis grabbed him by the throat. Secrat knew he wasn’t in any condition to defend himself; he was ready to take a couple of fists and be done with it. If it brought him sympathy with the rest of The Red Flux and put some of the heat on Lukas Lewis, it was a small price to pay.

Lukas shoved him forward, leaning his back against one of the walls concealing the horses. Copé’s could hear a ruckus from the inside of the pen. Lukas’ hand was wrapped tightly around Secrat’s throat, and for an instant, Secrat even felt like was about to start gasping for air. The Thief knew Lukas Lewis wouldn’t kill him, that’d be awful hypocritical of him, but he also didn’t favor the idea of being made to lose consciousness. Thankfully, before he had the chance for his suffering to begin, a voice called off the dog called Lukas Lewis, freeing Copé from his grasp.

“You will be joining your mother and sister in your home as well,” The voice called out.

Secrat didn’t have to look to know who the voice belonged to. The deep and raspy cadence was easily distinguishable, and the way Lukas Lewis freed Secrat that very instant left no doubt.

Father Toucan Veras stood behind them. Secrat looked at the large scimitar sheathed at Veras’ side. He always lugged that thing around with him. It was a large blade that only stressed the sheer size of its owner. Lukas Lewis looked over at Toucan for a moment with eyes that seemed pleading and afraid, and his voice uttered out words that Secrat couldn’t understand, like he was about to speak up to him but decided to muffle the words. Few people stood up to Father Toucan Veras. Lukas Lewis wasn’t one of them.

Lukas turned his head away from Secrat with hesitation and started his way back toward his little hole in the ground. However, before he did that, before fully making his leave, he stepped in front of Toucan. His back was to Secrat. This time he was able to hear what Lukas said, speaking in a voice that tried its best not to tremble, “Don’t forget what he did. One of our own is dead because of him.”

Father Toucan Veras looked neither frustrated nor annoyed, nor did he look sympathetic to Lewis, his stone faced expression watched Lukas leave and rejoin his family.

“Father,” Secrat Copé began, but Toucan raised his hand up to silence him.

“We will talk about this in the Trophy Room. There are too many eyes and ears here,” Toucan said.

Secrat Copé nodded back at him and followed while the leader of The Red Flux led. As Secrat walked, he expected to see stares and confused looks along his way. He expected that there would be members of The Red Flux standing outside of their little homes wondering about the conflict that had arose before them. To his surprise, there weren’t any. Or, at least, none Secrat saw.

It was still early enough in the day and there was a chance that many hadn’t awakened from their beds yet. Even some of the Elites were unlikely to be awake. The only reason Lukas was awake is because he wanted to be an Elite and had something to prove. A thief in-training ((tiered as either a Prospect or a Novice) often accompanied Elite members and were taught the trade by them. Once they were deemed fit enough to work alone, they were allotted new responsibilities and privileges.

Secrat’s last heist had been his first heist by himself, meant as a way to prove himself to the faction. This resulted in him failing to rob Azlak Temps and killing Elsen Mans instead. Before that though, a lot of labor and shit shoveling went into it all, those wanting to be considered as Elite had the responsibility of tending to the horses (that was where the shit shoveling came in) and making for certain everything was in order for the next heist.

Elson Mans was an Elite member of the troupe and was advised to take Lukas Lewis out for further training. The liking Elson had taken to Lukas, it was no surprise a sensitive, co-dependent person like Lukas took his demise so personally.

Secrat continued to follow Veras. With no eyes staring at him, he kept calm.

He hadn’t expected Lukas Lewis’ reaction and that made him feel a little uneasy, but he tried to move past it. He had known he wasn’t exactly in the good graces of The Red Flux after what happened, but he hadn’t expected the emotion and boiling tension that he was feeling.

Toucan opened a small wooden gate and led him down some steps into the Trophy Room. Wanderers weren’t allowed to be in here, but, at a glance, it was no different than one of the other dugouts. Once they went down enough and the roof went over head, it looked something like a proper home in Acera. There were doors on the left and on the right, each made of bamboo that had been bound together with twine. Each of them had a sign on the front door and a name written onto it. These rooms belonged to members of the Elite. All of the rooms were without vacancy, and so, for the newly initiated, a new room would have to be dug out for them.

The hallway went on for long enough to assure that they would never run out of room for a new hole. The living conditions may have seemed strange to foreigners, but to The Red Flux and its thieves, digging their home was a rite of passage for self-betterment.

There had been many times that Secrat had walked through these halls to talk to Toucan, but he couldn’t remember whether he had seen inside one of the rooms.

They went down some more steps. Toucan’s quarters went several more feet underground. A lot of work had been done before Copé had been born and it likely took every man, woman, and child to help dig it. Candles were lit every several feet and between each room of the Elite, as well as on the left and right side of the stairs. The end of the stairs led to three rooms, the one they walked in had Toucan’s desk.

He didn’t spend that much time sitting around, so the area was often vacant and didn’t have a whole lot when it came to decor. Toucan’s large desk stood in front of several wooden chairs, and the only time it was ever used was on the rare occasion for when he had meetings with the Elite.

Secrat could recall having once sneaked under Toucan’s desk and eavesdropped on one of the meetings when he was a child.

The desk was wooden and riddled with dust. Toucan was hardly a slob but there was nobody in their right mind that would refer to him as cleanly or well kept. His attention was always on different matters rather than filth and grime. This was in contrast to his extravagant wardrobe and time spent on appearance. Besides the dust, the desk also had several scrolls. Secrat could only guess what they had on them. Grandfathered were sometimes sent throughout the major cities to gather information for potential heists, he supposed, maybe, that could have been what those were.

To the left of this room was another that also belonged to Veras, this was his bedroom. A bed rested in the middle as well as a small candle lying on a large drawer. Secrat didn’t know whether Veras kept his clothes in there or if it was filled by something else, but Toucan had never struck him as the type to have hobbies. His life was The Red Flux.

To Copé’s knowledge, he had never taken much to alcohol or lovers, and lived a dull and boring life absorbed by selflessness and the will to keep everyone else happy – or else. It was Father Toucan Veras’ way of life, which really wasn’t living at all, so Secrat had to assume Toucan must have kept his whores a secret.

The third and final room was the Trophy Room, and its name told of what it contained.

Behind Father Toucan’s desk, and behind a large, dark red cloth, was everything valuable that The Red Flux had in its possession. It wasn’t everything that they had ever stolen, of course, that wasn’t how it worked at all in the troupe. Father Toucan Veras wasn’t a King and there wasn’t mountains and mountains of treasure behind him. When a success steal occurred and a member or members of The Red Flux made out with loot, the items were taken to the Trophy Room, where they would stay until a trip was made to the Whispey Deserts or another reputable area for merchantman. This wasn’t for every item. For all his more annoying preaching and micromanaging, Veras wasn’t that tyrannical. Small trinkets and less valuable treasure could be sold at will and said funds would belong to said Red Flux member, free of scrutiny. The bigger items, however, were required to be placed in the Trophy Room and be sold for the benefit of the entire group. The Elites, Grandfathered, and Veras made sure everyone was clothed and fed, and in return, they only asked for loyalty. The protocol was a matter of logistics as well. Not every thief was trained in the art of bargaining or capable of judging exactly what something was worth. The Red Flux had its own appraisers and bargainers among the troupe.

Secrat looked around the room with a certain feeling, like goosebumps, except his arms remained smooth. It felt very strange to be back inside this room. He was taken by the coolness of it and the way it smelled so strongly of dirt. The smell was suffocating and only gave way to the feeling that everything was about to cave in on him. The last time he had been here the smell hadn’t bothered him. It must have been a long enough time that the smell was no longer engraved in his nostrils. This was the troupe he was trying so very, very hard to return to? This was the home The Thief had chosen for himself? Yes, Secrat answered himself.

Father Toucan Veras walked forward. He unstrapped the scabbard and scimitar off from his waist and then dropped it slowly to the side of his desk, propping it up against the table. It always looked so small when it was near Veras that Secrat forgot how easy the weapon would have been able to slice him in half.

Veras motioned forward, informing Secrat of the chairs in front of his desk and their availability for seating him. Secrat, while already aware of that fact, answered his pleasantries and seated himself. Toucan sat in the chair in front of him, behind his desk. His eyes ventured off from the ground and over to Secrat. The stare made The Thief feel less than welcome, but Toucan likely didn’t care about that in the least. Father might as well have been staring a hole into him by the way his glare refused to sway or waiver.

Secrat smiled awkwardly. It was, in fact, awkward, very awkward, but it was about the only thing he could think of to do in a time like this, and even though he was certain it would surely lead to his other hand being stomped on next, he went ahead and did it anyway.

“Why is it that you have returned to us, Secrat?” Toucan’s voice sounded about as angry as it always did, yet it was still enough to unsettle The Thief on inflection alone.

Secrat gulped, his eyes venturing away from Father’s.

“Before I left, you may recall saying that I would be able to repent for my sins and make amends over what I have done wrong. You told me that I needed to find a way to make all of this heart ache lessen and atone, and that, then, I could be welcomed back into The Red Flux.”

Copé chose his words as though they were taken straight out of some scripture and that was by design. it was meant to create the illusion of being this ‘whole knew person,’ because he knew that was what Father wanted from him. And yet, Toucan didn’t seem very taken by his son’s words. He maintained his stoic expression of collected indifference.

“I remember,” Toucan Veras responded.

Toucan rested his hands at the top of his desk. Flat. For a moment, Secrat thought back to his big boot coming down over his hand and winced. Both of them were large, just as the rest of him, and they looked as if they could wrap themselves around Secrat’s neck like a small rock. Secrat hoped this would never be tested. His hands were also filthy. Secrat could see the black under his nails and it looked as though they hadn’t been washed in some time. Depression works in mysteriously ways. It was clear Father was taking the loss of his favorite son very hard, Secrat thought. It was a joke for himself, admittedly. He knew that wasn’t it.

Secrat nodded nervously at Toucan, “I believe I have done that, or at the very least, I believe I have taken a very necessary and meaningful step in achieving such,” he answered, his words carrying as much confidence as they could under the circumstances.

Toucan’s ears didn’t exactly prick up, but his eyes seemed to carry at least a flicker of curiosity by the statement.

“Oh?” is all he said in response.

Secrat stood from his chair before kneeling to one knee before his father’s desk, like how a loyal knight would have done a King. He unsheathed the sword and presented it in his hands.

“I present to you the Sword of Tertius.” He said at once.

Small speckles of mud were visible on the blade. They were faint enough that Copé hoped Toucan wouldn’t notice them.

“I see,” Father responded, standing up from his chair as well.

His eyes went over the blade. Father was never known much for sharing his emotions, aside from anger, frustration, or a simple lack thereof. This moment was not an exception. The Thief tried his best to remedy the situation, to remember how Azlak Temps had spoken of the sword with such passion: “It would seem to me that someone here hasn’t been reading their history books. When the Aeonians first ascended,” Secrat began, but before he could really get into digging his own grave, Toucan put his hand up, silencing him once more.

“I am aware of who Charles Tertius is.”

Toucan brought in a breath of air and then let it leave him.

“That sword will make amends with The Red Flux. That sword will welcome you back into our troupe and into our family.”

Secrat smiled. His head looking down at the sword, he stood back to his feet and eased himself.

“Thank you,” Secrat said beneath his breath before flashing his smile over to Father Toucan Veras.

However, Veras didn’t appear to be finished: “The Red Flux is a forgiving entity because it has to be. Thieves in the night, we have all killed somebody once before in our lives. I have killed more than my fair share and those are scars I wear for which I am not proud. If I thought you killed one of our own out of anger or malicious intent toward the troupe, it would be another story. Still, I have to wonder how you wear the scars of people you have killed, and whether you are proud of them.”

Toucan’s voice was calm but underneath that, Secrat heard something else in his voice as well. It was something hidden and deep down, much like all of Father’s emotions, but it was there.

“When I look at you, I see one of my biggest accomplishments. When I brought you into The Red Flux, I saw an opportunity to do something that I almost never did up to that point. All the bloodshed that I had caused, all of the pain that I had inflicted, you offered me an opportunity to do something else for a change – to atone. I have never said that to you before, but it is the truth. That in mind, it might warm you to know that I also look at you as one of my biggest failures, and do you know why?”

At last, Secrat knew what he was hearing in Toucan’s voice now. It was shame and pity and it was also frustration. All three of those things are what Secrat heard in Toucan’s voice, each more abundant than the last. It was the words coming out that bothered Secrat. They offended him and it bothered him ore to know say would more than likely be true. Maybe it was true that Secrat was a little on the immoral side, but the fact remained that he had always put the troupe ahead of his own needs and it bothered him to see that fact discounted. Holding his tongue, however, Secrat chose not to voice his displeasure. There was nothing to earn from having a fit after already getting what you wanted.

“Why, Father?” Secrat merely asked.

He decided to let him do his speech and to humor him. Secrat braced himself.

“Life is more complicated than the storybooks allude to, Secrat. I did things when I was famished because I was famished. I justified every bad thing I did by saying that one day I would make up for it, or that when the smoke settled, I would have more tallies in the good column than I did the bad. I never thought about it when I rescued you from the slums of Italina that day. You were merely a boy in a forgotten part of the world. I thought surely that by rescuing you and giving you guidance, … crude guidance, perhaps, but guidance nonetheless, I was surely adding, at least, several tallies in the good column for myself. What I have come to find out is that bringing you under my wing and by teaching you the things I have taught you, I took some level of responsibility for everything you would do next with it. Every decision you make is, at least on some level, a decision I am culpable for. I considered what I did to be a decision that’d weigh in the overall good of the world. What I did not consider was the amount of pain your existence and training would bring upon the world. The reason I consider you to be one of my biggest failures is because, no matter how hard I try to instill it into you, you never change and you never learn,” Toucan answered. “You are the same selfish and egocentric fool you have always been!” His voice was loud for the final sentence but that went away again in favor of his usual, subdued tone, “Or at least that is what I am thinking. I am thinking you are the same as you have always been. Maybe you a little more humbled now by your time away, knowing it is a lot more difficult to make it out there with our lifestyle than make it out there with us. But that was not what I am looking for. That is not change and that is not how one seeks to be forgiven. I don’t want you welcoming yourself back because it is convenient to you. I look back at all the wrong things I have done with feelings of disappointment and, frankly, with feelings of disgust. But you, you look at them like humanity itself is nothing more than an obstacle standing between you, riches and treasure.” Toucan counted on his fingers with each addition to the list. “And women. And alcohol. And you don’t think of others as people but as means to getting any number of those things.”

Secrat made an offended face, but fixed himself, trying not to lose his composure.

“I won’t keep you out of The Red Flux. I can’t keep you out of The Red Flux. It was a bluff from the start. No member of the Elite would sign off on your banishment. You are too valuable after all you have been taught. However, you said something before I brought you in here, and do you know what that was?”

Secrat shook his head.

“You told Lukas Lewis you didn’t need his forgiveness. That is where your issue lies. You don’t need it, but you are supposed to want it,” Toucan Veras said.

For some unexplained reason, Secrat made eye contact with Father. Even though he wanted to look away and disassociate from the situation, something pulled his attention to Father and refused to let him go. His eyes made The Thief feel weak and vulnerable. How a stare could be so powerful and condescending, Secrat knew not.

“You are right to believe that Lukas Lewis is different from you. You were brought up in The Red Flux, but each with a different pair of eyes. You saw the ugly of the world, and like animals do to survive, you camouflaged to be ugly to. It’s easier that way. It allows you to build mental wherewithal and toughness. You and I both have let our souls become a little down in the dumps, I think. He may be weaker than you are, but he is also loyal and he is a good person in a world that doesn’t reward that behavior. These are traits I would like more than anything for you. Lukas will have a room dug for him in the Trophy Room in due time. But you, you will be starting at the very bottom. And the only way you will ever go anywhere at all, to be trusted on your own heist, or to move up the ranks … is if Lukas approves.”

Secrat felt goosebumps on the back of his neck by those words. Toucan smirked with satisfaction.

“Welcome back to The Red Flux, Secrat. Your former home has since been filled which means you will have to dig yourself a new one. I will sort it out with the rest of the members once they have awakened. Goodbye now,” Toucan concluded.