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Life had always been hard. He'd understood that much from a very early age. He'd grown up wearing hand-me-down clothes and he'd played with second-hand toys. He'd learned to eat whatever was put on his plate, because sometimes the plate was left empty. His name was Ban, and he was born and raised in the backstreets of Yvenik. But life was not always bad. He remembered when he was eight years old his father left on a starship an early spring morning. When he came back in the autumn he brought money with him, enough to give the whole family a good following year. He left again the next spring. He never came back. Father's money didn't go far, and poverty returned swiftly. Ban got work as a runner-boy delivering groceries. There wasn't much else he could do - his parents had only been able to afford a few years of school for him, enough to teach him to read and write and a few basic skills. On his tenth birthday he headed for the local mercenary guild and tried to sign up. They laughed him out; no formal training, no actual experience and no weapon to his name. His dreams of following his father to the stars and becoming rich died quickly. Disillusioned, Ban took to the rooftops. He spent his days running along the slates of the terrace homes, getting pally with the chimney gangs and committing petty crimes. He dreamed of becoming an Outrunner; of buying or building a jetbike and earning his fortunes as a devil-may-care raider. It never happened. Ban's money always seemed to vanish as soon as he got it, wasted on drink or drugs. He relied on those crutches more and more as the years went on, to the point where he could barely function without them. At thirteen, reality struck home hard. He got into a gang fight down at the docks, a fight he'd help start. Members of his gang - the Black Purse - had singled out and mugged a member of a rival group. In the resulting knife fight two of his friends were stabbed to death, bleeding out their last across the lead of a timber store. A third broke his neck when he fell onto the concrete below. The rest abandoned Ban to his fate; the rival gang held him down and set about torturing him. They took his clothes, raped him, shredded his mane and beat him to within an inch of his life. Then they took an eye from out of his head and made him eat it. He never ran with the gangs again. He considered going back to his home, longing for his mother as a child would, but it'd been over a year since he'd last seen his parents - a year since he'd stormed out in a tantrum, screaming about how he deserved better than that worthless shit-hole of a home. He went anyway. He lingered in the shadows and watched the house. There was a new coat of paint on the front, and he caught site of his mother talking with neighbours. She was wearing a new necklace. His eldest brother, Jorn, stepped out of the house wearing the uniform of a local Banking Guild. Ban slunk away again. His family had made something of themselves whilst he'd destroyed himself. Life back up from the gutter was hard. He survived wearing penny threads and stealing from garbage. He snapped the necks of rival scavengers and looted their corpses, preying on those too poor and unimportant for anyone to care about. On his fourteenth year he tried his luck again. He wandered into a Rough House where a Raid-Captain was auditioning potential young soldiers. He was filthy with dirt and other men's blood - it'd been a month since he'd last wasted a few coins on a bath. He wasn't the strongest man there; his life on the streets had left him lanky and malnourished. Nevertheless, Ban had a fury born of desperation, and beat every challenger to a bloody pulp. After the third man was knocked unconscious, the Raiders accepted him. He was given money enough to tidy himself up and get some proper clothes.

The Raid went badly. The first hit was quick and easy - a Chaldakri trading ship with a hold full of electronic hardware. The raiders took some, enough to cover costs should the real prize not pan out. If they'd known what awaited them they'd have filled their hold and ran for home right away. Their second target was an Icaran vessel. It was a mining ship laden with precious metals liberated from asteroid clouds in nearby systems. With its cargo, the Raiders could enjoy several years good living. It turned out to be bait for a trap. As the Kyyreni closed on their prey a cruiser swooped in from the far side of a nearby moon, weapons primed and ready for a fight. The Raiders turned to run, but their ship took heavy damage from the Starfleet vessel in its opening volley. Ban was one of the men who chose to fight rather than surrender, and took to the boarding rams. What followed was a brief, yet frantic firefight. Ban fought like a demon, driven to madness by the fear of losing this one chance at making something of his life. He tore through the midship toward the bridge; feeling energy bolts scorch his flesh and hearing the men with him die one by one. He fell into a group of Starfleet officers and ripped them apart with a rapid-fire salvo, killing none but injuring them all enough to put them out of the fight. Then a Drakonian blindsided him. The creature put him on his back with a shoulder barge and kicked him when he was down, breaking his jaw. He shrieked and squirmed, any trace of sanity lost as the painful, humiliating memories of his gang-assault flooded through his system. More Starfleet personnel fell upon him, pinning him down. He began to plead for his life, crying and screaming in the manner of a child half his age. His howling only ended when someone sedated him.

* * *

"Did we lose anyone?" Captain N'kar of the Redoubtable asked. The chief medical officer gave his Drakonian commander a mournful nod. "Two - Crewman Hobbs was killed when the boarding craft hit our aft quarter. Crewman Xel'kana was set on fire with a flamethrower and died of his injuries before we could reach him. We've got about two dozen wounded in various states of severity. Crewman Baxter may require Rejuvenation to save him, but they should all pull through." N'kar took the news with a curt grunt of confirmation. She was famous for being stony-faced, though those who knew her had learned not to think she did not care for those under her command; she'd mourn the losses in her own way. "And what of the pirates?" "The Kyyreni ship managed to limp away and make jump, but we've got one of the boarding party secured in the medi-bay. The rest were killed." The doctor paused to review his notes. "I'm astonished he made it as far as he did, ma'am. He's a mess." "Let me see." N'kar took the pad and studied the information carefully. It detailed a long list of injuries that went back several years; bones that had not set properly, dislocations and sprains that had never seen medical attention, knife wounds and blunt trauma inflicted over and over. The missing eye was only the most obvious problem. "May I?" N'kar turned toward the lithe Kyyreni who had emerged beside her. He wore a rich purple tunic with guild symbols embroidered into it at regular intervals. His name was Bolwuf, an attaché from a Tavaraathan trade consortium who were helping crack down on pirates. The ambush had been his idea. "He's a mongrel." Bolwul said, dismissing the man with a wave of the datapad. "Gutter-scum. They round them up and throw them into the grinder as cannon fodder. He wasn't meant to survive the attack." N'kar took back the pad. "What do you think should be done with him." "Shoot him in the head." The Guilder replied calmly. The medical officer regarded him with horror. "You cannot be serious!" "He's a nobody." Bolwuf countered. "No home, no family and, thanks to us, nothing to live for." "But he's a child!" The Kyyreni scowled at that comment. "I am fifteen. Kyyreni grow up a lot faster than Humans. If he's old enough to raid, he's old enough to die." "Enough." N'kar said firmly. "We are not killing him. We'll drop him off at a secure colony and he can face charges." Bolwuf crinkled his nose at the suggestion. "Rejuvenation? I hope that's not your standard practice for pirates." "Why wouldn't it be?" the doctor cut in with his best "this had better be good" voice. "Think on it; these people are often poor, desperate and out for quick coin. You Rejuve them and they do time, but what then? You can't deport them; they'll be legally dead wherever they came from and nobody will take them back. The embassies will laugh you off their grounds! So you've got to keep them, which means word will get out that being caught committing piracy by the Icarans is a free ride to citizenship. How long do you think it'll be before you're overwhelmed by raiders?" "I doubt that would ever happen." N'kar answered, but her heart wasn't in it. "Look, I've made my decision. He'll answer for his crimes." "So be it." Said Bolwuf with a shrug.

* * *

It was proving to be a surprisingly mild start to January, though wind-chill on blustery days ensured hats and coats were still a must have. Rain clouds came and went, sprinting north, never staying long enough to do more than dampen the city. Vaahn went to school wearing more jewellery than his entire class combined. His usual tri-circle pendent was now accompanied by a cast-iron mjolnir, which had been a gift from Rebecca, and a thin brass torc his parents had bought him. The pendants were safely tucked against his chest, and the torc was concealed by the sleeves. His parents approved the items primarily because they seemed to noticeably improve Vaahn's general disposition; it was as if some portion of his self worth was determined by the accessories he had access to.

On this particular day, the fourth of the new term, Vaahn was surprised to find he wasn't the only Kyyreni at the school gates. Chloe, equally curious, steered him and Jas toward the trio; two adults and a child. The adults were Nightsiders: the male was panther black and the female ash grey. They were talking with one of the Year One tutors, presumably the woman who'd be teaching their five year old Dawnsider son. He stood between them radiating bewilderment, slowly looking around at the school and all the people who came and went around him. As the teacher left, Chloe and children arrived. The male Kyyreni turned to greet her, and Chloe found herself caught off guard by the man's puppy-dog expression. She had grown accustomed to thinking of Kyyreni in predatory terms; all fierce scowls, wolfish grins and morbid humour. This man had a face that loved to roll over and get a belly rub. "Hello there. I'm Chloe." She extended her hand to the man. His wife stepped in to take over. She was shorter, slimmer and moved like a snake. She accepted the handshake quickly and firmly. "Yuin. Pleasure to meet you, Chloe." The male cocked his head with a look of mild bemusement. As he stepped around his rather forward wife he was introduced as Frost. "My name means Frost," he corrected, finally accepting the handshaking ritual after watching his wife. "But people get it wrong so often. Frost is easier all round." With the adults introduced, Yuin gently pushed her son into view. He stood between them with arms folded, slowly looking from one parent to the other. "This is Ban." Frost announced. "He doesn't speak Panglish yet, but the school has a full and thorough course planned." "I'm Jas." Jas spoke up. "This is Vaahn." Chloe repeated the introductions, this time in Ruljig. Hearing his language spoken by a Human caught Ban a little off guard. "[You a Penitatas?]" Vaahn asked. The question left Ban bemused. "[A what?]" He looked down at his hands, revealing the silver P on the back of each. "[I think that's what they call me, but I still don't understand the word...]" "[You will.]" Vaahn replied humourlessly. Frost flashed the boys a warm grin. "Glad Ban will have someone to talk to. You'll help him settle in, won't you?" Jas nodded helpfully. "Of course. Well, as much as we can; we'll be in different classes." "Speaking of classes, you'd better get going!" Chloe's words came after a quick glance at her wristwatch. "Show Ban to his classroom then get to your own! Go! Scoot!"

The lunchtime break gave Vaahn a chance to find Ban again. It wasn't difficult; even if he weren't a Kyyreni, Vaahn could have found him in a heartbeat. The boy staggered around the playground in bewilderment, lost and alone despite the presence of other children around him. "[How was the morning?]" Vaahn asked, already knowing the answer. Ban absently rubbed his backside. "[The teacher spanked me in front of the whole class! Like a fucking child!]" "[You are a child!]" Vaahn chuckled. Ban did not take it well. In an instant he had Vaahn gripped by the collar, pulling the older boy down to his eye level. "[You do not want to fuck with me, pretty boy!]" Ban's eyes burned with inner fury. Vaahn didn't blink. "[Not smart to lay hands on a Noble, pup.]" He dug his thumbs into Ban's wrists sharply, breaking his grip. "[Here's a piece of advice; if you start a fight, they'll punish you hard! I've been on the receiving end more times than I care to count, so let me assure you it's not what you want... but if you ever lay hands on me like that again I will beat you to within an inch of your fucking worthless life, punishment or no! You got that?]" Ban simply sneered, fists flexing open and closed as he debated Vaahn's warning and weighed them up. Vaahn realised he saw himself in Ban. The boy was full of anger, a simmering fury that he would inevitably unleash on some poor, unsuspecting victim. Ban was Vaahn, just from twenty five years ago.

It was that revelation that gave Vaahn the forewarning he needed. Twenty five years ago he'd landed himself an extra mandatory cycle for assaulting a fellow classmate in school; an assault that had been shockingly brutal. Vaahn could see through the corner of his thermal vision the approaching teacher, but he also knew that Ban didn't care. He was a gang killer, a feral predator who saw the world in brutally simplistic terms. Vaahn had challenged him, and no challenge could go unmet. Ban lunged at Vaahn, screaming like a madman. The attack had no style, no finesse, just a wild fury born of pure, instinctual hatred. Five years old and still adjusting to his body, Ban was nevertheless a real danger; he came with fingers clawed and teeth bared, ready to bite and claw and gouge. Vaahn reacted on instinct. There was no thought involved. He had countless years of combat training locked away in his mind, supported by his considerable combat experience. He dropped under the lunge and kicked off, slamming into the younger boy full force. He felt the boy's nails rip into his back and he shoved off, punching Ban backward with both fists. Instantly, Ban countered with a jab to the face, catching Vaahn in the eye with his thumb. Vaahn reeled from the blow, howling in pain and half-blinded. A wild haymaker came at him and he ducked it on instinct, rolling under the attack. It was the opening he needed. He grabbed Ban's outstretched limb with one hand, grappled the boy's shoulder with the other, and kicked his legs out from under him. Ban's face went white. For a moment he froze, his mind reeling from what had just happened. The sharp pop as his shoulder dislocated echoed across the playground. Then he began to scream, and reality slammed home in the shape of the teaching staff.

* * *

The sounds of the world crashing down around him carried on for some time. Teachers shouted at him, then they made threats at him, and finally they sat him down outside Miss Roughsedge's office and left him there. Staff came and went. Before long the police became involved. Chloe and Frost both made an appearance, neither of them so much as looking at Vaahn as they were hurried in. Strangely, Frost was there almost as soon as the incident occurred. For the better part of an hour the Headmistress, the parents, the witnessing teacher and a pair of police officers occupied the office, their discussion muffled by the translucent polycarbonate door. "Want to give your side of the story?" Smiling gently, Joe, the counsellor, settled himself in a chair next to the sulking Kyyreni child. Vaahn kept his gaze fixed on a seam in the floor tiles, a corner point where two cream tiles met the apex of a smaller black diamond. There was a hairline crack in the rightmost tile about three inches long, caused when the bench had been bolted to the floor. There was a small damp patch where the boy's tears had pooled. "I'll be blunt. You like blunt, right?" Joe paused to see if his words would elicit a reaction. They didn't. "Okay, here goes... were you trying to break his arm?" "Yeah." Vaahn sighed. "Well, at least you're answering me. Alright, you hurt him on purpose, so the next question is: why?" Vaahn cocked his head up a fraction, revealing his right eye. It was severely bloodshot. "Because I honestly thought he was going to kill me." Joe nodded sympathetically. "Claiming the First I see. Well, I've not had a chance to meet Ban myself yet, but from what I read in his file he is a rather... troubled young man." "Don't compare me to him." Vaahn growled. "Don't even think about it." Joe caught the tone in Vaahn's voice. "I wasn't going to." He lied, making a mental note to discuss the subject later. Rising from his seat, Joe quietly stepped into the heated debate already raging, leaving Vaahn to resume his prolonged sulk. After a while the voices, particularly that of Miss Roughsedge, became much louder. Vaahn caught the phrase "you cannot be serious!" before things settled down again.

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, the door opened once more. The police officers departed and Joe reappeared, lingering in the doorway until the footsteps of the officers had faded altogether. With a wave of his hand he beckoned the boy into the now slightly less crowded office. "Vaahn, I am very disappointed in you." Chloe's tone sent shivers down the boy's spine. He chose not to meet her eye. "I know he hit you first and I know that he hurt you, but that does not justify what you did!" The witnessing teacher, Mister Gardner, cleared his throat carefully. "In all fairness, Ban did more than 'hurt' Vaahn!" "He tried to claw my eyes out." Vaahn added, earning him a loathsome scowl from the headmistress for speaking without permission. He pointed to his weeping eye for emphasis. That, at least, helped win Chloe over. "I hope my son has been checked by the nurse?" Roughsedge nodded. "His eye is fine. He's just going to be a bit sore." "Even so, I think he should be taken to a hospital." Chloe's tone made it clear she did not approve of the fact her son had been given nothing more than a cursory examination. With the exchange between parent and teacher taking centre stage, Frost knelt down beside Vaahn and took him gently by the shoulders. "[Vaahn, what would your father say if he saw you fighting with a boy like Ban? Not your Penitatas father - your flesh and blood, your real father. What would he say?]" Vaahn gave a shallow shrug and offered, "[Well done?]" The Nightsider smirked and snorted through his nose. "[Really? He'd be impressed you were beating up gutter-Thralls? I mean no disrespect, but if I were him I would be disappointed in you.]" "[It's not like he gave me a choice!]" Vaahn snapped. "[It's not fair! You can't say it was wrong after the fact! It's not as if-]" "[Alright, that's enough.]" Frost answered, gently waving down Vaahn's protest. "The boy does have a very valid point - he felt he was in real danger of serious harm, and he's got very convincing evidence. It's all well and good us standing here, safe and sound, and saying he shouldn't have dislocated Ban's shoulder... but Chloe, how would you feel if Ban had gouged out your son's eyes? Would you really be standing there telling Vaahn how proud you are he didn't fight back?" Chloe shook her head. Gardner mumbled a conceding remark. Roughsedge was practically drooling venom from the corner of her mouth. "Ms Johansson, you worry about Vaahn. Let Ban worry about me. I'll be going to see my son now." With that Frost departed. Chloe made a final few pleasantries and took Vaahn out as well, stopping only to pull Jas out of class as well. "So... am I in trouble over this?" Vaahn asked weakly. Wearily his mother answered, "I don't know yet. Let's see what the hospital says first."

* * *

A week passed, and for Ban it passed very slowly. It had started the moment he got home. His father had fetched a nursery cane and gone to work on his backside, holding him up by the ear and landing a nightmarish series of blows. Ban had screamed the whole time; first he threatened, then he pleaded, and finally he simply howled incoherently. By the time his mother got home Frost had been applying the cane ruthlessly for the better part of twenty minutes. There'd been no supper that night. There was no breakfast the next morning either. Yuin had roused him early so she could spank him before going to work. The ordeal left him exhausted, and was only made worse an hour or so later when Frost repeated the morning punishment. Then he'd been washed, dressed and bundled into the family hovercar. After a short ride he found himself in some form of judicial building. Security staff searched him thoroughly before the two Kyyreni were allowed access. Frost led him to a small, sparsely decorated room where a young Human woman was waiting. She spoke to Frost in Panglish, with Ban forced to sit and listen to the unintelligible gibberish that flowed between them. Both adults were seemingly calm, patiently exchanging words alternately. Eventually, Frost was handed a thin data wafer and with that they left the building. Their journey home was delayed only by a detour to an unassuming building in one of Icara City's business parks. There, Frost handed over the wafer and was given in return a paddle. There were holes drilled in its surface, and Ban was instantly convinced that this would only serve to heighten his suffering. "[Frost...]" The child's quiet voice went unheeded by his parent. Nobody had spoken to him all day; only at him. His thoughts and opinions were clearly not required.

Returning home, Ban was left to await his mother's arrival. She came bearing a gift of her own - a defolicator. The device was swiftly applied to the boy's backside, removing the cub-fur there to reveal the raw welts of yesterday's caning. Ban was already crying when he was put over his father's lap in preparation for the day's main punishment. "[This is a blistering paddle.]" That was all the warning he received. Frost applied the paddle with vigour until his son's rear was dominated by two large, agonising blisters, and Ban had howled himself hoarse. For the rest of the week, Ban's life became a self-contained hell. His blistered rear was given no opportunity to heal; they were burst and reopened routinely by the torturous spanking routine. Yuin and Frost had no interest in his excuses, and when the weekend arrived they seemed intent on making his punishment that much worse. In place of the hairbrush and switches they'd employed previously, Ban was given a fresh dose of the blistering paddle in the morning, followed by a repeat of the nursery caning he'd received the previous Monday. By Sunday, the boy was a wreck. Exhausted by the constant pain, Ban slipped in and out of consciousness without ever achieving proper sleep. He only truly became aware of the change in routine when he realised the sun had risen several hours ago, yet neither parent had come to administer the now much-feared morning punishment. When Frost did appear it was late morning. Ban was given a chance to relieve himself, bathed and then dressed before being brought downstairs for breakfast. Sitting on a hard chair was unpleasant with his tender rump, but it seemed that was the worst he was expected to endure. After eating he returned to his room and was left there. His toys, few as they were, had been taken away immediately upon the commencement of his punishment, but Ban had little desire for play. He slept fitfully once more, lying on his front and trying his best to recover. Lunch came and went. His parents brought up sandwiches for him. He cried often, more out of despair now than actual discomfort. For a week he had not had a chance to properly speak to anyone, nor to interact with others socially. He felt a heart-crushing pang of fear at the thought that this might be his life from now on; routinely brutalised followed by long stretches of abandonment.

Later - Ban had no means to tell just how much later - Frost reappeared. With a single word he bid Ban to come with him downstairs. The child was led into the kitchen and left stood at the table, rubbing his hands and fidgeting nervously. He saw an unfamiliar item in Frost's hand; a tub of some unidentifiable substance. "[This is nano-lotion,]" Frost explained, using the Panglish term. "[It mends wounds, such as your bruises and blisters. It is something I am offering to you now with a condition; when you return to school tomorrow there will not be a repeat of last week's behaviour. Are we clear?]" "[Y-yes sir.]" Ban stammered, shifting his gaze nervously as his mother entered from behind. Seemingly satisfied, Frost dropped the boy's pants and applied the substance to Ban's tenderised rump. It was cold and the contact stung Ban's rear, but he did his best to keep still and quiet; excessive squirming had already worsened some of his punishments. When Frost finished, his wife took the nano-lotion away. Frost ordered Ban to pull his pants up and sit at the table whilst he washed his hands. Flinching at the contact, Ban soon became transfixed on his father's new behaviour; he had fetched two glasses and was in the process of retrieving something to fill them with. One glass he filled most of the way with milk. Into the other was sloshed a very generous helping of spiced spirit. "Jolth." Frost said, showing Ban the bottle. It was a Kyyreni drink favoured by Night Tribes. He tipped a portion into the milk, which was finally offered to the curious child. "[That is to help you sleep. You'll want to be well rested for tomorrow.]" The Nightsider drank, savouring the juxtaposition of the spirit's smooth, creamy texture and the spice's sharp kick. Ban nursed his own drink wordlessly. The room was dominated by an uneasy silence. Having endured an extreme punishment, the young Penitatas found himself wondering when the next unpleasant surprise was coming. He stared at his drink, wondering if Yuin was waiting upstairs for him to return. Suspecting that was the case, he intended to make the drink last... but what if that would incur some worse punishment from Frost? "[You know, I think milk is one of the things I miss most about childhood. I used to love the stuff. Can't really stomach it now of course; any more than half a cup and my insides would be liquid.]" Ban just stared at the milk for a while before risking another mouthful. "[You're very quiet.]" The boy looked up shyly. "[Shouldn't I be?]" Frost shrugged. "[I just assumed you'd have questions... or at least something you wanted off your chest. You can speak freely, lad.]" The Penny considered this for a while. "[Am I your ejokh?]" Frost laughed out loud at the question. When he saw the boy's expression and the fear in his eyes, he settled his voice into a more respectful, benevolent tone. "[No, Ban, you are most certainly not. We see you as our own flesh and blood; you are our son, and we will treat you as such.]" "[I doubt you'd beat your son like you have me.]" The reply, muttered without thinking, seemed to shock Ban more than it did his father, who gave a smile that had no amusement in it. "[When I told you to speak freely, I did not mean you could cease to be respectful. I'll let it slide this time, but not again.]" He downed the last of his drink. "[Also, we would prefer it if you addressed us as you should a father and mother.]" "[I'd rather not... sir.]" Ban answered timidly, seeking comfort once more in his milk. Frost seemed to understand. Wordlessly he offered to refill Ban's glass. The boy accepted. The milk, laced generously with alcohol, was having the expected effect on Ban's inhibitions. Taking another mouthful of courage he asked, "[This punishment I had to endure... that was because of what I did to the other boy?]" Frost nodded. "[Vaahn had to go to hospital and have a nano-lathe repair deformation of the eye caused by you jamming your thumb into it. That alone made it a very serious assault; you could have had additional cycles added onto your punishment - extra childhoods after this one.]" Ban's thoughts now turned to his shoulder. There'd been no lasting damage; the arm was relocated and his own brief encounter with a medical lathe had ensured everything was as it should be. "[Did Vaahn get a punishment like mine?]" Frost shook his head. "[Vaahn argued, successfully, that he did what he did in self-defence. Everyone on this world has the right to life. Everyone has a right, in fact, a duty to protect themselves and others from harm. This is the First Principle; the belief that all else is secondary compared to the preservation of life. The extent of your punishment reflects the fact that Vaahn, and others, believed you were seeking to kill him.]" For a moment it looked as though Ban was planning to protest his innocence, but he thought better of it. The boy still sat with ears drooped and tail limp behind him, so Frost prompted him to speak his mind a little more. "[I don't want to go back to school.]" Ban confessed eventually. "[I don't like it there.]" Frost gave the child a sympathetic smile. "[You'll manage, lad. It'll get better, I promise.]" He stood up from his seat and took the boy's empty glass. Ban was still clearly tense and unsettled, but he was also visibly changed; the combination of healing lotion and alcohol had done wonders for him. "[I know you may not think so, but we are both on your side, Ban. You do understand that, don't you?]" Frost shot the boy a sidelong glance, doing his best to keep his tone of voice reassuring. Ban just nodded absently. "[Remember, you can always speak to your mother and I about anything that bothers you. It may not seem like it right now, but in the long run you'll understand that what we do is for your own good.]"

Ban answered with a loud yawn, which Frost chose to blame on the drink. Wordlessly, he lifted the boy up and carried him back to his bedroom, where he was made ready for bed without fuss. Tomorrow would be the first day of his fresh start, and as Ban was tucked in under the sheets and left to drift off to sleep Frost prayed he'd do a better job of things than he had last time.