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The ship was adrift, belching drive plasma from its gutted innards. Decks had twisted and warped under the strain of battle, creating a bizarre parody of a once-proud ship of war. Vaahn left a trail of blood behind him as he crawled on all fours toward his quarters in the midship. The reek of burning flesh drifted up from the Aftward access corridor, and as he passed the half-open door a sudden blast of heat knocked the wind from his lungs. Blackened corpses lay in agonised postures mere inches from salvation. Vaahn couldn't even tell who they were.

His vision was fading. He forced himself upright, sliding across the wall until he reached his chambers and punched the pad on the wall to open it. Inside he found yet more devastation. The deck above had been obliterated, and the room was now mostly twisted metal. Jas lay in the centre of the room, eyes closed with a thin film of blood around his lips. "Jas?" Vaahn slumped to his knees. He ran a paw over the fox's chest, feeling the slightest flicker of a heartbeat. "Jas... I'm so sorry. I'm so, so, sorry..." He lifted Jas' head and rested it in his lap. He sat there, facing the door and stroking his lover's head. Tears flowed from his working eyes, mixing with dirt and blood to further mar his scarred muzzle. He stared down at the Aspatrian, feeling blades plunge deep into his heart at the thought of losing the fair slave. Vaahn had lost so much; his parents were dead now, along with several of his siblings and countless friends and comrades. Everyone he grew close to in life eventually left him, or betrayed him. Everyone but Jas. Jas had always been there, always loyal, always loving. Jas, now dying in his arms, because he'd insisted on dragging him into a war he wanted no part of. "I suppose you want the Captain?" Vaahn asked as the door slid open. A voice replied in a language he did not understand. Vaahn looked up to see a pale skinned creature stood before him. It wore a Starfleet uniform, and two others of its race flanked it. All three had weapons trained on him. "You don't need those." He said quietly. "I... I don't have anything to fight for anymore." The Starfleet officer barked something that felt like an order. Vaahn shook his head. "No. I won't leave him. Not now. Kill me or let me die with my ship, with him." The Officer and his crew looked at each other. They shared a few words together, apparently confused at the Kyyreni's behaviour. At last, they seemed to reach an agreement and their leader spoke something into his communicator. Vaahn ran a hand through the Aspatrian's head fur once more. "Still alive, Jas?" Jas did not reply. The shaking of the vessel grew more intense. There was a blurb of panicked transmission to the Starfleet officer, and the last thing Vaahn remembered was his cry of alarm. "[Bridge! Emergency beam out! Five to beam directly to sick bay!]" And his world became a blinding flash of light.

* * *

"This is incredible," Drummond said in the hushed tones of a naturalist examining an easily startled creature. "You say he put up no resistance?" "None at all," Aster replied.

"There has to be a reason for that. Maybe he's an officer? A politician? Someone too important to-"

"Let me stop you there," said Xler, a dark-scaled Drakonian male in a Commander's uniform. "Everything we know about these Kyyreni indicate that their ruling class would never allow themselves to be captured. Believe me, we've tried. The last one swallowed his own tongue to stop us taking him. They are zealotic madmen to the last man; whatever he is, he's nothing."

Aster gave an awkward shrug, as though unwilling to concede his superior might be right. "For what it's worth, I doubt he's involved in the war effort. A lone ship, obsolete, preying on transports and civilian craft... my guess he's just a pirate."

Drummond's eyes hadn't left the Kyyreni lying on the medical cot. His injuries were severe, but the doctors were unwilling to use the medical lathes for fear of making things worse. It was all too easy to make an assumption about an alien physiology that led to catastrophic results. "I would like to meet him."

The prisoner was kept under guard, but had done nothing save loll about in the cot and mumble to himself. Painkillers had been administered as much as the staff felt comfortable to do so, and the result appeared to be intoxicating.

"Hello there. My name is Peter Drummond. Can you understand me?"

"[Jas]," Vaahn replied. His head turned toward Drummond, revealing his heavily dilated pupils.

"I think that's the Aspatrian's name," Aster said helpfully.

"Who is Jas? How did you meet him?"

"[Jas...]" the Kyyreni gasped again. His arm raised weakly to paw at the air.

"I'm sorry, doctor, but I don't think he's in any fit state to speak."

Drummond nodded reluctantly. "He needs proper medical treatment. Perhaps then he'll be more responsive."

"He needs to be thrown in a cage is what he needs!" Xler growled.

Drummond turned to the two Starfleet officers. "If this man is a soldier, then surely he deserves to be treated as you would wish to be treated?"

"He's a pirate," Alder said. "We've been pecked at by then every day for the past month. Small ships, alone or in packs, looting whatever they can take."

"If I may say, your after-action report suggests he was trying to destroy the Longboat, not capture her."

Alder shrugged. "She was a heavily armed merchant ship. His crew likely mistook her for a gunboat or a Q-ship. That's what they do, doctor; they kill the escorts so they can prey on the merchants without interruption."

"And he had a slave on board," Xler added with disdain dripping from every word. "We've had several ships left adrift with most of their cargo intact, but all the crew gone. Open and shut case."

"Look, doctor, if you're so fascinated by this guy you can hop over to the freighter that'll drag him back to Typhon. But we're not going to waste any more time on him. As far as I'm concerned he's just another pirate. If you can get me something to suggest otherwise, then I'll listen. Now if you'll excuse me..."

Aster took his leave and so did Xler. Drummond remained, curious about the captive guest. He licked his lips and practised shaping his mouth to form alien syllables a few times.

"[Yes... speak... duty you of... watching?]"

Vaahn blinked slowly at the disjointed words. "" he mumbled.

"You're tired? Yes, I understand but... [please yes... duty you? Duty you!]"

"[I don't understand,]" Vaahn sighed, too tired to carry on. He lay his head back and closed his eyes, shutting out the fractured attempts of the Human to resume conversation.

They kept Vaahn and Jas stable and sedated until Typhon. Ultimately, Drummond decided to join them.

* * *

Jas wasn't sure what was supposed to happen to him when he died. He'd never felt particularly religious, and the teachings of his Aspatrian parents were nothing but a blur; one of many memories he felt sick to try and recall. But he had developed a vague notion that if he was honest, hard working and obeyed his betters, Kalkar would allow him to enter the Silver Fields and he would... drink, probably. And feast. And there was something about being reborn after the end of the world to start the next one. He wasn't too strong on the details.

But he was certain the afterlife didn't involve waking up in a hospital bed and discovering he was a seven year old girl.

The early days were difficult to say the least. Jas had never learned Panglish, but recalled just enough of his native tongue to allow basic communication with a carer, who acted as his translator as various people came to speak to him. Most of them wore uniforms that Jas had come to recognise as Icaran military. He did not like speaking to them, and made this known many times.

Mostly, Jas talked to Drummond; a balding man in his sixties who had the mannerisms of an amiable grandfather. He always appeared to be fascinated by anything and everything that was said to him, as though listening to Jas struggle through his mixed-language accounts was the most interesting thing anyone had ever uttered.

It was a Monday morning, and all the other Rejuves were off to school. Jas didn't go with them; while his carers wanted him to socialise more, they felt it was more beneficial to keep him at home and focus on essentials like reading, writing and speaking basic Panglish. Besides, they reasoned, he had been subjected to a prolonged trauma and throwing him into social situations too early might make things worse.

Jas was in his room, and he clung to "his" because he found the very idea of being a girl deeply upsetting. He wasn't sure why exactly. He was also alone, eschewing the company of his Human foster parents. This was mostly because being around his mother made his stomach knot, and he kept finding himself staring at her crotch. There was also a nagging fear of being raped by his father.

He hadn't mentioned this to Drummond, but he had confessed it to his carer. He'd also felt the need to explain, several times, and in very definite terms, that Vaahn and his family had not abused him. When the carer responded, "then why do you think you feel this way?" Jas had been unable to reply, and had tried not to think about it any further.

The Aspatrian child was called, and after a few awkward introductions it was agreed that Drummond and the carer could come into the bedroom. Jas sat on the bed, Drummond cross-legged on the floor with a datapad in his lap, and the carer stood off to the side.

"Jas, I'd like to talk about the Kyyreni you lived with. Is that alright?"

"Sure."

"You've mentioned a name... Varn? Who was Varn?"

"Vaahn was-" he paused, suddenly unsure of how to proceed. Drummond noticed the hesitation. "I mean, I don't... it's complicated."

"Is the one who imprisoned you?"

Jas shook his head sharply. "No. That was Brahlt, Vaahn's father. Vaahn was good to me. We were... friends. Well not really friends. Um."

Drummond gave a smile that radiated patience and understanding. "It's alright, Jas. I know that you've had visits from military types. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. They know you were taken against your will. Nobody's going to blame you for making friends with a Kyyreni."

Jas let out a long sigh, trying to pretend that was what had caused his hesitation. "We were lovers," he confessed. "It just sort of happened. I was a slave at first, but I grew up with Vaahn. He was always interested in me. That interest became a friendship, and then it became physical. Eventually they stopped seeing me as a slave and I became part of the family. They were kind to me."

"I'm sure they were," Drummond replied. Jas noticed the man making notes. "What did... Bralt.... do exactly?"

Jas shrugged. "He was a soldier I think. I never really got to know him."

"And what did Varn do?"

"Drink and fight people, mostly."

"He was a soldier?"

"Sometimes."

"Sometimes? You mean he was a mercenary? A soldier for hire?"

Jas rolled the words around in his head. "I guess. He'd go away sometimes, for weeks, months or even years at a time. He'd come back with money, slaves and stolen goods. I didn't like the idea of him hurting people, so he never talked to me about it."

More notes were taken. "was he important to the Kyyreni? Was he rich or powerful?"

Here, Jas felt, he had to tread carefully. "We lived in a big old house with a lot of other families. Yvenik was a crowded city, all terraced homes and everyone packed together. Vaahn kept talking about how he'd... I'm not sure what the word is... repaired I think. The house needed to be repaired. Vaahn never seemed to have enough money to do it though."

"But he could afford to keep a slave?"

"I sort of belonged to all the families," Jas replied, again sticking to half-truths. "It's difficult to explain. Their culture is very different to this one."

"I'm sure it is."

Their discussion lasted forty five minutes in all, and was ended when Jas announced he was too tired to continue (another half-truth). Drummond thanked the child, and Jas' new parents appeared soon after to tuck him in for a well-earned nap.

When the door clicked shut, Jas rolled onto his back and help up his right hand, staring at the "M" tattooed into his skin. He let his hand drop and clenched his eyes tight shut as tears rolled down his cheeks. "Vaahn, please be okay. I need you to be okay..."

* * *

He was learning Panglish quickly, although he pretended otherwise. They spanked him often, made him sit on painful stools, or stand in the corner for hours on end, or stand barefoot on irregular stones. They had plenty of ways of hurting him, but pain was something he'd known all his life. Pain was a challenge to overcome, and so he overcame it.

The rage helped. To awaken as a child again and be looked down upon as a common thug, to have his Noble standing ignored, to be denied his place at Kalkar's side... it all coalesced and crushed together like a star, exploding into a pure, primal fury that made him dangerous, despite his diminutive stature.

He had nothing left to live for, and so he lived for vengeance. His every waking moment was consumed with thoughts of exacting revenge on those he deemed to have wronged him. And when he was introduced to the Penitatas School, he was quickly presented with an opportunity to see justice done.

He was escorted to the classroom by the headmistress, and all conversation stopped dead as he walked through the door. He was introduced to a room full of mutes, and took the indicated seat. Then the chatter resumed; low and suspicious. Vaahn was no fool, and knew to be ready for when things turned ugly.

Recess arrived, and the Kyyreni boy stepped outside with eyes and ears sharp for trouble. He'd had a few months to become familiar with his new body, but his opponents would no doubt have a physical and numerical advantage.

"It's a fucking dog!" someone hissed.

Another voice, a boy close by, jeered as he followed the school building around toward the grass field. "Didn't you fleabags get the message last time? Your kind don't belong on Icara!"

Someone threw a stone. It was small and did no damage, but it hurt a lot more than Vaahn expected. "Piece of shit! What did you do, huh? Were you one of the bastards skinning people alive on Maribahl?" Another stone hit him in the chest, but now he had the thrower in his heat sense. He was a boy of seven or eight years of age, backed up by three other Rejuves of varying ages, genders and species. Vaahn thought he caught a glimpse of an adult, who seemed to be totally unaware of the looming fight.

"Well? Answer me dog!" the lead boy barked. He loomed over Vaahn, who feigned fear and kept himself low, head covered. "Not so fucking tough now are you?"

The boy kicked out. The blow caught Vaahn in the stomach and he staggered backward, tears forming in his eyes. He straightened up, wiped his face with a sleeve, and growled at the Penny in a long, unbroken sound of animal aggression.

"Shit, you really are a dog! You need to be put down!" The bully lashed out with a punch, but he didn't know how to punch properly. Vaahn did. He took the blow, rolled with it, and threw one of his own that struck the older boy in the throat. Before anyone could react, Vaahn lunged forward, teeth bared, and bodily brought him to the ground in a flurry of blows and bites. Any of the other children could have easily pulled Vaahn clear, or beaten him down. None did. None dared to.

It was Vaahn's first victory, short lived as it was. The teacher miraculously regained his peripheral vision and ensured Vaahn was soon at the tender mercies of Miss Roughsedge, who sought to educate Vaahn that violence from him was never acceptable. Violence from her, it seemed, was another matter entirely.

But the weeks of pain and hardship and crying himself to sleep was worth it. Word got around, and rumour expanded his exploits to terrifying dimensions. By the time he returned to school, his class were convinced he'd bitten the boy's ear clean off, and half of them would swear Vaahn had gouged out an eye. They feared him now, and that was what mattered.

* * *

As Jas' language skills improved and the carer stopped being a permanent fixture in his life, it became increasingly clear that his new family just wasn't gelling with him.

Food was a tricky subject. Jas was unaccustomed to Icaran cuisine, but adapted quickly enough. Yet the fine details caught his parents off-guard. They were surprised at how Jas reacted to the idea of sharing cutlery with them, as though he should have his own personal set of knives, forks and spoons that nobody else be allowed to touch. Strangely, to Jas' mind, the surprise remained even after he explained that was how it had been on Urokon.

They encouraged him to make friends and tried to introduce him to some of the less rowdy neighbourhood children, only to show concern when Jas told them he wasn't comfortable with having girls in his room. It seemed that they couldn't understand how a society could have rules about how genders were supposed to interact with one another.

Soon after came the matter of religion. It seemed to Jas that his parents were frightened of the idea that he might worship Kyyreni deities, and while they showed little interest in religion themselves, they seemed inclined to try and expose their Aspatrian Medicalos to Christianity. Once again, despite his questioning, Jas never had a satisfactory explanation of why they felt concerned, or what they were trying to achieve.

It was as though the Dawn Kingdom's culture was an infection that the Icarans were afraid of contracting, and the more Jas showed signs of wanting to cling to his adopted culture, the more those around him pushed back. His therapist was no better, apparently working from the presupposition that Jas had been physically and mentally abused by the Kyyreni. Jas had long since stopped talking about the concerns he secretly harboured; the forbidden thoughts and perverted desires that had come flooding back to him since his Rejuvenation. He knew Vaahn and the House of Tu'ri were not to blame, but he also knew everyone else would disagree.

The breakthrough came from Drummond. His visits had become an increasingly rare occurrence, to the point where Jas had assumed he'd stop coming altogether. Together with his family, Jas sat in the living room as Drummond talked excitedly about his latest find.

"I did some digging into your past, Jas. Or should I say Seanne?" He handed a printout to the puzzled child showing photos and personal details of three Aspatrians; a husband, wife and young male child. "Your family came here to start afresh on a distant world, but their ship never made it. They were lost to the Kyyreni and- are you alright?"

Jas was sat with his hands clasped firmly over his muzzle, trying to stifle the sobs that had welled up inside him. It took a few attempts to coax any words out of him. "He made me... he made me have sex with my mother..."

The memories came flooding back. Memories he'd tried to conceal, memories that he thought he could leave behind forever. He talked about his early life for the first time, and of the things he'd been forced to do for his father's sexual pleasure. He talked about how his parents died. Simply picturing his mother lying on the cabin floor with a bullet in her back was almost too much for Jas to handle. Strangely, he found it so much easier to speak of his father. As he spoke of Anartes lying dead with a bullet in his back, Jas found an inner calm that he had not expected. He realised then, for the first time, that he truly loathed his birth father.

After that, his therapist had a lot more to talk about. He kept the name Jas. Seanne was dead, and Jas was glad of that.

* * *

To Vaahn, Icara was fascinating. It was fascinating in the same way that a traffic accident is fascinating; you stop and stare and wonder how that twisted mess of metal and flesh could have come together.

By seven years old, Vaahn was quickly regaining his physical prowess. He was strong and skilled at sports, and by his own estimation more intelligent than most. Yet none of these traits were valued on Icara. The strong were punished for using their strength; the intelligent scolded for making others look stupid. They felt it so important that everyone had a say, especially those with nothing to say. On the rare occasions when he was exposed to the holo what he saw was a parade of stupid, vapid idiots touted as brilliant and exceptional, as though the ability to look pretty and read a script made you worth something. Not that Vaahn was against artists, of course, but he'd never raise an artists to such lofty heights as the Icarans did. Where was the politics? Where were the heroes? Not once did he see a single figure worthy of being praised and idolised.

And that was the sad joke of it all. Icara, a world where any man could be granted a second childhood, had become a nation of children, devoid of adult values and adult aspirations.

That would change. Vaahn was sure of that. Now, more than ever, he knew that the war had been justified. Not only was Urokon's survival at state, but he saw now that Icara needed salvation as well. They needed leadership, a firm hand and sound mind to drag them from their infantile state and make something worthwhile of them. They had technology and wealth aplenty; all they needed now was a man with the vision to use it.

But the war was not progressing as quickly as Vaahn might like. Indeed, he had no idea how it was progressing at all. His parents were very careful to keep him in the dark about that, save to let slip something that made it sound as though the Icarans were winning. Vaahn dismissed that as propaganda, at least on the outside. Deep down, he knew better than most how plausible an Icaran victory was.

Yet he held out hope, and he held it with burning passion. What he didn't hold was his tongue. "When my people come for me," he would say, "you will regret how you've treated me."

The threat never helped, but he threatened anyway. They could beat him all they liked, but he would not break. He would stay strong, and he would have his victory.

* * *

The drive to and from school gave Jas plenty of time to talk with his parents. He went to a small school on the edge of the city. It was a specialist institution for Rejuves who needed more attention than most, and had only eighty or so pupils. All of them had suffered some form of trauma or another, and more than a few were war victims.

"I heard a rumour there's a Kyyreni living in the city," Jas said.

"Who told you that?" his mother asked.

"A boy in the park yesterday. She was a Penitatas, about the right age..."

"I don't think it's Vaahn. I'm not even sure he's alive any more, dear."

"It might be. We could find out."

"No, we can't. That wouldn't be appropriate."

Jas bared his teeth at the back of her head. "Why not?"

"Because..." Jas braced himself for another terrible excuse. "Because what you feel for him isn't healthy. You were his slave, Jas! You admitted he abused you!"

"No I didn't! I said- at first, maybe. But it wasn't like what you think!"

She sighed wearily. This kind of conversation was beginning to test her patience. "Jas, please. We're just trying to help you move on, to start a new life. I know it's difficult, but remember what your therapist told you?"

"Well he's wrong!" Jas growled. "And even if he were right, wouldn't it be better if I could see him and... I don't know... scream at him or something? Tell him how mad I am for being a slave for most of my life? Wouldn't that help me move on?"

She didn't have an answer, and she never would. Jas tried his best to find out more, to track Vaahn down, but he got nowhere. He never found any Kyyreni Penitatas, nor anyone who knew the name Vaahn. He held out hope that he simply lacked the resources to search properly. He knew, deep down, that Vaahn was still alive, waiting to be discovered.

He'd lost everyone and everything else. The idea of facing this new world alone didn't bear thinking about.

* * *

Vaahn lay face down on the bed and stared at the wall. He'd been in that position for over an hour; long enough for his parents to peer in, and then share a whispered conversation where they thought he couldn't hear.

"I'm worried, Tim" his mother said.

"Maybe we finally broke him?"

"I don't think we did anything. You should talk to him. He's more open with you."

"He barely talks to me!"

"You know what I mean. Please."

"Fine."

The door opened. Vaahn remained still as his father crossed the room, hovered by the bed and finally spoke. "Vaahn? I know we're not exactly on speaking terms, but if there's something troubling you I'd like to know about it. What's wrong?"

Like an arthritic old man, Vaahn shuffled himself around until he was sat with his back to the wall. He didn't meet Timothy's gaze. "What did I do wrong?"

Something in Vaahn's tone gave his father pause. "What do you mean?"

"Did I offend the Gods?" Vaahn asked himself. "Did we all offend the Gods? We spilled so much blood, we sacrificed so much. I sacrificed... He clenched his eyes shut and let his head droop. His ears folded against his skull. "How could we be defeated by children?"

Vaahn's final words were barely audible. "Vaahn? This is about the war, isn't it? The announcement that was on the holo?"

That at last got Vaahn's attention. The Kyyreni boy fixed his Human father with a look of pure, distilled contempt. "What else could it be?" Every word left his lips in a cold, steady rhythm, like a man loading bullets into a magazine.

"Well perhaps now you'll finally accept that this is where you belong," the man countered. "Your kind have lost, and the whole galaxy is celebrating that fact! Maybe now you can start learning how to live in a civilized society, and accept your wrongdoings."

Vaahn leaned forward, his eyes practically glowing with the inner fire that had suddenly lit in the boy. "This I swear upon the Gods, and the memory of my father, and the name of my bloodline," he hissed. "One day, I will burn. You. Alive."

All that did was make the weeks that followed harder than they needed to be. In the quiet hours between punishments, Vaahn felt something in him die; his faith. His faith in his people, in the Gods, and in himself. It was then he realised that he had been cast adrift, alone in an alien world, and no help was coming.

* * *

Seven years old for the third time, and a boy for the second, Jas felt better than he had in years. It had taken no effort at all to persuade his parents to have him Rejuvenated so he could swap genders again. In fact, it turned out his therapist had suggested the very same thing.

He was making real progress in other areas too. He was getting very good at lying to people. Now, when he told them he was trying to forget about Vaahn, they seemed to believe him. He was making new friends, he didn't have nightmares any more, and he no-longer had inappropriate thoughts about his mother, nor an irrational fear of his father. He never thought about his Aspatrian origins. He was an Icaran, that was all that mattered.

But he still kept a secret scrapbook of all the things he saw and heard. His parents weren't as clever as they thought they were, and he'd found out he wasn't allowed to go to certain parts of the city "just in case". In case of what? What other reason could there be?

He had a plan now, and he was sticking to it. In fourteen years he'd be a legal adult again, old enough to apply for information disclosure on Vaahn. They were technically family, right? The Department of Corrections would see it that way. He'd make them. Then, at last, he could... that part he wasn't clear on. He had to admit, sometimes the doubts were very strong. Maybe he didn't really care for Vaahn? No, meeting him again would decide that once and for all. He had plenty of time to change his mind. Fourteen years, at least. If he still wanted to find him after that, then it had to be real, right? It had to be more than Stockholm Syndrome, or whatever other excuses people made. It had to be...

For now, all Jas could do was wait. The life of a Medicalos was a pretty good one, and there was plenty to look forward to between now and then.

Epilogue - Many years later...

He tracked them down to a quiet little cottage twenty miles from the nearest settlement. That was good; it made what would follow so much easier.

Anna opened the door. She had aged well, with fair skin and auburn hair and barely a wrinkle. Hard to believe she was closing fast on sixty. She gasped in shock at the sight of him, and the black-armoured men behind him. "Hello again," Vaahn said.

He stepped inside, pushing Anna back into the house. Her cries brought Timothy running. He had not aged well at all; gone was the thick blond hair, and his fine facial hair had become grey and shabby. He wore a cardigan, brown with dark red diamonds, and slippers that were wearing through at the toes. He was a little quicker on the uptake, and recognised the fifteen year old Kyyreni immediately. "Vaahn? What are you doing here?"

"It's a nice place," Vaahn said with forced pleasantness. "Smaller than your old home, I think?"

"Get out!" Timothy snapped. "You aren't welcome here!"

"No, I never was. I remember that much; not in your home, nor on your world. I was never welcome. But now it's my world, isn't it? That must be why you fled out here, into the middle of nowhere. That must be why you've booked yourselves on a transport ship back to the Confederation. Aren't you proud of your Penitatas son?"

"What do you want?" Anna sobbed, shaking with fear at the sight of the black-clad men and their guns. One of them was carrying a large red can.

"I made a promise. An oath, in fact. With hindsight, I made it rashly, and if I had my time again I do not think I would make it again. But we must accept the choices we made. That was something you believed in, wasn't it? That I should accept my fate?"

"What in God's name are you talking about?" Timothy retorted. His eyes hadn't left Vaahn's.

"I swore to burn you alive, Timothy. On the Gods and on my ancestors, I swore an oath. And I could stand to be many things, but an oathbreaker is not one of them."

Anna shrieked in terror as one of the men took her. To his credit, Timothy rushed to her aid, only to be punched to the ground by Vaahn. Both of them were dragged into the bedroom and bound there. Thick wads of cloth were pushed into their mouths, not for fear they would raise an alarm, but to make it more bearable as the fuel was poured over them.

The men stood back, leaving Vaahn to finish the job himself. "For what it's worth, I am truly sorry. I regret this. I will regret this to my dying day. I wish I could make you understand, but I fear you never could."

The two bound victims watched in horror as Vaahn turned to one of his men and took from him a long, sharp blade. "Strictly speaking, I only swore to burn you, Timothy. Anna is just in the wrong place in the wrong time. So I'm going to do you both a kindness. I'll cut her throat before you burn."