Chapter 32
Returning to the Life Before

The dead of the Enforcers Guild were laid to rest in the shadow of the Founding Iron. The great stone obelisk, fifteen feet high, was speckled and weather-worn from exposure to the elements - elements that had not been present at the time of its erection. Stretching out eastward, down a subtle slope of dirt and sandstone, a hundred pits had been dug and filled with pyre kindling. Arranged inside the flammable lattices, wrapped in white cloth and arranged with respectful purpose, were the bodies of thousands of Guild members. Each pyre held hundreds of bodies, and their structures rose tall out of the sunken excavations. To the north of the field a fleet of construction vehicles stood silent vigil over their work site, waiting patiently for the cremation to end so the ashes could be buried. Further north still rose the wounded city dome.
It was a public service. Great screens had been erected so that mourners could watch the speakers at the podium set before the founding obelisk itself. Smaller interactive screens were present to help the grieving to find where their loved ones lay.
Guildmaster Kadan and his heads of staff sat closest to the podium, all dressed in their finest uniforms. There had been a great deal of debate as to who would fill each of those seats; the station of Corrector-Captain had been one closest to Kadan's own interests, and it had caused more than a little friction when the rank was bestowed upon Haal. The Guildmaster had done his best to explain to Torn and Emyl that passing them over was not an insult to their efforts, but a necessary action. In truth, the two young Correctors had gone above and beyond anything he'd expected of them. Prompted by the thoughts of Haal's promotion, Kadan glanced to his left, looking over Haal's head towards the other officers. The seat of the Madame Seneschal was filled by a middle-aged Nightsider who Kadan vaguely recognised, but could not name. The position of Enforcer General remained empty, the station unfulfilled; the Lady Administratrix was absent by choice, having found herself unable to face the emotional burden of the ceremony. If anyone begrudged her absence they wisely kept it to themselves.
Skal and Sam were sat to Kadan's right. The Broadcast Guild seemed especially fond of the Penny girl, putting her teary, heartbroken muzzle on the screens and their broadcast network alike. The sight of a child in mourning was a sure way to tug on the heart, but the girl did not weep for the Guild; her adoptive mother had chosen to leave Taviksaad with scarce warning. The Terror had been the final straw, and the goodbye painfully brief.
As the rejuve girl wept on his shoulder, Skal turned his eyes south. Arrayed there as an honour guard were representatives of House Vaskal. The Lord Governor and half a dozen men stood easy, with their left paws balled into a fist and placed just above the tail, their right paws resting on the hilts of their swords. They wore only loincloths and sword-belts. Their eyes remained fixed forward, their expressions neutral. Many attendees understood the tremendous act of respect this represented; a few had even dared approach the nobles to offer a few words of gratitude. None of the adults had acknowledged these words, as was expected.
Behind the line of warriors were females and children. One child, at least; a blond Kyyreni boy dressed in teal. Hafn Tavik, the boy who had once been Skal's friend. A boy whose life of laziness and selfishness had been rewarded by an elevation to nobility, and adoption into the most powerful family on Taviksaad. He turned his gaze away and tried to forget the boy existed.
At last, Guildmaster Kadan rose and took the podium. He waited patiently for the last Guild members and other guests to return to their seats or standing places. He gave a subtle glance towards a gathering of priests before making his address. "I wish to begin by thanking those who could not attend. The Guild has many responsibilities to this planet and its people. No doubt many of our brothers and sisters are listening or watching as best they can as they go about their work."
Kadan made an unplanned pause. The burden of the speech was clear upon his muzzle. Heavy eyes glanced down towards the concealed notes resting on the podium. "Perhaps more than any other Guild, we are called to sacrifice for Taviksaad. Today we lay to rest not only men of the line, but... women and children. All were taken from us far too soon."
The Guildmaster looked out at the masses of Kyyreni before him. The imbalance within the crowd was shockingly obvious; two-thirds of the Guild's attendees were female, and that was despite Kadan making extra efforts to give the men of the line, the Watch and the Border Guards leave to attend. It was then, looking out into a sea of tearful female faces, that Kadan truly realised the scope of their losses.
Kadan's blond-furred paw closed around a water bottle. The cold, filtered liquid did nothing to soothe the dryness in his throat. He soldiered on. "The duty of our Guild is, and always has been to safeguard Taviksaad. We are the first line of defence, and that is often an inglorious duty. History rarely remembers the threat turned away at the border, or dragged in shackles to the cells of Black Pit. History remembers the threats we could not contain, the enemies so numerous, so overwhelming, or so insidious that it requires military force to drive them out. History would spit on the memory of our dead if we allowed it to." The scarred and war-weary Kyyreni turned his eye to the Lord Governor and his entourage, who remained stoically distant on the sidelines. "Our dead are laid to rest here to ensure that will never happen. The Founding Iron is where Taviksaad was born. Beneath this obelisk is an ingot forged three thousand years ago in the forges of the First City, in the Empire of Oraahnaj. It is a bridge to our past, reminding us of who we are and where we came from. Our mothers and father, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters upon the pyres will become part of this sacred soil. A part of Taviksaad in a way few are privileged to be. Even if history forgets their sacrifice, the Gods will not." With his words given, Kadan returned to his seat.
There were other speakers, but they were simply buying time for the priests to move among the pyres and take their positions. Efforts had been made to arrange the dead by prime allegiance, so that those who favoured Vorhol, or Kalkar, or Risik could be sent upon their way by a priest of that deity. Those whose leanings were unknown, or who favoured a lesser god were left to the care of a Vorhol priest, as most considered him first among the gods of the Kyyreni pantheon.
As the pyres roared, the gathered were led in prayer. A few short lines later, they were free to stay or go as their hearts decreed. Kadan remained for some time, watching the pyre in which the former Guildmaster lay. He drew as close as the priests would permit, eyes narrowed against the heat. After several minutes, with beads of sweat dripping from his matted mane, he broke from his solitary reflection and returned to his two rejuved charges, who had stayed in their seats. He beckoned them with a few flicks of his fingers before walking towards Lord Governor Wokun and his entourage. There was a slight glassiness to the noble's gaze, though his focus returned as Kadan drew close. "Thank you for this," the Guildmaster said in a heartfelt tone.
Wokun gave the merest hint of a nod. There were protocols to be upheld, and Kadan understood that. "How long will you remain?" he asked.
The young ruler's eyes flickered briefly to the side, looking for the guidance of one of his older peers. The Houseguard answered on his behalf in a whisper, "The senior priest will speak with us shortly."
"The Guild is having a wake - well, several wakes. I'll be going to the Sinking Light soon, and we would be honoured if you wished to attend. No doubt Hafn would like to see his friends again," Kadan added, and as anticipated the boy's face lit up with excitement at the mention of his former home.
"I do not know if I can attend," Wokun replied with yet another flickering glance to his colleagues. Kadan struggled to read the true meaning of the comment.
"Well, the offer stands," he said, bowing to excuse himself from the conversation. Skal, trailing dutifully behind, found himself hoping that the Lord Governor turned down the invitation.
Kadan returned to the seats, finding only Corrector-Captain Haal lingering there. The boy was solemn, ears and tail heavy and lifeless. The medicalos glanced towards his Guildmaster and saluted, a gesture that made Kadan uncomfortable. "With your permission Guildmaster, I would like to stay a while longer. I feel I should offer a personal prayer to the Watchmen we lost."
"Can't let go of old loyalties?" Kadan asked with a fake smile. "Take as long as you need, Haal. Is Okad still here?"
Haal shook his head, "I believe the Watch-Captain has returned to Black Pit, where he will hold a wake for his office. The Watch keep to their own, Guildmaster. I am certain no disrespect was intended."
"I know what the Watch are like. Come to the Sinking Light when you're finished, that's where the Correctors will be raising glasses to the dead."

Skal watched the world go by from the tinted windows of the black-bodied hovercar. They travelled slowly, staying close to the ground, and so he was afforded a clear view of the devastation left in the wake of the Terror. The dome that once covered Wrongside was shattered, and beyond it Blister stood out like an open wound on the face of the main dome. A sea of tents and shanty structures had sprung up in the wasteland around the City. Most were orange, semi-rigid shelters to act as living areas, but scattered among them were colour-coded facilities for medicine, sanitation and food aid. Kyyreni of all ages and races moved back and forth with purpose, while others sat by the roadside and watched vehicles pass by with shaken, hungry eyes.
They passed through Outer Tenements and the partition space that housed both the old Hall of Correction and the Office of the Correctors. Both of these had survived the Terror largely unscathed; the explosive sabotage of the access way into Vices had forcibly removed them from the fighting there. Passing through the district partition wall via the aerial access door, the hovercar skimmed over the charred remains of businesses, storage lots and slum homes that had once made up southern Vices. The vehicle was forced to dip down sharply almost immediately, causing Skal to lose his balance and forcing the boy to grab tight hold of the ceiling handle. Above him was a swarm of worker platforms, anti-grav transports and hovering markers, all dedicated to work upon the crippled City dome. It seemed in worse condition than ever. A dozen long-necked cranes had been brought in to brace the structure, and these ad-hoc measures were being reinforced in real time by the addition of temporary pillars. Blue sparks shone like falling stars were plasma cutters hacked away at the gnarled, warped metalwork of the dome.
The Sinking Light had been temporarily expanded with an outdoor seating and dining area. Chairs and tables occupied the street outside the tavern's battered front. Posters put on the outer walls and street lights informed visitors that the establishment accepted all forms of Guild credit, while also warning certain menu items may be restricted or unavailable. Sound dampeners raised around the dining area helped lessen the noise from the myriad of construction projects, but it was still unpleasantly loud in the street. The visitors already present mostly wore the blacks and greys of Enforcers Guild uniforms.
The hovercar settled in a drop-off spot just north of the Sinking Light, causing an automated marker to sound a horn and bark out a monotone warning to leave within two minutes. Kadan escorted his Penny charges inside the tavern, exchanging nods and a few brief words to those he passed. Indoors, further efforts had been made to make the establishment feel welcoming. Almost every table had a black cloth draped over it, some with white cards indicating they were reserved for specific groups. A folding table had been set up near the door, which creaked softly under the weight of food and drink piled upon it. Kadan paused to pour himself a hefty measure of spirits before ushering the pair further in.
"Ivaka!" Kadan called out as he approached the bar. The Nightsider female twitched in surprise at the sound of her name, but relaxed when she saw who was calling her. "Is your boy around? I figured we should let the rejuves sit together."
Ivaka nodded and pointed to one of the tables. "Right over there. I also reserved the large table by the stage for you."
“I'd rather sit alone,” Kadan replied. Ivaka paused, then pointed out a small round table for the Guildmaster to occupy. Satisfied with her suggestion, Skal and Sam were gently ushered towards their own table where Ros and Kas were already waiting. The two boys had a paper bowl full of snacks between them and glasses of fruit juice. Kas looked their way as they approached and tried to smile, but there was little heart in it. Despite never being in harm's way as far as Skal could tell, the Terror had left Kas shaken and hollowed out. Skal didn't care to probe too deeply as to what had left the medicalos quite so troubled. "Are you sure you two are allowed to sit together?" Skal asked, hoping to lighten the mood with humour.
"We've been warned," Kas replied weakly. He subtly reached for Ros' paw and gave it a tender squeeze. "We saw you on the broadcast, in the limelight as always. Not sure I envy you though."
"Now that we're all here, how about I get something stronger?" Ros asked with a nod towards the bar. "Mum's put some spiced milk and jolth aside for us."
"Sounds good," Kas said. Once Ros had slipped away he asked, "how was the service? I thought about going but it all seemed a bit too much to take. A bit too real."
Skal tried to answer, but the words eluded him. It had been a difficult experience for him on many levels, not least of all because Hafn had been there. Although he hadn't really known the dead, he had felt their loss. The service had left him feeling closer to the Guild - a part of its community.
To the trio's mild surprise, Ros returned with an escort. A Dawnsider female in the grey uniform typical of an Enforcer admin helped bring their spiced milk to the table. The Kyyreni woman was in her late twenties or early thirties, and smiled pleasantly at them as Ros wriggled back into his seat. "I don't mean to interrupt, but you are Kas, yes? And you would be Skal?"
"That's us," Skal answered in a polite tone. After a fractional pause he thought to add, "what can we do for you?"
"Well, we have a lot of Guilders who have been rejuvenated recently, some of whom will be coming here shortly. I don't mean to put pressure on you, but you two have been rejuves for a while now. I'm sure you have some advice you can offer?"
Kas glanced shyly at his glass and mumbled, "I can sure tell them what not to do."
There was a subtle stiffening of the female's face at his comments. "I remember that you were accused of desertion. It seemed an awfully harsh punishment to inflict on people so young."
"We'll think about it and come up with something," Kas added, mostly in the hope the half-hearted promise would make the woman leave, which it ultimately did. He took a long draw from his glass and added, "I am not in the mood to be giving advice. I want... I don't know what I want."
"I want another," Sam sighed. She was already most of the way through her glass.
The room around the rejuves slowly filled, and the ambient noise level rose to match. Skal noticed the table next to them was taken up by four boys - three Dawnsiders and a Nightsider - all around his age. He knew they were medicalos without seeing their paws; it was the lost, sheepish nature of the boys that gave it away. From another, a male with a booming voice was singing the praises of one of his dead friends, making the fallen Enforcer out to be a legendary hero worthy of song and story. From outside, Skal thought he heard the shrill tones of a stringed instrument. He let a mouthful of milk warm him and focused on Ros for a moment. "Any idea when the school reopens? I think I'm actually missing Udum's lessons!"
"Me too," Ros answered with a guilty grin. "Not that I'm keeping score or anything, but I think I got in trouble the least out of everyone in the class."
"He probably forgets you're even there. You just let Hafn take all the smacks for you!" Sam snarked, and Skal shuddered irritably at the mention of the name.
Kas finished his glass and offered his thoughts. "You guys are lucky though, being taught by someone who tutored nobility! A lot of people would kill for a chance like that. Maybe I should go rob a bank or something and get myself a place in your class," he added, flashing the cheeky grin that had been too long absent from his muzzle.
Skal nodded in agreement. "You're right, it's not fair we're the only ones who get taught by him. That and I want to see him take a ruler to your backside!" The penny boy laughed as Kas, in an act of faux offence, took a handful of nuts and threw them at him. None of the four noticed the disapproving looks they got from the nearest adults, nor did they care; the melancholy had lifted, and the rejuves had found a sliver of their new childhoods again. They drifted into happier, irreverent talk, freed for a time from fears and burdens.
After a while a festive spirit began to take hold - which was largely the point. Mourning was selfish; better to celebrate the life that was, and the well-earned fate of the soul thereafter. The Kalkarians, who pledged their souls to a warrior god were proud of how their fellow Guildsmen had died standing, with wounds all to the fore. The more numerous Vorholans, while not explicitly believing in a warriors death, saw the heroic last stands and running battles as a purpose fulfilled. The Enforcers Guild existed to defend Taviksaad from its enemies, and they had done that at a truly terrible blood price. It was the followers of 'lesser' deities that struggled most to frame the wake as a joyous thing, for their was no 'good luck' in dying, nor were bountiful harvests or fertile wombs brought about by the slaughter. However, these were firmly in the minority. Before long, the Sinking Light's stage was being taken over as if it were a Winter Hall, with speakers fashioning the first of the oral histories of the Terror. For Skal, this moment was spoiled by the fact that these stories deviated from what he knew to be true about the battle of Vices. Most upsetting to him personally was how nobody mentioned his role in the slaying of Haakyr - a feat that was attributed to Eskal, now widely hailed as some form of Lifeward to Hafn Tavik.
After a second glass of milk, Skal's inhibitions began to slip. The wiser part of his mind, which he thought of as the 'adult' part in introspective moments, knew he should sit quiet and enjoy the company of his friends. The child mind, emboldened by the alcohol within the drink, demanded the account be set right. The eyes of his peers fixed on him with a mix of surprise and alarm as he thrust himself upright, and at almost the same moment the room fell silent. The boy paused, turning to see what might have pre-emptively stolen his thunder, and saw Hafn.

Kadan turned his eyes from the photograph at his table, his attention drawn by the silence. Framed in the doorway was Wokun, Lord Governor of Taviksaad, still shirtless with a blade at his hip. The men who followed close behind him were far from ceremonial in appearance, with dark green uniforms that shimmered like fish-scale as they moved. Battle-weave, Kadan guessed. They had their swords slung on their backs and bullpup carbines on their chests. One of the weapons, carried a well-groomed Dawnsider only a few years older than Wokun, had two thick cables extending from where the magazine should have been and connecting to a box on his hip. The other Kyyreni, much older and half-cyborg, wore half a dozen ballistic magazines on bandoliers across his body. With those three Dawnsiders drawing all the attention, Kadan almost didn't notice Hafn.
“Guildmaster!” Wokun called out just loudly enough to be heard over the dying chatter and background music. “I would accept your invitation, if it still stands?”
All eyes now turned to Kadan, who gave a single nod. The room exploded into howls of approval and the stamping of foot-paws. Wokun bent down to whisper a few words to Hafn, sending the boy rushing off in search of Ivaka before winding his way to Kadan's table. The guard with the laser-weapon followed him, the other stalked after Hafn.
“Is that a photograph?” Wokun asked as he took the empty seat opposite Kadan.
The Guildmaster nodded, offering it over. “It was in her office, framed on her desk. The display version in the main hall was destroyed by fire, but that one survived. The master print is with the Photographers I think.”
Wokun studied it carefully. “I confess that I didn't know her all that well. I don't know most of your senior staff, yourself included I suppose.”
“That why you're here? You want to get to know me?” Kadan's voice had an edge of disapproval to it.
Wokun glanced to his guard. “Fetch us a drink, Vjar. Buy a bottle of something decent, and go relax yourself.”
“Lord-”
“Now, Vjar!”
After a pause, the guard obeyed. He returned with two glasses and a bottle of Terran spirit, then begrudgingly retreated once more. Wokun studied the label. “Scotch? Have you drunk this before?”
Kadan shrugged and poured one for himself. The glass had subtle lines inside to indicate a single and double measure. Kadan poured clear above both. When he set the bottle back down he watched as Wokun picked it up, only to pause in the act of pouring. The Lord Governor met the Guildmaster's eye, then took a slug from the bottle directly. “Whose benefit was that for?” Kadan asked.
“I would ask the same of you. Trying to impress me with your ability to put it away?”
Kadan glanced down at his glass. “This is how I drink,” he growled, and knocked back most of the glass. “I've drunk worse.”
“Not to your liking?”
“If it's imported, it's expensive. I don't want to develop a taste for expensive drink,” Kadan answered.
Wokun poured a double measure rather than drink from the bottle again. “You can charge your Guild, Guildmaster. There's no obligation to pay with your own coin.”
“I don't like to do that. I like to be my own man, pay my own way.”
“Won't be a problem now, surely? You will be paid well as a Guildmaster, and you live on Guild grounds. You could treat yourself? Enjoy a little opulence?”
“I know my place in the world,” Kadan growled. His glass was refilled again, above the mark.
Wokun seemed to study him for a few moments. “Your place? If I might speak plainly, you carry more power and influence than many of noble station. You have earned the spoils of your station, Guildmaster. Indulge them.”
“You indulge them,” Kadan answered back. The scotch was disappearing rapidly. “In fact, indulge us another bottle of something.”
To the Guildmaster's surprise, Wokun's paw closed over his own. “Perhaps you should slow down and savour the drink?”
“You and I drink for very different reasons. Let go of my paw.”
“I took your words to heart,” Wokun continued after releasing Kadan, “You told me to be better than you, although I confess I didn't truly understand what you meant at the time. But I've had time to think on it; it's a lesson many men have tried to teach me. Patience, and a cool head. Two things that don't come easily at times.”
Kadan snorted dismissively, “I don't even remember what I said. I'm getting another bottle.”
“Please, stay. More alcohol will not make speaking easier.”
Kadan glanced down at Wokun's paw once more holding him, this time by the forearm. “I will hit you, Lord Governor,” he warned.
“If you like, I'm game for a rematch,” Wokun said with a faint smile.
Kadan's eyes narrowed. His lips thinned, parting just slightly as a low growl escaped them. He bit back his instinctual reaction and muttered, “I need a piss.” Wokun nodded, let him go, and then to Kadan's annoyance rose to follow him. “I wasn't asking for a fucking escort.”
“But my lifeward will insist that I have one, and you can assure my safety whatever imagined assassin lurks in the latrine,” Wokun countered.
The latrines had only one occupant, who was finishing up as the pair entered. Kadan, conscious of his supposed role as escort checked the stalls before attending to his own needs. He noted that Wokun did not wait for his check to finish before approaching the urinals. “Why are you trying to be friends with me, Lord?” he asked wearily.
“Perhaps it's because I have so few of them,” the young Kyyreni replied mournfully.
The Guildmaster gave a drunken snort. “No offence meant, Lord, but you are half my age or near as damn it. That and...”
“I assure you, your relationship with my sister is not an issue.”
“Good. Because we'd have an issue if it was an issue.” Kadan shook out the last few droplets and turned toward the sink. The water was icy cold, and he indulged a sobering splash of it upon his face. “Lord, it's been a difficult say, so I apologise if I have been abrasive.”
“Your 'abrasiveness' is more appreciated than you might think, Kadan. There aren't many men who speak to me as honestly as you do,” Wokun added as he washed his own paws.
As Wokun turned towards the nearest dryer, Kadan met eyes with his Lord and studied the young man's features, seeing the flicker of doubt and anxiety there. He snapped at him in a rasping tone, “Maybe I'm reading you wrong, lord, but it's starting to feel like you're propositioning me.”
Wokun recoiled, shock and hurt flashing across his young, scarred features. He rallied well and spat back, “I am not so desperate as to need some crude pleasuring in a latrine, Guildmaster! I think you imagine yourself more desirable than you are!”
“Your sister certainly thinks I'm desirable!” Kadan answered back, childishly.
Wokun bit back his reply, steadying himself before speaking more calmly. “She is not the only one.”
“Fucking hell!” Kadan spat, shaking his head in disbelief. “You're doing a fine job of convincing me someone else should be running this place!”
Wokun pushed past him and shoved the door open. “What I said was in confidence, is that understood?”
“I am in no rush to tell anyone about this,” the Guildmaster answered.
“Good,” Wokun wore a sour look upon his muzzle, but Kadan noted a tail flick in the corner of his vision. “Come, let's finish our drink in honour of your fallen men.”

From the moment he sat down, the whole world revolved around Hafn Tavik. It began with the subtle awe in Ros' face as the former-penny sat down at the table, although that might have been due to the bodyguard who hovered behind the rejuve; a monster of a Kyyreni, covered head to toe in scars and cybernetic implants. Someone had spent a small fortune rebuilding him into an avatar of intimidation.
“So how's life as a noble?” Ros asked with a friendly smile.
“It's amazing!” Hafn blurted out, having clearly been longing for that question. “I have my own room, a bit small but the stuff inside is unbelievable! All my furniture is made of antique wood, there's these gorgeous lacquered wall panels all around, it's fantastic!”
“And what exactly do you have to do?” Skal asked with just a hint of resentment, which Hafn failed to notice.
“Nothing much yet, just basic lessons. I have to learn a whole lot of stuff, it's like one of Udum's classes on steroids!” Hafn reigned in his excitement a little and added, “Although, to be honest, it has been a little lonely. There are only two or three rejuves, and they don't like me mixing with the 'real' children much. I mean, Dokkr's great and all, but I just wish I had someone to play with.”
“Well if that's your only problem I'd say you're doing pretty well,” Ros said. “Would you like a drink?”
“I will get it,” the bodyguard said, gesturing with his artificial paw to indicate Ros should stay seated. “You have a preference, sire?”
“Oh, is there any spiced milk left?” Hafn asked. The bodyguard nodded and headed for the drinks table. “That's Dokkr, by the way. He has so many insane stories! He fought in a colony war on Jaahlnvar for the Imperial Loyalist movement against Tzajiian Separatists. He took a tank shell and boom Blown in half!”
“So he fought for the homeworld? I thought we were against them?” Kas jumped in.
Hafn paused, “I thought so too, but Dokkr said 'it's complicated'. I think he said the Oraahnaj colonists want closer ties to our world, while the Separatists want to throw in with other worlds still loyal to Tzajii.”
“I don't really care about this political stuff,” Skal growled, and this time his frustration was too obvious to ignore. He hastily shifted tone and tried to save the fumble, “I didn't mean to snap.”
Hafn gave his friend a sympathetic look. “No, I get it. Eskal has been really vague about what happened after you went missing, but seeing what those Daysider bastards did to him I... I can't imagine how terrifying it must have been for you. I'm really sorry guys, I guess the last thing anyone wants to talk about is war right now.”
Dokkr returned with Hafn's drink, placing it down in front of the boy before taking up his station again. The giant's presence was an effective curb for Skal's bitterness; it was hard to give lip in front of someone who looked like they could pull his limbs off without much effort.
Kas, ever the seedy sort, broke the pause with a lewd smile as he asked, “is it true you get a sex slave? Ow!” the boy flinched as Ros punched him hard in the shoulder, which drew a quiet chuckle from Dokkr.
Hafn blushed hotly at the question. “I never thought to ask about something like that.”
“Whose turn is it to get drinks?” Sam asked. There was a subtle shift in her cadence that suggested more alcohol was wanted, but not advised.
“I'll see what's left,” Skal replied. He slipped from his chair and headed to the bar, where  Ivaka and her staff were trying to keep on top of demand. A Dawnsider male eventually came over to Skal. “Can I get five glasses of spiced milk, please?”
The barman frowned at the request. “Haven't you lot had two already?”
“Please?” Skal repeated, doing his best to offer puppy eyes. The server relented, and he was soon winding his way back to the table with a tray of drinks in paw.
As he passed the table of medicalos the Nightsider called out to him. “Is there alcohol in that? Are we allowed to drink?”
“Why not? It's a kid's drink, right?”
“I guess, but it's not given to children unsupervised, and you've had a few...”
Skal frowned at the unfamiliar youth. He took a moment to glance around the room before answering, “my father's over there, so feel free to tell him if you think we're drinking too much.”
All four medicalos followed his gaze to the table where Guildmaster Kadan and the Lord Governor were drinking together. He settled back into his seat with their mouths still agape, and grinned ear to ear when he saw the look in Kas' eye. It said [i]nicely done![/i] Kas took it a step further, sharing out the glasses and raising his own in toast, “To the magnificent testicles of Skal the Reborn, son of Kadan!”
“There's only one set of testicles you should be praising!” Ros snapped, ears back and teeth barred in fury. This outburst caught them all flat-footed, but as suddenly as Ros' rage came it vanished in an explosion of laughter. “I couldn't resist! You should see your face!”
“Oh fuck you!” Kas laughed back, and the five drank together.

With the table becoming more relaxed, none of them noticed the arrival of another rejuve. The sound of Haal clearing his throat made Skal jump, to the boy's anger and the raucous approval of the others. “May I join you?” Haal asked with a hint of unease in his voice. There was a shuffling of seats to make space, though the boy had to find his own chair.
“I was starting to think you weren't coming, Haal!” Kas joked, if only to regain the initiative after being flat-footed by Ros' outburst.
“The Guildmaster wished me to attend,” Haal answered, which drew more than a few disapproving looks.
“You should want to attend,” Kas said, losing much of his humour, “this is for the brothers and sisters we lost!”
“The funeral was for the dead, and I paid respects to them there. I have never seen the value in these wakes; they appear to be an excuse for drunkenness, nothing more.”
Kas groaned and shook his head, “I was having a great time until you showed up. Do you think we'd be allowed more alcohol?”
“Afraid not, I was pushing my luck getting that last round,” Skal answered. Neither he nor anyone else caught the subtle twitch of pain on Haal's muzzle in response to Kas' dismissive tone.
Haal turned his head as if to survey the room and gave a half-hearted comment, “please excuse me, but there are others I would like to see. I will see you back at the Office in due course, I'm sure,” with that, the new Corrector-Captain left the table.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly, especially as the stories of the dead gave way to music. It was mostly lively and upbeat, though after a while the band played Loyal Unto The End, the unofficial anthem of the Guild. That song acted as a subtle message that people were free to leave, and though not all did Kadan wandered over with a sway in his step and the smell of hard spirits around him. “Time to get you home,” he said with a slurred voice.
Dokkr glanced towards his House-Lord and gently tapped Hafn on the shoulder, signalling he too should leave. Ros gave Kas' paw a goodbye squeeze that made Sam 'aww' and the boy blush, then the group made their way out into the street.
A hovercar was waiting for the nobles. Wokun paused before entering, turning around to stare up at the work being done on the City's dome. “It was a wonder of the stars,” he sighed. “The largest colony dome ever constructed.”
Kadan followed his gaze and blinked drunkenly at the wound. “What do you mean 'was'? They're fixing it, aren't they?”
Wokun shook his head. “The means to do so is lost to us. The machine-shops and industrial base has been repurposed, the knowledge base died out centuries ago. We can repair it, but it would be a sub-standard job. The integrity of the entire structure would be forever compromised.”
“Then what the fuck are they doing up there?” the Guildmaster growled.
“Some believe we should leave the wound open, trim down the edges and let Vices bask under open sky. Others would have us seal the damage with a reinforced perspex window, a compromise of both. I find myself wondering if that wound was the product of compromise.” Wokun looked down at Kadan and asked, “what would you do?”
“I'd fix the fucking roof. Good evening, Lord Governor.” Kadan turned his back on the Lord of Taviksaad, taking his penny charges by their paws and tugging them along behind him. Yet his ears were turned side-on, listening for the purring of the anti-grav systems rising to signal the Lord Governor's departure. Then he slowed, gave a last glance up at the wounded dome and said aloud to himself, “Gods help us if it all came down.”

The Office of the Correctors became louder and busier by the day. Kadan's insistence on remaining on site, a place that in his own words was meant to be a home for Skal, had various logistical consequences. Their basic infirmary was being restocked with more supplies and better equipment, additional security staff were being rotated in, and facilities had to be in place to provide for them. All of this was on top of the reforms of leadership taking place within the Correctors themselves, and an uptake in new staff. There was an unspoken understanding that Skal and Sam were not welcome on the lower floors anymore.
The main office of the Correctors had moved to a new, temporary location, with plans to knock through and make a double office on the middle floors. This would belong to Corrector-Captain Haal, Torn and the other men of the Guild who coordinated and oversaw the on-site work. They had also set up the so-called “women's wing”, where a growing body of young ladies oversaw the financial side of the Correctors. Given the changes, they were spending a great deal.
Mercifully, the upper floors were untouched, giving Skal and Sam a place to shelter from the increasingly frantic Guild life. With the weight of recent days still heavy upon his shoulders, and freshly frustrated from listening to Hafn boast of unearned rewards, Skal desperately needed to find escape. Thankfully, with only minor reminders, the play room in the loft gave him exactly what he needed. Like so many others in the building, Skal and Sam had woken up to pounding heads, although theirs were tame compared to the hangovers of the adult drinkers. Kadan in particular looked and sounded as though he were still drunk when he joined the two penitatas for breakfast, and quietly, yet firmly sent them straight up to the loft after they ate.
Skal was happy to comply. The penny boy dropped himself into a beanbag chair and fetched his notebook, turning to a new page with a pen in hand as his eyes wandered to his collection of ship models arranged nearby. They were perched upon a stack of game boxes that Sam had brought with her upon moving in, and on the floor in front of them were game boards; a gridded gaming mat depicting a dungeon, cardboard hex-maps of ancient ruins, and a fabric square with plastic trees weighing down the corners. Pieces from the games were arrayed about from where they had played out Skal's ideas. He put pen to paper, carefully forming runic symbols for statistics in his imagined game. Every so often he turned to an earlier page to see what ruled he'd used for other vessels, and line by hand written line he brought into being a battle platform bristling with laser batteries and plasma torpedo launchers.
“You happy writing over there?” Sam asked in an upbeat tone.
Skal glanced up at her and gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I didn't mean to ignore you. I just needed to focus on something.”
“It's fine, you carry on.”
Skal put his pad aside and hopped from his seat. “No, it's not fine. What did you want to play?”
“No, really! You write your space game! I'm just going to roll up a paladin for fun.”
Skal cocked his head at the unfamiliar term. “What's a... palyadn?”
“Paladin! She a holy warrior who-” Sam paused, then held up a book depicting a group of humans (some oddly proportioned) using ancient weapons and armour. In front of them, atop a pile of gold, was a great winged lizard breathing fire. “This is a game book for Dungeons and Dragons. It's a game my dad used to play with me. It's like my other board games, with wizards and monsters, only it's also a story game. One player is the Dungeon Master and they create a world for the others to play in. The rest make heroes who work together to defeat the villains of the story. It's fun!”
“It's set in ancient Earth?”
Sam shook her head, “not really, more like a fictional version of Earth. It's like... imagine the Five Empires Era but with wizards, and the Gods and Demons send their agents into the world to fight for them, and if you're really powerful you can go to alternate worlds where the elemental forces rule.”
Skal met all of this with a blank stare. Sam sighed and changed gears. “Here, why don't I walk you through the characters?”
With Sam playing the role of translator, Skal did his best to follow along as she talked him through the heroes he could play. He could certainly see the appeal of the 'paladin'; a warrior blessed by a diety to fight for a righteous cause. “I have other games too, somewhere. One's a really old sci-fi game about aliens trying to take over Earth in secret, then there's one that's like D&D but a lot darker, more horror and ancient evil stuff! I also have a Generic Universe rulebook, that's just a basic set to rules to help you invent your own game. That has more guns and tech stuff so you can make a modern setting.”
“Shame I can't read any of it,” Skal replied with a smile. “But the pictures are good.”
Sam gave him a wide grin, “Okay, now I have something to do – teach you Panglish!”
Skal escaped the language lessons by helping Sam unpack all her roleplaying books instead. It felt strange to think that so many of her belongings had never been unpacked, but it was also true that she had far more books, toys and games than Skal ever had. Some of the little monsters and fantasy warriors had been hand painted by her or her father, the latter of which she was especially protective of and quickly gave them pride of place on a shelf. “I don't know why I left them in a box so long,” she sighed as the the various medieval humans were lined up in opposition to their green-skinned enemies.
The stairs creaked softly to warn of a new arrival. Corrector-Captain Haal appeared, looking almost apologetic. “I hope I'm not interrupting.”
The pair sat down, wordlessly indicating they were ready to give him their attention. He approached stiffly, his formality making the two penitatas nervous. “I felt this best said sooner rather than later. I wished to speak to you regarding your due punishments, those granted by dint of your penitatas status. As a part of your sentence you are supposed to be subject to summary corporal discipline three times per week, a stipulation that has not been adhered to. I regret to inform you that will change from this day forward.”
“Did we do something wrong?” Sam asked.
Haal hesitated briefly before answering her. “Only that which saw you sentenced, Sam. The fault was ours, not yours. You benefited from it, but it reflects poorly upon the Guildmaster if his own penitatas are not punished in accordance with the law. If the Guildmaster is not available to administer your punishments personally, it will fall to myself or another member of the Office to enact the punishment.”
“And that's why you came up here,” Skal said.
Haal nodded. “Yes, Prospect.”
Sam let out a pouting huff of breath at the news. Skal settled for letting his ears droop. “Are you doing this now?”
“Sooner rather than later seems best. That gives you the rest of the day to do as you wish.” The medicalos pointed towards the pillory at the side of the room, set up to assist in punishing the pair as needed.
Though he had no wish to do so, Skal allowed himself to be restrained. He reasoned that there was little to gain from causing trouble, especially today. He settled on putting a brave face on for Sam, which made the ordeal easier. He felt his pants unfasten and fall around his ankles, then a paw grip his tail and raise it aside. “I am about to begin,” Haal warned, before a cane whooshed and connected against the fur of Skal's rear with a loud crack. The boy jolted, teeth clenched together against the sharp sting in his rear, which was joined by a second before he had a chance to properly settle again. Despite only being seven physically, Haal managed to put a surprising amount of force into the caning.
A dozen evenly-spaced swats left Skal's rear stinging, and his muzzle reddened. A few stray tears leaked out, but he at least resisted full on crying. Haal released him, then repeated the process with Sam. Skal stood rubbing his backside as Haal lifted Sam's tail and brought the cane down on her blonde-furred cheeks, a flare of anger simmering in his heart at seeing his girlfriend hurt.
It was over mercifully quickly, though Sam took her licks a little harder than he had. She was blubbing softly, and sought comfort in his arms, which he gave without hesitation. Neither of them cared much that they were still bare below the waist.
After putting the cane away, Haal turned to the sorry pair and said quietly, “I will understand if you feel we can no-longer be friends.”
The two penitatas settled quickly, as their hugs had a wonderful way to calm one another. “It is going to make things weird if he's the one spanking us now,” Skal muttered.
“It's not like he has a choice,” Sam countered.
“Of course he does! He just can't stand the idea of the rules not being enforced to the letter! Oh forget it, I don't want to talk about this. Can we go back to your games?”
Sam gave a sniffling smile, “Sure. I'm certain there's at least one setting in all of these you'll like! Hang on, I think that one over there has spaceships...”

Even with the light spanking, the two penitatas had a pleasant morning together. There was still no word of the Penny School reopening, and so that meant more time to play. Yet for Skal at least there were lessons to attend, which Kas reminded him after lunch. With Sam sent back upstairs, Kas escorted Skal to the main Correctors office to find out where the boy was supposed to go for his Guild education now.
The door opened to an argument, much to Kas' surprise. Torn and Emyl were stood on either side of an admin desk, not quite shouting but certainly raising voices and bristling fur at one another. “I'm not trying to get rid of you, I'm just saying that your department is getting a whole office now and so you should set up with them!”
“I don't want to be in that office, I want to be here! I deserve to be in the main office, Torn!” the female Corrector barked back. “Besides, I'm used to most of my colleagues being on the other side of the City, so if anything it's still easier for me to do my job from right here than it was before!”
“You-” Torn paused, “fine. Stay right here.”
“Really? Good. Glad we got that sorted,” the young woman glanced towards the door and gave an embarrassed grin. “Oh, how much of that did you hear?”
“More than you'd like,” Kas chuckled. “What's the deal with the Prospects these days?”
A palpable chill filled the room as Torn returned to his desk. “Not a clue, sorry.”
Kas' smile died. “Do we have any kind of training officers to contact?”
“I think that's become a low priority,” Emyl answered. “But there are training materials on the internal network you could use.”
Kas accepted the suggestion with a nod and beckoned Skal to join him at a corner desk. “I'm starting to get that 'I could use another drink' feeling,” he said with a single dry laugh.
“Hey, don't stress yourself because of me,” Skal said earnestly. “I bet Sam would like to have someone hang out with her.”
“Aww, aren't you thoughtful! Worming out of work under the guise of caring about me!” the medicalos' eyes regained a little of their twinkle, and his tail gave a little flick as he took his seat. “No, I'm good here. I have thoroughly learned that particular lesson.”
While Kas tried to work his way through the labyrinthine file structure of the Enforcers Guild intranet, the door to the office creaked open once more to reveal their new commanding officer. Corrector-Captain Haal strode into the office, proudly wearing a newly minted rank insignia on his collar. The spring in his step and slightly-smug grin on his muzzle faltered as he took in the room. “We are short staffed,” he said.
Torn nodded. “Jaahat has been held back by medical, so he won't be here until the end of the week. I haven't been told why the other two aren't here, but there's still a lot of confusion.”
Emyl piped up from her desk, “According to admin records, none of our new recruits have been officially transferred over yet. I'll chase it up.”
Haal furrowed his brow as he turned towards the female. “Why are you still working out of this office, Administrator Emyl?”
“I like it here,” she answered impatiently.
“We're both fine with it captain,” Torn added.
The diminutive captain's lips pursed in frustration. “I would appreciate being consulted ahead of time if working arrangements are going to be altered. Prospect Skal, why are you here?”
“Kas is giving me lessons, since we can't contact the usual tutors,” Skal replied.
Haal sighed, “Yes, that is to be expected. I fear we will have to find a more permanent solution for your training, Prospect. I will allow you to remain for now.”
“Was there anything else, sir?” Torn asked. The look on his face made it clear to all, save perhaps Haal, that he dearly wished for the medicalos officer to leave.
“You will address me as 'Corrector-Captain', Corrector Torn. We are a young office, but no less worthy of respect than any other; that respect begins within our own four walls. Now, kindly forward the duty rosters to me at your earliest convenience, I will review them in my office.”
“Why did Kadan make him our captain?” Emyl asked with an exasperated huff and a resentful glance towards Haal's door once the Corrector-Captain had closed it. “Do you think he's punishing us?”
Torn shrugged, “I haven't got a damn clue. Anyway, let me drop everything and sort those rosters before I start getting complaints about my damn tardiness.”

The rest of Skal's lesson passed without much incident. Kas, with advice from Torn and Emyl chose to focus on the regulations the Correctors had established to date, explaining to Skal the system by which penitatas were registered and assigned a master, as well as how those masters were chosen and vetted. It seemed a far less official set of documents than Skal would have expected, though he'd had enough first-hand experience to know that the entire system was at best being refined, at worst made up as they went.
While Kas tried his best, he was far from a professional teacher. Skal was glad to be excused once the medicalos felt they'd done enough, allowing the Kyyreni boy to return to the welcome surrounds of the play room to join Sam in her enthusiastic world-building until bedtime came around all too soon. The two Pennys shared a bed most nights now, and while Skal would normally be more than eager with such an arrangement, Sam was frequently restless. She tossed and turned, sometimes even crying out in her sleep as nightmares assailed her. It meant Skal too slept poorly, both because of her disturbances, and because of the gnawing in his gut at being helpless to stop her terrors. Sometimes her nightmares had been so intense she wet the bed, though this was thankfully rare.

The next morning came around in the blink of an eye. Sam had slept well in his arms, though Skal himself felt groggy despite this. His ear twitched at the sound of movement behind him, prompting the boy to shuffle carefully to look over his shoulder without disturbing Sam. “Haal?” he called out softly to the seven-year-old Dawnsider peering through the bedroom door. “Is it time to get up?”
“It was time to get up over an hour ago,” Haal replied. “However, the Guildmaster has made it clear you two are to be left to sleep as long as you require for the time being.”
With the care of a thief picking pockets, Skal extracted his arm from under Sam and inched out from under the covers. Haal watched him dress, then stepped back to allow him out into the landing. “Have you been sleeping okay?” Skal asked.
Haal's nose twitched at the question. “Disrupted sleep is the sign of a guilty mind, Prospect. I sleep fine. Go to your breakfast, then meet Corrector Torn for lessons. I want you to start early today so the afternoon is free.”
“Why? What's happening this afternoon?” Skal asked nervously.
“Nothing you need be concerned of, but I want all personnel free and available. You and Sam will be allowed to play upstairs as usual.”
“Do you think I'll be able to spend some time with my dad?”
Haal stopped at the question. He glanced toward Skal and said uncertainly, “I... do not know much about the Guildmaster's schedule, Prospect. He has a great deal to do, and there are too few hours in the day to get it all done. I am confident he will make time for you in due time.”
After breakfast, Skal dutifully reported to the main office to find Kas absent. Emyl took him under her wing instead, proving to be a better organised and more confident teacher. After a while of listening and walking through procedure, Skal was interrupted by an unexpected call-out from Torn's desk. “Pop quiz, Skal! Why do we send men of the line to perform site inspections?”
Skal didn't even pause to think. “To intimidate them,” he answered confidently. “They see a Guild member with a weapon and full armour on and that reminds them who they're dealing with. It makes them think twice before lying to us about their motives.”
“Sharp one you are, or is that just your criminal experience talking?” Torn chuckled as he turned his monitor round. “Come have a look at this and give me your thoughts.”
The Penny boy glanced at Emyl, who gave permission with a quick nod and stepped back to make room. Skal wandered over and inspected the screen as Torn explained what was shown. “Here we have a family requesting permission to take on a Penny. They've got a nice place in Townhouses, the father's a Banker-certified man in some fancy financial company, the mother's home raising twins; a pair of  boys both under two. Our man on site flagged this as suspicious. What are your thoughts?”
This question took Skal a little more thought to answer. “It does seem a little odd I guess, but maybe they want someone to help babysit?”
“You don't need a criminal for that,” Torn countered.
Trying not to take the comment personally, Skal replied, “not all of us penitatas are a danger to children.”
“Fair enough,” the older male replied with a chuckle. “For the record, we would make sure to warn such a buyer of any known or suspected offences that made the penitatas a potential danger to children. Even so, you could find other people to mind your cubs.”
“Well, maybe they just want the prestige of owning a Penny? Assuming people still find some prestige in that.”
“That question aside, what do you think we ought to do? Not specifically, but in general? How would you handle a situation where someone has no solid reason to deny the application, but still has a gut feeling against it?”
“I... I suppose we'd need a second opinion, a superior to go and look?” Skal read Torn's expression and added, “or we could get a couple of other men of the line to check?”
“That's a much better idea. Subjecting innocent people to Haal would do serious damage to our reputation!” the Corrector laughed. “You are right, Skal; we get more eyes on the question and reach consensus. Would you give the OK to these people?”
“I think I would, yes.”
Torn smiled, “then that's five for five so far. Emyl?”
“Six for six,” she answered, “I don't see any red flags, but commend our man on the street for being extra vigilant.”
With that, Torn span his screen back to face the correct direction. “We'll make a Corrector of you yet, Skal! Now, why don't you disappear back upstairs and let the grown-ups get back to work?”
“Prospect Skal's lessons are not due to end for another hour, Corrector Torn,” Haal called from the doorway to his office.
Torn huffed impatiently in reply, “sir, we have a lot to do this morning. I'm sure it won't be the end of the world of Skal misses an hour.”
“I would appreciate it if you used my proper title, Corrector,” Haal replied, deliberately ignoring Torn's concern. The boy's tail flicked irritably behind him as he spoke.
Emyl sighed and waved Skal over as Haal left for whatever task had lured him from the office to begin with. As soon as he was out of sight she smiled at Skal and whispered, “wait a minute until he's out of the way, then head back upstairs.” She finished with a wink that made the boy grin mischievously.
After the required pause, Skal slipped out of the door and into the landing. The busy sounds of the ground floor rose up to meet him, and despite the risk of being spotted he dared to glance down at the entrance hall. Haal was down there, flanked by full-grown Enforcers and speaking with two well-dressed Nightsiders and a reptilian alien of some kind. He turned and hurried towards the stairs, only to catch the sharp tones of Haal calling his name. “Prospect Skal!”
He froze, gut churning at being caught. He peered back down to see Haal making excuses to his guests before hurrying up toward him as fast as dignity would allow. “Where exactly do you think you are going?” the medicalos asked with what little stern authority a seven-year-old could muster.
“Emyl said I could leave!” Skal protested, which angered Haal all the more.
“My instructions were clear!” he hissed. “Go back into the office immediately!”
Skal did as he was told, with the young officer practically standing on his tail. “Administrator Emyl! Why did you choose to directly contradict my instructions?”
Emyl glanced up from her desk. The look on the female's muzzle made it clear she had little patience with being talked down to by someone less than half her age. “Sir, we are extremely busy today-” she began.
“As am I, and yet I was forced to interrupt an extremely important meeting to deal with your insubordinate behaviour! A formal reprimand will be entered into your record. Now, kindly do as you were instructed!”
“You have got to be kidding!” Torn barked, driven from his seat by anger at Haal's reprimands.
The medicalos turned to the outraged Kyyreni and added, “Corrector Torn, I would advise you to keep your opinions to yourself!”
“No, fuck that!” Torn snapped in reply, storming from behind his desk and marching for the door.
“Where do you think you're going?” Haal asked, his voice shaking as childish panic gripped him at how badly he was losing control of the situation.
Torn flashed him a brief, yet furious glance as he strode past. “I'm resigning! If you're in charge of the Correctors then I want no part of it!”
“Y-you will be dishonourably discharged from the Enforcers Guild!” Haal snapped in desperation.
“Then I quit the whole damn Guild!” Torn roared back before disappearing from sight. Skal ran after him with Haal and Emyl close behind, and the three of them watched as Enforcers and visitors alike stopped and stared at Torn as he strode furiously along the landing and down the stairs towards the main entrance. He pushed past all but one of the Kyyreni who blocked his path.
“What the fuck is going on up there?” Kadan growled, thrusting out a paw to block Torn's progress.
The young Dawnsider paused, doubt shivering through his body for a moment before he answered, “I just resigned from the Guild.”
“The hell you did! Get back up there.”
Torn stood his ground, though clearly anxious about his choice. Kadan glanced up at the trio of faces watching from above. His paw raised to aim an accusatory finger at them. “Corrector-Captain Haal, I want to see you in my office, now!”
“Yes, Guildmaster,” Haal replied weakly, all swagger and confidence gone.
“You as well,” Kadan added, poking Torn in the chest. “Move it.”
Skal and Emyl all but fled back into the office as the pair marched past. Kadan didn't acknowledge either of them.
After an anxious wait, Emyl slunk back to her desk and returned to work. She seemed to pay no heed to Skal, who chose to sit back at the empty desk and at least pretend to read up on some of the Guild's rules and regulations – he may have been happy to ignore Haal's authority, but Kadan wielded the terrible twin paddles of Guildmaster and Parent, and Skal knew full well how freely he might swing them.
It didn't take long for Torn to return. He slunk in like a beaten dog, returning to his desk without comment. Both Skal and Emyl wanted to know what had happened, but neither had the heart to interrogate the young male. Then, at last, came Kadan.
The Guildmaster looked around the office with a tired look upon his muzzle. His voice, however, still carried a clear growl of anger. “I have told you this once, and so I will tell you again; I chose Haal for a reason. I know not everyone likes his style of command, but  Haal is more of a child than he thinks. He will come around, given time; I expected you to help him, or at the very least understand that we are all in a fucking awful situation and give the man a bit of leeway!”
“Sir-” Torn began, but a murderous glare from Kadan killed his comment dead.
“You wanted to be captain? Congratulations, you have your wish! Haal has decided to take a vacation for the first time in his fucking life, so now everything rests on your shoulders. Let me be clear about one thing – I am not bailing you out. If everything goes to shit I will see you are the one up to your neck in it! If by some miracle you haven't destroyed the Office of Correctors by the time Haal gets back... well, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Just remember, you asked for this.” The Guildmaster turned his focus to Skal and barked, “you! Upstairs!”

By the time Skal and his father reached the loft, the Penny boy was already tearing up. “D-dad!” he tried to protest, but Kadan cut him off with a sharp, irritated shush.
“You were told by Haal to focus on your lessons, and instead you tried to run back up here! You know damn well you deserve this!” Kadan scolded as he removed his belt. He used the length of leather to gesture to one of the loft's braces, which Skal gripped dutifully. The boy flinched as his pants were roughly yanked down, tensing up involuntarily. Kadan knelt beside Skal and brought the belt down hard against his left thigh just as the boy tried to settle.
The crack of leather on furred flesh was shockingly loud, but the hot sting that followed was like liquid fire. “Tail up!” Kadan snapped as Skal began to blub, striking him a second time on the same patch of thigh. The Kyyreni child howled in pain, sagging slightly as his leg twitched and gave out. He pulled himself back upright and eased his tail up, reaching a horizontal position as the folded leather belt found its mark squarely across both cheeks. He tried to drop his tail instinctively, but Kadan's free paw closed around the tip and yanked painfully upward. Another hard strike found his cheeks, then a third, prompting Skal to throw back his head and howl in tearful agony.
“I am going easy on you, boy! If you ever play truant again it'll be ten time worse!” Kadan scolded as he smacked Skal's thigh again before working on the base of the boy's buttocks. Four good smacks later, he let Skal's tail go and allowed the boy to stand and bawl a while longer.
Once Skal had calmed a little, Kadan pulled him away from the brace and met his eye. “Haal will be coming up shortly, and I expect you to apologise to him for your disobedience. You are a member of my Guild, Skal! Act like it!”
“Y-y-yessir!” Skal sobbed, rubbing at his reddened eyes with his knuckles.
Kadan's snarl faded slowly. He briefly glanced about the room, catching Sam's eye for a moment and reading her anxious expression before focusing on Skal again. In a calmer voice he asked, “is there a reason you've tipped every box you can find out onto the floor?”
Skal tensed at the comment, “W-we were lo-oking for S-Sam's game b-b-books!”
“Alright, I'm not telling you off. Yet. Just... maybe tidy up a bit when when you're done looking? Look, you've learned your lesson, right?”
“Y-yes!” the Penny boy answered urgently.
“Okay, then you can go back to looking for her books. Please behave, Skal. For me.” Then he gave Skal's headfur an affectionate ruffle and left the two rejuves to their own devices.

Haal came as promised a few hours later. By then the pain of Skal's spanking had eased somewhat, and after a brief nap he felt in much higher spirits. He even managed to smile, however briefly, when the Corrector-Captain emerged. “Haal,” he said, somewhat shyly, “I wanted to apologise for disobeying you. I shouldn't have done that.”
The medicalos made a humourless snorting sound. “Hardly a convincing apology, but I accept it nonetheless. You were told to leave, in fairness. I came up here to tell you that I will be conducting your lessons personally for the next week, prior to my leave of absence. Unless, of course, you have some objection to that?”
“Not at all!” Skal answered quickly, guessing any other answer would end badly for him.
Haal seemed to accept this answer much better than the forced apology. “Good. You are the Guildmaster's son, by adoption if not blood, and as such there are many who expect great things from you. I count myself amongst those souls, Prospect. Your actions reflect on Guildmaster Kadan, and thus the Guild as a whole. I invite you to imagine yourself in a position of authority, a command role of a sort you might one day be expected to adopt. Whatever action you take, ask yourself if you would accept that conduct from an underling, and adjust your behaviour accordingly. Will you at least try to do this?”
“Yes, Haal,” Skal answered, already tiring to the medicalos' attitude.
“That-” Haal paused, allowing a brief flare of irritability to fade before continuing. “I would appreciate it if you addressed me by my rank when discussing Guild matters. Your education would be such a matter. I know others are happy to be overly informal, but you are a penitatas – a little self-discipline will spare you pain in the long term.” The medicalos then gave a weak attempt at a smile and added, “why be spanked more than necessary?”
The comment made Skal reflexively reach under his tail to rub at his rear. “I'll try, Corrector-Captain.”
“Thank you.” Haal slowly removed his shirt, folded it as neatly as he could and hugged it to his chest. “Speaking as 'Haal', not as the Corrector-Captain... I don't enjoy having to be hard on either of you. Would either of you object to me staying?”
Skal and Sam exchanged a brief glance. The boy was not surprised that Sam's eyes shone with pity, so much so that he felt anger at himself for considering a blunt refusal of Haal's request. With a sigh, he turned back to the medicalos, seeing for the first time how small and anxious Haal truly was – a mere child of seven, not the forceful officer he so-often tried to be. “Do you read Panglish?” Skal asked.
A thin, but warm smile grew across Haal's muzzle. “I do, yes.”
“Then you can help me make sense of Sam's game books, because we're going to need to translate them all if we ever hope to play one.”
“I see... then perhaps I should focus on teaching Panglish this week, rather than Guild matters? Knowledge of a foreign language is a useful skill for a man of any station.”
The comment made Sam chuckle. “We've got you outnumbered, Skal!”
With a groan, Skal dropped back into his chair as Haal hung his jacket up and joined them. The medicalos took the hardback book Sam offered, thumbed carefully through a few pages before settling on a page and reading, translating quietly as he went. “Chapter 1: Creating a Player Character...”