A Rise of Descent: 1760
A London night in the closing of Summer, 1760; where the wind was softly passing over the rooftops down to the empty streets below. Lanterns kept low and curious light in several homes; plotted here and there beside the streets and stores, where a loud and constant clamor was formed during the daylight. But a similar sound suddenly seemed to threaten the silence of the night, though it was far softer than the regular calamity of the populous for now.
The Juliarmus Mansion was built long before the birth of the King, though it was only more recently purchased by the family that lived behind its walls and windows. The stone slabs and wooden planks all newly replaced in betterment of their aging state, to make a more fitting home for a wealthy collector of the Crown's taxes. So few men in England could be trusted with the handling of so much money, not when the taxes rose as often as they did. It had been the agenda of some undesirable individuals to pocket a few coins now and again during their collection routes. Because of this, an honest and trustworthy servant to the monarchy could easily find himself with a fair and renovated estate at little cost to his earnings. This particular mansion provided no less than six bedrooms, three studies, four bathrooms, a central courtyard, a grand dining hall, a rooftop balcony, and a library. All of which was unlikely to have put much of a dent in the savings of its master and landlord.
Laurence Juliarmus was he, the keeper and the commander of every door and room in that mansion. A true commander he was as well, taking every step heavily and confidently, almost as if his power over the home flowed from the posture that he took. His spine arched slightly back whilst his shoulders stayed broad with rough-built muscle when he strode and swept his arms forth and back again. He'd kept his hair, that glimmerless black mane, fairly long and tied back out of his eyes. His height was no more than that of any other man walking the streets at the time, though his build was sufficiently greater than most in the city. He was born not far from the incredible house during his childhood, lucky to have always been well-off. Laurence made it his dream to learn and remember the value of a good day's pay, which left a lasting impression as a young man growing up in a poor section of the city. Families to the left and right of him tried as best they could to feed what kids they had, if the kids hadn't already died from a bad cold and severe frailty. It was memories of such things which imprinted upon his mind the true and proper path to a good life, where stomachs didn't growl and children lived to succeed their parents.
And after many a year working for the Bank of the Crown, Laurence achieved the vision that he'd always been able to see. He was able to leave the service of the bank and become one of the King's tax collectors, promising wealth and a right good marriage in his future. His money did deliver him to an estate worthy of his ambitions, and he found love within the year of his newly found employment; although only one of them would stand the test of time. In a sad and unfortunate twist of fate, his wife became delusional at a very young age. By the time that Opal Juliarmus, previously Opal Barnett, was thirty years old, she'd been riddled with mental illness. Every so often an episode would occur where she frantically danced about in a flailing way, without conscious recognition of doing so at all. These became a more common happening in the Juliarmus Mansion, ultimately leading to a heartbroken Laurence sending his wife away. After having spent just thirty-seven years on Earth, Opal was deemed too dangerous for her own family or its inherent value. She could easily have brought disgrace upon the Juliarmus name and the household in which it lived, at a time when fortune relied upon societal standing. All it would have taken was one accidental wrongdoing or badly-timed episode to make the public gossip about the mental state of Opal, followed by the questioning of Laurence's mental state for allowing her to still raise their child. She was given the chance to bid farewell to her husband and her son, then was brought by boat to a small island off the coast of London, which was host to nothing more than an asylum for the mentally ill. It was at this time that Laurence made his son, being no more than seven at the time, swear an oath on his very life. It consisted of two great promises which were to be upheld until the dying breath of his last day on Earth; the first of which being that Sebastian Juliarmus would never allow any force natural or otherwise bring harm upon his mother.
Of more curious note however was the second promise which Sebastian would be bound to in his oath. Laurence Juliarmus had been kneeling when he spoke of the first promise, but moved to both knees once he said what the second entailed. Seeing then the eyes of his first and only son at level with his own, Laurence stated that the Church of England under the Royal Crown was never to be served or helped to prosper in way. The tears in Sebastian's eyes had started to lessen from the moments before, where he had sworn on his life to forever defend his mother. His head nodded in agreement to this promise of which his father spoke, and he asked for reasoning in return. Laurence broke a slight but ever so noticeable grin from the serious gaze that had claimed his face just moments before. "My boy" he said. "I have long been on the side of God and of Jesus Christ. But the Kingship of this empire has long laid claim as the head of the Christian Faith, simply out of right by birth. Nobody is born for the purpose of being better than all those around them, least of all because they are firstborn to a monarch in a palace. When I learned of the Pope in my youth, I was disgusted. He who thinks himself to be the ruler of Heaven through the gateway of our Earthly existence can only be described as self-entitled. The Church of England has brought far more distaste to my life on account of the King taking the process one step further. Where the Pope is guardian over Heaven above for all of man, the Crown has made it their business to be the dictators of both Heaven above and an entire empire on Earth around us."
Sebastian was well-read on the subjects of both religion and monarchy, just as his father before him had always tried to be.. His eyes told it all as he stared back at his loving dad, for he both understood and agreed with thinking most profoundly identical to the elder and wiser Laurence. The black-haired son of an English tax collector had spent his seven years developing an aptitude for retaining knowledge. Teachers of history and of mathematics often came to read him books from their places of study, hoping for a permanent position within the family's inner circle. But having always sought out new things to learn and to understand, Sebastian rendered their trials hopeless. A certain glimmer of brightness showed in his eyes, which could have brought a saving light to even the most deeply lost of souls. Nothing in the world was exempt from his desire, or from his growing list of goals for the future. Within a year of his mother's departure, he had found a way to wish for the entirety of the world to be delivered on a silver platter, while still not saying it forthright.
But now returns the setting of the soft breeze in the London moonlight, where the streets are becoming more anxious with every darkening minute. People now can be heard whispering, muttering short phrases, trading rumors in complete and utter speculation. Their destination is seemingly at the Juliarmus Mansion, though it would suffice to say that the contents are more intriguing, those few people who would dare to engage in midnight conversation. Three men sat around a table of oak, with wine spread amongst bottles and glasses between them. Each was at one time a servant to the Crown, the monarchy of the British Empire, with Laurence being the only one still employed in such a service. The other two individuals were banished after having stolen miniscule amounts here and there from the collections they made, possibly to provide a guaranteed retirement of prosperity in their later years. It was a simple gathering for the time being, with sips of wine and light conversation about the earlier days since their meeting last. Sebastian was still asleep after a long day of walking the grounds, seeking to write a collection on his observations. Dreams about the architecture and the paintings moved like a movie in his head, playing the day's memories like a film of unmatched quality. It kept him at ease on that night, possibly for the last time in the duration in his life.
There was cause and justification behind the mysterious and repeated meetings of his father and the other men; all of whom were not present at this time. They'd met to decide upon a matter between them, hoping to vote on and solidify the resolution for their future. It loomed over them like the smoke of a distant but certain fire, the need to make a definite choice: This being why the soft conversation and sipping from wine glasses took up so much time. But now was the time to move onward, placing their greater purpose for gathering together ahead of their own desires to not speak up. It was not well to do as the sounds from the streets, though quiet still, moved closer to the mansion. Shadows and visible breaths in the cold crept towards the walls of its exterior, steadily reaching for the heart of the event. The sound of feet advancing on the territory did not waiver in its advances, regardless of the suspicion that it might have raised. And for a few moments, the night was silent once again; preparing for whatever chaos that might follow the malevolent sight of red.
As the last drops of wine were drained from shimmering glasses, and the light of candles singed the darkness, a conversation readily prepared was condemned to never being spoken. For the words were ceased at the tongue, and never born from the thoughts of those men. The meeting was their conception, but the now-roaring streets were an aborting force of sudden intensity. Earlier in the night silence was broken, but now the roar of anger replaced that hushed disturbance of moments passed with an incredible mass of calamity and anarchy; pure in the horror of its eruption.
Noticing the explosion of sound, all three men stood to raise their guard. But no sense of self-protection could prevent an assault such as this; where the ruling force of a world empire aimed to strike with absolute precision. And as Laurence became witness to the eyes of assailants, his world began to crash around him: Bullets met the windows, glass met paint of the walls, and bodies met the flooring beneath their feet. Blood was suddenly flowing, having followed the sudden spurts from wounds. The wine was now reaching all across the table and down to the wooden chairs and planks below; mixing with the blood and tears of dying men to form a river of catastrophe. But by the nature of their mission, the soldiers pushed forward still, seeking even further advancement upon the group of men. They leaped through the broken spaces where panes of glass had been only moments before, charging with bayonets and sabers at the ready. Innocence and mercy became a scarcely available commodity by the time the soldiers reached their scene, which was made all the worse immediately. They began violently stabbing and slicing and stomping on the men. They laughed and shouted and chanted for the breaking of bones. At the head of their actions was the the terrible Vergil Hawkin, Warden to the prison of Sethfellow.
Vergil had risen from a lowly position in the British Army to the head of a horrendous prison in just five short years. It was no coincidence that he was given the opportunity either, but instead a well-executed plan to break the wills of every prisoner in London. Nobody would desire two decades of hard labor and rotting in a cell, but NOBODY would be willing to commit a crime if they might have to serve that time rotting under the watch of Warden Vergil Hawkin. And at that very moment the Warden was shooting the ruined bodies of his command's victims. It managed to bring an end to the terror and mutilation at the least, his execution of each individual that lay on the ground. If one did not realize that it was Vergil they were looking upon, he would likely still have brought a feeling of insecurity to their thoughts. Standing six feet tall and weighing two-hundred pounds would easily have broken the rebellious spirit of any lone being, given the fact that the high majority of London's population survived off of bread, potatoes, and the occasional dead creature. No less terrifying was the collection of scars going up and down his arms, a few being on his face even, from the days of his childhood. Most people do not become monsters and hosts of children's nightmares by way of natural selection after all, and he was no exception to this rule. Suffice it to say that his father used to beat him relentlessly, until Vergil suddenly replaced his army post.
By the time that Laurence was drained of all his life, Sebastian was awake. Awake and alarmed that was, fearing for his own existence: Hoping to God that Warden Hawkin would be banished by some great and holy force; for he felt with all certainty that he was gazing upon the Devil himself, though Hawkin seemed far more vile than anything born of Hell. He had witnessed it all, the young boy, having been at top of the stairs when the bullets broke the windows. He heard the clinking of wine glasses after a small "cheers" at the table, but only arrived just in time to hear what was being celebrated with a drink. "To the boy" his father said. "My boy forever more and even after that." Those were the words last spoken by Laurence Juliarmus, and it could only have brought him solace if he'd known that Sebastian was listening.
But those words were almost meaningless in the moments that followed, when Vergil looked up and saw the son of his target, the only witness to the horrors inside the house. And with a voice far darker than the catacombs of old he shouted at the boy, declaring his own presence to be a dangerous thing. "You'll not be so afraid if I end your misery!" chanted Vergil, again and again. "You'll not be so afraid if I end your misery!", but the words became a mixture of tortured laughter and obscenities after only a few times more. The Warden was ruling the fears of the boy, just as he always ruled the fears of his enemies. He scared Sebastian witless, broke his mentality with the laughter, and proceeded to attack whatever hope remained for him. When the laughter and loudness began dying down, Vergil climbed the stairs one at a time. His eyes met Sebastian's from the moment his foot first lifted, and the gaze was not broken by the slothful ascent.
As the boy saw his life fading, feeling the wariness reaching his very bones, and the world went darker than it had ever been.
Very little of what followed remained comprehensible during this lapse of proper thought, and it was muddled even then. A familiar voice made a defiant claim, basking in the glory of a metronomic sentence. He couldn't be seen and he could hardly be heard, but Sebastian knew him to be there. Metal clashed and what were likely sparks flew, blood had found a way to clutter up the wall, then all was black entirely. Only one thing more was made definite in the mind of Sebastian Juliarmus from that night, that he was being dragged away. He was unsure at the time, but felt like people stormed in after he was brought onto the street, finally giving way to the madness that had been growing under moonlight. "Take all and save us!" he thought they said. "Take all and repay!"
Chapter One: Time At Sethfellow
At last awaking, Sebastian had found himself more broken and confused than terrified for his life. It had been three days since his arrival at Sethfellow prison, which is the domain of Warden Vergil. And for all three days he lay alone in a cell akin to that below it. The prisoners and guards had for many years prior called it the "Bleedheart Cell", knowing of the tendencies to torture one inmate by forcing the other to cry out in pain. But below Sebastian was an unknown protector, in an unlikely position, facing an unfortunate future. The boy did not know of this tower's claim to fame, nor did he know where he was or why he was there. All he knew was that it hurt, and that he didn't know why.
The Warden, however, spared little time in making Sebastian come to these realizations. He was meant to know of his imprisonment, he was meant to fear it, and he was ultimately meant to regret being born. After seeing the conscious Sebastian, Warden Vergil gave orders to slice and to whip and to burn and to break; anything so long as the man below would deliver his screams. Small holes in every corner and a finely crafted cell allowed Sebastian the sad and sorrowful chance for torture of his own. There was wailing and screaming and grunting and crying, but there simply wasn't death. And at a time when death had walked through the windows of his house and stolen his father, he was surprisingly wishful for another to occur. The death of the man below him would end the heinous sounds coming from below and it would end the suffering of the man as well. Neither of them deserved such a thing in his mind, especially as an innocent child.
For three long days the sounds went on, without a moment's break from dawn to darkening. Footsteps echoed in Sebastian's ears every so often, shifting the tortured man's guard periodically so to never have to stop. The boy had not uttered a single word since his return to consciousness, for he felt nothing but terror. If this constant and unnerving sound was the torture he was to receive for no crime at all, then to provoke his oppressors would be a horrific mistake. As far as he was concerned the small bit of bread and poorly-cooked fish was just enough to keep him alive if he stayed quiet, and so quiet he did stay. He took his time trying to savor the bony fish with its saltwater flavoring, fairly scorched around the edges now again. But there was no complaining about food when food was there to be had, not after all that had happened already. The bread was soggy and stale from poor storage and twisted his innards worse than the screams had twisted his mind, proving to be the lesser half of his poorly-made meals.
It didn't help that his cell was open at the top, allowing the birds to steal what morsels he'd hoped to save for later hours. Not only that, but the nightly rains were still harshly falling as the Summer drew closer to Fall. Fog and hazy sunlight brought an added layer to the feeling of being lost, which managed to make the cries from below him all the more ominous. Ominous in the sense that he couldn't understand the truth behind it, for obviously pain was the sound; he just didn't know why he was hearing it.
At the end of the third day, continuous torture proved too much for the mystery figure to endure. He had been far from susceptible to the quiet easement of passing out, as time did surely prove. And so he was claimed by the afterlife only minutes from the sun setting, though his eyes might have suggested otherwise when his lifeless face kept a lock upon the Western Horizon. There was nothing more to him, or to his story; no thoughts, no dreams, nopes, only the blank and impossible stare of his opened eyes. He'd protected Sebastian from certain death and heinous assault leading up to it, even if he could not spare him from the sounds of his screams for the last three days. It was the most important thing that he'd ever managed to do in his life, and the only instance in which his assistance was truly proven needed at the Juliarmus Mansion. For years and years his teachings went unwanted, but at the very least his life was worth giving to their name, endangered as it recently was. William Lane, the longest trying scholar of the Juliarmus Mansion, had forever wished to be the private teacher of Laurence's heir, but he was turned away alike the others before him. It was by a foul stroke of luck that he'd chosen to stay the night in a guest room of the mansion, where he was stolen from his dreams by the sounds of Vergil's massacre. He had risen from the bed and reached the staircase only moments before the boy would die: the final stroke of his prosperous times. He gave little resistance to the terrible Warden Vergil, traded away his good health, and defaulted on the debt of time which he had been borrowing since birth.
It might easily be said that all people give owe a debt for their time alive, but in the thoughts of William there was no way to repay it. So he died of three day's torture, while Sebastian lived on in misery, though lived on still. At the very least he might have been able to realize his only true teaching unto Sebastian, who knew all the while about this debt of time, believing in it firmly himself.
Following the events before the setting sun were those of the moon in rise. As the full and lonely globe brought shimmer to the darkness, guards were stirring about in scheme, defiling all morality with plans of ill-intent. They cut the ropes and cloth, they moved the chains and bonds, they set the scene for madness. Their steps were no louder than those of any on the streets, but no quieter either. Steps and stairs and platforms they climbed, reaching towards the silence of the upper cell, threatening its precious innocence. But Sebastian was not brought from his rest by the footsteps or by a feeling of forewarning, it was instead resulting from the newfound rain. It became very easy to fall asleep once the tortured screams had stopped, and the sudden sound of pattering bricks had scared him back to conscious thought. He feared for more sounds of terror in the night, though his ease at the lack of them was easily diminished.
Three strong brutes, towers as they might as well have been, glaring from above him. The screech of rusted joints, both of metal and of child's bone, a symbol of little attention at best. Rain and rivers of tearful agony flowed from stone and skin alike. The worst of torture was ready to begin. Two of them held him on either side by the arm, dragging the sickly living corpse down a stairwell. And though he faced away from their destination, he knew the horrific people that had plotted what was next, they were an ungodly type of folk. Had he been able to speak, he'd have used a choice of final words there and then. "Alas the descent to Hell I make" he'd thought. "Alas the yearlong days are over."
But death did not await him at the bottom of that trail, though the Devil surely had a hand in what would follow. For only He the King of Hell could strike a deal to keep this boy alive, whilst never showing mercy. Sebastian was sat upon the cloth of the lower cell, where he found a brief bit of time to examine his surroundings. He saw seven silver buckets and a harsh stack of chains, amongst the blackened spots of blood not quite yet to dry. Three days of slashing and whipping and beating would seem to leave a brutal impression on the room no less than that upon the victim. Lastly seen was the broken bars of the wall and windows. The guards had ceased to fear for any escapes, as none could run away whilst also being made into the embodiment of merciless sorrow.
Then his time of perception was thrown to the gutter of forgotten thoughts; made anything but relevant as the realization set in of his situational ignorance. He knew nothing of what would happen, he knew nothing even of what was possible. Everything was possible after the course of events that lead him here. And what came next was certainly far from the grasp of his previous thinking, far worse indeed.
The chains were lifted one by one and thrust upon him, spanning shoulder to shoulder and front to back, suppressing the strength of his hope with the weight of cold and bloody steel. The bonds were locked around his ankles and his wrists as it went along just to further his mental constriction. How lucky he was to have not been cut beforehand, considering how covered with rust and molding blood he then became. But the chains were not at all the end of his weighing-down, for the mind can be constrained just as easily as the body in which it resides. For the crushing of Sebastian's thoughts, Vergil prepared his seven silver buckets. He'd been the third shadowy figure in the prison-guard party, the one who was content to watch as all moved forward.
Within the buckets, those the same as Sebastian had seen, was the blood of William Lane. Vergil had him drained of every last drop the moment his screams were silenced. But to fill seven buckets was quite a task for an already bleeding man, so there were extra portions mixed about. His heart, his liver, both the lungs and kidneys too. Softened muscle, beaten nearly to the point of slush, was a crucial added piece to the puzzle of that concoction. For it was still just strong enough stay a solid, and wouldn't pass over that which it came across easily.
And the two tall brutes made easy work of their orders, proceeding to pick up the buckets and step towards the newly formed pile of boy mixed with chain. Then came the emptying of the silver, as well as the renewing of the bloodied chains. It was at first an incredible thought to Sebastian, that the creaking of rusty steel could be silenced by the blood. It gave a wetness to the bonds around his wrists and ankles as well, loosening the pain for his bare flesh at least. It made the unbearable heaviness only a light bit easier to handle, up until the first muscles fell. Their fibers interlocked just enough still to catch upon him. The slimy sacks of fat intertwined with strings of pinkish meat, but both were becoming tangled with the chains in each direction. It filled the gaps and fell through every link of chain, slowly reaching for his skin. But as much as he shivered and shook from the thought of what was happening, he could only have grown more terrified after the liver came upon him.
He'd had it worse from there on out, with both lungs sliding over his face and the heart landing squarely before his knees. That was what truly crushed his spirit, seeing the source of someone's life become so helpless as he. The chains were no longer a lasting trouble for his body, nor for his mind; and the weight of his emotions had also some to pass from thought. He'd become a tormented soul with no hopes or wishes, making a singular promise within the confines of his head. "Come away from this and live" he swore. "Come away from this and you must take that which is yours." And from there the rest was truly nothing at all, for his life would go on. When it had ended he was brought to the courtyard, then left to wait the night. His parting words from Vergil were something to the effect of "eight years left to go". Eight years rattled in his mind for many hours that night, but it made little difference once he was washed off by the rain. "How kind" he thought, "How kind of God to make me fresh before the morning."
The sun broke apart what little remained from the rainstorm clouds, diminishing the grey and bringing about a blue tone to the sky. It evaporated even those of the furthest clouds seen from the London shores, giving a guarantee of a true Summer's day. It marked also the rising of the inmates from their respective cells, preparing to roam about the courtyard and dampened stone halls. So they stretched and they yawned and they crept out of their darkened lawful cages. But Sebastian had already been making his way about the permitted sections, learning all that he could before a crowd swept through. He discovered where the food was made and where the prisoners slept. He found the falsely named infirmary and wandered past the guardsman's posts. There was no way of leaving early, and he wished not to do so, though making sure of it seemed appropriate and necessary. He simply wanted a feel for the dreadful home in which he was a captive resident; learning of its structure and functioning methods.
As the hours strolled by, he uncovered more. Secrets and surprises fell before him in the form of inmates. Morris Black, for instance, was a rather important character for Sebastian to meet. He had known Opal in the years before her banishment to the asylum, being considered the very best of friends even. He was rather tall, well above six feet, and he looked as sickly as one could while still maintaining proper circulation. His frail body was also quite pale from the lack of direct sunlight; as Morris preferred to stay in his cell. His hair was long and greyed, though seemingly stained with the colors of mud and dust as well.
He was deserving of a trip to the asylum as well, thought Sebastian. He had only found himself within the confines of Sethfellow because no family was left for him to be defended by. The crown had very little patience for the mentally ill, and it was no coincidence that only the wealthy received asylum treatment. For while it may have been true that the asylums were ungodly in most ways imaginable, they were still preferable to life in a prison. The family Black never held much in the ways of wealth, but what little was there at the time of Morris' freedom was stolen away. His younger sister was ten years lesser in age and twenty years superior in thought. But her more-than-average wit fell short once the cancer came to have her. Providing for the two of them had meant working in a furnace room, where smoke was only common.
There were no such hints that might have saved her from that demise. She was born to serve her older brother through the stages of his mental decay, and that job she did her best to fulfill. He couldn't even remember her name when telling Sebastian of her, being able to recall a thousand instances of saying "sister" instead. When she was gone, Morris was taken away, and no money was left to protect him from imprisonment.
It comforted Sebastian talking to Morris. He was the only one able to speak of the olden days, the better days of life. Though he was also fond of his cellmate Zackary, who was the next lost soul that he had met. The two became acquainted after the second day of Sebastian's sentence, when he was forced to stay in a cell as opposed to in the courtyard yet again. Zackary was sentenced to dwell within the walls of Sethfellow Prison until his dying day, which was an undeserved cruelty. He was arrested after his twin brother Zachary stole a basket of bread and wine from the market, hoping to host a midnight feast. Zachary had been caught then killed on the spot for his crime, but Vergil knew of his twin brother, and he had him sent to prison as a replacement. Zackary was told of what happened, feeling disappointment more than sorrow afterwards. The two were orphans, without having ever known their parents; so why his brother would put them at risk was beyond any form of reasonable understanding.
He was just as old as Sebastian, though he couldn't recall just how long it had been since his imprisonment. Being as young as he was, and having passed out for days at a time on multiple occasions, his memory of the date was long lost. It didn't help that he never enjoyed speaking to any of the other prisoners, refusing to ask their names at the very least. If it weren't for his occasional talk with Sebastian, Zackary would never have known the time of year. It was that trust, however little it seemed to be, that bonded the two of them. That was the reason in Zackary's mind at least.
For Sebastian the bond was made from their shared age. He may have been rather intelligent and sophisticated for a boy of so few years, but he was still in need of simplicity. He was already struggling to survive at Sethfellow, so the opportunity to live and speak with simplicity brought him together with Zackary almost immediately after their first meeting.
Nonetheless, it was all about having a friend in one-another, not about the precise detail which bound their interests. The days certainly went by faster with conversation stirring between them, almost bringing their time at Sethfellow to a reasonable level of atrocious. Nights became easier to sleep in, the bullies and guards were less bothersome, and the unfair world seemed not so stacked against them. They spoke of the stars when they could be seen, they spoke of the prison's architecture, they even spoke of the guards in secrecy.
At the peak of their interests was the Captain of the Prison Guard, Robert Bolton. He was Second in Command at Sethfellow, reporting only to Vergil himself. He always went out of his way to spare some food from his own meals, bringing whatever was best to Sebastian and Zackary. "Off to your cell" he'd tell them, "make certain no one sees". His light blue eyes always glimmered with the lightest bit of detectable fear, showing just how much a risk he was taking by bringing them the food. But they were never very afraid of him, if they were at all. His frame was of fair height and somewhat stocky build, surely being lean muscle atop densely-packed bone. He was large enough that nobody had ever made a threat that they'd any intention of acting upon, but not so large as to deter a true warrior from attacking. His hair was always short; supposedly to keep his "deadly gaze" from going unseen, though Sebastian always suspected that he'd simply had an aversion to messy and dirty hair.
After time enough had gone by with that arrangement continued, Sebastian and Zackary saw Robert as a father-like figure. He sacrificed his food and risked his well-being for the sake of their betterment. No mere prison guard Captain would do such a thing, and especially not if the people in question were prisoners.
He brought them blankets and other coverings when the rains came, as well as when the winter breeze flowed in from the ocean. His knowledge was also imparted upon them at every given opportunity to do so. For Robert wished to educate them as they developed through their teenage years, having been hard-pressed to educate himself at such a young age. His own family was rather poor before he was brought to the prison as a Captain of the Guard, which was likely the cause for his determination to achieve more than most. A certain feeling of security came with being knowledgeable and determined, which was made exceedingly clear to both the young boys.
Lunch, outside of the given extras he received, was quite bland and ill-prepared for Sebastian's taste. He spent countless hours thinking about what he had already eaten and even more thinking about what he would have to eat come the days ahead of him. It had occurred to him that imagining the horrible food as more a tasteful substance might bring him ease when the feeding times would arrive. But no such thing managed to help with his consumption, and he found himself stuck adjusting to the degradation of his tastebuds. If it were as easy as not eating the terrible morsels administered to him and surviving off the parts from Robert, he would have. But it would make all the guards rather suspicious if he ate none of what they gave him but still had enough energy for the necessary breathing and waking up which one must do to stay alive. So eat ate all the while.
But when time started to flow with a sense of purpose, and the days turned to weeks turned to months turned to years, life at Sethfellow was brought back to its original state of tragic and distasteful grief.
It began with the first great illness of Sebastian's eight long years in prison. Some form of disease swept through the pigs before they had been slaughtered, allowing for an epidemic to spread by way of the foul kitchen. Every strong "worker" who was forced to haul the swine across the grounds had found themselves stuck with a corpse for a body. Their hearts were merely vessels for a volatile plague to travel with, to spread throughout their bodies.
Person after person collapsed as they swallowed down the blackened morsels. The death toll reached dozens by the end of it, claiming guards and prisoners alike as it developed. Sebastian was the last capable boy standing when the few remaining pigs were slaughtered and in need of proper disposal. Just twelve years old and his life was nearly brought to an end by the pools of blood which spilled over his shoulders and across his chest. But he kept on, not willing to endure what punishments might be given to him if he attempted to resist in any way. Even having followed every waking order that the guards commanded he was made subject to torture. Vergil threw him time and time again in puddles of the horrid remains. "Build immunity or drop dead" he was told.
His system did take it in grand fashion, given the fact that diseased pig's blood was almost certainly mixed with his own. He thought perhaps the demon-spawn Vergil even did him some good by putting him through hell. It seemed he'd been able to build up that immunity after all, maybe due to those awful experiences.
And though a terrible many people met their end by way of the first great illness, some had prospered because of it. Those who lived were fed extra due to the excess of food in comparison to prisoners, whilst most guards were given special leave for a time. Some souls in particular were given special bonds through what had happened.
Emily Collinwood, for instance, was brought together with Sebastian through this sad ordeal. She was just the same height as him and seemed to be of a similarly-educated nature. Her hair was that of a golden color, diluted with the near-whiteness of the sunlight she lived under. It accented the skin well though, given that she was of a rather pale assortment. The eyes set into her skin were the colors of the bay, that being both blue and ever so lightly green at the core.
She came to speak to Zackary once, having seen the window of his cell from the street above. It was a far end of the Bayside Market where the boys stayed, far North and East in a corner of the prison. They had a barred square cut out of a singular wall, facing all the people who were able to go about their daily lives unhindered by the terrors within Sethfellow. It was because of the lower bay plateau that the prison cell window sat just above ground-level for the people in the market area. So when Emily dropped an apple she'd been holding, unable to stop it from rolling through the bars, it was only natural that her expectation was for Zackary to be there to return it.
But it was Sebastian who's eyes met hers after she sat on her knees to retrieve the fruit. And the deep brown surrounding his pupils met the blue which clung to hers. It was likely the greenness of the apple in his hand which made him realize the tint of her inner eyes, marveling at the curiosity of such a mixture as he returned it to her. She'd never been a child who believed in the notion of love at first sight, or true love at all maybe, but she certainly didn't wish to ever walk away from him after being witness to his gaze. Only the terrible fear of the swine infection had forced Sebastian to hide in his cell that day, back when the illness had first struck. It was also that illness which had given him virtual immunity to disease or ailment for the rest of his life, and he spread that immunity to Emily more and more as he saw her.
The two shared stories and hopes and dreams of the future for a long and blissful while, parting ways only for the sake of secrecy. No father would have wanted prison-grade scum disturbing his family's quality way of life. She came after the break of dawn as often as she could, never leaving sooner than the last possible second. If the market hadn't relied upon her to look pretty for the sake of business, then she'd have stayed until hunger and thirst consumed her beyond tolerable reason. But alas, the voyagers from far off islands wouldn't have been willing to spend half of what they did if not for well-looking children roaming about the streets. It looked rather inviting and pleasantly put together to the eyes of any passerby or buyer not yet buying. Thus she left his window nearly every other day by blowing down a kiss, then parting for the use of a few daylight hours more to tend to the market business. Sebastian never wished to see her go, but he was never sad knowing her to be gone, nor did he miss her as the time passed until seeing her again. He was able to keep a bit of his sanity in-tact by allowing it to live off the sweetness of her company, promising to himself that he would never force their separation.
That company also endured through the second ailment which spread amongst the prisoners during his time. It was hardly a year after the blackening of pig's blood that the harshest Winter in a hundred years struck, holding nothing back in its devastation. Coupled with the harshness of the season was the cruelty of the guards, who had made the decision to withhold their extra blankets from the prisoners. "Better warm-bodied than warm-hearted", that was the policy Vergil ran the prison on in that fateful Winter.
Even the spare cloths and coverings that Robert managed to bring for Sebastian and Zackary were hard-pressed to combat the weather at all. Emily was given whatever Sebastian had to warm himself, so that the necessary market strolling wasn't made detrimental to her health. Zackary was small enough in frame and well enough in circulation that it made no difference to him how cold it'd become. He gave his coverings to Morris Black upon the request of Sebastian, who wanted his mother's old friend to live just a little bit longer if he could.
But Morris died of the common cold, which was as far-developed as the illness came to be. His age and constant state of frailty got the best of him in the end, stealing away his final heartbeats just as he ended his favorite story about Sebastian's mother. "She really did love to clean the windows" he said to Sebastian. It was always the carefully placed ending that tied the story together. The boy had heard it countless times and never did its sentiment diminish.
Even the consoling of the great and beautiful Emily Collinwood was ill-met by Sebastian in the face of loss so great. She and Robert and Zackary tried endlessly after that to bring him out of his occasional depressive bouts, but nothing short of a newfound tragedy would distract him from the absence of Morris, which was by extension the absence of his mother's memory.
And that tragedy arrived a whole three years later. It came after long summers of drawn out days. It waited out the days and nights of loving thoughts and friendly discussion. The lessons about life and about philosophical infinities from Robert came and went plentifully in that time. Sebastian and Emily even stole a sunset's fading glory on more than one occasion. Three years of hidden meals and special treatment evaded the eyes of Vergil, going unnoticed as the strokes of luck stacked one after another.
Nobody was ever able to determine where the illness came from or what it truly did. It was swift and without much fury, but not without its own form of devastation.
As the Autumn months crept into place, Zackary Paul Remus lay dying on a cold stone floor. His cell appeared to be a tomb of sorts from the shadowy corner floor, looking somehow more atrocious than it had for years before. His head became clustered with incomprehensible visions of a distorted nature. No words were able to leave his mouth and no expression would give a true portrayal of his emotions. And those emotions which might have been distinct were far too often false; wrongful looks into a mind of indecisive nature that had no real emotions. The sickness took him over both inside and out. It ravaged his very existence as far as to steal his personality.
Sebastian always promised him that he would recover and that things would be better again, but he had no way of being certain. It was for the duration of the ailment that his closest friend in life was gone, banished to a world beyond all worldly things. His nights were lonely and his days were confined to limited conversations. Even Emily was often asked to leave just slightly early, knowing all too well that Sebastian needed the extra time to care and grieve for his friend. It was almost impossible in his head, the idea that there was a blank and broken boy next to him. A boy that was stuck in a region of the ageless nonetheless, at a time when it was his age which made him vitaly relatable. It was in the thoughts of Sebastian that the conclusion first arrive: "This time is lost to him even if he wakes, and thus is lost to the both of us as the evidence of our equality."
The long period of suffering came to its eventual end at the break of dawn for Winter's first day. It was almost as an era newly blossomed from the concrete soil of the prisoner's garden, always freshly tended with the blood of men both innocent and guilty alike. But the flowering child of this era, the jewel of a changing age; was a still ever-living Zackary, who glistened in the light of morning's glory with a joyous grin across his face.
He outlasted the raging fever, which had burned his nutrients away with every drop of sweat. His skin was stained a rosy-pink from sitting red for all that time. And his range of motion began to return, though it would never be fully restored, or even halfly so.
He had become a decrepit body harboring a youthful soul. One that wished strongly and dearly for its old range of motion to return, to grant him some form of might to outdo his current state. But after it was proven to be a lost and senseless cause, Zackary Paul Remus accepted his cruel fate, for it had come with a twist of life when only death had seemed certain.
The two years that followed were simple and tame by comparison to the six years before them. Robert had been able to spend some extra time caring for Zackary once Vergil agreed to be transferred. It was a time of transition where the current Warden was being shipped off to the nearby island asylum and the captain of the prison guards was finally getting a promotion.
Because of his great deal of personal belongings at the prison, as well as his extremely complicated plan to reform the asylum, Vergil spent most of his time on the small island leading up to his transfer. He was commonly found watching over every step of the process, meticulously watching over his plans and his possessions by commanding attention. It was because of his absence and lack of questioning that Robert was able to take care of Zackary with such supervision and intensity. His charismatic portrayal of a menacing Captain of the Guard kept all of Sethfellow from going against his word. Thusly, Zackary was snuck around and treated well with ease.
Sebastian was left to his own devices during that time. He was never really treated exceptionally worse than the general consensus of prisoners at Sethfellow, barring his first few days of course. So it was really more a change in the pace of his development if anything. He was given private lessons on the current state of affairs in the country as well as the rest of the known world. Vergil's office made for a great place to hold such lessons between Robert and the now young-man. It was mostly soundproof and there was plenty of space to utilize.
Favored amongst these lessons was the subject of current events. For it was nearly eight years earlier that Sebastian was free, unbound and able to conform to the times as was necessary for a growing boy. But inside the cold stone walls of Sethfellow Prison he was unable to see the world around him changing, unable to change his thoughts and actions to better live in his surroundings. After all, the surroundings at Sethfellow never really changed. It allowed for stagnation in the mind, which was focused on survival far more than normality through conformity.
And though the world hadn't changed a whole lot since he entered life in prison, Sebastian was glad to have learned what few things were different from how he remembered them. It wasn't even much of a surprise to him when things such as the prices of modern things and taxes upon them had risen exponentially. He'd had Emily around to tell him that. "My father can hardly sell his papers" she told him. "The King has taxed both paper and pressing tools. He continues to raise the cost of everything we do and follows that by taking from our profits too."
Her voice became a sorrowful one in those days, out of concern for her father more than anything. Sebastian didn't know how he could help her with such issues, not having any money himself, but he wished more than anything to make her happy.
It was on his last day of being confined by the walls of stone and steel and cold ocean breeze, that was when he spoke his greatest ambition to her. "Emily my dearest, you are sorrowful. Your eyes glimmer with more sadness than joy in recent days. I have always known that my time here was only temporary, only something to slow my progression in this difficult life. But upon my leaving I will see to it that every last treasure earned goes to you, for the sake of your protection and your happiness. I will find work wherever I can and I will hold you in the highest regard. So until that time when there is countless jewels and gems, enough to make you hold me in marriage for this life, I must depart."
And Emily understood his words, knowing all too well the hopes and dreams of a man who was almost certain to die not even a decade from his birth. She spoke to him a little longer, then gave him one last kiss to hold in his heart, until they would see each other again. She told him the name of her address once more, as she had done many times previously. "Fair Breeze Market, Dormitory of the Summer Isle"
They exchanged "I love you" in a heartfelt manner, then he set out from the cell forever with a gaze of longing already on his face.
He then gave Zackary one last brotherly hug and told him that he'd visit someday. And he told him that when all his treasures and jewels were aligned he'd buy his oldest friend a ticket to the free realms of man. It was worth saving extra sorrow by holding in the tears. The two had known that they would meet again in the years to come, for it would be a cruel twist of fate to bring this joyous occasion for the sake of revoking more happiness later.
Lastly was a silent and distant goodbye. It was not a particularly sad one, but a respectable one rather. For it was Robert himself who was to release Sebastian into the free world once again. It was his first act as Warden of Sethfellow Prison, and his most anticipated as well. And although he didn't want to see the young man leave, he knew that it was always the just action of a good father, the releasing from a tightened hold to let freedom of choice and opportunity reign. So he chose the fatherly path, as he had done for Sebastian many years in counting, and let him go.
Sebastian Juliarmus walked three feet out from the front gate, surrounded by guns and swords and spears alike. The wooden planks and reinforcing steel crashed together behind him, and he took one look back to ensure himself that this was more than just a dream. It was real.