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polodron · 5 years

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Polodron: A Glimpse

Conception

* * *

“We should love, not fall in love, because everything that falls, gets broken.”

― Taylor Swift, Taylor Swift

There were once beautiful things. Perfect things. Love, and music, dancing, and food. Oh the delights and comforts of royalty where amazing wonders. To live a life without worry, without even the slightest understanding of what it meant to be hurt, to be without, to be unsatisfied. This was the life that Volyrea Ammakyl contemplated leaving.

Sure, Detrius loved her, and their wedding was poised to be the event of the century in waterdeep. Why shouldn’t it? Her eyes caught themselves in her mirror and for a moment it was raw entrancement. Of course the people loved her. She was beautiful. This world was full of dark places and she was born bright and wonderful. Why would they not simply adore her? She deserved it.

And yet. What was this feeling? Guilt? Regret? Perhaps it was the raw nausea that comes from being with child.

No. No no no no. She calmed herself. While the delightful stranger that had been frequenting her chambers in the evenings was a surprise the first, he was not unwanted. The Gods made her beautiful. The Gods made her regal. Surely they would not punish her by having her bear this stranger’s spawn? That would be a cruelty.

‘Like your cruelty to Detrius?’ a dark voice whispered in the back of her mind, a tickle of evil, and then gone, leaving guilt in its wake.

No. No. No. No. No. Surely this was a beautiful thing. The marriage was soon. Even if she had the child of another, this would not be cause for anything other than a simple exaggeration. ‘Detrius can believe this is his child.’ she mused ‘There is no cause to say anything else. No, the other will be here soon, we must prepare ourselves.’.

All throughout the act of love with the other that evening she considered telling him. It made enjoyment difficult and she became aware of his sometimes rough, and removed way. Moreover it was his posture that made her decide against it. How do you tell one you carry their child, when they simply do not care? What difference would it make? He came at night, they joined and he would depart and while she ached for those moments at times, well, it was nothing more than that, she reasoned. She would tell Detrius after their first night together that the child is his, and would turn away the other.

But life, has other plans. Even as her thought concluded the door to her chamber opened wide. Never before in their entire engagement had she seen Detrius so angry, or so passionately moved, as when she saw him chase the other. The other jumped from her chamber window and falling to the street below, began to run away, despite Detrius’ calling for the guards.

He turned to her with compassion. “My dear. I will triple the guards for your chambers. We will pay Lord Neverember. I don’t care if I have to pay every member of Force Grey. We will find who did this vile thing to you, and they will face justice I swear it.”

Perhaps it was her emotions at having been discovered. Perhaps a physical need, or frustration that was left unsated, or perhaps both, but she fell into his arms and began sobbing. “Detrius. I. . .I . .” she wailed, “Detrius I love you. Please do not leave my side. I’m . . .I need you here.”

Detrius nodded, “Sadly I must my dear. But only to ensure your safety. My guards are here and they will protect you. I will find the scoundrel.”

The moment he passed the threshold the tears stopped. Her face twisted into the smile of one who is guilty but has been called innocent by the jury. She’d gotten away with it. No harm would befall her. Would she miss the other? Intensely. She prayed the days leading up to the wedding would come by swiftly, and thanked the Gods that Detrius was a valorous man. They were always the easiest to weild.

A week would pass before she addressed the child with him. Through a veil of tears and expertly rehearsed dramatics, she relayed what the other had done to her had left something behind. He was wounded, she’d expected that, but was sympathetic to her too. Also expected. What was not expected was what came next.

“The child will be put to death.”

“Wh-what?” she said, incredulously.

“It is a testament to an arrow in our relationship. We can heal. I am sure of that, but the child must be put to death after it is born.”

“I am noble. We can’t just pretend I was not with child. The people will see me.”

“Indeed. We can tell them you have come down with an illness for the next months. Postpone the wedding. Then we will get married after you have your miraculous ‘recovery.’”

She paused. Of course, he had the upper hand here. She needed this marriage. She needed him to trust her perfectly. Keeping the child would be a sign of her longing for the other. This had to be played delicately. She took a deep breath, trying to appear as though she was just sad about the entire situation. “Of course Detrius. I love you very much. All I want is for us to heal. The child will die.”

“That is that then. I have matters of the estate to see to. I will call for you in a few months. Til then my love.”

“Yes” she said, strained as she watched him leave. “Yes. Til then, my ‘love’”.

Birth

* * *

“The ending is nearer than you think, and it is already written. All that we have left to choose is the correct moment to begin.”

― Alan Moore, V for Vendetta

Once there were questions. Things that made you look a second way at the world around you. For Volyrea Ammakyl that thing was the birth of her son. For her, everything changed that day, and in ways that she never could have predicted. She would always look back on that morning and think of how cold she was, and how Polodron’s life was the beginning of the defrost for her.

The pains had been coming to her ever increasingly over the last few weeks. Sharp and deep like knives. Apart from the stone cold countenance of the guards, she found herself with no company. She often spoke aloud to herself, at first as if talking to Detrius but over the months he never once visited. The truth of how little she cared for this man ate at her.

It was on the fifth month, in studying the old tongue as a way to pass the time that she chose the name for her child. Polodron. Polodron Lendhen. It would translate to the common tongue as the forgotten child. You see, that is all she longed for. A chance to forget him. To move on with her life and be beyond this mistake that she had made. The torture of it, the guilt, drove her near tot he brink of madness.

What kind of person was she? Good? Evil? Did it matter? Whether he knew it or not, she had commiteed a sin against her betrothed and was sure now that this was the God’s plan. This was the punishment. She tried to be strong. Tried to tell herself that once she got through this the punishment would be over. She’d be in the arms of the beautiful things of this world once more. It was ill comfort.

But now the time was upon her. The stabbing pains frequent to the point of madness. The cleric and the medicine man where her and where helping her. They would say unhelpful things like “push!”. For the Gods sake, what else would she be doing besides pushing? But she continued on as strong as she could, until she heard the child crying. The priest put the child into the mothers arms.

“Name for the public record?” he asked, dry and bored.

She looked down into the face of the child. Every memory, every thought, every concept of Volyrea faded into joy. This was her baby she was holding. This child was a piece of her, and for the first time in her life a light broke through the shroud of her heart and love sprang forth from the repressed well like a geyser.

“Name for the public record?” the priest, annoyed, repeated louder.

“Polodron. Polodron Lendhen.”

“By the order of your husband to be, please sign here for his birth, and then here as the witness of his death.”

“His death?” she said, surprised, as if this was the first she had heard of it, despite her previous months of torture. “No.”

“No?”

She turned to the guards, her eyes blazing with fire. “Taylor. We pay you what? 5 gold a month? A meager wage. I will pay you 250 gold now, if you see this child to the shelter.Father. Doctor. I will see each of you paid a sum of 250 gold as well, to either yourselves or your church.”

“Both” the priest said.

“Both then. But the child lives.”

“What of your husband?” The doctor asked

“He does not need to know. The child will be out of our lives. How much for you to let me sign the paperwork even if the child lives?”

“1,000 gold.”

“Very well. You have it. Taylor see that all of the Gold is fetched.” the guard sauntered off, disbelieving his good fortune.

She took the few minutes with Polodron that she had holding him close. Real, and true tears, fell from her eyes for the first time. This was love. This was no act. “Polodron. My sweet boy. I promise I will do as well as I can to watch you from afar. I will find what shelter they bring you to. I will see you have as good a life as you can without knowing me. Its better that way. You are pure, look at you my angel. This life, in the castles, this would only be a poison to you. I know you’ll be worth so much more than all of this.”

When Taylor returned, she kissed Polodron’s head and he left. She signed the paperwork, and then began to bathe herself. In the morning Detrius would return and they would begin planning the wedding.

As Taylor walked down the steps of the keep, his side purse jingling with coin and a smile on his face he spoke to the baby. “Taylor came out on top thanks to you. Lots of gold for me. But I haven’t failed the master once I haven’t.” he paused. “I’m not about to kill a baby though. But the cold ought do it. Hope you pass peacefully little guy.”

Taylor placed the crying child into a snowbank and went off to find his wife and deliver news of their small fortune. The night pierced only by the crying of the child until, by chance, a halfling beggar happened to hear. Approaching and taking him hin her arms she made her way quick to find warmth. She read the name on his bundle outloud, “Polodron Lendhen.” as she made her way through the streets. “Well, you are forgotten no more.”

3 Years Old

* * *

“Life is perpetual freshness, in permanent movement,

As such, we need to be the same way;

A childlike innocence is requested by Existence,

Every time, in every circumstance – a priceless purity.”

― Ilie Cioara, Life Is Eternal Newness

Once there was bliss. Pure, untainted and ignorant bliss. The kind of raw joy that only a child knows. They, who could find themselves in any situation a grown man could, but see only joy where others find misery. For Johanna it was a delightful change to see this. She lived in a semi collapsed building, under a burlap blanket. Two when the snows came. In normal situations this was misery, but as she watched the boy out there, thin and gaunt from not having enough food, and pretending he was one of the knights of Lord Neverember, her heart melted. With a stick in hand he faced one of the beams of the fallen house like it was his enemy and loudly proclaimed he would save the princess, and protect her honor. Through tears she realized that she was the princess. Only from the mouth of this angel would words like that be spoken, none other in Waterdeep would be caught dead calling her a princess and yet here they were. “That's right my sweet boy. You have saved me.” She said, through tears.

Proudly he ran back to her. “Johanna, I’m a hero. I’m a knight Johanna. When I get a castle, you can pick whatever room you want!”

“Is that right? What room would you pick?”

“I wouldn’t!” the child beamed back to her. “I’d be gone, savin, uuuum, savin all the people.”

She held the child close to her. Winter was harsh and it was easier to keep warm. “My sweet boy. I know someday you’ll save all the people. When winter changes and these snows are gone, we’ll find you a horse and armor. You’ll be the strongest knight when it comes time for the jousts. Remember the jousts we saw?”

“Ya Johanna.I’m gunna, I’m gunna, I’m gunna ride the biggest horse there and all the other knights will be like oh no!”

“Of course they will. But for now, why don’t we get sleep? You’ve been protecting me all morning. You look so tired.”

“Ok Johanna.” The child tucked his head against her shoulder. She smiled. Life had struck her down years ago, when her husband died, and she lost their bakery. The city had shown its darkest side, and she was stranded but this child looked at her the way she always wanted a child to. They way she had wanted her child with Randall to. But life had never blessed her like that. Gently, she stroked his head as sleep overtook and began to sing a lullaby.

“The moon, its pale light, shines over all of waterdeep.

Guides the knight home, to his Castle where he sleeps.

When each day turns dark, he has proven he’s the best.

Once more he must lay down, in his Castle he must rest.

The knight shows strength to enemies, enemies of peace.

Wields his blade, with a mind to make evildoer’s cease.

But he never forgets to show he knows tender mercy, mild

And you are that Knight my unforgotten Polodron child.

Someday this world will come to know you as you are,

A hero, and to Johanna, the brightest evening star.

Never forget the good person I know that you can be.

After every quest, promise to come home to me.”

She could hear him sleeping next to her when her song finished. She never had much. Even unto the end of her days it seems life would try to rob Johanna of love and wealth, but it never took her son from her. He did that on his own.

10 Years Old

* * *

“It's a simple question;

Do we bear monsters?

Or do we create them?”

― Anthony Neilson, Neilson Plays: 1: Normal; Penetrator; Year of the Family; Night Before Christmas; Censor

Once there was pain. Terrible rumblings that echoed through the chambers of a young man’s stomach, writing scars that no one could see. Scars that tell a hidden story. One of the pain of watching others eat, while you cry yourself to sleep, the dull throb of starvation keeping a steady beat in the background. . Death was ever present. Polodron Lendhen had learned this early enough. It was a constant companion, a reminder to keep moving. To stay alive.

Gone were the days of the boy playing with sticks. Deep in the past, buried forever was the young man who believed he could be a knight. The one who thought in his heart of hearts the world was worth saving. Seeing this side of life, this side of people, was educational and he learned a great deal about what this existence would bring. There were two sides. The has and the has nots. He was a has not by blood. He realized that.

Sure Johanna did her best. She found ways of fishing, and occasionally stealing things like apples for the two of them. They were always hungry, but she’d remind him that they were good. That they stayed above the law. It was important to her for reasons Polodron couldn’t understand that no matter what befell this pair, they keep they stay good. The boy realized a truth.

Good didn’t fill a belly.

It was this, and a chance encounter with a lieutenant that brought him to join the Xanathar guild. The Xanathar welcomed the boy with open arms. He was small, he was light on his feet and abnormally thing. They spend the summer of the boy’s 10th year teaching him to thieve and to steal. He learned how to pick pocket and break into places others couldn’t.

He touched a coin for the first time in his life that summer.

He’d never forget that moment. It was a silver piece. The way it felt in his hand. The way it smelled. The boy would marvel that the rich, that those who have, would see these as he saw the grass. Plentiful. But it opened up a world to him.

Bread. He got to eat bread. Warm and wonderful and freshly baked. And warmth. He slept for the first time in a bed at the Inn. Polodron discovered the one thing in Waterdeep that mattered more than any life could. Coin. He hated it, but he loved it. Scarcely could his mind fathom the realm of luxury that the rich must be able to afford with their hoards and piles of coin.

But most formative for him was when he was called to meet with the Xanathar, three months after he had first joined.

“Polodron. It means forgotton.” The Xanathar mused, “Rest assured, I see the value you have boy. I will not forget you. You have a future with this family.”

“Family?” the child asked the Xanathar. He felt something in the moment he never had before. Useful. Like he found a purpose.

“Yes child.” The Xanathar chuckled at him. “We are a family here. Family is for many things Polodron. For us, more than anything else, it is about survival. We survive because we stick together.”

“I understand Lord Xanathar.”

“Good lad. Stick with us Polodron. You’ll have coin, food, and a home.”

‘Could I move my m- um, Johanna in with us?”

“Absolutely my lad. Family is family. If she joins us, she is more than welcomed to come here too. We take care of our own. Always.”

“Thank you Lord Xanathar.” he almost ran away to tell her, excitement on his face, but remembered and asked before leaving, “Can I go tell her sir?”

“By all means, lad. Run along now.”

Rarely did Polodron run as fast as he did in that moment. But his feet tore him forth as if drawn by unseen magic across the cobblestone. He arrived at their broken house. Johanna was gutting a fish she had caught. Compared to what he had been eating at the Xanathar’s guild it looked small and weak. Polodron marveled that this must be how the haves view him as a have not. They know better, so they see me as I was. I didn’t know how low I was until I saw what they could do for me. Johanna will be so excited!

“Johanna!” he greeted her, lungs burning and devoid of breath but a fresh smile plastered to his face.

“Polodron!” She said, with equal joy to see her boy. “Polodron, my sweet boy. Look at what I got for us! Dinner. Tonight we will dine as if we are Lord Neverember himself!”

“About that, Johanna I’ve solved all of our problems. I’ve gotten a job. I’m making coin!” He said proudly and extended a silver piece out to her. Her eyes sparkled with pride.

“Polodron, thats amazing. With a silver we can buy food in the market. We can repair the bedding. Where did you find work?”

“The Xanathar”

Her eyes near bulged in shock and the boy continued “But its not like that Johanna. Its not like everyone says. He’s good. He’s really nice actually and they look out for people like us. We can join their family. They feed you and give you a bed and everything.”

“We have a family Pol. We have two beds. Xanathar is a criminal. His people hurt others. They take from them the way the haves take from us. Why would you want that?”

“I don’t see that Johanna.” he said with the same smile. “Come on, you should meet him, I think you’ll like him.”

“Polodron, the people you’ve talked to, they aren’t good people. They’ve taken things from others. I know. Its happened to me.”

“Well, we’re family now. Maybe we can get it back-”

“NO!” Johanna raised her voice for the first time with Polodron, ever. “No. Theres still time. We can use this coin and barter passage to Neverwinter. We can start new there. We can-”

“I’m not leaving.”

“But if you stay here, they will-”

“I’m sorry Johanna.” he said, feeling like he was about to cry. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I can do something, make more for us there. I’ll come back to you.”

He turned and left, despite her yelling.

It was the last time he would see her alive, you see the family doesn’t allow outsiders and as the boy would soon learn, they didn’t allow you to leave either. He was taken care of, but it was not to be by Johanna.

16 Years Old

* * *

“Grief does not change you, Hazel. It reveals you.”

― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

Once there was emptiness. Hollow feelings. The kind that speak the loudest in the silence at a funeral that no one bothers showing up to. Just the boy looking upon the closest thing to a mother, the closest thing to a friend that he ever had. He approached her body laid out in the temple. He knelt.

It reminded him of times that he had knelt before her when he was young, during the games they used to play. He took one of her hands into his. She looked so peaceful, he could swear that if he just called out to her she would awake.

But it was not to be so.

The tears started coming for the boy. “Hello princess. Its me. Its Polodron. I’m your knight. I’m back from the quest. You wanted me to promise I’d come back to you. I’m back. I wish I could actually tell you. I’m back. I’m so sorry Johanna. I never should have left. I should have listened.

You are the only good this world ever gave me. I wish I could have told you that. At least one more time.

I’ll be along some day soon to protect you in the next life princess. Your sweet boy will find you, I promise.”

He kissed her hand and stood up. Looking about the cold temple no one else was here. It was winter in Waterdeep, people rarely traveled. He approached the priest, and placed five gold coins on the alter. “Please make sure she’s taken care of. Please make sure she gets a proper burial this spring. Someplace nice. She liked the bay. Something near the bay.”

“Aye lad. But surely you don’t need to pay me. This is for the Xanathar, yes? We take care of the family here.”

“No.” Polodron spoke, somehow the words stabbing him again. He fought back the tears. “No. This is something different. Please take the coin. The family doesn’t need to know about this one.”

Looking intently at the five gold on the altar, the priest just smiled. “If you say so sir. I’ll see her taken care of.”

He walked the streets slowly after that. The lamps were lit, but the bitter cold chased the common folk away. He welcomed it as a friend. His walk took him down by the docks. He’d see as he looked out, the silhouettes of him and Johanna playing, and he could hear in his mind the stories she’d tell him and the songs she would share. ‘She sang beautifully’ he recalled. ‘I never got the chance to tell her, but she sang beautifully.’

Rounding into an ally he came to it. The little collapsed building she called home. Slowly he crept in, making his way to the corner, he pulled the little burlap blanket over himself and then he let go.

Polodron cried.

He laid his head against the wall where he saw his name carved in. She had done that when he turned 5. So he could learn to read it. It felt like so long ago. The tears kept flowing and that is how sleep found the boy that night.

The next morning Polodron awoke knowing resolutely what he needed to do. He was going to end his time with the family. If that meant his death, so be it, but he couldn’t stay in a place that Johanna had hated so much. That is something he just couldn’t do to her memory.

As he entered headquarters he was immediately assailed by the Xanathar himself.

“Polodron we need to talk. I have a mission for you.”

“Please. No more missions. I -”

“No thats right you just lost someone. I can understand that. What if I were to tell you this was the last mission. We know of a diamond that if you get it for me, I’ll let you walk away, no consequences.”

“I’m in”.

“Great, meet us at the Castilantir mansion in an hour.”

What he didn’t realize was the length of the ire of the Xanathar for those who would go against his will and when he got to the mansion, there were no Xanathar agents, but instead several guards. He was incarcerated immediately.

20 Years Old

* * *

“It is said that no one truly knows a nation until one has been inside its jails. A nation should not be judged by how it treats its highest citizens, but its lowest ones.”

― Nelson Mandela

Once here was stillness. An utter leash that befits only the rats of a society. The kind of stillness where a man sits alone with nothing but his thoughts and his pondering of how he got to where he is. Where regret writes the story of your last days, and the ink of that story slowly gets replaced by a noose. Here Polodron would spend his days looking through the bars of the prison, down upon the free folk of Waterdeep wishing, desiring above all else, death.

Why not death? His parents abandoned him. He could have died in the snow and been free of this wretched world. But Johanna saved him. Saved him for what? This torturous existence? Thats all he got from it. Now she was gone and all he wanted so desperately was to be with her again. To be able to apologize.

Days would pass in silence. One thought filled his head in those moments, those frustrating moments: ‘I am the forgotten child again. I did this. I am forgotten by all.’. Death was his only goal, but they took great measure to make sure he was not afforded this mercy.

So instead,he spent his days thinking about where everything went wrong, over and over again. He learned hatred in those dark moments, but it was hatred for himself and no one else. It wasn’t until he was almost 21 that he got a cell mate.

Polodron’s first thought was that the stranger had an odor most unpleasant about himself. He looked unwashed, and there were spots of dried blood all about him. The man wreaked of some foul work. His hair was wicked and twisted. His eyes were much they same, they bore the kind of appearance that would drill into a man’s soul. Presently they fell upon Polodron, filling him with unease. The stranger spent the better part of an hour sizing the boy up before speaking.

“I am Adrigan, the dark.”

“Pol, Polodron” the boy’s voice faltered. He realized it had been weeks since he last spoke aloud.

“Polodron” the man puzzled. “That means forgotten. Who forgot you Polodron?”

Polodron looked away, defiantly.

“Ah. I see now. Too direct wasn’t I? Struck a nerve before we had a chance to get going. Well, we necromancers aren’t known for subtly are we?”

“Necromancer?”

“I study death. Rather I study the magic required to manipulate death. Life too, but thats much less fun, eh?” the man mused to himself, but then suddenly concerned, “Why? Does that interest you?”

Polodron snorted. “All I’ve wanted to do is die.”

“Well under normal circumstances I’d be delighted to help you with that. Maybe I can still. Inadvertently. I can’t use a lot of my magic here but I can use enough to do this.”

The wizard Adrigan raised his hand up and aimed it at the boy. “You feel loss. You miss Johanna, “ the boy sat up at the mention of the name. “You want to kill the Xanathar. You want to kill your parents murderers.”

“How did you know all of that”

“Magic my dear boy.” The words dear boy were so close to what Johanna used to call him that it knocked him off base for a moment.

“Magic?”

“I can show you if you’d like.”

Dumbfounded and not sure how to respond, he found himself barely uttering “sure”.

That began Polodron Lendhen’s journey into learning the arcane arts.

26 Years Old Spring

* * *

“An abnormal reaction to an abnormal situation is normal behavior.”

― Victor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning

Once there was magic. A force that could be mastered, something that, in this crazy and chaotic universe, would listen to Polodron. Would aid him unquestioningly. Yet here was this force that Adrigan would teach him of, day after day, for 6 years. As much as he learned there was always more to learn and he delighted in that.

Choosing his specialty was easy. He saw the truest currency of the city for what it was - information. Divination magic drew him to it, like a veritable divining rod. He could start to pull secrets from the minds of the guards. They used this to figure out who was visiting the jail and could plan things like more advanced training sessions around it.

It also allowed them to do better with the other prisoners. Learning what they are afraid of, or what drives them were ways to control and manipulate the prisoners scene.

For a while, Polodron was something close to happy again. Months of spellcasting and learning brought him from the brink of desiring death, back to feeling like he had a purpose again. This was his calling, and his talent. Magic.

More than all of that it gave him something he could channel all of his sadness into. He was able to begin recovering. By the time summer had hit, he was even creating his own spells. It was about that time that he realized something too. The Wizard was being kind to him. This bothered Polodron. No one in this world had been kind to him without any expectations except for Johanna.

He approached Adrigan about this.

“Adrigan, why are you teaching me? Why are you being kind to me.?”

“Well. You are an apprentice. More than that. A time will come when I need something from you. I expect you will comply and help me.”

“So I’m just a tool to you?”

“More or less” the wizard said frowning. “Why?”

“Because most people don’t do something without wanting to use you. If I’m a tool at least I know you aren’t out to hurt me. People don’t discard their tools.”

Adrigan nodded “Wise. Now lets return to the bout.”

26 Years Old - Autumn

* * *

“It might be possible that the world itself is without meaning.”

― Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

Once there was freedom. The release of a yoke, a tether that was unearned. A kind of second chance that makes you look at the world like its offering something new. Something that you thought you lost once. Most folk, would look at that opportunity with nothing but gratitude and longing, but Polodron would discover hesitancy, and uncertainty.

It happened during a lesson. The master was teaching the apprentice, when a noblewoman happened to walk by. She stopped when she saw Polodron. A has, staring down a hasnot. It was enough to make his blood boil. What Polodron saw one her face was not disdain though. It was recognition. The whole thing threw him such that his detect thoughts spell came too late.

But what came next surprised them both. A jailer approached. “Lendhen you are free to go.”

“Wh-what?”

“You are free to go by order of lady Rosznar.”

Looking back to Adrigan, unsure, Polodron pleaded silently for guidance. The Wizard provided.

“Go Polodron. The only way that woman would have set you free is if she knows something about your family. But don’t forget our deal. You get me free of this place.”

“I promise sir.” Polodron ran out of the jail. Free air filled his lungs for the first time in 10 years. He decided in that moment he had three goals:

To kill this woman after she tells him what happened to his parents.

To free his teacher

To finally be free of this otherwise useless and painful life. Death is the final goal. He would see Johanna again.

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