"Where is the duke's mansion?" Owen asks. "Know'ng Rosey, she'd be chasin' every op'tunity. Ye might find yourself as the duke's in-law the next day,"

"No…" Exclaims Oscar. "I know the duke. He's definitely faithful to his wife,"

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"Faithful?" Owen snorted. "What about sleepin' with Rosey? Attributes of a faithful man?"

Oscar clenched his jaw. "I…"

"Ye honestly didn't know Rosey's affair?" Owen asks.

"I thought it was just a minor attraction—Rosey's smart—"

"Not too smart!" Owen thunders. "Now she's carrying a child who threatens her OWN life!"

Oscar had been silent for a moment; caught off-guard with Owen's sudden burst. His nephew usually wasn't the one to answer with such a brash manner—he had raised Owen with absolute obedience. Oscar was the harsh uncle; a rather poor father figure. Oscar had displaced his anger on his brother and wife to their son. He knew this, yet he couldn't give him the affection his nephew so deserved. He had no choice but to drive the poor child away.

"Owen, help her," Oscar swallowed, "please."

"I'll help her," Owen exclaims. "even without ye beggin'."

**

Oscar Wild Lopez had been the best informant in town—he was infamous for having the deepest and darkest secrets the most unlikely could offer. The Lopez family business was nefarious for their information-giving occupation. It was considered a deal with the devil—their lifeline at stake for such precarious data.

Two ex-adventurers retired of their duty fell in-love with each other and decided that they had to marry; to bind themselves to each other and create a 'family'—the mother had become a librarian while the father took over the legacy of his family. Their love bore two, similar fruits named Oscar and Falcon—twin brothers whom both carried the curious and cunning feature of the Lopez clan. The most critical element to carry the family business.

Falcon was considered as the older one due to him being the first to come out from his mother's womb—he did not cry much and was thought to be a sharp child, while Oscar on the other hand, had been playful, joyous, and soft. It was clear—Falcon was the one to take over the business.

Oscar married at the age of 23, with a beautiful waitress of the family tavern—a woman named Daphne, with a flaming red hair with sweet-smelling rose. They had a child, a girl who was as beautiful as her mother, with a red-colored hair—and thus came about Rose Lopez, the child born from love and beauty.

But happiness was a fleeting moment; as quick as happiness came, so swift did it vanish. Shortly happiness was overruled with emotions that changed the joyful Oscar—he was soon hurt, betrayed, and was left with a child to raise. Falcon, who was now 'Mister Fallen,' (the nickname he got as he took over the informant business), had impregnated the beautiful Daphne. The child she was carrying wasn't her husband's, but his brother's. As soon as Daphne conceived the child, she fled with Mister Fallen and was gone without a trace.

Oscar's father was dying at that time, and his dying wish was for his younger son to take over the business—Oscar, who was neither joyous nor playful, accepted his request as per respect. In his darkest moment he was left with two children to raise and a dead father who made him a replacement for Oscar's irresponsible brother.

His mother was gone long ago—no one was there to give him a shoulder but the tavern—and tavern meant booze. The ale was his friend. The women were his escape from loneliness—and so he neglected his beautiful daughter whom reminded him so much of the beautiful Daphne, and Owen—who looked too much like him, and like his brother—he had expatriated his anger to the poor child. But Oscar—now 'Oscar Wild,' had become rather too drowned with booze and was too drunk to care.

But the Duke… the Duke who came to inquire about an important map, had now impregnated his own daughter—and this man of great importance was married with a woman of higher rank, with two outstanding children—had now impregnated his poor Rosey. Oscar felt as if he was woken from his drunken slumber. Everything felt clear and his dizziness now subsided. The duke, the man who was the uncle of the young king himself, bore a child with his daughter.

For several years of feeling nothing, Oscar Wild felt scared. His daughter had a b.a.s.t.a.r.d with the second most important man in the kingdom—the Duke. A word from him and Rose would die with her unborn child. If Rose hid her child and conceive eventually, people would find out she was pregnant with no husband. She would be stoned to death.

Rose was in a dire situation.

And it was because of Oscar's neglect.

And Owen—his nephew whom he had forsaken, his nephew whom he kicked from his house—was Rose's only hope. They could marry each other; he could help Rose. He can save her life. He could save his Rosey and her unborn child.

He told her where the house of the duke was located—it was far from the capital, requiring a boat and a carriage for a few days' travel—and worry had sparked through him once more—it was stormy for a week; the ocean was bombarded with heavy torrents. Rose was missing for a few days now—given the fact that the house was unkempt; most likely she was in the duke's mansion, says Owen. Oscar gave him the directions and Owen left with no hesitation.

The child he had neglected, the child he deprived of everything and taught nothing but being a wingman, was now helping him without hesitation. In his weary eyes he saw himself in Owen—the love that drove his nephew to storm out like a steadfast steed—bolting through the door and through the heavy rain with sheer determination. In Owen, Oscar saw his youth; young, enthused, and bursting with courage, a young man who was disquieted—a young man who was ready to save a damsel.

Just like how he found Daphne; a waitress with the appearance of a damsel in distress—and he, like a knight, saved her with his love. A young man with hope and joy surrounded with misery and disarray—he found beauty in the midst of a chaotic world. But little did he know he was chaos itself. Now he was old and drunk, with nothing but ale on his veins. His driving force was money and l.u.s.t. Chaos had won him over.

Oscar sat to the floor, his body sore and sticky from the muddy rain. He laughed bitterly—this was his karma. The neglect was now taking its toll—he was much of a failure just like his brother and wife; he was like them—slipshod damsels in distress.

And in his weary eyes he stared hopeful—from several years of hopelessness he looked at the roads being soaked with the plummeting rainwater with newfound faith—and then he closed his eyes, praying that his Rose would be saved.

And in his prayers he apologized to Owen. He wanted to make it up to his neglected nephew. Maybe it was not too late—or it was.

"You're sleeping, fatty?" Says a voice. Oscar's eyes fluttered open—a man's grip was now on his neck, choking him down. A lean mad lifted him up, a smirk on his full, red lips.

"ack… wh-who are y…."

"Huh?" The man tightened his grip on Oscar's neck. "A pig can talk?"

Oscar gasped as the man slammed his body to the wall, his head hitting the stoned barrage.

Thunder echoed and illuminated the entirety of the scope—Oscar's eyes widened as he saw red, ruby eyes gleaming in the darkness, with a distinct black hair l.u.s.trous in debauched thunder-light.

"Now fatty," he says, "tell me where the map is."