Hello,

I’ve been working on videos this week, and as I wrote the scripts, I noticed a recurring theme in our stories.

The most important characters aren’t the ones holding weapons. They’re the ones watching.

In Rebels of Halklyen, the story opens with a public execution. Flint is thirteen years old, being marched toward the gallows, and the square is full. People have come to see him die.

That detail matters.

People always gathered in hordes for a hanging. Flint remembers once being part of that crowd himself—excited, curious, swept along. And afterward, what stayed with him wasn’t thrill or satisfaction. It was shame. A hollow feeling he couldn’t quite shake.

Now he’s on the other side of the rope, staring back at the spectators. He glares at them, wishing they would feel what he once felt. Wishing they would look away.

They mostly don’t.

That moment sets the tone for the entire series.Bystanders aren’t neutral

As a former middle‑grade librarian, I watched kids grapple with fairness constantly. Not abstract fairness—immediate, uncomfortable questions.

Why didn’t anyone stop it?

Why did everyone just stand there?

Would I have done anything?

Stories that pretend the crowd doesn’t matter don’t ring true to young readers. They know better. They understand instinctively that doing nothing is still a choice.

In Flint’s world, injustice doesn’t begin with monsters or magic. It begins with ordinary people deciding to watch.
Later, Flint remembers another moment—one without a crowd.

A duke beats a servant boy in the kitchen. At first, Flint can’t move. He freezes. That matters too. We don’t pretend courage is automatic.

But then he realizes something simple and terrifying: if he does nothing, his friend will die.
So he acts.

It’s not heroic. It’s not calculated. It’s desperate and costly and irreversible. And it changes the course of his life.

That pattern shows up again and again in these stories. Rebellion doesn’t begin with speeches or slogans. It begins when someone can no longer tolerate being a witness.

We didn’t set out to write “a series about bystanders.” But once I noticed the pattern, I couldn’t unsee it.

Crowds at executions.
Servants in kitchens.
Neighbours who hear rumours and stay silent.
People who look away because it’s safer.
And, occasionally, someone who doesn’t.

Those are the moments kids lean forward. Not because the violence escalates, but because the choice sharpens.

My project this week was a short YouTube video explaining why the story opens at an execution and why that crowd matters. It talks through Flint’s reaction to injustice and the role bystanders play in shaping the world of the books. (It’s my first time using my voice on a video.)

You can find it here. Watch, like, comment and subscribe.

I keep returning to this idea.

Not everyone can be a hero.

But everyone is a witness.

Does that mean we could all be heroes if we stopped looking away?

If you’ve ever reread a story and realized the crowd mattered more than you remembered, you’re not alone.

Happy reading.

Warm regards,

Paula Baker (and Aidan Davies)
paula@bakerdavies.ca
bakerdavies.ca

P.S. I teamed up with some authors to offer you free fantasy books.