《The Last Shot: A Delinquent’s Guide to Civillian Life [A Magic War Epic]》


 Prologue: Sanctuary

    It is said that every soul is made of an eternal fire born from a spark of divinity cast upon the earth.


    And much like fire acts upon the elements around it, every soul has the capacity to change the world around them, to change its shape and constitution the way that fire burns wooden logs into ash, or boils water.


    For many, this is only in the figurative sense. The actions we take, the words we speak, all influence the shape of the world and what lives within it.


    But there are also particularly powerful souls who burn brighter and stronger than the bodies that hold their kindling. Souls who can change the world around them with a mere thought, a will.


    They call this phenomenon magic.


    However, there is much that roils through someone¡¯s life that constantly chips away at the kindling within a soul until there is little left to spark. Monotony, aimlessness, and despair dampen the flame, leaving some to never really recognize or even realize their magic potential exists. Only the strong-willed, the stubborn, or the immensely privileged could ever dare to retain enough to see their true magical potential.


    In this world, mages strive to attain the Free Spirit, a state of the soul where power is untethered by the bounds of human thought, limitless.


    Abel was a contradictory soul. He was a young man with a soul that could summon great winds, but his spirit was far from free.


    If Abel were a privileged young man, he would be sitting in a classroom, half-paying attention to a lecture, entranced by the view of a girl he admired, and he would command light breeze to flutter by whenever she spoke, to give her the barest boost of confidence, which would only make her more beautiful in his eyes.


    Or he¡¯d be snorting orange juice up his nose in a fit of surprised laughter as his best friend attempted to gas himself up, only to accidentally pass gas (according to everyone who heard it who was not him). Abel would claim he had no hand in it, even when he very much did.


    If he were a strong-willed young man, perhaps he wouldn¡¯t be thousands of miles away from home. Perhaps he wouldn¡¯t be a young man fighting in someone else¡¯s war.


    Instead, he was simply stubborn enough to survive, despite everything.


    Abel stood at the center of a field, alone. Blood and bodies littered the grasslands around him of ¡°enemies¡± and ¡°allies¡± alike. His surviving comrades had already left him to tend to the injured, ordering him to act as the final and only defense by any means necessary. A wave of soldiers in gold and blue armor descended the hillside before him.


    For a moment, he considered letting them rush past him and surge towards the group that left him behind. He thought of how he was brought to this nation, chained and bartered to his Commander. How he was kept in a room and given lavish meals, but the moment he acted against orders, or would give a ¡°nasty look¡± for being in a foreign land with foreign customs, the copper circlet that was placed on his head since he was caught would cause a pulse of excruciating pain through his mind, threatening to end him in an instant.


    He remembered the whispers of concern about the practice, and the brief visit from the grim-faced Commander to explain the purpose of the war. There was an Empire who sought to invade their lands. Invaders were, naturally, evil. He was brought so far expressly to stop them. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    As far as he knew, none of the Empire¡¯s mages were forced to be there.


    So how evil could they truly be?


    In that moment, Abel lifted his hand to his forehead to feel that copper circlet¡¯s vice still gripping his head. He had a mission to fulfill. And he still wanted to survive.


    For he had yet to find his first love.


    And he had yet to accidentally snort orange juice through his nose in a fit of laughter.


    So he measured the distance between him and the surge of blue and gold Empire soldiers descending the hill.


    And he let his spirit roar.


    A gust of wind whipped through the air like thousands of blades, carving through flesh, leather, and metal armor. Cries of anguish pierced the sky, dwarfed by the howl and rumble of a forming tornado. Limbs and ichor dropped around him within the eye of the storm. From the corner of his eye, he could make out the wide eyes of a decapitated head, gazing at him in agony.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He whispered. And still, he persisted. He could handle them. He could handle this. Any moment, they would turn back.


    Please turn back.


    Then a beam of heat grazed his side. Pain flared up his abdomen as the heat dissipated, leaving a lingering burn. Dread filled his chest. A mage was in the crowd.


    His eyes scanned the horizon, only to land on one unarmored girl donning a metallic mask with pointed teeth and thick jaws. Her hands were decked in claws of thick leather hide shaped into points.


    The Dragon Mage¡¯s eyes narrowed as she clocked his gaze.


    Wind strikes buffeted the soldiers around her, only to reveal chains wrapped around her waist and legs, chains which anchored her to metal hooks dug deep into the ground. Scratches formed across the Dragon Mage as she held up a steady hand, readying her next shot. Heat coalesced around her into dense, bright orbs.


    Spears of heat, like sunrays, pierced through the sky and struck towards Abel. He jumped out of the way, weaving around fallen limbs and debris. His footing became unstable and loose as the speed of these beams increased. Sweat dripped from his face and clothes.


    He slipped on blood and tumbled, trying to summon a whirlwind around him to protect himself as the wave of remaining soldiers closed in on him, weaving through the howling winds that were much weaker now.


    Instead of feeling the pierce of metal blades through him, he felt the earth beside him rumble. A splash of mud smeared across his face as a hook, much like the Dragon Mage¡¯s, embedded itself into the ground beside him.


    His hands reached for the dagger strapped to his side as he braced for a wave of heat to rend him in two.


    But something made him stop.


    He felt a hand grip over his neck.


    A sudden sharp pain screamed through his head, causing his vision to black out. His throat closed up, as if he were drowning. His limbs became sluggish and tensed, as if fighting through thick swampy waters.


    And all he could think about was trying to resurface.


    So he fought through the pain, forcing his limbs to move. He let out a yell so reminiscent of the howling winds he conjured.


    Then the throbbing in his head eased. The vice around it disappeared all at once, and his vision, his body returned to him, snapping into place with the awareness of someone who had just woken up.


    He turned his gaze to see a much older soldier, cloaked in what he can now presume is the Empire¡¯s Mage uniform. The soldier stared back at him through goggles reminiscent of an owl¡¯s face, only further accentuated by the thick beard that flared out of the lower half of his face. He was grinning from ear to ear, with the excitement of discovering something for the first time.


    The Owl Mage lifted his hand from Abel¡¯s neck as the circlet fell to pieces around them.


    ¡°It worked.¡±


    The smile eased and tears fogged up his owl mask.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to fight anymore.¡±


    Abel tensed as more soldiers crowded around him. His confusion and overwhelming emotions stunt his capacity to hold his whirlwind up. For a moment, he thought to send them all back with a gust. But when they simply stood their ground, eyeing him with caution and curiosity, and no pain pierced his temple, Abel¡¯s hands dropped to his sides.


    And he wept.


    ¡°My name is Lieutenant Dmitri Fenharrow, and I¡¯d like to grant you sanctuary under the Vitae Empire. Do you accept?¡±


    And that was how Abel found a new home in yet another completely foreign land.


    And, how he would soon find that his dream of snorting orange juice through his nose would require many more arduous steps before it could ever come to be.

 Chapter 1: Capture

    The arrangement after Abel accepted sanctuary from Dmitri Fenharrow was sudden and agitating.


    He was disarmed then escorted by Dmitri and an entourage of soldiers (who all looked at him warily, much like a marble statue they didn¡¯t expect to move). Whispers erupted amongst the crowd around him as they crossed through the battlefield to an encampment up the hill.


    Never thought I¡¯d see a Windspinner soldier captured.


    He¡¯s not captured, he¡¯s turned.


    Hard to believe he can turn that easily with the bloodbath he left behind.


    Any monster like that should be snuffed out. Letting him live and taking him to our camp is lunacy.


    Abel tried to ignore the tense air roiling around him as the entourage eventually ushered him into a carriage sitting at the edge of the encampment.


    It was a simple wooden box structure, with two seats facing one another, a single window and a door. As Abel entered the enclosure, he noticed that the window was made up of glass rods, which functioned as bars. With a single touch, he knew that this was Altiman Glass.


    Altiman glass alone was relatively harmless. Contact or proximity to the glass would merely suppress one¡¯s spirit flame like the lid on a pot holds in steam, turning a mage into an ordinary mortal.


    However, if one were to channel additional magic into the glass, its suppressing capacity could react enough to completely snub the spirit flame, killing anyone in contact with it.


    It was also the craft used to steal Abel away from his homeland to begin with.


    For good reason, Abel grew apprehensive.


    It didn¡¯t help that Dmitri then insisted he wear a glass cuff chained to the seat of the carriage, to ensure he wouldn¡¯t turn against them and attack an entire encampment on his own, nor run off either.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    What kind of idiot would start a fight behind enemy lines?


    ¡°I know you wouldn¡¯t, but¨C¡±


    ¡°Was I offered sanctuary or entrapment?¡± Abel yelled, immediately diving away from the accessory. He attempted to exit the carriage, only to find it sealed from the outside. It was entrapment. So Abel turned back to Dmitri.


    The two proceeded to wrestle rather unceremoniously, twisting limbs as Abel tried every possible way to make his wrist harder to grab, even if that meant taking fingers up his nose and mouth as Dmitri tried to shove his entire body closer within reach.


    ¡°This was the only way they would agree to grant you sanctuary! I promise this is temporary and you¡¯re not really trapped¨C Hey!¡±


    Dmitri was not as limber as Abel and lost his balance, knocking his head into the top of the carriage with a resounding THUD.


    ¡°Ow¡­¡±


    It was enough to get Abel to stop out of concern. Dmitri took the opportunity to go for the kill and latched Abel¡¯s ankle with the band from his position on the floor.


    ¡°HAH! I mean¨C I apologize.¡± Dmitri sheepishly corrected himself. ¡° It¡¯s only for the journey.¡±


    The two slumped in their respective seats, exhausted from the fight. Abel shot Dmitri with a rueful look.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡±


    ¡°The capital. You¡¯ll be living with me until we can get your situation sorted, so I hope we can get along. I have a mother, and brothers, and you will meet others who are facing similar circumstances.¡±


    Dmitri paused, a flash of realization crossing his features.


    ¡°Do you have a family?¡±


    Abel quieted.


    ¡°I¡¯m not telling you that, sir.¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­¡± Dmitri sighed in frustration. ¡°I should caution you, Abel. The Empire may have plans to speak with you before you get settled. They are far more wary of the danger you pose than I.¡±


    ¡°I could tell.¡± Abel gestured towards the soldiers just outside the window. ¡°Maybe they¡¯re smart to.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes, well¡­¡± Dmitri hesitated. He eyed Abel for a moment, as if internally weighing a scale in his mind. A hint of scrutiny, then pity crossed his features, then finally settled on conviction.


    ¡°You will be interrogated soon. Now, I am of the mind that questions are invitations, but the brass in the capital believe they¡¯re demands.¡± Dmitri huffed, shifting in his seat to regard Abel properly. ¡°If there are things you¡¯d rather not speak about, you¡¯ll need the art of clever omission, rather than refusing to answer outright. You may practice on me until we reach our destination.¡±


    Abel¡¯s expression flickered from annoyance to shock. For all his time in the Caldon Kingdom, he learned to read sweet-talkers and false promises for what they were: a means for someone else to use your own power for their gain. In other words, purely selfish manipulation.


    And yet, here this strange man is offering a way to keep something for himself. He didn¡¯t know what to make of it.


    ¡°Thank you. I¡¯ll consider it.¡± Abel mumbled, looking off towards the window to avoid betraying just how much he appreciated the gesture. He couldn¡¯t afford to seem partial to him quite yet.


    It could still be a trick in disguise, after all. He just had to wait and see when they reached the capital.

 Chapter 2: Listening and Learning

    Soon after the caravan set off did Abel feel dread creeping up the back of his neck.


    Surely it couldn¡¯t be this easy to leave.


    Surely there would be consequences. The Kingdom will keep what it paid for, or at the very least never let its value be shared with their sworn enemy.


    He rubbed the Glass cuff on his ankle, cognizant of the feeling of being magically muted. He attempted to will a puff of wind, but nothing whiffed.


    He was mortal, and it was pissing him off.


    ¡ª-


    Abel was told the journey to the Capital would take two weeks.


    Every few hours, the caravan would stop to hunt, camp, and eat. They never released Abel from his cuff, opting to hunt on his behalf.


    At first, Abel didn¡¯t notice it. His mind was off in the treeline, the shadows, the sound of fluttering bird wings as they passed through the forest. Everything that could be an end to his journey. He was constantly on edge and barely slept. Dmitri attempted to speak to him several times as the days passed, but Abel remained silent and inattentive to the conversation to not lose his focus.


    What Abel did notice first was the way that the retinue of soldiers in the caravan would deliberately gather around a second campfire a few meters away from him and Dmitri. They would pass furtive glances their way, but otherwise talk amongst themselves.


    Even the Dragon Mage sat amongst them. She wasn¡¯t particularly loud, though she was kept central to every congregation, as if her opinion mattered the most.


    More than once, he caught them waving Dmitri over. Dmitri would comply each time, running errand after errand they asked him to do, no matter how lowly it seemed. After each task, they would wrap him in a wrestling vice that he was woefully under-equipped to extract himself from, then laugh at him as he struggled to free himself. Abel couldn¡¯t help but read the actions like a threat veiled over the guise of a joke.


    They eventually would let him go, and he would return to Abel¡¯s side with another ramble on his lips that failed to pierce the boy¡¯s mind.


    It was as if Dmitri¡¯s safety meant he could turn his attention back to the outside dangers.


    Eventually one nightfall, Abel tuned into Dmitri¡¯s words. A week had passed and nothing happened, and his mind was starting to tire. Dmitri had prepared their beds (it later came to Abel¡¯s attention that he had been doing so every night, as well as contributing to the cooking and keeping the fire for the entire caravan, likely why he was always called over).


    ¡°The capital has a grand lake, Lake Setia, that is often blue, sometimes brown. But there was one year where it turned green, and I decided to eat the green from the lake. You may be wondering why. Well, I was just curious. It didn¡¯t smell bad. it smelled green. But what does green as a taste mean, anyway?¡± Dmitri rambled.


    What was he even on about?


    Abel¡¯s flicker to absolute confusion brought a smile to Dmitri¡¯s face.


    ¡°Ah, so these kinds of topics interest you.¡±


    ¡°W¡­What?¡±


    ¡°Well, I caught on very quickly that you were not listening to a word I said. It was amazing, really. I really thought nothing would phase you. And so, I¡¯ve been spouting absolute random nonsense to see what would be the thing to pierce the veil .¡± Dmitri mused.


    ¡°Surprisingly, you didn¡¯t care for the crass stuff. You¡¯d think one your age would be interested in the exploits of a young man and role model such as myself.¡±


    Abel had to hold back a snort. What kind of exploits would a man like you have?


    ¡°Hey!¡± Dmitri let out a wounded laugh. ¡°I do well for myself in society, thank you very much.¡±


    ¡°Well, you don¡¯t seem to be a very respectable soldier.¡± Abel mumbled, almost as an aside. This only further pierced Dmitri¡¯s ego. Or, at least, Dimtri mimed as much.


    ¡°And what is that supposed to mean?¡± Dmitri smiled, remaining cordial. He didn¡¯t seem upset. Perhaps he already expected it.


    ¡°I guess I¡¯m asking¡­¡± Abel turned to Dmitri. ¡°Why are you here?¡±


    Dmitri laughed again.


    ¡°Am I that obvious?¡±


    ¡°Compared to her, yes.¡± Abel gestured to the Dragon Mage, who was polishing her anchors under the firelight. Dmitri watched her with an air of bittersweet admiration before speaking again.


    ¡°My appointment, unfortunately, was out of necessity. I¡¯m not exactly a natural-born warrior, as you clearly noted. My family runs an inn in the capital. Hospitality is in my blood. But¨C¡± He cleared his throat.


    ¡°Magically, I¡¯m like a sponge. Or perhaps a very hungry ox.¡± He gestured to one of the ox chewing grain nearby. ¡°I can take in someone else¡¯s Spirit Fire, their magic, and place it somewhere else.¡±


    ¡°When Windspinners began showing up on the battlefield during the war, the Empire had done much to try to figure out why a subjugated people would fight so hard for a battle that was not their own.¡±


    ¡°And then a mage theorized that they¨C I mean you¨C were being compelled by a spell drawn from Spirit Fire. But we really had no way of knowing.¡±


    Abel remembered the Commander. How the circlet was placed on him, told to follow express orders else the circlet would hurt him. He had wondered how orders from other generals could carry the same weight as the Commander. He surmised that it must be an effect of a new material, the same way that Altiman Glass suppressed Spirit Fire, that would compel him in such a way.


    He never thought it would be someone¡¯s magic ability. Did the Commander himself have the capacity to put a spell on him? To charm him? He had never heard of someone with an ability so close to mind control.


    Does that mean the spell is gone now? If he were to put on any circlet, would he be trapped in the same vice once more?


    He then thought about all of the others he left behind, who still wore that circlet.


    Abel absently pulled more of his dark, curly hair over his forehead.


    ¡°I¡­ I guess.¡± He mumbled. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°Ah, well.¡± Dmitri caught his discomfort and quickly tried to move on. ¡°In any case, I was brought in by the Empire to see if my ability was capable of helping people in your situation, with this mission.¡±


    ¡°You were our first success.¡±


    Did that mean there were failures?


    Abel didn¡¯t want to know, so he tried to pivot the conversation.


    ¡°So you grew up in the capital, then?¡± Abel mused, wrapping himself in the set of blankets over the small cot beside their carriage. ¡°Do they all also try to ¡®eat the green lake¡¯ like you too?¡±


    ¡°Ah that was¨C a mere curiosity.¡± Dmitri bashfully scratched his cheek. ¡°There¡¯s all kinds of eclectic people who thrive in the Empire. I¡¯m certain you¡¯d fit in without a hitch. ¡±


    Was this an appeasement? Or a genuine statement?


    A hope began tugging at Abel¡¯s heartstrings.


    ¡°So you¡¯ve been all over, like the schools and libraries?¡± Abel pulled the blankets of his cot over his face, as if to hide how eager he was for the answer.


    ¡°Interested in education, are you?¡±


    ¡°Well.¡± Abel measured the consequence of his words, the bargaining chip it could present, and decided the potential answers were far more worth it. ¡°Not really, but I heard that there were institutions where anyone could go to meet people from all over. To grow together.¡±


    Rather than tear each other down.


    Rather than leave them all behind like he had just done.


    The expression Dmitri gave Abel as he peeked out from beneath the blankets was surprisingly warm. It threw Abel off so much that it distracted him from the guilt threatening to spread through his chest for just a moment.


    ¡°Yes! Such institutions do exist, and for specialties as well! There¡¯s a prolific academy run by the Order of the Mage, there are schools of history, engineering and arts¨C general education as well. There¡¯s even a Grand Library that houses a copy of every piece of literature on the continent that has ever passed through the Empire¡¯s borders. They even have scribes stationed at every border entrance to track down storytellers and erudites alike for that very purpose.¡±


    ¡°Not to mention you will have no shortage of new folks to meet, as you will be joining my family at our Inn, in the center of the capital.¡±


    And the hope flickered stronger.


    And Abel couldn¡¯t help himself.


    He kept asking questions. Questions about the people Dmitri had met, the magic he¡¯d seen. Questions about the differences in how Empire citizens read (they sounded out the letters rather than read shapes), slept (always facing north), bathed (more communally than he was expecting), and ate (mostly with hands, as it was all dried and salted foods) and compared them to his convoluted combination of home-spun traditions and Caldon Kingdom enforcement.


    Everything sounded like it could be better. It could be home.


    And Abel¡¯s mind wandered towards the future.


    Ah¡­


    What a foolish thing to do.


    He didn¡¯t hear the wind pick up, nor see the branches that shifted just in the periphery of the firelight.


    Whips of wind tore into the fires around the soldiers¡¯ campfire first, ripping the heat and burning kindling into pieces that flung out at their faces. They rushed to their feet, scrambling for weapons and armor.


    The Dragon Mage flung a beam into the forest line, lighting up the area. Three cloaked figures dove out of the way, tumbling into the (now scattered) firelight.


    ¡°Caldon Rogues!¡±


    ¡°Careful! They¡¯re the elite task force of the Kingdom¡¯s army!¡±


    ¡°They have a Windspinner with them!¡±


    ¡°Lieutenant Fenharrow, get the Target out of here!¡± The Dragon Mage called out as she readied beams of heat towards the Windspinner¡¯s direction. The rest of the soldiers were split between holding defensive stances and rapidly gathering as many supplies onto the carts for a quick getaway.


    They were going to flee. A force numbered 20 strong, was going to leave in the face of three enemies.


    But Abel, the supposedly named ¡°Target¡±, had his mind elsewhere.


    There was a Windspinner.


    Another who, like Abel, was trapped under the Commander¡¯s thrall. Who could be pulled into that ideal world he so clearly saw ahead.


    Abel rolled out of his cot, immediately trying to jump into action, only to feel the nauseating press of the glass on his magic.


    ¡°Sir, please.¡± He turned to Dmitri, who was also up, his hands fumbling to pull on his owl-like goggles. ¡°I can stop that mage. We can save them, like you did with me.¡±


    Dmitri hesitated. There was something in the firm line of his lips that made Abel realize how compromised he was in his position.


    As much as Dmitri played his friend and ally, he was an Empire soldier first.


    ¡°You succeeded once, didn¡¯t you?¡± Abel frantically tried to reason.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that simple. You heard the order. We need to get you out of here.¡±


    Orders, be damned. He couldn¡¯t let this opportunity go. He was too stubborn.


    Wind whipped through the camp, and their conversation was suddenly cut short by the appearance of a rogue just behind Dmitri.


    Abel twisted around, shoving Dmitri behind him as the rogue bore down with a dagger. Abel¡¯s hand blocked the dagger within inches of scraping a hole into his cheek.


    He then kneed the Rogue to loosen his stance, then used the base of his palm to knock a clean hit at the Rogue¡¯s jaw, sending him stumbling backwards. His movements were all swift and strong, like piercing needles that matched the speed of the Rogue¡¯s.


    He jabbed more blows his way, but the Rogue managed to regain composure and blocked him at every pass.


    Then Dmitri jumped into the fray. knocking the Rogue sideways. It was a sloppy hit, but effective.


    That¡¯s when Abel reached for the dagger in the Rogue¡¯s hand¡­


    ¡­and pointed it Dmitri¡¯s way.


    ¡°Abel.¡± Dmitri breathed.


    ¡°I can do it. Unlock me and I can help you turn that Windspinner.¡±


    ¡°Lieutenant! The caravan is ready! Let¡¯s go!¡± A soldier called out.


    ¡°Abel, the terms of your sanctuary are on a very thin balance. Anything you do here could jeopardize¨C¡±


    ¡°It will mean nothing if I didn¡¯t try. Please, Lieutenant.¡±


    A yell ruptured their struggle. A soldier fell from the defense line. The Dragon Mage let out a yell of anger and burned a hole through the Windspinner¡¯s shoulder, sending them tumbling back into a charred tree.


    They had no time to argue.


    Click. Dmitri unlocked the glass brace.


    And Abel leapt towards the fray.


    He made quick work of the rogues, pulling them into the air and onto their backs in quick bursts. Several soldiers also toppled over in the process.


    The Dragon Mage took the confusion of the sudden turn in the fight to mark a pinpoint headshot at the Windspinner. Abel caught sight her aim and quickly circumvented it by shoving the Windspinner to the ground with his body, effectively knocking them to safety.


    The Dragon Mage let out a yell of frustration.


    ¡°Why is the Target loose? Lieutenant!¡±


    But Dmitri chose not to respond, perhaps out of fear of getting a sunbeam to the head. He instead dove after Abel, who was furiously wrestling with the Windspinner on the ground.  Winds buffeted around them, thrashing and howling as each force fought for dominance of the air. Dmitri could barely crawl to get to them.


    ¡°What do we do?¡±


    ¡°Turn him over!¡±


    Abel¡¯s grip shifted on the Windspinner so that they were on top of him, digging into the hole in their shoulder to keep them from physically lashing out at Dmitri.


    Dmitri placed a hand on the back of the Windspinner¡¯s neck, infusing his magic¡¯s power into them.


    And the Windspinner let out a guttural, deeply resonating scream.


    Abel watched from below as the Windspinner¡¯s pupils shrank, fear consuming them. Phantom pricks of the circlet¡¯s sting floated in Abel¡¯s head as he remembered how painful it felt, remembered the feeling of drowning.


    ¡°Swim up. Please.¡± Abel pleaded in a quiet whisper.


    Dmitri¡¯s loose hand flicked out and released a surge of energy, aiming for a rogue that was beginning to recover.


    The rogue doubled over, as if feeling the prick of that same drowning pain.


    And the Windspinner¡¯s screaming stopped. The circlet dropped into pieces around them.


    But where Abel was expecting their body to go slack with relief, to embrace him.


    He saw tears.


    Blood droplets welled in the Windspinner¡¯s eyes and dripped down onto his cheek.


    Their body fell limp, and as he lifted himself to catch them in an embrace, he felt nothing but cold.


    ¡°They¡¯re dead.¡± Abel mumbled through barely moving lips. He couldn¡¯t hear his own voice even when the wind around them had died down to a complete stillness.


    His arms wrapped even tighter around his bretheren¡¯s body, the blood flecks on his cheek smearing as he pressed his face into their shoulder.


    ¡°They¡¯re dead.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Abel.¡± Dmitri sat beside him, a knowing frown on his lips.


    He pulled the goggles off to survey the ruins of what was left. The caravan was ready to go. Both rogues had fallen.


    And the Dragon Mage was standing before them, a heat beam ready in hand, outstretched towards Abel¡¯s head, a cold fury in her eyes.


    ¡°Lieutenant, get the Target back in the carriage. We need to talk.¡±

 Chapter 3: Grin and Bear It

    The Dragon Mage, Captain Ciella Najem, was a patient woman.


    She learned that results only came from being calculated. Words, punches, prayers, were only ever useful if they were given intentional direction. Everything else was a waste of energy, a waste of her time.


    The moment she met Dmitri Fenharrow, she knew he was the exact opposite.


    It was a year prior to this moment. She was a lieutenant in the Vitae Military serving under a rather abrasive Captain named Henri Waris.


    Captain Waris was a slave driver.


    He relished in running drills in place of breaks, to keep his squad always at attention with sharp yelling and berating until soldiers collapsed with exhaustion. With the outpost being the furthest from the fighting, the patrols were light, which meant there was a constant cycle of drills and very little sleep in otherwise sleepy mountainside backwoods.


    While many raised an eyebrow at Captain Waris¡¯s practices, they did nothing to change him, for he always produced results. It was widely known that soldiers cultivated under his iron tongue survived the longest on the warfront.


    And yet, each waking day within the squad felt like the toil of a waking death rather than priming for survival.


    They developed a feral reaction to violence, springing to action in such an efficient and explosive manner, as if to vent off the roiling tension within them. It helped that his squad also had the highest transfer request rate in the army.


    It came as no surprise to Ciella that she was placed under Waris¡¯s command particularly because his lieutenants kept quitting on him. The lieutenant immediately preceding her was a silent gruff man who was presumed the perfect match to Waris¡¯s harshness. Two weeks into training, Waris discovered the lieutenant had an acute fear of heights. When he was feeling particularly heated one morning, Waris proceeded to compel the rest of the privates to string the lieutenant up off of the overhang of the barrack¡¯s roof, where the building walls met a particularly steep cliff face gazing down into a city below. Waris then agreed to release him only if the lieutenant could recite the code of conduct without error, from memory, as a way to prove to his squad that fears are nothing more than excuses.


    The lieutenant spent four hours hanging off that roof before he succeeded. The following week, the gruff lieutenant mysteriously suffered a grievous leg injury that left him unable to serve at all. Whispers told her that such an injury was self-inflicted, a result of obstinate superiors refusing to reassign him elsewhere.


    And Ciella, being a deeply overachieving star student straight out of the capital¡¯s combat academy, believed that a chance in which she was immediately placed as a lieutenant instead of starting as a private with everyone else was worth any form of suffering.


    So she bore through the torture as a replacement lieutenant, let Waris talk his fill, kept quiet and controlled. She did not know any better.


    And yet, the more she watched, the more something kept pecking at the back of her mind:


    For as much as Waris crafted survivors, he failed to even begin to cultivate heroes.


    Through all her years in training, she learned the meaning of the fighting spirit. It is the relentless push towards victory. The belief that your own actions could contribute to a greater purpose. That you wanted others to survive with you to see that greater tomorrow, and you were wanted in turn.


    It was the luxury of having a purpose beyond ¡°the government told me to¡±.


    No wonder the war has raged on for a dozen years.


    Here, the only thing anyone did was try to exist for as long as possible. Or find a way to move on. Much like pain, time causes them to forget even the most fiery conviction. Conflict and fear become the status quo.


    It has always been like this, so it always will be. Or some bullshit along those lines, Ciella mused.


    ¡°You could fake an injury like the last guy.¡± One of the more senior soldiers mentioned to her after one particularly arduous drilling session left her with a bloody nose and an uneven step. ¡°Nobody would fault you for it.¡±


    ¡°There is a saying in Vitae that my mother told me often.¡± She mumbled and spat out a wad of blood that had trickled into her throat. ¡°A name on a thousand tongues is enough to light the hearth of a thousand homes.¡±


    ¡°When we die, our spirits become a candle that burns until the last person who knew us forgets us. After that, we are reborn with the full power of that enduring flame, given the chance to live a more elevated life.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re looking to torch the Empire with your name.¡±


    ¡°Precisely.¡±


    Because the thing about complacency is that it is only ever convenient at a distance. The war between the Caldon Kingdom and the Vitae Empire were fought on a battleground that, until recently, was claimed by neither side: The central Republic of Zhuraita, Ciella¡¯s homeland.


    Perhaps if one among them was stronger than anyone else, they¡¯d choose someone else¡¯s home to raze to the ground.


    But the soldier did not ask such questions, and did not know this much of her.


    ¡°There¡¯s a reason mages are few and far between. Lunatics, the lot of you are.¡±


    And so, Ciella began her plan of action to supersede Captain Henri Waris. To build a hero beneath his very nose.


    That is where Dmitri Fenharrow came in.


    Well, not at first.


    Dmitri Fenharrow¡¯s name first appeared on strategy reports from the Order of the Mage, which recounted the discovery of a power that could siphon the Spirit Fire, the very magic essence of life, from another person. Such an individual was technically considered Altiman Glass personified. If given the right tools and direction, this man could easily become deadly. He could be the key to perfecting the art of killing mages.


    He could be their ace in the hole to win the war against the Caldon Kingdom. Or their biggest threat if he went elsewhere.


    And so, extensive efforts were made to recruit such a mage into their forces. Though It was not hard to get him to accept. Dmitri Fenahrrow seemed rather eager to join the war effort, according to a report the following week.


    Naturally, he was not initially assigned to Henri¡¯s squad. He was given to a more senior, more refined and well-regarded individual¡ª a recently-lauded general with his own private training hall overlooking the grand lake Setia in the cappital. It was a far cry from the dusty rock and pebble mountainside of the main barracks, where one had to climb the mountainside just to get to the terraced training flats and outlook towers above. Dmitri likely never sprained his ankle attempting to run up a nearly-vertical slope to get to patrols on-time. Dmitri likely enjoyed the cool breeze of the lake winds as he worked through martial drills in the early morning. Ciella loathed him just as much as she was curious about him.


    Fucking Dmitri.


    But something must¡¯ve gone wrong, for not a month later, Dmitri¡¯s name appeared on reports again, announcing a transfer to Henri¡¯s squadron posthaste. A mission was given explicitly to the captain to cultivate a fighting form out of the man known as Dmitri Fenharrow, to ¡°remove his reliance on civilian comforts to competently conduct himself in military operations.¡±


    In other words, he was too much of a wuss on the battlefield, and his ineptitude was likely going to get him killed before he could even be useful.


    Usually, when a recruit fails to meet these aptitude requirements, they would be sent to desk work: reports, research, or messenger duties to appropriately contribute to their nation based on their capacity. But Dmitri Fenharrow had a different fate. His magical talent meant he needed to be on the frontline at all costs, else it would be a real waste.


    So they had no choice but to break him.


    Dmitri arrived at the barracks at dawn. Ciella had gotten up early to greet him at the entrance.


    And boy, did Waris have his work cut out for him.


    Dmitri was a sprightly and lean man. Dark copper skin and a short beard that flared out to the sides to match the way his kinked hair flared out above him, giving off the impression of perpetual surprise and wonderment. He wore large round glasses that warped his eyes to be larger than they were and sat upon an angular nose and prominent cheekbones, and wore a well-pressed collared shirt and slacks that fit snug on his lanky thin frame rather than the usual baggy fare the rest of the corp was accustomed to. He was, in all, the most polished man Ciella had seen in a while. He was almost charming, in a scholarly way.


    Rather than salute, he bowed to her, one arm draped across his front in a very practiced and graceful manner.


    ¡°Good morning. I¡¯m Dmitri Fenharrow. Pleasure to meet you.¡± He gave her a warm smile. It felt alien. Confusing. Wrong. But also tugged at her chest in a strange, fluttering way.


    Definitely wrong.


    This man wasn¡¯t going to last five minutes.


    Ciella rubbed at her nose, as if feeling for the remnants of the blood she shed just days ago. Part of her wished to advise him to turn back. The other was far more interested in seeing just what she had to work with. He was her shot at making a hero, after all.


    ¡°Lieutenant Ciella Najem. With me, Private.¡± She turned on her heel, only to look back and murmur, ¡°Hope you can take an insult.¡±


    They entered the main barracks room, where they were promptly swarmed with the crowd of privates, all clamoring on the first few beds to get a look. No sooner did they catch a glimpse of Dmitri¡¯s posh getup did they erupt in a fit of laughter.


    ¡°This guy is a twig!¡±


    ¡°When¡¯s the next lecture, Professor Silk-Stockings?¡±


    ¡°This is our mage killer?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m not going to kill anyone¡ª'''' Dmitri began, which immediately shot Ciella to attention. Before he could elaborate further, Waris¡¯s booming voice echoed into the room from the doorway behind them.


    ¡°Whatever you¡¯re laughing at better be hilarious, whelps!¡° Waris¡¯s stout frame filled the room as he marshaled in. He came face to face with Dmitri, immediately grimacing at the sight of him, as if he had just witnessed a rat cross his kitchen floor.


    ¡°Where¡¯s your gear, boy? Did you think this was a party? Don¡¯t waste my time!¡± Spittle flew onto Dmitri¡¯s face from how close Waris stood, causing him to flinch. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    And yet, despite the initial fear, Dmitri smiled as if he was just reminded of an errand he had to run at some point that day.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯ll get that sorted right away.¡± Dmitri¡¯s measured and almost melodic tone only made Waris more angry.


    ¡°Are you mocking me, boy?¡±


    ¡°Not at all. Excuse me.¡± He set his bag down on the nearest cot and plucked his button-up loose within seconds, like a motorized machine. He not only pulled on a new shirt in record time, but was also able to fold up the nicely-pressed shirt in two flicks of his wrist, forming the perfect folded square to place into his bag.


    The rest of the squad couldn¡¯t help but watch in absolute confusion.


    No crying? No shaking? No running? Not even a little pee in his pants?


    And a party trick, to top it off?


    Waris immediately brought them back to focus, yelping sharp orders to line up for inspection, which was enough time for Dmitri to completely change into the standard tucked-in linen blouse and baggy slacks like the rest of the squad. It made Ciella wonder why he had shown up in the first outfit to begin with.


    Was he just looking to make a good impression?


    What an idiot.


    Drillwork later that day was abysmal. Dmitri was physically average for a common civilian, which meant he was always the last one of the squad. He was slow, careless, and absent-minded. There was potential, Ciella noted, in the way he was able to choose the proper stances for attack and defense when he was paying attention.


    That is to say, he had a particularly difficult time staying focused. It made him an easy target in combat practice, for he seemed far more interested in pleasantries than actually fighting. Within moments, he was pinned, bludgeoned, or thrown to the ground.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Let¡¯s run that again.¡± Dmitri cracked through labored breaths when he was first thrown onto his back. All the while, his patient smile never left his features, which only further vexed his sparring partner.


    Dmitri immediately received a kick to the stomach, which sent him to the ground again.


    ¡°Smiling, huh? Think you¡¯re too good for me that you¡¯re not even bothering? Why don¡¯t you try winning if you¡¯re so hot?¡± The soldier spat, throwing in a kick for every word, for good measure. Dmitri crumpled under the force, letting out involuntary groans that were loud enough to interrupt the matches around him.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough out of you, fresh meat!¡± Ciella intervened, physically coming between the two. ¡°Tamir, cover patrols for the north tower. Cool down.¡± She received a sharp look from the aforementioned sparring partner, as he internally debated turning his force upon her before he sized her up, decided against the impulse, and skulked off.


    Ciella stood over Dmitri, watching him push out labored breaths as his body writhed under newly formed bruises. He squinted up at her, noticing her immobile presence.


    ¡°Are you just going to watch me?¡±


    Pretty much.


    ¡°How well do you think that went for you?¡± Ciella murmured, propping her hands on her knees.


    ¡°I¡¯d say I excel at bringing out the fighting spirit in others.¡± Dmitri grinned at her in a way that made her breath catch in her throat, despite the blood on his teeth.


    ¡°Wit doesn¡¯t get you far on the battlefields. There tends to be too much ambient noise for that.¡± Ciella muscled through the sensation, focusing on the task at hand. ¡°Let¡¯s see if you know how to learn.¡± She turned to yell across the training grounds.


    ¡°Aidin! You¡¯re his sparring partner now. You¡¯ll be running grapples.¡±


    A rather gangly woman hustled over to take Tamer¡¯s place. Dmitri took that as a sign to push himself up. He staggered to his feet, hands raised in a meager attempt to hold a defensive stance.


    As soon as Ciella stepped aside, Aidin lunged for Dmitri, much like a spider would begin to weave silk over her caught prey. Her arms wrapped around Dmitri¡¯s waist and neck and before he even had time to register the pressure against his bruises, he was on the ground again.


    There was a flicker in Dmitri¡¯s eyes as he rolled to get up again. Let¡¯s see if you know how to learn. His lips quirked up as if he were going to repeat the same set of apologies he gave Tamer, only for something else to escape.


    ¡°That was really impressive! You¡¯re quick on your feet!¡±


    Aidin¡¯s snarl faltered.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to go easy on you, pretty boy.¡±


    ¡°I hardly expect you to.¡± And Dmitri¡¯s patient smile returned, almost like a tick he couldn¡¯t break. One that Aidin took to be a mocking one, based on the roar she let out as she yanked him back onto his feet.


    Ciella watched as the cycle repeated itself. Partner after partner, Dmtiri failed to improve, and yet he seemed to drive the cadets around him even more mad than anyone would justifiably feel when they¡¯ve won a match. Even when blood spilled down Dmitri¡¯s cheek from a fracture, or when he couldn¡¯t rise from a twisted ankle.


    Even when the dinner bell rang and they filed into the mess hall, and Tamer corralled a group from the squad to ¡°accidentally¡± spill his meal all over the table, forcing him to go hungry for the night at Waris¡¯ insistence.


    And yet, Dmitri himself never broke. He smiled, accepted their insincere apology, and promised for a better tomorrow, and retired to sleep.


    Peculiar.


    Ciella found that she could never break her gaze from Dmitri for the rest of that week.  She saw how his gentlemanly gestures of holding open doors, cleaning up public spaces, and even throwing a few compliments were met with near-to-guaranteed violence. He was shoved, heckled, mocked.


    It eventually became a gauntlet amongst the squad to find out what he feared the most. They locked him in the lookout tower, they drenched him in the communal pools, they dropped scorpions into his bed. He spent more time at the medical ward than training. And still, his tone with them never changed. His actions never changed. His smile never ceased. He had a patience that bordered on insanity.


    ¡°You clearly want to be here.¡± Ciella stood in the doorway of the medical ward the following morning, watching as a nurse wrapped Dmitri¡¯s ankle.


    ¡°I can promise you I do not enjoy pain this much.¡±


    ¡°What I¡¯m hearing is there¡¯s a part of you that does enjoy it, then.¡± Ciella teased, then amended. ¡°No, I mean this outpost. The war effort. You want to be here.¡±


    ¡°I volunteered, yes.¡± There was a flicker in his eye that almost seemed surprised by Ciella¡¯s observations.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Dmitri mused over this question¨C or rather, mused over Ciella¡¯s expression to gauge how much he could get away with.


    ¡°To serve my country?¡±


    ¡°You must not be a very patriotic person. You completely ignored the lesson I gave you, after all.¡±


    ¡°Hey! I¡¯m giving it an earnest try, but¨C¡±


    ¡°Bullshit.¡± Ciella entered the room with an intensity that immediately sent the nurse scurrying out. ¡°You¡¯ve clearly done your homework enough to know the right forms. You simply lack the resolve to put it to practice.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand why you choose to busy yourself¨C to torture yourself¨C all for these charades of courtesy. And yet, you still wish to be here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m offended you think it¡¯s a charade.¡± Dmitri spoke in a manner that suggested he was not offended in the slightest. ¡°People in this world are kind, Lieutenant. Keep prodding your soldiers with sticks of fear and anger, and they¡¯ll forget that.¡±


    As much as it irritated her, he had a point. It was disturbing how her soldiers turned into untenable beasts with just a soft smile. She could feel herself falling into those same patterns. The same feeling of wrong, wrong, wrong¡ª get rid of it¡ª bury it¡ª whenever she caught his glances, the quirk of his lips.


    Focus.


    ¡°It is not your place to impose your own moral training on your fellow men. You¡¯re bordering on insubordination, Private.¡±


    ¡°And what will happen to them when the war is over?¡± Dmitri posed.


    He was thinking of a time after the conflict. Reassuring.


    ¡°Captain Waris will not change, war or not. This outpost will be as it always has been.¡±


    Ciella didn¡¯t fully believe those words. And as she met Dmitri¡¯s gaze, she could see that he didn¡¯t believe them either.


    ¡°You¡¯re observant, Lieutenant.¡±  Dmitri mused. ¡°Captain Waris may give the orders, but who the soldiers listen to is entirely different.¡±


    ¡°Take this outpost in a different direction, and everyone will follow.¡±


    Ciella left the ward then, but the words continued to ring in her head. Dmitri had proven a practiced diplomat: he spoke in half-truths and nonanswers, which was nothing less than infuriating.


    She was more confident than ever that he could assume the hero role she had appointed for him. Yet at the same time, apprehension twisted in her gut as she considered the idea that he was manipulating her. He had sown chaos into the ranks with his schemes, and he seemed intent on following his own accord. Whatever he was planning involved taking the outpost with him, for better or worse.


    ¡°Who the soldiers listen to is entirely different.¡±


    Perhaps this was a gauntlet to prove they were on the same side.


    So she decided to follow through with an experiment the following day by swapping patrol groups halfway through the shift, intentionally omitting Captain Waris¡¯ input on the decision, even when questioned.


    ¡°A swap can freshen up our mind, teach us to be more alert of our surroundings.¡± She pat a soldier¡¯s shoulder as she ushered them to their next post.


    And the way that they flipped to her side with little but clarifying questions astounded her.


    ¡°How did you know that was going to happen?¡± Ciella interrogated Dmitri in the corridor later that afternoon, as the end of dinner was approaching. Dmitri was flustered to find that Ciella had managed to corner him in an instant, her stance firmly trapping him against the wall. They were alone.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t. But¡­¡± Dmitri began, a flutter in his voice. He cleared it to refocus. ¡°The Captain always addresses his squad with an insult or a threat. You don¡¯t mince your words.¡±


    ¡°You say what needs to be done, and you don¡¯t pass judgment until the deed is done. You make it feel more¡­ safe.¡±


    Ciella took in his words, but said nothing, betrayed no emotion. She didn¡¯t know how to feel. She was just¡­ curious for more. Dmitri took her silence as acceptance.


    ¡°As much as this squad refuses to believe they are worthy of kindness, nobody really wishes for torture. They only accept it if there is no other option.¡± Dmitri continued.


    ¡°I want my home back.¡± Ciella breathed. At Dmitri¡¯s confused expression, she continued. ¡°My reason for fighting. My home in Zhuraita is now a battlefield on the frontlines. We evacuated years ago, but there are still things there that I miss. Like the apple trees, or the red tile rooftops, or the way the grass bloomed with vibrance when it rained on the hills.¡±


    Ciella sucked in a breath, straining to keep her composure. She needed to be intentional at this moment.


    ¡°I ask that you speak candidly with me for once, Private Fenharrow. Why are you here?¡±


    Dmitri¡¯s lips parted in response.


    But a booming, distant voice ruptured their thoughts.


    ¡°Lieutenant Najem! Private Fenharrow! To the courtyard!¡±


    Shit.


    Ciella and Dmitri broke for a run.


    It appeared that Captain Waris had caught wind of Ciella¡¯s small rebellion within the outpost from earlier that morning, and was more than eager to dish out vengeance.


    ¡°It seems like some dogs are getting bored with the patrols around here.¡± Captain Waris continued his tirade as Ciella and Dmitri approached the main courtyard of the outpost, winded. The other soldiers formed a square around its perimeter, creating an arena where Waris was the ringleader. ¡°And what better way to tame dogs than to give them a little demonstration?¡±


    His gaze flicked to Ciella. A wave of dread washed over her.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been a sad sack in the corner for long enough, Lieutenant. It¡¯s your turn to run a special kind of combat drill with our newest recruit.¡± His sneer twisted the patches of skin stains on his cheek.


    He turned to Dmitri. ¡°Private, I¡¯m told you have a particularly powerful arsenal. Knock the Lieutenant down, and you get a free pass on drills for the rest of the week. Fail, and you¡¯ll spend your nights hanging off the side of the tower.¡±


    ¡°Sir.¡± Ciella saluted without hesitation, though the awkward gaze she shot Dmitri¡¯s way betrayed how much she thought this wasn¡¯t the right time for it. And yet, at the same time she was not going to go easy on him, so he better deliver.


    ¡°Understood, sir.¡± Dmitri gulped with significantly less confidence. He was walking on a bum ankle after all.


    ¡°Ready, fight!¡±


    The center of the courtyard was cleared as everyone moved to the upper walls and bastions to spectate the battle. After all, nobody wanted to be within striking distance of a magic fight.


    Ciella and Dmitri faced each other, dozens of paces away across the field.


    Ciella waited for Dmitri¡¯s first move. When it never came, she flung her arms up in confusion.


    ¡°Well?¡±


    ¡°I absorb and release magic, so I potentially can¡¯t¡­¡± Dmitri fidgeted, leaning on his good foot.


    Ahhhh¡­


    Orbs of light flickered to life around her like small suns, pulsing with heat.


    A buzz hummed through the air as the orbs shot forth beams of light, aimed right for Dmitri¡¯s feet. He stumbled back, startled by the speed, and immediately fell on his bruised butt. Ciella aimed another for the space just beside his cheek.


    Rather than flinch away, Dmitri rose a hand to meet the beam. Ciella let out a yell, but the charred flesh result she was expecting never appeared. Instead, his hand continued to glow with a faint light that seemed to be quite hot to hold.


    ¡°Hot, hot, hot.¡± He flicked his wrist, trying to wave the heat off. The light slipped from his fingers, launching off to the side and impacting a wall with the same intensity as Ciella¡¯s sunray, leaving behind scorch marks. ¡°Ah, I see.¡±


    Rather than comment on his very apparent lack of strategy, Ciella continued her assault. If he was going to learn, now would be as good a time as any. He seemed to believe the same.


    To his credit, Dmitri was very good at surviving. He jumped and rolled with just enough precision to narrowly avoid the incoming beams.


    Rather than continue the pattern and grab another sunray, he closed the distance between them with intent force. Ciella lifted a hand to parry him, but instead of launch a fist at her, he reached up and wrapped his his around one of the floating orbs of light, effectively stealing her magic.


    His knee came up to her stomach, then. Not exactly military-trained, but a solid fighting stance. She had reacted quick enough to hold it back, but the force threw her off-balance, which was all he needed to press his now-heated hand against her chest.


    ¡°Do you yield?¡±


    A threat. A good one at that. Ciella could feel real fear well up in her throat. Not by anything Dmitri was doing per se, but rather by the severe look on his face, like he was genuinely considering following through and taking her life.


    War is unkind. He seemed to know that full well.


    So why do all this? He couldn¡¯t possibly just have a vendetta against Captain Waris¡ª the man isn¡¯t even that well known beyond the military.


    Why was Dmitri here?


    Breath caught in her throat, Ciella parried the hand, which launched the beam straight up into the air like a signal flare.


    ¡°You have to knock me down, idiot.¡± She finally gravelled out, setting off their sparring once more. They remained in close-quarters combat, perhaps out of Dmitri¡¯s own survival. Ciella wasn¡¯t quite willing to throw beams his way if she could be caught in the crossfire. But as much as he thought it saved him, his strength was no match for Ciella¡¯s precision.


    One uppercut, and a mean kick to his bad ankle, and he was on the ground, writhing in pain.


    ¡°Do you yield?¡± She teased. He coughed out a laugh, then tried to hide it. He was done fighting, based on the spittle of blood that came out of his mouth afterwards.


    ¡°I yield.¡±


    The onlookers groaned in protest.


    ¡°That was a child¡¯s game!¡± Captain Waris bellowed. He came up to Ciella, red splotches of anger still prominent on his cheeks.


    ¡°Captain, further injuring Private Fenharrow would only render him physically unable to train for the remainder of the week. Permission to conclude the match?¡±


    Captain Waris wasn¡¯t too pleased with the answer, but could find no way to refute her.


    ¡°Granted.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re free to go, Private. I¡¯ll visit you on the cliffside.¡± She mumbled to Dmitri her apology and promise all wrapped in one. He had proven his mettle to her after she bore her soul to him. It had to mean something.


    She just hoped that that something wasn¡¯t troublesome.

 Chapter 4: Oh Captain, My Captain

    Ciella should¡¯ve known Captain Waris would not let her off so easy. No sooner than the following day was she saddled with some planted accusation of keeping food in the sleeping quarters, and was sentenced to be strung dangling over the cliffside opposite to Dmitri.


    Well, she didn¡¯t break her promise.


    Cliffside turned out to be a lot more haphazard than the previous iterations Ciella had seen over the past few months. No doubt, a result of a few irate fellow soldiers witnessing Dmitri competently fight for the first time that week and feeling salty that they could not bring out the same potential from him.


    ¡°Think you¡¯ll fall?¡± Ciella yelled out from her spot.


    Dmitri and Ciella were suspended from twin lookout tower¡¯s rooftop spire, dangling just below the overhang, facing away from one another. The towers were spaced several dozen paces away from each other, which meant they had to throw their voices to speak.


    The tower itself was a carved stone pentagon with tall windows and a railing to avoid falling right off the edge. Two of the three sides faced the outer eastern wall of the outpost, which doubled as the continuation of a sheer cliff on the mountainside the outpost was built upon. In the distance, twin rivers sparkled, meandering into the captial city of Setia and its gleaming teal lake. It was a gorgeous sight¡­ for the casual viewer.


    ¡°I think my death would make enough people upset that I trust my punishers are malicious, but not murderous.¡± Dmitri chirped, but very obviously refused to look down. Ropes tied around his shoulders, waist, and crotch, gradually letting his own weight become his undoing as circulation to his extremities was slowly being strangled. He was minutes into his punishment, so he was not feeling the worst of it yet.


    ¡°At least you¡¯re realistic.¡± Ciella was in a similar compilation of knots and ropes, but she had resigned to using her arms to pull herself up and spare her body a few moments of respite. ¡°What a mess. I¡¯m blaming you and the thoughts you put in my head about¡ª¡±


    ¡°I apologize, but you did ask for my candid thoughts.¡± Dmitri paused, then spoke, measured. ¡°You seem to resent the Captain. I¡¯m surprised you aren¡¯t on the frontlines yourself, either.¡±


    Ciella gazed at the walkway between the towers. Empty. Figures Captain Waris would leave them seemingly abandoned¡ª no one to convince to cut them down.


    What a relief.


    ¡°It was the fastest route to Lieutenant.¡± Ciella admitted.


    ¡°You¡¯re looking for a legacy.¡± Dmitri sounded interested. It frustrated Ciella to be unable to see his face.


    ¡°We seem to talk a lot about me, and not much about yourself.¡± Ciella huffed.


    ¡°Well of course. I¡¯m doing exactly what I¡¯ve set out to do. Why I¡¯ve joined, why I¡¯ve shuffled between different outposts¡­ I¡¯m scouting for the perfect one. ¡° She could hear the smile in his voice. This fucker.


    ¡°Ciella Najem, will you be my Captain?¡±


    ¡°Did they cut off the blood flow to your brain, too? What are you even on about?¡± Ciella attempted to twist around to see him, even just for a glimpse. The fleck of yellow in his hair was just visible around the edge of the tower.


    ¡°Have you ever considered that this war may be self-serving?¡±


    Ciella¡¯s gaze quickly shifted to the walkway between their towers. Empty. Figures that Captain Waris would leave them perceptively abandoned, with no one to convince to cut them down.


    Thank goodness.


    ¡°To the public, both the Caldon Kingdom and the Vitae Empire claim they¡¯re trying to liberate Zhuraita, the nation between them, from the oppressive rule of the other. That the military presence of the other in the region is evidence enough to play hero. But our forces have pushed past Zhuraita¡¯s borders while leaving other parts of the region to bear the brunt of the conflict. They¡¯re going into Caldon in a very specific pattern.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s impossible. The Caldon have enslaved mages. They¡¯ve stripped someone of their will and is using that willpower against them. It¡¯s an atrocity.¡±


    ¡°Whether or not the Caldon are horribly flawed does not remove the Empire¡¯s potential selfishness.¡± Dmitri clarified  ¡°I believe the Empire is searching for something. If you can help me find out what they¡¯re looking for, I can promise you captainship.¡±


    ¡ª¡ª


    This was getting bad. Ciella was completely wrapped up in Dmitri¡¯s words once again, now playing as his spy. She was more confident than ever that he was capable of becoming the hero she needed for her plan. But at the same time¡­


    What if we were the bad guys?


    But that couldn¡¯t be right. After all, Zhuraita was the one who came forward to the Vitae Empire and asked them for help from a famine. The Empire were sending innocuous trade caravans, and it was Caldon Kingdom¡¯s army that mobilized first.


    That is the story told.


    Ciella ended up ¡°staying back¡± during one of her errand runs in Waris¡¯ office to ¡°organize¡± some stray files of correspondence. When she found nothing there, her mind calmed for but a moment.


    But she ventured back to the military academy in the capital during a break between shifts, just to confirm her assumptions. She visited old professors under the guise of catching up, and discovered more battle plans and arrangements of new cadets on the frontlines.


    And one location came up over and over again.


    The Citadel of Chora. An old border town, fortified precisely because the longstanding rivalry between the Caldon and the Vitae meant that the borders closest to one another received the highest amount of security reinforcement. Even if there was a nation in the middle. The citadel itself wasn¡¯t known for anything significant, it was a glorified mining town that was just close enough to the trade routes to enjoy a flow of coin.


    And yet, the Caldon army surrounded it like a vigil, and every maneuver the Vitae executed over the years were attempts to pierce that wall.


    It can¡¯t be a coincidence.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Ciella met Dmitri once more as the moon was beginning to peek out from the ashy purple skies of late sunset. She offered him no greeting, but rather gave him a single long stare at the dining table, and then retreated to her office. Dmitri followed no sooner than moments later, ignoring the murmurs of speculation that flitted the dining hall. Nerves painted his expression, only further exacerbating the rumors.


    Ciella¡¯s office was cramped and dark, a sliver of light peeking through half-closed shutters.


    ¡°You¡¯re looking to take up my offer?¡± Dmitri croaked out. He seemed particularly out of sorts compared to the bravado he held in his voice when they last spoke.


    Then again, he wasn¡¯t looking directly at her, then. He didn¡¯t need to face the extreme scrutiny and suspicion in her gaze the way she looks at him now.


    ¡°I¡¯ve looked into you while I was away, but I still don¡¯t get it.¡± Ciella began. ¡°Your mother is an innkeeper. Your father, a traveling scholar. Certainly you are patriotic, but no ties to any organized unit to evidence a proactive approach either. You¡¯re just an¡­ average civilian. Quirky, at best.¡±


    ¡°My father¡¯s expertise is on Altiman.¡± Dmitri admitted. ¡°The nation without magic.¡±


    ¡°And the only ally the bloody Caldon Kingdom has.¡± Ciella mused with bitterness, yet curious, inviting him to continue. Information in exchange for information.


    ¡°Have you heard the saying ¡®The Altiman are the only mortals who know how to control the weather¡¯?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fairly common. The Altiman are known for their ingenuity and invention.¡±


    While magic itself was sparse amongst humanity, in every society there is always a handful of individuals who are exceptionally willful among the rest. Altiman is the only nation where magic simply does not exist. Not one person in generations upon generations of the arid region ever felt a whiff of supernatural power.


    But what they did have was Altiman Glass, the only substance in the world to nullify and subdue another¡¯s magic.


    And so, in a continent where magic dominated the landscape, the Altiman became expert craftsmen in warding against magic, and in finding systems of industry and metalworked machinery to compensate.


    But such achievements had a layer of darkness cast upon them, for they were not the only wardens of the semi-arid region, and their neighbors were far more magically inclined than they liked.


    ¡°That saying doesn¡¯t refer to their invention, but rather how bloody efficient their trafficking scheme against their nomadic neighbors, the Windspinner Tribes, has become. In a land of wind and sun, take out the wind and you take half the weather with you.¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t understand my father¡¯s fascination with such people when I first learned that. How could he find so much interest in those cruel enough to subjugate another nation? To remove someone of their will for the rest of their life is an atrocity.¡± Dmitri spat, genuine emotion crossing his features.


    ¡°But it all has to do with fear. If it came down to a military fight, the Altiman would crumble into a bygone society in an instant. Their only form of defense is one that requires touch¡ª  which isn¡¯t something you can do if your opponent can launch you into the sky with the flick of a finger. Those limitations beckon preventative measures.¡±


    ¡°The Windspinner tribes are simply the nation that happened to be the closest in proximity to them. All the Altiman really are doing is acting on the presumption that someone amongst the tribes would wish harm upon the nation, and therefore decided it  best to get rid of the possibility altogether before it came to arms.¡±


    ¡°But the Tribes aren¡¯t entirely innocent. There are involvements in domestic crimes, evidence that they have encroached upon Altiman¡¯s safety. The incidents only further escalated when family members sought vengeance. Which only further justified the continued trafficking scheme. And so, the cycle continues.¡±


    ¡°There are Windspinners in the Caldon Kingdom¡¯s army. They¡¯re considered special agents.¡± Ciella cut in, beginning to piece together his plan.


    ¡°The war between us Imperials and the Kingdom has created a profitable funnel for Altiman to sell off these captured mages as far as possible from them.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what war is, an opportunity to take advantage of every resource given to you under the guise of avenging a common enemy.¡±


    ¡°You plan to liberate the Windspinners.¡± Ciella breathed. Her face contorted into an array of emotions before finally settling on incredulity. She let out a laugh that felt tense, tight.


    ¡°My God, you are naive. Do you think that hasn¡¯t been attempted?¡±


    If Dmitri felt heckled by the sharp reprimand, he didn¡¯t show it. Instead, his features softened, saddened.


    ¡°Attempted with mages, with Altiman Glass, with sheer amount of people attempting to grapple them. I know it¡¯s hard. But they all failed because they think the Windspinners are coerced. I have reason to believe they¡¯re under a thrall, and that I can get them out of it with my unique abilities.¡±


    ¡°So, Captain, will you help me? Or will I be forced to continue my search elsewhere?¡± Dmitri finished with a hopeful smile.


    But Ciella¡¯s gaze remained unchanged, stiff, scrutinizing.


    ¡°Do you truly feel sorry for these people? Or are you just as selfish as the rest of us?¡± She murmured. Dmitri¡¯s smile cracked, just a little.


    ¡°Turning my words against me. I¡¯d be sorry to lose you, Captain.¡±


    ¡°Answer.¡±


    Dmitri let out a resigned sigh.


    ¡°I¡¯m doing it for my father. The war has taken up so much of his time as a scholar, with the government asking so much intelligence of him about the Altiman peoples, that I¡¯d like to hurry up and end it already.¡±


    He never needed to mention that the war effort had forced his father into acting as a spy within Altiman¡¯s premier research university. Or that every day for the past seven years, he worried whether his father would be caught and executed. That his animosity towards enslavement ran a more personal streak, where he didn¡¯t quite believe his own nation would be any less capable of the atrocity of stripping someone of their will, as the Caldon Kingdom.


    Ciella understood exactly what it meant to have your own peace shaken irrationally, unfairly. And it was because of that understanding that she told him about the Citadel.


    From there, the two acted as partners. Ciella assigned a training regimen of intense parkour for Dmitri to navigate across battlefields and wrote reports of his good progress, recommending evaluations and a plan of action be drafted up for his use in the battlefield.


    When the army generals began visiting the outpost, it was a combination of Ciella¡¯s thorough explanation of Dmitri¡¯s plan (all under the guise that she had thought it up herself), and Dmitri¡¯s disarming flattery and hospitality that won them their first mission: rescue and liberate the Windspinners from the Caldon Army.


    There was, however, a caveat.


    It was soon confirmed that the Imperial army had intentions to break through and conquer the Citadel. That they were searching for something classified.


    And so it was agreed then that any person liberated from the Caldon Army under this special operation be brought in for questioning for that purpose.


    Dmitri knew that when they first found Abel. He knew that when he promised to help him avoid interrogation. He also knew that when he went against Ciella¡¯s orders to help Abel attempt to save another Windspinner, only to fail again and watch a poor soul extinguish before their eyes.


    With their many failures under this new squadron¡¯s belt thus far, Dmitri knew he was in for a rare tongue-lashing from Ciella for potentially jeopardizing, well, everything.


    ¡°That boy in the carriage is the proof that we need to show to the Capital to let us continue our crusade.¡± Ciella spoke softly at first, and waited for him to meet her quick pace on the road as she walked alongside the caravan. Dmitri followed obediently, preferring to survey the dirt road ahead of them in hopes of escaping some of the heat coming off of her.


    Abel was willingly cuffed and sealed away in his carriage, soundless and despondent. The events of that night had taken a toll on him. He wasn¡¯t going to act out anytime soon.


    At least they hoped he wouldn¡¯t.


    ¡°His name is Abel, and yes, he is.¡± Dmitri just as quietly corrected, then agreed. A flare of irritation ran through Ciella.


    ¡°And yet you went against orders.¡± Ciella snapped. ¡°One of our soldiers is on her deathbed because you delayed the convoy. We had a plan for an enemy attack, but you threw that away.¡±


    ¡°I know it looks bad, and it¡¯s within your right as a captain of this squad to be cross with me.¡±


    Dmitri¡¯s words earned an immediate glare from Ciella. He continued.


    ¡°It was the only way I could get him to stay on our side.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± Ciella mumbled. ¡°I see.¡±


    Ciella¡¯s anger suddenly subsided and she placed an understanding hand on Dmitri¡¯s arm. Dmitri was astounded how easy that was. Abel¡¯s safety was secured¡ª


    Then she pulled down her mask and leaned in, unexpectedly close. He could see the golden flecks in her dark brown eyes, the way the harsh sunlight turned her dark, long lashes white. Her gaze flicked from his lips up to his eyes, then back down to his lips. Her brow knitted in a soft concern.


    She had freckles. He never noticed that before. He didn¡¯t expect her dark skin to have them.


    His eyes instinctively dropped down to her lips, to the peek of skin beneath her collar.


    She planted her hand firmly in his, squeezing it.


    His face reddened. Was this the time and place? What had gotten into her? Did he even want this?


    He kind of did.


    ¡°Lieutenant Fenharrow, if I told you we had to send that boy ahead of us, what would you do?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Dmitri thought. ¡°If it¡¯s best for him, I have no reason to oppose.¡±


    And then Ciella¡¯s anger returned.


    ¡°You¡¯re not under any mind-magic shit.¡± She shoved him, hard. Dmitri stumbled off the road. ¡°You¡¯re just babying him.¡±


    ¡°What? I¡¯m not!¡± He scrambled to regain pace with the caravan.


    ¡°He was cuffed to the carriage. How hard could it be to throw him in? My orders were clear.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to treat him like a prisoner. We rescued him from¡ª¡±


    ¡°Rescue? Get out of your own delusions, Lieutenant Fenharrow.¡± Ciella snapped. ¡°That boy is currently an elite enemy soldier. He could turn against us, or end up with his brain melting through his eyes like all the others before him. Until we know more about how this all works, he is a target.¡±


    Dmitri winced at the mental image. Ciella pressed on.


    ¡°After last night¡¯s events, there were some¡­ concerns among the squad. They saw him draw a blade on you.¡± She rubbed her temple in frustration. ¡°With that and the casualty¡ª¡±


    ¡°No! Wait.¡± Dmitri scrambled to step in front of Ciella, stopping her in her tracks. ¡°I know this was a risk, but he¡¯s willing to cooperate. That blade¡ªhe just wanted to save his friend. He was desperate. He¡¯s just a kid.¡±


    Ciella¡¯s frown remained unchanging, so Dmitri pivoted.


    ¡°His mind is still there, he remembers things. He told me about his life in Caldon, briefly¡ª about their customs. He remembers, which means he has information.¡± Dmitri reasoned. ¡°He¡¯ll know something about the Chora Citadel.¡±


    Ciella and Dmitri held each other¡¯s gaze for but a moment more before Ciella shoved past him.


    ¡°All I¡¯m saying is that you shouldn¡¯t get attached.¡± She murmured, pulling her fanged mask up over her lips. ¡°He is our first one. You need to be ready for our assumptions to be wrong¡­ about his innocence or the empire¡¯s altruism. For all we know, he could learn to resent you after the war council is done with him.¡±


    Dmitri stood there, watching as carts passed him by, snaking down the forest path down the mountain. In the distance, patches of fields indicated farming towns lining the river, snaking off towards a large cluster nestled against a lake. Just a few days more.


    ¡°I know.¡±


    But now that he had seen the way Abel wept with relief after breaking from Caldon¡¯s thrall, he couldn¡¯t help himself.


    Dmitri wanted to give him a better life.


    Even at his own risk.

 Chapter 5: The City of Labyrinths

    There are moments in your life that act as a paradox of memory. It is a moment in which your mind believes you¡¯re about to die when nothing is happening. The moment feels perpetual, the decisions you make feel life-changing, no matter how minute. Speaking the right words, looking at the person in front of you properly, even the consideration of how your past actions affect the impression of the people before you all cast a weight on whether you will expire in the next moment. Your muscles wind up with anticipation, and ache for a release that never comes, leaving you in throbbing pain all over. Your breath is short in your chest, caught in your throat. Your eyes water from the sheer amount of pressure welling within you. Thoughts cross your mind on whether you were right to take this path, whether you deserve this it. How lucky you are to have found it, and yet how unfortunate you feel in having stumbled across it. That perhaps this path is an illusion, and it is actually a punishment. Perhaps you are being fooled, and you are worse off than you were before.


    This feeling lasts for days. Months. Years, even.


    Then, the moment is gone. The memories of the cause, the fear, the thoughts, all get locked away deep within your body, so that your mind may no longer know it.  And so you carry phantom glimpses fleeting in moments of the night, or in the midst of the marketplace, and you feel it like a stab wound to your chest that bleeds for days on end, and then it leaves you again.


    This is anxiety.


    This was Abel¡¯s experience from the fateful day he lost someone he desperately tried to save. The moment he was placed in the carriage under Altiman Glass and lock and key, his mind churned. He could not speak, he could hardly eat, and his eyes were puffy with the grief he could not share nor relieve.


    Dmitri attempted to continue instruction on the eventual interrogation awaiting Abel in the capital. It was uncertain how effective such demonstration proved, for his student remained completely mute and distant, retreating to the rhythm they held when they first set off on their journey.


    The first time Abel could remember seeing the capital city was not until after he was released from interrogation. He had kept his head low throughout their entrance through the main streets, and counted the patterns of the tiled streets in front of him as he was escorted out of his enclosed carriage to a nondescript stone building that blended into the residential tenements surrounding it.


    He could not recall the length at which he had remained in that building, only that he was met with no more than a few blank walls and a window into a hallway.


    He was questioned by an officer with sharp features and a gentle voice who promised him safety and sanctuary and compromise as long as he cooperated.


    Though, Abel noticed, this officer refused to smile. Her voice was the only consolation. It was lulling, but unnerving.


    ¡°Did I hear that right? Do you mean to tell us you lived in the Citadel?¡±


    Shit. He didn¡¯t mean to let that slip. But the insinuation stuck, no matter how he tried to deflect confirmation. The barrage of questions came after, and Abel could not answer a single one¡ª not because he didn¡¯t have the answers, but rather he couldn¡¯t bring them to the forefront of his mind.


    Perhaps his body refused him. After all, it could still feel the firm hands of his tribesmen on his shoulders as they consoled him adjusting to the first grueling months of their duties within the Citadel. He could hear the songs around battalion campfires to mourn for their dead, to celebrate their survival. In the midst of these questions, Abel thumbed his forehead, but no hints of pinching nerves or pain came from a circlet that was no longer there. He was free, for now.


    And so ¡°I don¡¯t know¡± became his catchphrase.


    ¡°All I remember is the fields. They chain me with glass like you do. They¡­ they mess with our heads.¡±


    ¡°Try to remember life within the walls.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t!¡±


    Abel couldn¡¯t help it, the twist in his chest was too tight, and the thoughts swirling in his mind were too loud. He began to doubt if he had truly experienced battle before arriving here, in these four walls, or if those were all illusions his body built up within him.


    ¡°I must¡¯ve seen mountains before, but I can¡¯t seem to recall how. I can picture blue stone, with dark wood trees¡ª¡°


    ¡°Those are the Setia Mountains. You saw them when you were coming into the city.¡± His officer muttered with frustration, her gentle tone falling away to a growl. ¡°This is getting us nowhere. You told us what they did to you. You know the Caldon Kingdom.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I just want sanctuary.¡± Abel¡¯s tone took on a genuine plea for just a flash in that moment. It registered in the officer¡¯s eyes for just a moment.


    But it wasn¡¯t enough. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    His wide-eyed restlessness made him look suspicious, like he had something to hide. Like he had a reason to still fear being released upon him. The suspicion was only amplified when reports of his little ¡°incident¡± on the road from the battlefield to the Capital made their way to his interrogation officer¡¯s desk.


    So they began to turn to threats, fear, and violence.


    He learned then that his interrogation officer refused to smile not because of circumstance, but rather she disliked the concept altogether, which only made him inclined to attempt smiling more. Which only gave him more bruises.


    Abel was not smart.


    He was merely stubborn, and loathed feeling trapped.


    ¡°The longer you prolong this, the longer this war drags on.¡±


    ¡°I was given sanctuary.¡± He repeated with a smile for the hundredth time after days of beating, starvation, and being kept within that simple, blank room, ¡°Am I being lied to? I was a slave to them. What more could I know?¡±


    And this hundredth time was different. He had expected Officer Rorin to act, to yell, or storm off. And while the growl in her voice in response was almost animal, she reigned the beast back in.


    ¡°You¡¯re right to question us.¡±


    Abel nearly dropped his smile out of surprise.


    ¡°You came all this way to be a civilian.¡± Her  voice rumbled, low and gentle.


    ¡°You will see what our sanctuary provides. Perhaps then you¡¯ll have reason to cherish it.¡±


    And then he was returned to his room and left in a lull. A period of just blank walls. His hair had grown longer, falling in curled tufts across his brow and leaving a perpetual heat along the nape of his neck. His right arm ached deep into the bone, so much so that he stopped using it altogether. He could feel a click in his jaw whenever he attempted to smile. When did that start happening?


    And during this time, he turmoiled. His mind turned over the fears for his flesh and blood, far from his reach. He played over his own words in his mind, assessing for any possibility that a slip could¡¯ve caused bloodshed against his own kin.


    And then Dmitri appeared again, almost like a dream.


    ¡°You¡¯re being released.¡± Dmitri spoke into the blank room, and made Abel cry all over again. ¡°We¡¯re going home.¡±


    Guilt crystalized in him, that he was to experience the promise of sanctuary and rest, as was promised to him, albeit for unscrupulous intentions.


    It was in those words, of home that he finally concluded if he were to be so destined to be chosen, to carry the burden of this guilt, that he may damn well make the best of his newfound freedoms.


    He was going to enjoy peace to the fullest, no matter what.


    ¡ª¡ª


    The first thing Abel thought when he exited the building¡­


    What a mapmaker¡¯s nightmare.


    Setia, the City of Labyrinths, was a city raised by mages designed specifically to be maze-like to discourage invaders. Spires and gabled roofs of metal and clay dotted the landscape. Winding roads of cobble or river water snaked towards a grand lake the city rested on. Stairs led up and down the various levels of the city, and roads would often cross over each other in the form of bridges and tunnels, adding to the confusion. Each pathway was used to its fullest, with the bustle of working folk transporting goods, well-dressed passersby, and curious peeping children mimicking elderly people-watchers sitting along the benches squished in between. There seemed to be the general demeanor of intense focus typically endemic of big cities.


    ¡°You¡¯ll get used to the layout.¡±


    Dmitri and Abel tore through the river road through a small riverboat with a mage¡¯s insignia printed on a panel attatched to the rear paddle, which, when pressed, propelled them forward at a lurching speed.


    ¡°Lieutenant¡­¡±


    ¡°You can call me Dmitri now.¡±


    ¡°It was horrible in there.¡±


    Whether Abel was speaking of the warfront or the interrogation room, Dmitri did not know. He did not want to look at the bruise blossoming on Abel¡¯s cheek, the hollow of his eyes.


    He focused on steering instead.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry you were subjected to that. You deserve better.¡± Dmitri¡¯s voice carried above the steady rumble of churning water around them.


    ¡°How do you know that?¡± Abel¡¯s voice cracked, the weight within his chest strangling his words.


    ¡°You¡¯ll find the answer to that yourself, Abel. I promise you.¡±


    ¡°You make a lot of promises.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re an honorary Fenharrow now. It comes with the territory.¡± Dmitri laughed.


    ¡°An honorary Fenharrow?¡± The river breeze tousled Abel¡¯s hair across his cheek.


    ¡°Nobody in the empire remains without family. We have a robust system for adoption, integration, whatnot.¡± Dmitri gave Abel a gentle smile. ¡°I offer you my guardianship, my name, and my status for you to start your new life in this city, if you have it.¡±


    Abel should have been more aloof. He should have known Dmitri would be the one to present him the silver platter Officer Rorin promised.


    And yet he could not deny Dmitri¡¯s kindness.


    ¡°My new life¡­¡±


    A silence passed between them. Abel¡¯s mind couldn¡¯t help but travel back to his kin, who died in his arms.


    ¡°Thank you, for trying, back then. Even when I threatened you¡ª¡°


    ¡°Hah! That also comes with the territory.¡± Dmitri mused.


    He then paused and gave Abel a once-over before continuing.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be meeting another honorary Fenharrow soon. He¡¯s a good kid. Around your age.¡±


    Abel¡¯s head perked to attention, a strange mix of hopeful and apprehensive. A new face. A potential first friend in this new life. A potential source of scrutiny.


    ¡°He¡¯s also coming from a tricky situation. Not as tricky as a war, of course. He just got caught stealing from the inn, that¡¯s all. But¡­¡±


    Dmitri shrugged and wriggled in his seat, as if internally debating whether he should finish his sentence.


    ¡°¡­ Let¡¯s just say Neymar is quick to anger. Don¡¯t take it personally.¡±


    Abel struggled to piece together all the words that fell out if Dmitri¡¯s mouth, his mind far too muddy to make any sense of it.


    ¡°This person stole from you¡­¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°¡­And you welcomed him in?¡±


    ¡°Then it¡¯s no longer stealing. It¡¯s sharing.¡± Dmitri nodded.


    Well.


    An interesting addition to the silver platter.

 Chapter 6: Is He a Vampire or is He Just Rude?

    Neymar was a vampire. Abel was sure of it.


    Not that vampires actually existed, according to common belief. At least, not in a way that was magically significant to anyone.


    But if the vampire of fables and urban legends did truly exist, Neymar would be one of them.


    Abel arrived at the Fenharrow Inn a little after sunset.


    The inn was an impressive four-story building with ornate tile roof, a well-kept garden, and a chandelier in every room, which painted patterned blue and cream wallpaper in perpetual gold light.


    The building bustled with constant movement of  self-assured businessfolk in suits, harried delivery boys making their runs of the newspaper and packages, languid elderly taking a rest on lobby seats before heading into the brisk outdoors, couples retreating to private quarters, folk who wore hats indoors carrying suitcases and constantly looking over their shoulders¡ª it was every bit of the city inn Dmitri made it out to be. A mix of the refined and the unsavory.


    Madam Reyna Fenharrow was an adorable old woman who stood at the center of it all, greeting every new face she saw, with a gusto that could blow a house down, despite her small, round stature. Her voice carried enough weight to smash through walls, perhaps even entire buildings. She leapt at Abel the moment she set her eyes on him, taking him by the hand.


    ¡°You must be the lovely Abel. My god your hair is like a cloud! And so long, too. How are you? Have you eaten? You¡¯ll be plenty full by the time supper is over, I promise you that!¡± The power of her energetic smile nearly knocked Abel over. He felt overwhelmed and inadequate all over again.


    He rushed through thank yous and her prodding questions without listening to them, doing everything to get to private quarters as quickly as possible.


    ¡°You will be set up to stay here while your citizenship papers get processed and you get settled in the city. Your room will be with the rest of our family unit in the west wing, Room 104.¡± Reyna dropped a key into Abel¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Room 104 is this way? Thank you¡ª¡°


    Dmitri was the one to hold him back.


    ¡°Mama will be handling most of the transition while you get settled in the city.¡± Dmitri explained, ¡°She¡¯ll be your main contact and official guardian after I leave.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re leaving?¡± Abel froze in place, the fuzz leaving his brain all at once.


    Dmitri crouched slightly to meet Abel¡¯s gaze, a bittersweet smile on his lips.


    ¡°I have to keep trying to find more like you on the warfront, Abel. Perhaps you¡¯ll meet another of your kin here soon, if I work hard enough.¡± Dmitri reached out, his hand drifting above Abel before gently placing a firm hand on his head. ¡°You¡¯ll have me for a few days more, at the very least.¡±


    The gesture felt strange. Abel wanted to slap away Dmitri¡¯s hand as phantom sparks of anger flashed within him. At the same time, the touch was warm, kind, genuine. He couldn¡¯t help but feel disgruntled by the news.


    ¡°I should find my room.¡± Click. Abel gave an appeasing smile. Before Dmitri could react, Abel fled down the hall Madam Fenharrow had gestured towards just moments before.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    That is where Abel first saw the vampire.


    Well, moreso collided with the vampire. He was turning the key over in his hand when he crashed into a tower of a body exiting another room just in front of him. The being¡¯s firm hands grabbed onto his shoulders to steady him, then kept holding him, refusing to let go.


    Great. Just when he thought he could mope in peace. Abel lifted his head to regard the looming form in front of him.


    The figure was a boy built like a man¡ª he was all muscle and thickness and height, towering over Abel, whose lean frame seemed like a bundle of sticks in comparison. He had deep-set dark eyes, sharp features, short-cropped hair and a strong square jaw with gaunt cheeks, which only further exaggerated his stern persona.


    ¡°The guest suites are in the East Wing.¡± The boy¡¯s voice croaked with a rumbling warning that caught Abel¡¯s attention.


    What¡¯s with that suspicious tone? Abel was almost offended. He peered at the room number beside them. 105. A neighbor. Which also meant he was part of the  Fenharrow household.


    Ah.


    Neymar.


    ¡°I¡¯m just as much a guest as you, my friend.¡± Abel lifted his head to smile face-to-face. Click. ¡°I¡¯m Abel.¡±


    Neymar took a moment to observe him, gaze thick with scrutiny. His hands clenched just a fraction tighter around Abel¡¯s shoulders before releasing him roughly.


    ¡°Keep out of trouble, and you won¡¯t find any.¡± He grunted, and sauntered past Abel without another word, but not before firmly locking his own room.


    Oh, so that¡¯s how it is.


    Dinner was no better. Dmitri and Reyna attempted to engage in small talk, but the creature of the night named Neymar was stoic and silent, his plate deliberately scarce¡ª a few spoons of beef curry and rice and two baby tomatoes.


    The only way to explain his physique had to be vampirism, if this is his average meal.


    Reyna and Dmitri also conveniently seemed to skirt around the observation even as Reyna piled Abel¡¯s plate sky high.


    Abel internally groaned at his predicament, unable to refuse but getting too full to finish. He subtly attempted to slip an extra tomato over to Neymar¡¯s plate.


    ¡°Ah, Abel¡ª¡° Dmitri began, spotting the gesture.


    Abel¡¯s fork didn¡¯t even touch the surface of the plate before Neymar forced Abel back with an icy glare.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch my plate.¡± Neymar growled.


    ¡°It seemed sparse.¡± Abel nonchalantly slipped the tomato into his own mouth.


    What is this guy¡¯s deal? Abel looked to Dmitri for answers, but Dmitri had other plans. Plans which included changing the topic.


    ¡°Abel, you mentioned wanting to resume your education.¡± Dmitri chirped. ¡°I have an inquiry out to the city to place you in one of our local institutions, so we should be hearing from them about assessments soon.¡±


    ¡°It might be a good time for you to return to school as well, Neymar.¡± Reyna smiled encouragingly. The mention failed to pierce the bitter cloud hanging above Neymar¡¯s head.


    ¡°Hm.¡± Neymar grunted noncommittally.


    ¡°Hm.¡± Abel mocked. ¡°I¡¯m looking forward to it. Maybe I¡¯d find better conversation if a certain someone expanded his vocabulary.¡±


    Neymar reached for his fork in a rush of sudden anger. Abel reached for his own, a warning gust of wind rippling across the dining table in anticipation of a fight. In the brief instant that Abel¡¯s gaze left him, Neymar¡¯s skin shifted from a smooth peach against brown stubble to dark brown scales that protruded out the sides of his cheeks, along his neck, and across the top of his arms to his hands.


    Neymar was a mage too.


    And from the looks of it, he carried an amplifying or protective ability. Those scales looked tough and coarse.


    ¡°Neymar, breathe.¡± Dmitri intervened, coming to a stand. Neymar released the fork and a deep exhale that Abel was surprised to notice he was holding in. The scales receded back into Neymar¡¯s skin, shifting as if they had never appeared to begin with.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be in my room.¡± Neymar picked up a lid that was placed off to the side of the table, and placed it upon his plate, then fled the room.


    And the only thing Abel could think of was that this wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d left without eating.


    He had a whole damn ritual.


    ¡°You provoked him.¡± Dmitri scolded, falling back into his seat.


    ¡°It¡¯s hard not to.¡± Abel pouted. ¡°He¡¯s done nothing but threaten me since we¡¯ve met.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a complicated boy man.¡± Reyna chimed in. ¡°He blames the war for his parents¡¯ passing. It¡¯ll take a bit for him to warm up to the idea of you. He never follows through on his threats anyway.¡±


    ¡°More like you strongarm anyone who tries to threaten you, Mama.¡± Dmitri clarified. Reyna merely shrugged.


    ¡°Abel¡¯s a former soldier. He knows how these things work.¡± Reyna waved him off.


    ¡°Were his parents soldiers too?¡± Abel piped up.


    ¡°Heavens, no. They were merchants.You see, the Empire was hosting a war parade at the capital to induct some new group of mages¡ª blocked up a good portion of the main roads to do it, too. The story is that his mother was ill and needed a doctor quick, so they set off on some backstreets at a breakneck pace. But backstreets aren¡¯t exactly meant to speed on.¡±


    ¡°One bad move on a bridge above the river road, and they tumbled into the drink. ¡°


    ¡°His mother was too weak to escape, and his father spent his last moments trying to help her.¡±


    ¡°Wow. That¡¯s¡­¡± Abel mumbled.


    ¡°A tragedy, indeed.¡± Dmitri sighed.


    ¡°¡­ very stupid.¡± Abel finished.


    What a ridiculous way to die. What ridiculous ceremonies war goes through. A war parade indirectly killed them? To find that the boy who looks like a man is an orphan, and one made by something so absurd as a wrong bump in the road¡ª well, if he were in that situation, Abel himself would start pointing fingers anywhere he could just to make sense of all the anguish left in his hands.


    And perhaps that stupidity was a consolation. It reminded Abel how irrational hatred could be, and that Neymar truly did have hatred for him in that moment, but such hatred was also impermanent.


    Abel didn¡¯t want another dinner of nearly flinging forks at each other, or otherwise choosing his words so carefully so as to not break the floor of eggshells.


    He wanted to leave misery behind.


    If he was going to live at the Inn any longer, he had no choice but to befriend the vampire.

 Chapter 7: Spoiled by Choice

    Abel¡¯s room was far too luxurious.


    He concluded as much upon sitting in it that first night. The bed was plush and abundant with silken-wrapped pillows. The windows were finely made, and let in plenty of light, as they overlooked the waters of the river road buttressing the wall of the inn. There were fine lamps upon low tables, which cast dim glow during the night hours. Owl effigies in clay and acrylic scattered across the tops of dressers and the walls, real feathers interwoven into their design. It reminded Abel of Dmitri¡¯s mask, so he wanted it out of sight. He didn¡¯t want to miss him when he was gone.


    Attached to his room was a quaint bathroom sealed by a barn door. Abel had access to a tub his size and a full display of toiletries, including scrubs, lotions, and oils made to soothe any type of skin.


    He could recall his time in the Citadel, when he was presented a gilded bath with heated water steaming and fresh, and an attendant would prepare a basket of assorted bottles, how the liquid would sting over his wounds.


    ¡°You need to be at your best, to better protect the Citadel at all costs. Do not forget the value you hold.¡± He could hear his attendant¡¯s voice rumbling into his ear as she rubbed the oils into his shoulders. ¡°Those Empire pests are simply monsters who refuse to take no for an answer. Their greed will only bring them ruin. Is that pain I see on your face? See? Those monsters did this to you. Because they exist, your pain exists. It¡¯s all their fault.¡±


    Abel observed the bottles, read each label.


    No, this won¡¯t do.


    Abel quickly scooped up the bottles, leaving two basic soaps behind. He tossed a towel to the ground for good measure, and fled the room.


    The bottles ended up in an owl vase sitting in front of Neymar¡¯s door the following morning, tied together by a ribbon torn off of a silken pillow.


    It was better this way. Abel surmised it was a suitable starting point as his token of friendship. After all, Neymar¡¯s skin shifting into that scaled, rock-like texture likely would create some irritation. Abel wrote as much on a little card tucked into the vase.


    He was unable to see Neymar¡¯s reaction, however, for he was soon summoned by Madam Fenharrow to address the issue that he had not a single change of clothes in his wardrobe.


    ¡°You¡¯ll get as much as you need at the market. And don¡¯t you worry about footing the bill. I¡¯ve already taken responsibility for it, and Dmitri will make sure of that in my stead.¡± She insisted, roughly slapping Dmitri on the back, which jolted him into the conversation.


    ¡°She¡¯s right. You can worry about making ends meet when you¡¯ve settled into the city.¡±


    Abel knew better than to shirk kindness when it was immediately offered, but he couldn¡¯t help but feel off. This was no grace. This was a bribe. He could hear his interrogation officer¡¯s words curl through his ears.


    You will see what our sanctuary provides. Perhaps then you¡¯ll have reason to cherish it.


    The more indebted he was to the Fenharrows, the more compromised he may become. He would just have to play along and select only the bare minimum.


    He followed Dmitri out into the streets, taking in the bustle of the morning. People walked quickly here.


    Setia¡¯s marketplace was cramped. Formal storefronts were crowded with pop-up tents, to avoid the constant stream of traffic that populated the main roadways on either side of the commercial district. Merchants and hawkers called from their stools at the front of their shops, beckoning in customers, telling them stories, proving the worth of their goods. ¡°My Friend¡± was everyone¡¯s first name in a place like this, and a constant stream of conversation also meant strict deliberation over the price. Haggling was not only commonplace, but a necessary skill. Abel could pick up a few choice words thrown around in the midst of passing conversation. ¡°These are war resources, so the cost is higher. What can I do?¡± and ¡°You know, many routes to Zhuraita are still closed. You¡¯ll be lucky to find this pattern anywhere else.¡± Bit by bit, the reminders chipped away at Abel. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    He shouldn¡¯t expect to escape the war that easily.


    So his eyes scanned for a distraction.


    And choosing between patterns and styles was a very good distraction. It was liberating, to be able to divorce himself from combat uniform, to indulge in plain clothes rather than ornate patterns for ceremony. He discovered the existence of suspenders and got one in every color they had.


    And Dmitri was an excellent enabler.


    Dmitri spoke to vendors on Abel¡¯s behalf, largely to avoid any pressing questions about Abel¡¯s accent, and to flex his own powers of negotiating through extreme complimenting.


    ¡°You will end up paying more if you sound Caldon. It¡¯s the way things have played out, recently.¡± Dmitri explained as they left with a new bag of clothes and shoes in tow. The bundle was larger than Abel anticipated. When did that happen?


    Damn it.


    Abel eyed Dmitri on the walk back to the inn, searching for a moment where he¡¯d slip and his toothy smile would molt into a feral grimace. But no. The glow of the morning light cast flecks of sunlight through his round glasses and sparkle gold into his brown eyes.


    At that moment, Abel wondered what Dmitri would have to do to be called a monster, and hated him for planning to leave him all over again.


    ¡°I¡¯m paying Madam Fenharrow back eventually.¡± Abel grumbled.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Dmitri feigned ignorance of the whole conflict. ¡°Mother hates when someone goes against her word, but she can tolerate a surprise from time to time.¡± He mumbled absently, adjusting his glasses in a knowing way. ¡°Gifts are wonderful surprises.¡±


    Speaking of surprise gifts¡­


    When Abel returned to the inn, his gift had disappeared from the hall, owl vase and all.


    Good.


    Dinner that night was a hopeful event. Abel thanked Madam Fenharrow for her generosity, then proceeded to serve Neymar his portion of stew and water and tea in her place. Neymar remained silent, his gaze constantly trained on Abel with a look of absolute bewilderment.


    And that¡¯s when things got a little silly.


    Abel continued to serve spoonful after spoonful of stew into Neymar¡¯s bowl after he clearly refused to indicate when he should stop, resulting in stew overfilling to the point of spilling out of the bowl and Reyna cutting them off and scolding them for making a mess.


    Then, as they returned to their rooms for the night, Abel walked a few paces behind Neymar to give him more space in the narrow hall, only for Neymar to deliberately stutter his walking speed, pausing every few moments to ¡°forget something¡± and then ¡°remember it wasn¡¯t important.¡± Abel was ready to slam him into the wall. A flickering breeze wafted through the hall in anticipation.


    Neymar was testing his patience on purpose.


    But soon they reached their suite doors, and Abel sighed out a gentle ¡°good night¡± instead of initiating combat.


    Neymar¡¯s eyes narrowed just slightly before he mumbled his own nonchalant ¡°good night¡± in response.


    With that, Abel attempted to sleep for the second night in the Capital. He was just about to slip under the weight of unconsciousness when suddenly, a thick metallic ¡°CLANK!¡± knock against his far wall roused him.


    He startled upright. The wind around him swirled in sudden apprehension, causing the paintings on the wall to shudder in their place. The room remained dark and unremarkable, faint street lights pouring in from the window at an angle. Did he dream of that noise?


    But then, as the air stilled, he heard a persistent drip drip drip¡­


    He pressed his ear against the wall. He was certain now, there was a leak somewhere on the other side. In his groggy delirium, he gathered towels and waddled out of his room, towards the source of the noise, only to find himself standing in front of Neymar¡¯s door. For a brief moment, he considered turning back and ignoring the situation entirely.


    ¡°Ah, this must be annoying him.¡± Abel mused and knocked on the door.


    Neymar was quick to fling the door open, revealing a surprising disheveled mess of a boy. His hands and face were soaked. His eyes were rimmed red and puffy, as if rubbed raw. The wrought expression on his face proved that he fully expected someone else to be on the other side of the door instead of Abel and dreaded it.


    And he knew as much when Neymar visibly unclenched every muscle in his body as soon as he recognized Abel. However one thing remained conspicuously rigid: Neymar¡¯s hands were the shape of claws as crystal-like growths encapsulated his fingers and knuckles to sharp points.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± He growled.


    ¡°I heard your pipe break. Thought you would need this.¡± Abel let Neymar¡¯s hostility roll off him and held out the towel in truce. ¡°Are you¡­ alright?¡±


    ¡°Nothin¡¯ you have to worry about. Just a broken sink.¡± Neymar begrudgingly eyed the towels and took them, lightly scraping Abel¡¯s hands with his claws in the process.


    Did he accidentally rip his sink apart with his hands?


    Did he have trouble controlling his magic?


    Abel wondered what kind of turmoil he had to be in to lose control of his spirit like that.


    ¡°You don¡¯t think Madam Fenharrow heard, right?¡±


    Abel could only shrug in his half-awake delirium. It dawned on Abel that perhaps Neymar feared disappointing the Fenharrows more than he let on. Perhaps more than anything.


    ¡°They won¡¯t be upset with you over this.¡± Abel attempted to reassure him. Neymar scoffed, physically recoiling from him.


    ¡°Don¡¯t presume that you know the Fenharrows.¡±


    Neymar shut the door in his face at that.


    ¡°I was just trying to be friendly! I just¡ª¡° Abel sighed and ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. People are so difficult. No wonder the Caldon Army resorted to mind control.

 Chapter 8: Married to Pain

    Throughout the rest of that week, Neymar and Abel¡¯s relationship developed into a constant competition.


    Abel dusted Neymar¡¯s doormat, only for him to deliberately muddy it up an hour later. Abel accompanied the cook to market, brought back special fruit, and left it on Neymar¡¯s plate for dinner. Neymar gave it to Madam Fenharrow while daring to look Abel in the eye the entire time.


    Abel didn¡¯t mind. He knew Neymar to be the kind of guy who was accustomed to getting his way, who often would drive away people with a mere sneer simply because he was larger and stronger than those around him. Now that Abel was challenging such a power, pettiness came out, hoping to chip away at Abel¡¯s resolve to get him to back down, for as much as Neymar peacocked his physical prowess, he had never actually proven he could commit to it.


    And so Abel persisted.


    Abel sought out and brought tools to Neymar¡¯s bedroom for his sink, advising him to stash away a wrench from the set to have on hand at any moment.


    The implication that Neymar would steal did not bode well with him.


    ¡°Are you serious?¡± Even the question felt more like a threat. Abel pretended not to notice.


    ¡°I assumed you wouldn¡¯t mind, given your reputation.¡° At Neymar¡¯s cocked eyebrow ¡°Dmitri told me how Madam Fenharrow found you.¡±


    ¡°That little..¡± Neymar grunted in annoyance. Abel suddenly disliked Neymar very much and couldn¡¯t explain why.


    ¡°Let me make it clear. I¡¯m not interested in whatever schemes you¡¯re trying to pull.¡± Neymar stood at his full height in front of Abel. Great. More peacocking.


    ¡°Touch a damn thing from the Fenharrows and you¡¯re dead.¡± He swore, and ended the conversation by slamming the door in Abel¡¯s face.


    Which left Abel with plenty of newfound extra time to imagine all the ways he could strangle Neymar.


    And truly, the only thing stopping Abel was a little pulse of fear. A lingering reminder in the back of his head that he may not yet untethered from the Commander.


    Once he let his impulses go, would he be able to regain control again? Could he stop himself?


    ¡ª


    Dmitri¡¯s time in the Capital was coming to a close.


    The day Dmitri was set to leave, Captain Ciella Najem appeared at their breakfast table and admonished Dmitri for delaying his departure, clearly eyeing Abel as the one responsible for such a decision.


    Before Abel could react to it, Dmitri waved for his attention with the flourish of an envelope in his hands.


    ¡°Fear not for idleness while I¡¯m gone, Abel. I¡¯ve got confirmation that you have been placed in one of our city¡¯s secondary schools right here.¡± Dmitri ceremoniously tore the paper open and unfurled the contents within. It was a short letter, no more than a page.


    But that short letter was enough to freeze Dmitri in his place.


    ¡°This can¡¯t be right.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡± Abel¡¯s fist clenched, adrenaline preemptively rushing through him.


    Dmitri rubbed the bridge of his nose, twisting his round glasses askew. ¡°You¡¯ve been assigned to the Metalworks¡¯ Collegiate Academy.¡± Dmitri spoke with a gravity to his voice that Abel hadn¡¯t heard in a while. ¡°What were they thinking¡­?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s in the Altiman District.¡± Neymar piped up. Abel could swear he heard concern in Neymar¡¯s tone and felt a faint bit of satisfaction. But wait, focus.


    ¡°I assume people from the Altiman nation live in the Altiman District?¡± Abel could already anticipate the trouble he could find himself in if an entire section of the city was dedicated to housing the mage-less tribe, moreso the mage-less tribe whose kin had stolen him from his home and enslaved him seemingly without remorse.


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    But that wasn¡¯t the worst of it.


    ¡°The district is a designated part of the city that, according to the Empire, doesn¡¯t exist. It¡¯s walled off, with a single security checkpoint to get in or out. It has its own police, its own laws, everything. Most Capital residents don¡¯t even know what goes on within or how many people really live there.¡± Reyna explained, an uncharacteristic frown twisting her features. ¡°It was the only way the citizens of the Empire could agree to housing all the Altiman folk who fled their country after war broke out. Several early spy and terror scares made the people here skittish.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s practically slums. Folks warn their children to stay away from the walls just in case a riot breaks out.¡± Neymar clarified, folding his arms. ¡°It¡¯s needlessly dangerous to go anywhere near there.¡±


    ¡°And because of it¡¯s designation, enrollment in the Metalworks school also requires the student to live in the District. They¡¯ve arranged an apartment for you.¡±


    Abel was silent for a long while, turning over the situation in his mind. He should have known the Empire would try every tactic in the book. They were placing him in an environment uniquely bred by the war, to both meet the demands of the promise they gave him and still be particularly unsatisfying. They expected him to be unhappy with this option. They expected him to ask more from them, which meant they would have leverage to extract more information from him.


    Information that would certainly put his family back at the Citadel in the firing line.


    Well, better not play into their hand. A school¡¯s a school, and the Inn was never his home to begin with.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go.¡± Abel announced.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous.¡± Neymar was the first to speak up. Dmitri wasn¡¯t even listening, trying to dissect all the alternatives they could propose to the courts.


    ¡°He could go to the Grand Library Secondary School. It¡¯s right across the river road, and makes so much more sense than moving out of here just to go to school¡ª they can¡¯t do this to him¡ª¡°


    ¡°Dmitri.¡± Reyna cautioned.


    ¡°I can talk to the officers in charge of his case¡ª¡°


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. I¡¯m going.¡± Abel reiterated. ¡°I want to, and this school is a proper school. You need to return to your duties anyway.¡±


    And return to them Dmitri did, much to his own objection. Once he accepted Abel was far more stubborn than him, Dmitri departed with Ciella by carriage, disappearing into the twists and turns of the labyrinth city.


    ¡ª


    Neymar was waiting for Abel at his room door when Abel finally left his vigil at the front door of the inn.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re hiding something.¡± Neymar snapped at Abel the moment he appeared in sight. ¡°You¡¯ve been trying to get me on your side this entire week, and now decide to dive into some masochistic mission just to go to school. You¡¯re playing some game.¡±


    Abel coughed the saliva he choked on in surprise, using the time to press down the doubts that rushed into his mind. There was no way Neymar would suspect he knew more about the Citadel. He likely didn¡¯t know it¡¯s importance or even existence to begin with.


    ¡°Why would I be playing a game? I was just pulled out of a warzone. I¡¯m not exactly trying to crawl back to it. If this is what I¡¯m given to start a new life, I¡¯ll take it and make the most of it.¡± Abel reasoned, putting on an easy smile. ¡°You don¡¯t have to join me at the academy, by the way. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s not your first pick.¡±


    ¡°Like hell it''s yours either!¡± Neymar fumed. His anger was unexpected. For some reason, it made Abel feel better.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I upset you.¡± Abel mumbled. ¡°I can cut us fruits in the downstairs kitchen¡ª¡°


    ¡°Stop. Just stop.¡± Neymar lifted a tense hand, closing the distance between them. ¡°Aren¡¯t you at least a little mad? How can you be this calm when you¡¯ve only been here for what¡ª a few days? Before then, the Empire sent people after you. We tried to murder you. And still¡ª¡± Neymar grabbed Abel by the shirt collar, shaking him. Abel didn¡¯t fight him. ¡°Still you break bread with us. You go to the market. You think about us¡ª¡°


    Abel placed a warning hand over Neymar¡¯s. Control yourself. Keep it together. Abel needed space, but he wasn¡¯t letting go.


    ¡°How can you sleep soundly, keep it together, after all that shit when I¡ª¡° Neymar bowed his head, shaking against the emotion welling within him. Rock crystals were growing along the backs of his hands, rough to the touch.


    ¡°¡ªI still have nightmares of a goddamn river I¡¯ve never been in?¡±


    Ah. Abel finally understood, and felt sorry for him.


    ¡°Sounds like you think about that river more than you think about your own parents.¡± Abel observed.


    And that''s when Neymar threw the first punch.


    The full force of solid stone smashed into Abel¡¯s cheek, leaving it raw and bruised.


    Abel stumbled a few steps, his hands immediately raising in a defensive stance for the next blow.


    Surely Neymar knew what would happen if he started a fight with Abel. He knew what Abel was capable of, the blood that had once strained his hands, the bodies he left behind.


    And yet he fought anyway.


    And that only made Abel pity him more.


    Neymar surged forward, attempting to grab him by the neck. Abel parried his grapple and twisted around behind him. Neymar swung wildly as he spun, smashing a fist into Abel¡¯s shoulder. Abel staggered and moved to create distance.


    ¡°Of course I have nightmares. Of course I look around me and sometimes all I see are a den of monsters.¡± Abel ducked as Neymar swung wildly for his face again, then launched a sharp jab to Neymar¡¯s chest, a warning to stay away. Neymar grunted in pain, but remained firm, shoving him back. It seemed the hit only fueled his rage.


    ¡°I¡¯ve thought about ways to escape, what I would have to do if I was suddenly a target again.¡± Abel lifted his arm to block an incoming kick, taking the force of the blow.


    ¡°But here¡¯s the thing. I¡¯ve already met my enemy and survived.¡± Now Abel surged forward and grabbed onto Neymar¡¯s fully formed stone claws, wrestling with him to keep him at bay. He thought about when he saw Neymar for the first time. He thought about the night with the broken sink, and how Neymar¡¯s powers alight at the slightest bit of tension¡ª


    ¡°Does your fear rise when you even look at running water? Are you so much of a coward as to tremble before something without a mind of its own? It will not change for you.¡± Abel demanded, wincing through the pain of stone crushing his knuckles.


    ¡°Shut up!¡± Neymar slammed Abel against the wall. Abel took it, smiling.


    ¡°You¡¯ve survived where others have not. Do you think so little of your own life that all that was meant for it was anguish? Don¡¯t you deserve to enjoy it, even if it was by some mistake that you¡¯re not dead too? Are you married to pain?¡±


    Neymar let out a yell and gut-checked Abel, then slammed his bruised shoulder into the wall again. Clearly Neymar wanted Abel to marry pain instead.


    Maybe pain was polyamorous.


    And feeling a bit spiteful of the sudden relationship thrust upon him, Abel flung it right back at Neymar with a headbutt right into the rock crystal formations along his forehead. The force sent them both reeling, collapsing to the ground.


    Abel was the first to shuffle and lift himself by his arms, blinking back stars at the corners of his vision.


    ¡°Urrgh¡­ If you¡¯re looking for someone to punish you because you feel shitty about yourself, look somewhere else.¡±Abel grimaced as he struggled to turn over. ¡°I¡¯m nobody¡¯s villain. I¡¯m tired of fighting. I¡¯m not going to do it anymore.¡±


    He wondered how ridiculous they looked, two bruised boys writhing on the now-bloodstained hallway carpet.


    Neymar grabbed Abel by the shirt, dragging his body closer to scowl in his face. But the scowl soon faded and his grip released. A softness replaced his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re a fool, but fine,¡± was all he said.


    It was as close to an apology as Abel could fathom Neymar was capable of making.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on here?¡± A voice startled them both. Neymar forced himself upright at the speed of light.


    Down the hall, Reyna Fenharrow stood with her arms folded. Her expression seemed to take on a cast of shadow, now that she was absent of Dmitri¡¯s presence.


    Suddenly, Abel recalled Neymar¡¯s words from a few nights before, and realized it might¡¯ve been a caution.


    Don¡¯t presume that you know the Fenharrows.

 Chapter 9: Fear of Plagues, Poets, and Innkeepers

    Reyna Fenharrow was a prominent woman in the Empire capital city¡¯s ecosystem. Her rules kept the underworld out of the limelight, which meant that regular civilians could live in peace amongst the bustle.


    If you asked around, rumors would recount the time where a rising gang named The Axis attempted to hassle her for a tribute payment. No sooner than a week later, the Axis leadership fell ill after being suddenly besieged by infected rats in their sleep.


    They never asked her for tribute again, mostly because they dissolved the organization shortly after.


    She also welcomed a dignitary to her inn who then sought her affections shortly after her husband was ¡°sent away on business¡±. When the dignitary refused to take her rejection at face value and proceeded to threaten her reputation, she performed a live critique of his love letters at the inn¡¯s pub. As much as he attempted to remove her from the stage, she claimed that he would assume ownership of the performed letter, and therefore expose his pathetic affections towards a married woman if he did.


    It didn¡¯t matter that the letter¡¯s contents itself made its ¡°mysterious author¡± pretty blatantly obvious to the common layman. Such is the curse of being a public figure.


    And that was much of Reyna¡¯s way of operating. She was one who set her own laws because she always knew how to bend the current ones in her favor. It is not defamation if the author¡¯s identity is never explicitly revealed. It is not attempted murder if rats are so commonplace, it is impossible to determine whether they were intentionally infected or fated to be infected.


    And then there was the case of a young boy who was built like a young man, who attempted to steal a box of jewels from her study.


    It was a petty theft. Yet, instead of sending a plague against him, Madam Reyna took Neymar in, perhaps spoiled him, even, with the way she was exceptionally kind to him, even in his stubborn tantrums. Abel could find no real punishment inflicted upon the boy for his crimes. There wasn¡¯t even any confirmation that he returned what he stole.


    And yet, Neymar looked absolutely terrified to find that Madam Fenharrow had discovered him and Abel bloodied from a fight.


    ¡°M-Madam. I-It¡¯s not what you think¡ª¡° Neymar stuttered, meek. Reyna¡¯s hard gaze never faltered. It bewildered Abel to see her reduce him, who stood twice as tall as her, so readily with a few words.


    ¡°Look how you¡¯ve damaged the carpet with your blood! I¡¯ll need to get proper cleaning powder to make sure it doesn¡¯t stain.¡± She murmured, eerily quiet and composed despite the anger in her expression. Her gaze demanded an explanation from them.


    ¡°I started it.¡± Abel admitted, receiving a notable look of surprise from Neymar. ¡°I provoked him.¡±


    Not quite the truth. Not a lie, either.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡ª¡° Neymar attempted to interject. Madam Fenharrow was faster.


    ¡°You will take responsibility for it, then. You both will. You are to fetch soda powder from the apothecary down the road and use it to wash it out by hand.¡± She clipped, then turned away. ¡°You will be forgiven once the blood is gone, and not a moment sooner.¡±


    And then she just walked away.


    That was it? No threat? No sudden onslaught of hidden assassins?


    An inn as efficient as the Fenharrow¡¯s was likely stocked with proper cleaning supplies every morning. Could she have laid the punishment in the errand itself?


    Abel anticipated a road full of plague rats would greet them the moment they stepped out. Or an army of assassins the moment they turn the street corner. Perhaps the apothecary will attempt to poison them¡ª


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    ¡°You heard her. Let¡¯s go.¡± Neymar shook him out of the whirlwind of hypotheticals forming in his mind.


    Abel reluctantly, yet curiously, followed.


    The route to the apothecary was a challenge explicitly for Neymar, for its entire length spanned the river road.


    And, Abel noted, Neymar refused to even set foot on the promenade that ran parallel to it.


    ¡°Maybe we can take the backstreet? But then the other river road¡­¡± Neymar sucked in air between his teeth, calculating, rigid in his stance at the threshold of the inn¡¯s entrance.


    Abel then realized that he had not once seen Neymar leave the inn since he arrived. Perhaps that was why Neymar had not attended school in a while.


    Maybe Madam Fenharrow was punishing Neymar, in her own way.


    Maybe those assassins were still hiding in the alleys for Abel himself.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make sure you won¡¯t fall in.¡± Abel attempted to reassure Neymar. Though perhaps the reassurance was less effective, given that, just moments ago, Neymar had given him the giant purpling bruise across his left cheek that was now bright and prominent.


    ¡°Shut up.¡± Neymar grumbled and finally stalked out onto the crowded promenade. His limbs continued to shudder, despite the stern frown on his face. Abel could see splotches of crystal forming on the surface of Neymar¡¯s skin.


    Abel stepped on the portion of the road closest to the river, keeping apace with Neymar, which turned out to be rather difficult with how he weaved between carts and groups of pedestrians with a brisk speed.


    He also peculiarly kept his collar popped up around his face yet no wind blew.


    Curious.


    ¡°Is there someone you¡¯re hiding from?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not hiding. I just don¡¯t want to see the river.¡± Neymar¡¯s averted gaze was sign enough that he was honest.


    ¡°Ah.¡±


    Well, Abel mused, he just needed a distraction.


    ¡°You know, I¡¯m terrified of hats.¡± Abel began.


    ¡°Hats?¡±


    ¡°They used to force us to wear these ¡­ headpieces.¡± Abel stuttered, wondering why his breath caught in his throat at the word. He didn¡¯t think sharing this would feel so nerve wracking and at the same time, comforting.


    ¡°Huh. Fancy.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. K-Kind of.¡± A silence fell between them. ¡°You know who¡¯s scary too? Madam Fenharrow.¡±


    ¡°Is she?¡±


    ¡°Well you seemed terrified of her.¡± Abel shrugged ¡°I don¡¯t see why you stick around the inn when she seemed ready to kick us both out back there.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not¡ª It¡¯s different.¡± Neymar¡¯s gaze nervously flicked around as he peeked over his collar. ¡°She helped me get out of a bad situation. I don¡¯t want to disappoint her, especially when she¡¯s continuing to help me.¡±


    ¡°What kind of situation?¡±


    ¡°Piss off. As if I¡¯d tell you.¡± Neymar scoffed.


    ¡°I already know about your parents.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not them.¡± Neymar¡¯s voice was clipped, unexpectedly sharp. ¡±They were good people.¡±


    ¡°Then what?¡±


    Suddenly, Neymar¡¯s stone claws reached out and grabbed Abel¡¯s arm, digging into his skin. Abel jerked, anticipating another brawl to break out then and there, until he realized his back foot was hovering in the air. He looked down. River water rushed against the wall that he was standing on the precipice of. He had wandered to the ledge of the promenade, and was one step away from falling into the river.


    ¡°Watch where you¡¯re going, Pipsqueak!¡± Neymar shoved Abel back towards the solid ground. Despite the roughness of the gesture, it made Abel smile. Neymar saved him, despite everything he believes to know about him.


    Despite his incessant poking questions, too.


    ¡°Thanks.¡± He breathed, overcome with emotion of sudden kinship. It felt silly and simple, and yet it was so real.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get any funny ideas.¡± Neymar grunted, clearly flustered. ¡°Just know I wouldn¡¯t jump in to rescue your ass.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want me dead.¡± Abel observed, the smile unable to leave his face.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want anyone dead.¡± Neymar folded his arms defensively. ¡°I¡¯m not heartless. I just don¡¯t trust you.¡±


    ¡°Dmitri was right. You¡¯re a good one.¡±


    ¡°Never mind. I¡¯m going to shove you in¡ª¡°


    ¡°No, you won¡¯t!¡± Abel laughed and scanned the area around them, wondering. It was like he was weightless for the first time. A gentle breeze wafted around him.  ¡°Hey, don¡¯t you think that sign looks like a tiny butt?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the apothecary.¡± Neymar grunted, squinted, then coughed. ¡°It kind of does.¡±


    Abel continued headfirst into the apothecary, with the complete assurance that facing Madam Fenharrow¡¯s assassins would only strengthen the bond that was forming between him and Neymar. But, much to his disappointment, it was simply  a normal apothecary, with normal soda powder.


    So Abel made up his own story, where the soda powder was actually the secret formula to curing baldness, and they needed to traverse great lengths and great perils to spare the fate of the balding bellhop that manned the inn¡¯s lobby alongside Madam Fenharrow.


    By the time they had returned to the inn, Neymar¡¯s skin formations had subsided. And Abel could swear he let out a laugh or two under his breath. Those laughs could¡¯ve been sighs of resignation. Abel took any response as a win, because it meant Neymar was paying attention to him and not the river road.


    It was strange, how Abel now felt a pang of pain at the conclusion of their small excursion. He thought of how their lives would soon separate, especially once he started attending school. He wondered if Neymar would continue to fear, and, despite knowing him for but a few days, Abel felt guilty for abandoning him.


    That is, until Neymar interrupted his train of thought later that same day. They were donned in aprons and gloves, scrubbing out the carpet¡¯s blood stains.


    ¡°You know, you¡¯re pretty puny for a soldier.¡± He began, which startled Abel, and also offended him, just a little. Was he trying to start another fight?


    ¡°The folks in the Altiman District are tough. Tougher than me. You¡¯re going to get pummeled for just looking at folks the way you do.¡±


    ¡°How do I look at people?¡± Abel asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Like you¡¯re studying them? Whatever¡ª not the point.¡± Neymar huffed. ¡°What I mean to say is¡­ I¡¯m going with you to that school. You¡¯re going to need backup in there.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ sure? You¡¯ll have to move there, too.¡±


    ¡°Madame Fenharrow was letting me freeload here anyway.¡± Neymar shrugged. ¡°Now I¡¯ll freeload off of you.¡±


    And to that, Abel wanted to laugh, but decided to hold his tongue for Neymar¡¯s sake. Clearly Neymar did not notice Abel¡¯s restraint throughout their fight.


    ¡°You¡­ You don¡¯t have to force yourself.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not doing it for you.¡± Neymar scowled, scrubbing harder. ¡°I¡¯m making sure nothing that you do goes back to Madam Fenharrow. Got it?¡±


    ¡°I appreciate the company anyway.¡± Abel smiled, stopping to watch Neymar work.


    ¡°What are you looking at? That stain isn¡¯t gone yet!¡± Neymar twisted to face Abel¡¯s work like a guard dog, alert and ready to bark.


    ¡°I¡¯m letting the soap settle.¡±Abel laughed, unable to contain himself.


    ¡°Get scrubbing! Madam Fenharrow needs to forgive us by dinner.¡± Neymar proceeded to double down on his scrubbing, energized.


    ¡°Whatever you say.¡±

 Chapter 10: Procrastination Reveals the Best Secrets

    Dmitri had intended to stay until Abel settled in Setia. That was the plan. No detours, no ulterior motives. Ciella was already upset with him for being so involved in the boy¡¯s life that he could not help but keep his word.


    So when it became apparent that Abel¡¯s school assignment was accepted by everyone except him, Ciella forced him out of the inn.


    ¡°You have to respect his wishes, even if you believe he¡¯s making a bad decision. He already knows why it¡¯s bad.¡± Ciella murmured sympathetically to him as she loaded their luggage onto the carriage.


    ¡°Just pack slower, okay?¡± Dmitri pleaded, which was met with a reluctant scrunched nose.


    Ciella clocked Abel emerging from the inn onto the driveway and huffed. ¡°Fine, you big sap.¡±


    With that, she disappeared behind the carriage as Dmitri waved Abel over.


    ¡°Did you change your mind?¡± Dmitri gave Abel a wry, sad smile.


    ¡°No¡ª I mean¡ª Maybe.¡± Abel sighed. ¡±I feel like I should join you.¡± His folded arms trembled, betraying the emotion he strained to keep off his face. Beneath the fear of falling under the Kingdom¡¯s thrall once more settled a very real grief in his stomach.¡°I still have family out there.¡±


    Dmitri¡¯s grip slackened on the ties on the carriage.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°You¡¯re willing to share more about yourself.¡± Dmitri stated as invitation, gentle. ¡°Are they blood or bond?¡±


    ¡°Gross. Marriage is for old people. ¡± Abel grimaced. Dmitri couldn¡¯t help but laugh.


    ¡°I see. Not so much wives, husbands, and partners as parents, siblings, and kin.¡±


    Abel made a croaked noise of affirmation. A silence fell between them soon after as Dmitri resumed work. Abel shuffled his feet, struggling to get the next words out.


    ¡°They¡¯re stationed in Geshila, my family. It¡¯s a town just south of the Citadel.¡± Abel cleared his throat.


    ¡°Find them within the next three months, and I¡¯ll show you how to enter the Citadel. Those are my terms.¡±


    Dmitri observed Abel with a bit of surprise. For all that he knew the boy endured in the interrogation upon arriving at the capital, it was impressive he still had something to bargain with¡ª that he was still even willing to bargain.


    His interrogation officers may have been right to be wary of him.


    ¡°I can only promise I will try my absolute best.¡± Dmitri nodded, accepting the mission without hesitation. He had a sense he knew why Abel was approaching him now. As the one man who had a chance of saving the ones he loved, Dmitri was the only one worth trusting. And he was right.


    ¡°I¡¯ll follow the rules in the meantime.¡± Abel promised in return. ¡°I¡¯ll wait for your call, in these three months. When time is up¡­¡±A sense of discomfort and guilt that washed over Abel for resorting to such measures. While knowing Dmitri¡¯s personal life gave Abel the upper hand in blackmail (not that he anticipated bringing harm to Madam Fenharrow would be anywhere near to being easy), trying to instill fear in Dmitri felt like kicking a puppy.


    ¡°I¡¯ll send word by then.¡± Dmitri merely smiled, hopped aboard the carriage, allowing a silent Ciella to join him as they rode away. They left sullen Abel to keep vigil over them until they turned the corner.


    In the carriage, Ciella let out an audible breath, gentle, as if to remind Dmitri himself to exhale.


    ¡°Geshila, huh? Planning an assault on a small tradepost town is hardly going to seem like enough of a strategic advantage on the surface. The Empire¡¯s war council will ask questions.¡± Ciella mused. Dmitri pursed his lips in displeasure.


    ¡°Then we tell the Empire council we¡¯re somewhere else and sneak in quietly?¡± He tilted his head towards her, a lilt to his gaze that broke Ciella¡¯s focus.


    ¡°And do you enjoy running into danger with no possibility of rescue or exit?¡± Ciella murmured, mimicking his mannerisms, her shoulder pressed against his.


    ¡°We now know my capacity. I don¡¯t need to start a fight to free them.¡± Dmitri¡¯s gaze was too earnest. ¡°Give me a stealth mission.¡±


    ¡°¡­Fine.¡± Ciella¡¯s breath ghosted over his lips, the sharp look on her eyes full of concern. ¡°We¡¯ll make it work.¡±

 Chapter 11: Hide Your Kids, Hide Your Wife

    Much to Abel¡¯s surprise, it was with great ease that Madam Fenharrow forgave the two boys after they provided a clean hallway, and great reluctance that she accepted their decision to both attend the Metalworks¡¯ school.


    ¡°A few ground rules you both must follow before you enter.¡± She warned them the day they were set to depart for the Altiman District on their first day. ¡°You must tread carefully. Don¡¯t reveal your magical abilities unless you absolutely have to. Don¡¯t start fights. Try to be as inconspicuous as possible.¡±


    She kept fretting over their clothes, already demanding to iron them twice before they were certainly allowed to leave. Whoever she was afraid of was worth the fear. It unsettled Abel and Neymar alike.


    ¡°We¡¯ll try.¡±


    The Altiman District was nestled on the edge of the city. A tributary of the River Road ran through it, dumping into Lake Setia on the other side. Right alongside the river road, wrought iron gates stood thrice as tall as any denizen, red from the damp rust. Brick wall hallways extended past the gate, leading into an inspection zone. Empire Officers were waiting for Abel and Neymar the morning they approached the gates to begin school. The officers thoroughly inspected their sparse bags, pat them down for illegal items, demanded identification, then a formal written letter from the Empire¡¯s ruling council to enter the zone, then demanded the same identification again. Abel could¡¯ve sworn they had short term memory loss from the frequency they requested the same documents over and over.


    It was an exceptionally long and arduous process, where Abel¡¯s attempts to clarify their status were met with a sharp click of the tongue. Every move he made felt like an inconvenience to them. At least Neymar seemed to have a slightly easier time.


    Dear lord of light, they were going to have to go through this every time they wanted to return to the city, too.


    Upon entering the District proper, they were met with a bustling shanty town. Temporary housing structures made of metal sheets and plywood were stacked on top of each other, buttressed against old crumbling brick industrial buildings, narrowing the already labyrinthine streets. Warehouses and factories converted into housing were tethered together with wire of hanging laundry spilling out of sparse, high-reach windows. Streaks of indecipherable graffiti coated most of the walls. An officer was painting over one particular wall, erasing what seemed like renderings of fallen human bodies.


    Curious.


    They first arrived at their modest apartment, which was the top floor of a townhouse from the previous century, made up of chipped brown brick and thick glass panes and simple wood furniture that squeaked beneath Neymar¡¯s weight.


    ¡°Maybe we can find something sturdier.¡± Abel mused.


    If they had neighbors in the floors below, they were either silent or absent. They didn¡¯t have much time to figure out which, for school was set to start soon after they settled in.


    The Metalworks Collegiate Academy was a squat square building tucked between houses and surrounded by a metal wire gate that reminded Abel of a chicken coop. An officer stood at the gate, ushering students through and counting them like chicks. Abel and Neymar slipped into the crowd easily, blending into what felt like an absurd number of people for the size of the building.


    ¡°Every kid in this district must be here.¡± Abel murmured, his eyes darting between the skeptical glances shot their way and the absent gazes of passing students. For the number of people around them, they were particularly quiet. There was a low murmur of casual chatter. No playwrestling. Was that laughing he heard or coughing?


    Inside was a different story.


    ¡°Okay, people. Pay attention for five minutes, and then we can go back to independent study. We have newcomers in town!¡± Their homeroom teacher clapped his distracted students to attention. The classroom was a mess of half-open rusty windows, old desks with years of students doodling and picking at them to wear them down on the edges, and sparse bookshelves. The room was crowded. And here, voices bustled, sharp. Conversation was animated, almost hostile.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Look at that punk. Can¡¯t even cut his hair right it¡¯s falling all over his face.¡±


    ¡°That guy looks like a geezer. What is he, forty?¡±


    ¡°Who do you think is going to be on duty at lunch time? Think I can sneak out?¡±


    ¡°And where the hell would you go from there?¡±


    ¡°Anywhere my heart takes me.¡±


    ¡°Her heart will take her to the booze shop down the street.¡±


    ¡°Shut up! I don¡¯t have a problem.¡±


    And Abel and Neymar, standing at the front of the room beside the teacher, heard it all.


    ¡°Damn aggravating bunch.¡± Neymar muttered.


    Abel was just relieved. This was far better than quiet.


    After a brief introduction that nobody seemingly paid attention to, Abel and Neymar shuffled to their assigned desks shoved in the corner of the room as if left to be discarded. Abel smiled at each face they passed, receiving odd looks. Nobody was eager to approach them.


    Well, all except one.


    ¡°Which cave did you spring up from?¡± A lilting voice piped up as Abel took his seat. ¡°The Empire hasn¡¯t accepted new residents since Altiman closed its borders.¡±


    The girl who propped her elbow on Abel¡¯s desk reminded Abel of a cherry. Full round cheeks pronounce beneath a cloud of dark tight curls held down by a bright blue headband. She was broad, with thick limbs draped in a modified uniform jacket that resembled more of a cloak. Behind her, a trio of students had their backs turned to them, but the way they occasionally leaned in closer to the girl and side-eyed them meant they were raring to intervene at a moment¡¯s notice. Protection, like hornets surrounding their queen.


    ¡°I¡¯m Rockwell, by the way.¡± She held her hand out. Off instinct, Abel took it and kissed the back of it in the customary Caldon way. Neymar elbowed Abel in his side, which caused him to release his grip on her.


    ¡°Oh.¡± Rockwell squinted, confused.


    ¡°Oh I¡ª¡° Abel¡¯s mind raced. ¡°We were found in the West, by the war front, and the government decided to help us by bringing us here.¡± Abel lied, or rather, told the truth with less details. ¡°You pick up a few things when you live near the border.¡±


    His gaze flicked to Neymar, whose gaze stiffly rested on Abel.You little shit, what are you dragging me into?


    ¡°Help you! More like throw you into a cage.¡± Rockwell laughed, seemingly assuaged with the story. ¡°You must¡¯ve lived the high life out there until you got caught, eh? With enough room for your elbows and no Catcher breathing down your back?¡±


    ¡°Catcher?¡± Neymar grunted out. Rockwell¡¯s attention turned to him with interest.


    ¡°So he speaks!¡± Rockwell ghosted a gentle shove at him. Neymar remained still as stone, awkward.


    ¡°The Catchers are the officers in this district. Their official title is The Peacekeepers, but that¡¯s a bunch of bullshit.¡± Rockwell frowned, grim. ¡° They patrol constantly, and when they see you as even the slightest threat¡ª you could look at their shoe wrong and they¡¯ll find that justification enough¡ª they¡¯ll snatch you up. You¡¯ll be gone, just like that.¡± She snapped. ¡°Some folks get spirited away on the suspicion of being mages. Can you believe that?¡±


    ¡°There are mages in the district?¡± Abel raised an eyebrow in disbelief.


    Rockwell laughed.


    ¡°Altiman mages? That¡¯s an oxymoron. I think it¡¯s just an excuse for Catchers to get rid of people they don¡¯t like.¡± Rockwell shrugged.


    ¡°Well, what do the Catchers do with them?¡± Neymar¡¯s stoic expression broke with a bit of concern.


    ¡°Nobody knows. Some people are convinced there¡¯s some prison, maybe out in the boondocks.¡± She picked at a spot on Abel¡¯s desk. ¡°Others think the Catchers take them into a corner and, well¡ª¡± She mimed slitting her own throat. ¡°We¡¯ve found bodies in the river before.¡±


    Neymar shuddered. ¡°That¡¯s horrible.¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t it?¡± Rockwell¡¯s gaze was sympathetic. ¡°Just be careful out there, boys.¡±


    ¡°How often does someone get¡­ Caught?¡± Abel quietly inquired.


    ¡°Often enough. Just two weeks ago, we lost someone from our own class.¡± Rockwell¡¯s gaze flitted to the middle of the room, to a remarkably empty desk considering the crowd of students around them. ¡°Eve Mardin.¡±


    ¡°She was¡­ Why was she¡­?¡± Neymar was so troubled by the news that he struggled to finish his thoughts.


    ¡°Wrong place, wrong time¡­ Who knows?¡±


    Rockwell¡¯s gaze flitted back to the two of them, suddenly alert.


    ¡°Just be careful with who you talk to around here. Some folks are quick to use the Catchers for their own gain.¡± She warned.


    ¡°How?¡±


    SLAM.


    The door to the classroom opened suddenly, beckoning the room to silence.


    A tall, lanky girl in fading blonde dye stood in the entrance. Her stance was taut, with a tilted head and upturned chin that promised a fight to come if you so much as sneezed in her direction. She paid no mind to the scolding teacher or the leering looks. In fact, the sharp gaze of her hooded eyes flicked directly to Abel and Neymar.


    And Abel couldn¡¯t help but think she was pretty. And not in a conventionally passing way¡ª pretty in the way you can¡¯t help but seek them out to stare at them.


    And she was staring back. Rather intently, too.


    So he offered her a smile.


    She didn¡¯t smile back. In fact, it seemed his reaction made her more wary.


    Shit. Bad move. Wait¡ª


    Before either of them could get a word in, a grating voice seemed to get in the middle.


    Or rather, a boy with a single braid running across the top of his head interposed them, scowling at the girl.


    ¡°You have some nerve showing your face, Volta, you evil bitch.¡±


    Abel¡¯s hand instinctively twitched at the venom.


    Can¡¯t get involved. Keep a low profile.


    But as he noticed the other students rise from their seats to approach her, the air grew tense.


    ¡­ is she really that bad?


    When the she refused to respond, the boy tried a different approach, his voice low:


    ¡°Where¡¯s Eve?¡±


    Oh no.

 Chapter 12: No Such Thing as an Innocent Bystander

    Eve Mardin was just a name. Abel had no face to place on the young girl who was allegedly spirited away by the Altiman District Peacekeepers, perhaps even killed.


    And now it seemed like the compelling girl in front of him had something to do with her disappearance. Well, not directly in front of him. Now, there was a rather inconveniently-placed person between them making demands.


    Of course, the rational thing for Abel to do would be to keep his head down, to do everything to keep his promise to Dmitri and keep this ordeal as far away from himself as possible.


    But even in his resolve to turn away, he found he couldn¡¯t help but listen in on the confrontation unraveling before him, even as he caught Neymar¡¯s warning look. He was just making sure he didn¡¯t become her next target. That¡¯s all.


    ¡°What do you have to say for yourself, Volta?¡± The interjecting boy tilted his chin up, condescending and so obviously pissed. He had a cleaner look about himself than most¡ª purposefully crisp, plain and minimal.


    Volta grinned with all her teeth.


    ¡°Milo, I¡¯ve missed you too. I¡¯ve only ditched class for a few days and I can tell you¡¯ve been lost without me.¡± She gestured to the pair of boys that flanked him. ¡°Why, you¡¯ve even formed a second Peacekeeper unit for the District while I was gone. You may be giving the Catchers a run for their money at this rate!¡±


    Milo sucked in a breath of anger. ¡°Avoiding the question makes you look more guilty.¡±


    ¡°What am I guilty of?¡± Volta feigned innocence.


    ¡°You were the last one seen with Eve. Seemed like you were pretty upset at her, actually.¡±


    Volta¡¯s grin faltered for just a moment. ¡°Ah, yes. She was being a bit of a little shit.¡± Volta patted his shoulder sympathetically. ¡°Unfortunately, she left the way the rest of us eventually will. In the dead of night with a Catcher breathing down her neck. What more can I say?¡±


    Milo leveled a stern gaze at her, she gave him a coy look.


    ¡°You know what¡¯s really interesting?¡± He gravelled. ¡°How you¡¯re still here.¡±


    Volta laughed.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be glad? I thought you¡¯re all about protecting the District and its people. It¡¯s an admirable mission, you know. Now I¡¯m one less person you have to mourn over.¡± She shrugged. The carefree attitude she had was dialed up, excessive and unnatural. She was forcing herself to sound like she was happy.


    ¡°I just find it so interesting how you¡¯ve now survived the Catchers not only once, but twice.¡± He mimicked her smile and deliberately peeled her hand from his shoulder. ¡°Not many can say that.¡±


    ¡°Is that so¡­?¡± Quinn¡¯s smile turned to stone.


    ¡°I mean, everyone knows what happened to your mom.¡± Milo¡¯s gaze narrowed. ¡°If I recall correctly, you were upset at her, too.¡±


    ¡°Ah. My mom. Right.¡±


    WHAM.


    Volta threw a left hook into Milo¡¯s jaw, sending him sprawling against the desk behind him.


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯m just very good at staying alive. Have you ever thought about that?¡± Volta yelled, all the amusement gone out of her eyes. ¡°How about you test it? See if they¡¯ll come now! See if they¡¯ll take someone else instead of me!¡±


    The classroom erupted into a flurry of noise as a group of students flanking Milo, presumably his lackeys, suddenly swarmed Volta, attempting to wail at her. Abel and Neymar sat stunned by the onslaught of violence, a flurry of fists and limbs and blood. Other students attempted to pull Volta away, rushing her out the door, only for the lackeys to turn their ire towards those who came to her aid. It wasn¡¯t until the teacher physically stepped in between and in one maneuver, held Milo down, that the fighting ceased.


    Rockwell, noticeably, remained in her seat beside Abel and Neymar watching the ordeal play out.


    ¡°Unless you want Peacekeepers for teachers, you¡¯ll keep this rabble out of my classroom. Understood?¡± The teacher instructed Milo and his group. ¡°To the library, all of you.¡± When she moved to address Quinn out in the hallway, the girl had already run off, disappearing into the halls.


    ¡°You all have personal study time for the next twenty minutes.¡± The teacher departed with Milo¡¯s group. The injured students nursed their wounds, some heading to the nurse¡¯s office to do so.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Milo¡¯s group returned shortly after and kept to themselves for the remainder of the day, occasionally whispering to each other. Abel could catch a few of them glancing his way, but continued to keep their distance. It unsettled him.


    They were in the middle of a battlefield.


    Only this time, he couldn¡¯t figure out which side he was expected to fight on.


    He really didn¡¯t want to do this again.


    When the teacher attempted to resume class as if nothing happened, Abel tried to focus on the lesson, only for his mind to wander to the way Quinn Volta¡¯s voice cracked with emotion before she left, and the ruthlessness of Milo¡¯s retaliation.


    See if they¡¯ll take someone else instead of me.


    It was too familiar a feeling for him.


    What really happened between her and Eve Mardin before she was kidnapped? Was it really that hard to survive getting Caught twice? What really happened to her mother? Why did people doubt her word?


    What was she doing now? Was she okay?


    He couldn¡¯t pay attention to a single bit of class.


    ¡ª¡ª-


    The first day ended swiftly. As Abel and Neymar exited campus grounds, Abel couldn¡¯t help but peer around, looking for the faded blonde hair dye of Quinn Volta amongst the sea of people. The teacher had mentioned she was sent to another classroom after the incident. So she would be here now, right?


    ¡°What could you possibly be looking for?¡± Neymar grumbled, eying Abel suspiciously.


    ¡°No one, really.¡± Abel murmured. Neymar didn¡¯t seem convinced, but Abel swiftly switched topics, seeming to give up on his venture when he failed to spot her. He¡¯ll try again tomorrow.


    ¡°Are all the schools in the Empire like this?¡±


    ¡°Usually the fist fights happen outside of the classroom. Usually students don¡¯t go missing at the hands of the people meant to protect them.¡± Neymar was bitter, fuming even.


    ¡°Do you think the Empire knows about this?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s people might not. I mean¡ª we knew it was bad, but like a run down part of town. Not¡­¡± Madness.


    Even as they were walking back towards their apartment near the edge of the district, the uniformed guard standing at the end of a street took on a more ominous aura. And when they turned the corner, and found themselves alone, it felt like a brief respite.


    And felt like the first time that Abel could speak comfortably with Neymar.


    ¡°Think you¡¯ll back out of this whole Metalworks¡¯ school thing, now? You still have a chance.¡± Abel stretched, relaxing. He clocked a pedestrian entering the narrow alley from the opposite end. Better make room for them to pass¡­


    Neymar scoffed.


    ¡°Please. The moment I leave your side, you¡¯re going to somehow fall into a world of trouble and Madam Fenharrow¡ª¡°


    Abel could feel his body suddenly being thrust off balance as someone pulled his shirt from behind.


    His body slammed into the alley floor hard, his head narrowly avoiding a collision against stone.


    ¡°These are the guys. Get them!¡± A voice barked out from above.


    Dazed, Abel peered up to see more men rush into the alley as the pedestrian he had just slipped past attempted to kick Neymar¡¯s leg out from under him.


    Were they being mugged? Were they being targeted?


    ¡°We have nothing on us¡ª¡° Abel attempted to bark out, but he felt his voice catch on itself. He didn¡¯t want to alert the guard standing on the streets nearby.


    If a Catcher got involved, this could get even messier.


    Which also clearly meant: no using magic either.


    Neymar shoved the pedestrian away as two men jumped on his back and pushed him down to his knees. One had his arm around Neymar¡¯s neck, choking him.


    Abel planted his hands on the ground and kicked up at one of the men in the jaw, who reeled back from the whiplash. Neymar took the opportunity for freedom of movement to reach back and throw the second man over his shoulder and onto his back.


    Abel swiftly twisted to a stand and held his hand out to help Neymar up.


    ¡°You okay?¡±


    Neymar grabbed Abel¡¯s hand and narrowly pulled him forwards, out of range of a metal pipe that swung for Abel¡¯s head. Neymar then used his free hand to grab the pipe as their attacker attempted to swing back. He shoved the pipe towards the attacker in a swift jab, snapping the woman¡¯s wrist.


    Neymar then swung around and knocked the pipe against the recovering pedestrian¡¯s shoulder, causing him to stagger.


    Abel used that opportunity to grab the pedestrian by the collar and pull him towards them.


    ¡°Why are you attacking us?¡± Abel snapped in a harsh whisper. But the pedestrian refused to meet his gaze. He was a lean boy, no more than 16, and the blow to his head began to sprout blood.


    ¡°Ngh. She never mentioned you guys would be this strong!¡± He squirmed in Abel¡¯s grasp, his gaze turning to the rest of his posse in a desperate plea for help as they began to rouse.


    She?


    ¡°Who is she?¡± Abel demanded.


    The pedestrian spat in Abel¡¯s face instead. Abel flinched, staggering as Neymar shoulder-checked another attacker from behind and knocked into Abel off the momentum


    The pedestrian took the chance to slip out from Abel¡¯s grasp, scrambling down the alley along with the rest of the recovering attackers.


    ¡°Come on.¡± Neymar pulled Abel by the arm, continuing through the alley.


    ¡°We¡¯re going after them?¡±


    ¡°Hell no. We¡¯re getting out of here before something worse happens.¡±


    ¡ª-


    It was nightfall by the time they reached their apartment. They drew no further attention after escaping the alley and entered their quiet building as calmly as they exited.


    That is to say, their incident went undetected.


    But in their distraction, Neymar found himself pacing in Abel¡¯s room as Abel laid down at the foot of the bed, staring at the ceiling.


    Neymar had set out everything they could conclude about the events of that afternoon.


    They were followed.


    ¡°Someone believes we¡¯re enough of a threat to try to take us out.¡±


    ¡°But they don¡¯t know us enough to understand what we¡¯re capable of.¡± Abel reasoned, sitting up.


    And most notably, they didn¡¯t want the Catchers involved.


    ¡°So there¡¯s a third power at play here. Not the Catchers, not Milo¡­¡±


    ¡°Quinn Volta.¡± Neymar grunted.


    ¡°Or Rockwell.¡± Abel quickly amended. ¡°Or some third person.¡±


    ¡°You know nothing about her.¡±


    ¡°Neither do you!¡±


    Which her were they talking about?


    Silence fell. The two boys gave each other a long, hard stare.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you ask for a transfer?¡± Neymar huffed, exasperated. ¡°This is¡­ We¡¯re walking into a death trap to go to school. Can you believe how mental that sounds?¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately, I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°And why not?¡±


    Abel hesitated.


    ¡°Think about it. The Altiman District exists to isolate potential threats to the Empire.¡± Abel mused. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter if I defected. In the Empire¡¯s eyes, I¡¯m still part of the war. I¡¯m an enemy combatant. I¡¯m¡­ right where they want me to be.¡±


    He didn¡¯t mention his promise to Dmitri to access the Citadel. He didn¡¯t mention the torture he endured through his interrogation or the Empire¡¯s brutal desperation for answers. He didn¡¯t mention the secrets he held. It was better this way.


    But Neymar stared at him as if he were a different person all the same. It was as if he just realized that Abel was still a soldier.


    And Abel still felt like one.


    There were powers he had to answer to, danger he had to look for, reasons to lose sleep at night.


    And he remembered going through that all alone, once.


    As much as Neymar¡¯s nagging and glares were excessive in Abel¡¯s eyes, he couldn¡¯t help but feel more at ease when they were fighting together. Like it was worth facing the danger ahead.


    And while he didn¡¯t want to fight to begin with, he didn¡¯t quite have the choice to lay down arms yet.


    But maybe he can change that, little by little.


    ¡°You have every option to step away from this, to live a normal life¡­ but¡­¡± Abel hesitated. Who was he to ask Neymar to risk his life for him, of all people? Could he really be so selfish?


    ¡°You said it yourself, if a fight comes at me again, you may be my only chance at survival.¡± A white lie. Perhaps not a lie at all, really.


    A pause. Neymar slumped onto the bed beside Abel, contemplative.


    ¡°We can¡¯t tell Madam Fenharrow about this.¡±


    Abel hid a relieved smile.


    ¡°Of course.¡±

 Chapter 13: Two Devils and a Secret Third Thing

    Since his arrival in the Empire capital, Abel has never had a proper nights¡¯ sleep. He often dreamt of blood and twisted faces of agony and death wrought by his hands. He¡¯d awaken suddenly, with loud thoughts of his impending doom, of the rightful vengeance he was fated to face. He would wander his room, searching for a killer that wasn¡¯t there until the thoughts subsided.


    By then, it was dawn, and rest would not come again for several hours.


    And then, he found music.


    The Fenharrow Inn had a quaint ballroom for hosting local events. Debuts, Weddings, Competitions ranging from academic to recreational sports, awards ceremonies¡ª the entire Empire Capital was well acquainted with the Fenharrow Inn ballroom.


    It was one particular award ceremony for the Architecture Guild several days after Abel¡¯s arrival that he witnessed the most gentle guitar performance, where his loud thoughts about his impending death momentarily subsided as the hall echoed with rhythmic string plucks. It took him a few moments to realize why:


    The young man was playing a folk song from his homeland.


    What an odd song choice. Did the guitarist know where the song came from?


    It was a nursery folk song, though most commonly played at baby showers, to celebrate new life¡­


    ¡­Not exactly new architecture.


    Abel immediately wanted to get his hands on that guitar. To conjure that melody at will. To be reminded of a time when he didn¡¯t think about his poor soul. To feel at home within himself again.


    He inquired to anyone who would listen, which happened to be Madam Fenharrow on several different occasions while they were preparing his move to the District, and an annoyed Neymar on several more, despite the latter¡¯s avid attempts to avoid the topic.


    Abel soon found an old used guitar in one of the moving boxes he unpacked one morning,  just before he was set to leave for class.


    A note tucked in the case read that it was from Reyna Fenharrow herself.


    She was spoiling him.


    He tried to convince himself that he shouldn¡¯t be happy about being indebted to her. He tried to remain wary of the practical strangers he lived with. He really did.


    But wasn¡¯t this a sign that things were going to be alright?


    It had been one week since his first day of school. One week since they were attacked in a dingy alley in the District. Since then, he and Neymar have become rather good at commiserating in a way that seemed more like gossip rather than gathering evidence. They had no further leads on who their potential adversary could be.


    But with this guitar, Abel suddenly forgot about the tension of that incident, the worries that kept him awake, the dreams he had of being trapped in that alley with a flood of bloodied faces swarming him, suffocating him.


    Poof. Gone the moment he plucked a string.


    He was unstoppable.


    And he was absolutely bringing his guitar to school, despite Neymar¡¯s many objections.


    ¡±You could break it.¡±


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡±I¡¯d sooner break my arm.¡±


    ¡±The Peacekeepers could confiscate it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d sooner break their arms.¡±


    Abel could see in Neymar¡¯s gaze that he contemplated using force, but decided against it.


    ¡°It won¡¯t even be a problem. I promise.¡±


    Of course it was a problem.


    Of course they were stopped by the gates of the school by a Peacekeeper, who demanded Abel turn out the guitar case, which sent all the other students around them scurrying. Of course Abel hovered over the case with the intense gaze of someone who would certainly snap if the Peacekeeper attempted to confiscate it.


    And by sheer willpower, perhaps, he didn¡¯t. Or perhaps he thought dealing with Abel that early in the morning was more trouble than they were willing to entertain.


    Though he certainly implied that Abel may lose sight of his precious guitar by the end of the day. Not by his own hands, oh no, no. The thieves of the Altiman District would take care of that.


    Of course, Abel and Neymar were late to class.


    And there, Abel soon discovered a newfound restlessness. He couldn¡¯t bring himself to concentrate on the lecture he could barely understand. He just wanted to stand, to lay down, to play music. To do anything but just sit there and listen.


    To top it off, Quinn Volta was still missing from class, as she had been since she almost punched Milo¡¯s head off. The absence had become a sticking point for Milo and his crew.


    ¡±We have to smoke her out.¡± Milo conferred with his lackeys rather loudly. ¡°She¡¯s avoiding the consequences of her misstep by hiding from us. That doesn¡¯t mean she¡¯s afraid of doing it again. We have to inspire that fear in her and remind her of her community. She is elusive now, but she will slip up. We must be ready to capitalize on it.¡±


    It was certainly a warning to everyone else as well, and it was all the right words to get Abel to believe that Milo had been the one to instigate the attack against him and Neymar the day before.


    But as far as Abel knew, Milo was not a girl. Was he working with someone?


    Abel then attempted to read Rockwell from the back of her head, only to glean nothing new. She was casual, chirpy, helpful, and friendly with everyone around her. Her focus seemed to bounce off Milo¡¯s threats as if he didn¡¯t exist. He couldn¡¯t tell if she was acting this way to shut Milo out or to cosign his campaign.


    Still, she was every bit of sunshine in a room cast in foreboding shadows.


    And perhaps Abel could use that as leverage.


    So he proceeded to look a great deal more distressed about his classwork than he already was. His heavy sighs caught her attention.


    ¡°How are you doing so far, newbie?¡± She smiled warmly at him as she casually leaned against his desk.


    ¡°Badly.¡± Abel made a show of picking at his papers. ¡°I don¡¯t know how we¡¯re supposed to remember this.¡±


    Rockwell took the bait easily, pulling her chair beside his desk and proceeding to explain her memorization tricks. They proved effective, which only made him feel less guilty about his next question.


    ¡°You¡¯re good at this.¡± He remarked. ¡°Could you tutor me? Starting in the middle of the school year is¡­¡±


    ¡°¡ªChallenging, I¡¯m sure.¡± Rockwell nodded in understanding. ¡°We can study together, maybe make a group out of it. You can bring your cousin, too.¡± Rockwell¡¯s gaze tilted towards Neymar for a brief moment.


    And that gave Abel pause.


    Was this the proof he was looking for? Was this secretly a plan to get them alone again?


    She had been eyeing Neymar quite regularly throughout this past week.


    Well, wouldn¡¯t it prove her involvement in the attack?


    Better the devil you know than the devil you don¡¯t.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯d be thrilled to join us.¡± Abel spoke on Neymar¡¯s behalf without a second thought.


    ¡±Meet me at the library after school?¡±


    ¡°Looking forward to it!¡± Abel gave an appreciative smile.


    But Abel wasn¡¯t exactly forthcoming with the invitation at first. When he and Neymar were finally free to speak to each other during lunch, it was also the first time Abel was finally free to play his new guitar.


    Abel first attempted to play in an outdoor courtyard where much of his class gathered, sitting in clusters along the wooden benches.


    But it soon became apparent that this was the first time Abel had ever played an instrument.


    ¡°Who¡¯s making so much noise?¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡±


    ¡°Can you quit it?¡±


    ¡°Either play good or don¡¯t play at all!¡±


    The audience was harsh but not unwarranted.


    ¡°Go find a storage closet and die there! You¡¯re trash!¡±


    A little more than harsh.


    ¡°The classrooms are empty.¡± Neymar noted. He didn¡¯t disagree with the crowd, which felt like the biggest betrayal.


    ¡°If that¡¯s how you feel.¡± Abel sniffed and skulked off with a half-eaten sandwich and his guitar case in tow.


    Neymar would simply have to be surprised by an invitation later. Maybe when Abel felt like it.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Abel found the furthest empty room out of spite and played to his heart¡¯s content. He was strumming random chords and notes for what felt like a full hour, just barely beginning to figure out a small piece of the folk song he had heard, but soon stopped when he heard scuffling just outside.


    He popped open the nearest window to peek, only to see the retreating figure rushing into the halls. He recognized her faded blonde dye, her tall stature. Her now-bruised knuckles.


    Quinn Volta was here.


    After days of her absence being so substantially felt¡­


    To think that she was still on campus¡­


    And he just missed her.


    And she was hurt, possibly by Milo¡¯s doing, if his motivational speeches gave any indication of it.


    His eyes flicked down as he heard a rustle beneath the window sill. A tuft of white paper fluttered, tucked in an alcove beneath the window.


    He carefully plucked it free and unfolded it to see a few odd notes.


    At the top, there was a set of notches below the label ¡°bad music¡± and a single notch under ¡°good music¡±¡ª was this Quinn¡¯s writing?


    Was she tracking his music practice?


    Beneath that, a list of a dozen names were written. Most were crossed out, including one he recognized, Rockwell, as well as a curious name, The Advisor.


    Three remained untouched, emphatically barren:


    Milo


    Neymar


    Abel


    What did they have in common? What was she marking names for?


    What did Quinn Volta have planned for him?


    Was this proof that she sent those thugs after him instead of Rockwell?


    Abel tucked the folded note back into its hiding spot.


    Perhaps he could find Quinn again tomorrow and uncover more himself.


    After all, better the devil you know than the devil you don¡¯t.

 Chapter 14: Befriending a Tyrant

    Neymar wasn¡¯t used to being around people.


    He could feel himself locking up whenever he was spoken to. Anger would flash across his skin at the thought of someone staring at him.


    One step out of his room, and he was reminded of how much his large and imposing size intimidated people. It was gratifying, once, an unexpected power he held. However, in the midst of his grief, he came to loathe that power.


    He never meant anyone any harm, so why do they speak to him that way? Why do they look at him that way? Why did they turn away from him so easily?


    He was almost tempted to give them a reason, to validate their fears by turning into the monster they wanted him to be.


    No, solitude was better.


    Solitude meant he would never have to feel disappointed.


    So when he decided to stay at Abel¡¯s side, he told himself he didn¡¯t care what would happen to Abel, as long as Madam Fenharrow¡¯s name was protected.


    But then Abel decided to leave his side for a guitar of all things, and Neymar was surprised to find that he was off-balance. There was an emptiness beside him. What he felt was almost disappointment.


    He pretended he didn¡¯t mind. It was momentary.


    But then it happened again on the same day.


    See, every student in the school had to enroll in a sport and could elect between track and field, and team sports. Neymar insisted they do an independent sport to avoid conversations that could expose themselves as non-Altiman. Abel failed to see how Empire games could expose them and elected team sports in spite of him.


    And thus Neymar got the solitude he wanted, and was bitter for it.


    He grumbled to himself as he approached the squat storage shed of a locker room where he was crammed with a dozen other boys. The room fell into a hush when he entered.


    Great.


    Neymar attempted to ignore the glances as he began to undress in front of his square locker.


    ¡°You¡¯re a rather big guy.¡± A voice piped up behind him.


    He was not in the mood for this shit.


    ¡°Really? I never noticed.¡± Neymar remarked sarcastically. He peered over his shoulder to find Milo standing behind him. The same Milo that confronted Quinn Volta the other day and harassed her until she socked him in the face. The same Milo who insisted on weeding out potential Catcher snitches at every opportunity. The same Milo who harassed and cornered anyone who had a crumb of information on his true prey.


    The Tyrant of the Metalworks Academy.


    Milo was also shirtless. Blue marks stretched across the surface of his olive toned skin, covering part of his lean shoulders and chest and extended across his back in an arc. The Mark of the Altiman, a pattern of hereditary skin stains that could be found on any Altiman¡¯s skin. It is said to be the curse mark of the people, glimmering with the same tint as activated Altiman Glass.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    It was the first time Neymar had seen them in person, and that made him nervous.


    This can¡¯t be good.


    ¡°Funny! You¡¯re nothing like your cousin, you know.¡± Milo marveled, amused.


    ¡°The fuck¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±


    ¡°You look different, your accent is different, you even react differently. Why, it¡¯s hard to think you¡¯ve grown up in the same house. Isn¡¯t that what you said happened?¡± Milo listed with his fingers, his scrutinizing eyes never leaving Neymar¡¯s.


    Well shit. He pays attention.


    ¡°There¡¯s an explanation for that.¡±


    ¡°Go ahead.¡± Milo gestured. His eyes flicked down to Neymar¡¯s shoulders, noticeably bare in his tank top. Neymar¡¯s hackles rose.


    Why don¡¯t you mind your own damn business?


    Shit. Think of something believable. Something simple.


    ¡°You know when you hate someone so much that you want to go against everything they stand for out of spite?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s your excuse? You and your cousin hate each other?¡± Milo raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°That was how our parents were like to each other.¡± Neymar folded his arms, satisfied with his response.


    ¡°¡­ So?¡±


    ¡°So Abel is a border town hick, and I belong in the Capital.¡±


    ¡°You two seem to get along.¡± Milo raised an eyebrow.


    Neymar scoffed.


    ¡°Let me be clear. I hate his guts.¡± He sighed. ¡°But that¡¯s the thing about family. You think they¡¯re all you have, so you stick with them. You get used to them.¡±


    As much as Neymar wanted to believe he was spewing pure bullshit, the words were familiar enough to him that he couldn¡¯t deny the thread of truth¡ª he was merely superimposing Abel onto his past life.


    And when an aunt who hates everything you stand for is forced to take care of you after your parents¡¯ death¡­


    Well, no time to think about that now.


    The sincerity in Neymar¡¯s voice seemed to convince Milo enough to quiet him, but when he wouldn¡¯t move from his spot, Neymar turned to him again.


    ¡°Anything else you need?¡±


    ¡°Oh I¡¯m just verifying.¡±


    ¡°Verifying what?¡±


    ¡°That you¡¯re family.¡± Milo¡¯s eyes skimmed Neymar¡¯s bare shoulders again.


    Neymar¡¯s lips pursed in a thin line.


    Nosy little¡­


    Neymar pulled his tank off, revealing a familiar pattern of blue marks stretched across his back.


    They were slight and failed to gleam with a soft reflective sheen the way that Milo¡¯s did. But then again, they were just an imitation painted on by Abel that morning after days of training with Madam Fenharrow poring over an old book from her husband¡¯s collection detailing studies of the birthmark, after all. The body paint stained his skin, and that was more than enough to suffice as long as nobody looked too closely.


    He hoped Milo didn¡¯t.


    Neymar pulled on his sports jersey as soon as he caught the shift in Milo¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°So what does it look like to you, detective?¡± Sardonic venom dripped from Neymar¡¯s lips.


    Milo clapped down on Neymar¡¯s shoulder roughly.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean anything by it, brother. Just gotta haze you a bit.¡± Milo grinned with the warmth of a benevolent king.


    He then leaned in conspiratorially.


    ¡°Say, how fast are you?¡±


    ¡ª¡ª


    The exercise field was a dusty and uneven plot of land, with dips and bumps that threatened to twist the ankles of the swarm of students that began their warm-up jog.


    Neymar¡¯s strides were long and powerful, but lagged despite his larger frame¡ª the curse of not yet acclimating to his growth spurt. He managed enough to keep pace with the majority of the class, his head sticking above the herd like a periscope.


    Milo, on the other hand, was an excellent runner. He led the pack, throwing his head back to shittalk between breaths as a way to encourage the rest of the sweaty, panting crowd. He lunged over dips and bumps in the terrain with the grace of someone who had once eaten shit and knew better. The thought comforted Neymar.


    As they bounded up to the final stretch, Neymar made a sprint for it, eclipsing the majority of the pack and closing in on Milo¡¯s back.


    He was just inches away from surpassing Milo before they reached the finish line. Milo had won, but just barely.


    ¡°Commendable work.¡± Milo tossed a water canteen Neymar¡¯s way as they began to cool down.


    Neymar grunted and pressed the flat surface of the canteen to his sweaty forehead first before opening it up to chug. He had a feeling Milo was testing him for something. From the moment the boy approached him, Neymar knew that he only did so because Neymar was tall, well-built, and strong. A suitable henchman to add to his crew to intimidate others into falling in line.


    And Neymar was willing to play ball with that. It was a chance to find some protection from the dangers of the District in return, after all.


    After a quick swipe of his mouth, Neymar coughed out, ¡°So is this it? Am I finally in, or are there other bloody fistfighting welcoming committees in my future?¡±


    Milo gave Neymar an odd look.


    ¡°I¡¯ll admit I was being a bit of an ass back at the lockers, but what are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°So you don¡¯t know who sent those punks after me and my cousin in the alley the other day?¡± Neymar scoffed.


    ¡°You got jumped? When?¡± Milo¡¯s genuine surprise caught Neymar off-guard.


    ¡°On our first day¡ª That¡¯s not normal here?¡±


    ¡°¡­ It¡¯s unique.¡± Milo attempted to cough out, his eyes flicking rapidly as he searched his thoughts to make sense of it. ¡°But just a one-time thing, I¡¯m sure. That must be why she¡­¡±


    ¡°Who has that kind of manpower? Why us?¡± Neymar closed in on Milo when his gaze seemed to measure Neymar again. ¡°Who is she?¡±


    The words made Milo¡¯s gaze twitch. He hesitated.


    Neymar pivoted around to meet Milo¡¯s line of sight.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you proclaim yourself as a protector for the District? I don¡¯t feel very protected.¡±


    ¡°That is¡ª¡°


    Milo let out a sigh, genuine guilt crossing his features.


    ¡°Look. I can¡¯t give you answers, but stick with me and she¡¯ll leave you alone.¡±


    So they¡¯re allies, or at the very least familiar enough to cut an agreement.


    Neymar¡¯s lips quirked into a small smile of triumph. One step closer to unraveling this mystery.


    One step closer to surviving this hellscape in peace.


    ¡°¡­ Count me in, chief.¡±

 Chapter 15: The Worst Place for a Conversation

    The reunion of the honorary Fenharrows was exceptionally brief. Abel emerged from the school gym to find Neymar in the hall, only for Neymar to breeze past him with a mere glance.


    With Milo at his side.


    ¡°Neymar. I have to tell you something¡ª¡°


    ¡°It can wait until we get home. I¡¯m busy right now.¡± Neymar didn¡¯t even slow his pace to speak. He merely waved the boy away. ¡°You should be fine getting there by yourself, can¡¯t you?¡±


    Abel was so taken aback that he couldn¡¯t find the words until Neymar and Milo had vanished past the gates. Did he completely forget what happened? Or was this some sort of double speak? Or perhaps it was a secret cry for help?


    Neymar didn¡¯t seem desperate or concerned.


    In fact, he seemed unusually calm.


    Abel didn¡¯t have much time to think before Rockwell appeared beside him.


    ¡°Lost your way to the library?¡± She chirped, ¡°Where¡¯s your cousin?¡±


    Hell, if he knew.


    ¡°He¡¯s¡­ busy.¡± Abel robotically repeated.


    ¡°Oh.¡± Rockwell seemed genuinely disappointed.


    It was enough to remind Abel that Rockwell also acted particularly strange around Milo¡ª around everything related to the disappearance of Eve Mardin, really. Maybe she would know why Neymar and Milo suddenly joined forces, but what if she is the mysterious ¡°she¡± they¡¯ve been trying to find?


    Where to even start¡­?


    ¡±What was Eve Mardin like before she was taken?¡± He began, turning to her in earnest.


    ¡°What brought this up?¡± Rockwell recoiled, surprised.


    ¡±A lot of people seem to care about her.¡± Except you. ¡°And you seem to know a whole lot.¡± But you pretend none of it exists.


    When Rockwell¡¯s gaze shifted uncomfortably, clocking her surroundings, Abel attempted an appeasing smile, ¡°Ah, should we head to the library first?¡±


    If he willingly put himself in a position where he could get cornered, perhaps she might underestimate him.


    To his surprise, Rockwell shook her head.


    ¡°If we¡¯re going to talk, we might get kicked out.¡± She put on a smile, but the way her hands grasped her bag at her side was tense, as if she might run off at a moment¡¯s notice. Odd. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Yet, Abel couldn¡¯t sense anyone paying them any mind. Nobody hiding in the corners to jump him either.


    Rockwell clasped her hands together, refocusing.


    ¡°So, Eve. Well, she got along well with everyone. She¡¯s kind, very clumsy, and very generous. The type of person to fall down the stairs and ask if you¡¯re okay. And she would sooner do that than stick to a schedule, too¡ª she was always running late to everything.¡±


    ¡±And that¡¯s... bad?¡± Abel asked. He had yet to grasp what was considered ¡°average¡± in the District, but she seemed perfectly normal.


    ¡°Well, it turns out, she was just always helping her mom with errands. They ran a cafe near the river and gained a reputation of housing anyone who got kicked out of their home for one reason or another¡ª relationship problems, rebellion, addiction¡ª you name it.¡± Despite the glittering accolades, Rockwell seemed troubled by her own story, resting her chin over her clasped hands.


    ¡°Sounds like there¡¯s a ¡®but¡¯ in there.¡±


    ¡°Eve was always trying to put others at ease, but that halfway home was running her ragged. Something wasn¡¯t right about it. Before she was taken by the Catchers, she was¡­ off. Quinn was constantly pushing her to take a break.¡±


    Abel¡¯s gaze lifted at the sound of the girl¡¯s name. He recalled the list he found, and how Rockwell¡¯s name was crossed off of it. He couldn¡¯t recall seeing Eve¡¯s name on it either. Was it made regarding her disappearance?


    ¡±So Eve was close with Quinn?¡± Abel decided to ask instead.


    ¡°Quinn treated that cafe like a second home. She didn¡¯t always get along with her own mom¡­ at least, before her mom was taken.¡± Rockwell amended, ¡°So yes, they¡¯re close.¡±


    ¡°And she still sent Catchers after Eve?¡±


    Rockwell frowned, her hands falling to her sides.


    ¡°So you know as much as Milo says.¡±


    Interesting.


    ¡°Should I not believe him? He seems very attached to finding justice for Eve.¡±


    Rockwell¡¯s face contorted into¨C was that distaste?


    ¡°Milo cares about his cause to save the District. He does the same for anyone who gets Captured. He makes an effort to learn everyone¡¯s name, to check on them, to give them a sense of safety knowing that someone will look out for them even when the worst has befallen them.¡°


    ¡°Sounds like a great person, to take up such a responsibility.¡± Abel mused.


    ¡°But all the info we have on the Catchers and what they do is from observation and secondhand sources. It¡¯s very easy to make assumptions.¡± Rockwell frowned.


    ¡°You don¡¯t usually seem bothered by his assumptions.¡± Abel noted. ¡°Now, you are.¡±


    Rockwell paused.


    ¡°About three months ago, a man from our community was taken by the Catchers.¡± She began. ¡°The one who had informed the Catchers¡ª the snitch¡ª was his stepson in our grade who found out that his step dad was having an affair. Milo had just started to¡­ recruit, and that kid became the first to face his judgment.¡±


    ¡°Milo dragged that kid from his house to the school courtyard and had him mobbed. Fifteen of the biggest and meanest in our school battered him until sunset.¡±


    ¡°The kid was practically dead by the time they were done with him. Milo did it again the day the kid recovered. Those that tried to talk him out of it were put against the mob and eventually fell in line. The whole thing died down when the kid disappeared a few days later. For weeks after, there were no more reports of people calling on the Catchers¡­ until Eve¡¯s disappearance pointed all the fingers towards Quinn.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡±


    Rockwell¡¯s brows furrowed, angered. ¡°Effective. I guess that is where we draw the line. That kid shouldn¡¯t have called the Catchers over a personal dispute. The people around him learned his lesson with him.¡± The deadpan tone of her voice made it seem like she didn¡¯t believe what she said¡ª but rather that she had to say it.


    ¡°Quinn broke that peace, and the more she eludes him, the less the rest of the District is convinced on the severity of Milo¡¯s punishment. It¡¯s a far worse assumption to make, I think. Milo likes to make friends with very capable people. He¡¯s charismatic, observant, and provoking. A lot of people agree with his cause. I won¡¯t forget what happens to those that stand in his way, even if everyone else does.¡±


    Rockwell let out a shaky exhale, slung her bag over her shoulder, and began retreating down the hall. ¡°Look, Abel. I might have to postpone our study group another time after all. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow?¡±


    She turned to face him one last time as she backpedaled. ¡°And for what it¡¯s worth¡­ I¡¯m sorry you were attacked. Nobody should have to deal with that.¡±


    She fled the scene before he could respond.


    Abel stood there, perplexed.


    How did she find out about the attack?


    He could conclude that Rockwell wasn¡¯t a main threat, but what he was unraveling instead was far more worrying.


    Rockwell knew a great deal and was scared. Perhaps of what he would do with the information she gave him, perhaps because of the repercussions of upsetting those she spoke about.


    That could only mean one thing: He¡¯s wasted too much time on his ass talking when he should¡¯ve been following Neymar.


    Abel sped off for the school gates.

 Chapter 16: Those Who Hide in the Darkness and Those Who Walk in the Light

    Milo¡¯s chief past-time after school was following people home.


    ¡­In a way.


    ¡°A Catcher Patrol.¡± Neymar repeated, confused. ¡°What good does having a bunch of kids follow some random people around do?¡±


    Milo slung an arm on Neymar¡¯s shoulder¨C a habit he was beginning to pick up despite Neymar¡¯s distaste for it.


    ¡°There¡¯s safety in numbers, my friend. As much as the Catchers could do anything here, especially when most of them are damn mages too¡ª you know those kind of mages that like to wave their powers around just for the hell of it¡ª they are still conscious about consequences. After all, it would be easier to go after the person who kidnapped your child if you knew their face. If nobody saw it happen, there¡¯s plausible deniability. Who¡¯s to say that child didn¡¯t run away from home on their own?¡± Milo motioned a pair of little legs running off with his fingers.


    ¡°So you wander the streets just to be a witness?¡±


    ¡°We pride ourselves on holding people accountable.¡± Milo nodded. ¡°On both ends.¡±


    At Neymar¡¯s furrowed brow, Milo smiled.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t you had to deal with someone who was just always in your way and thought to yourself ¡®what I would give to send you as far away from me as possible¡¯?¡±


    Neymar recalled his first days with Abel, but remained silent.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s easy to do that here. If you talk to the right ¡®Peacekeepers¡¯ the right way, that can be arranged without anybody else knowing about it.¡± Milo frowned. ¡°But that isn¡¯t quite fair, is it? So it¡¯s up to us to give them their due process.¡±


    ¡°How do you find out something that nobody else knows about?¡± Neymar asked.


    ¡°We have our sources.¡± Milo took a scan of their surroundings and waved to an incoming figure jogging up the street.


    Neymar¡¯s hands twitched into fists.


    The boy he was waving over was the scrawny teenager that jumped him.


    ¡°You.¡± Neymar couldn¡¯t help but seethe. The boy was now decked out in an arm cast and seemed to limp slightly. He was startled by the tone, but upon taking in Neymar¡¯s form, then his face, he realized¡ª


    ¡°A-Actually I gotta go¡ª¡° The boy turned on his heel. Milo simultaneously reached out to hold him back while interposing between him and Neymar.


    ¡±It¡¯s okay, Kochi. He¡¯s with us.¡± Milo reassured him. ¡±You have news?¡±


    Kochi nervously looked from Milo to Neymar.


    ¡°W¡­Well¡­ Word from¡ª from our sources say that there¡¯s a snitch in the South District, Apartment block D. Goes by the name Arwen.¡±


    Milo¡¯s lips twitched.


    ¡°A snitch?¡± He attempted to sound light, but the rage was hard to quell.


    Kochi quietly nodded.


    ¡°We¡¯ll lead the south patrol. Be ready for extraction by the end of the hour.¡±


    ¡°Extraction?¡± Neymar inquired as Kochi scurried off.


    ¡°They always try to hide.¡± Milo frowned.


    But something wasn¡¯t adding up.


    ¡°If you¡¯re so coordinated with your source, how did you miss the attack on my cousin and me?¡±


    Milo flushed, uncomfortable.


    ¡°She must¡¯ve had her reasons for keeping that close to the vest.¡± Milo reasoned, quick to shrug it off. ¡°She always does.¡± Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Neymar raised an eyebrow at this.


    ¡°And what was your source¡¯s name again?¡± Neymar attempted to prod. Milo let out a laugh.


    ¡°Good one!¡± He patted Neymar¡¯s shoulder knowingly and continued south. ¡°If you do well enough out here, you¡¯ll get to meet her and ask her all the questions you want yourself.¡±


    The duo soon turned into a cuatro, then a cinque, then a mob as more of Milo¡¯s lackeys joined the patrol. They filled the streets with a soft chatter as they talked about their day, ranked the best types of bread, then began making bets on who could walk on their hands the longest.


    Neymar remained stoically separate throughout, but was eventually roped into the competition when Milo challenged him on his strength.


    So he hopped on both hands, upside down and all, pushing further southward alongside someone he didn¡¯t even know.


    It felt oddly comforting, as they passed Peacekeepers grimacing at them like they were some aberrant parade.


    But the din quickly faded from Neymar¡¯s focus when he spotted a flash of movement from his inverted position.


    A shadow rippled against the walls and turned into a narrow street. Neymar could make out faint shifts in the dust and dirt on the ground like footsteps. Further up the street, a lone man strolled, about to turn the corner.


    Neymar pushed himself upright and darted after.  As he approached the entrance of the street, he could feel the latent heat of spirit fire, of magic.


    Someone was invisible.


    The crowd split off to follow Neymar as he rushed up the narrow street and spun around the corner to find the solitary man keeled over.


    One hand was propped up against the wall of a warehouse building while the other grasped his own neck. He was wheezing, shuddering with terror in his eyes.


    His gaze lifted and he shakily reached out to Neymar, the first to arrive, then pulled him into a tight embrace.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± He breathed, his wheezes turning to sobs. ¡°Thank you so much.¡±


    Neymar was stunned. He mutely returned the embrace. Tears threatened to prick at his eyes.


    He barely stopped an abduction from happening right in front of him.


    The Catchers were real.


    All at once, he realized just how terrifying the District really was.


    And then he realized his grave mistake.


    He had left Abel to walk it alone.


    ¡ª¡ª-


    Abel was thankful Milo¡¯s lackeys were loud and obnoxious.


    It wasn¡¯t a great feat to find them parading down the street, though Abel was immediately annoyed when he couldn¡¯t find Neymar nor Milo himself among them.


    He kept to the shadows, hiding in the alcoves as he trailed them, hoping they would find their way back to their leader soon.


    But before he could make much progress, he noticed something amiss.


    With every crevice he tucked his way into, he could see a flutter of motion in the corner of his eye. Like a second shadow that paralleled him.


    He vaulted up to a fire escape and peered down, honing in on the shadows. A hooded figure emerged from an alley and ducked into an alcove along the street, trailing behind the teenagers just as he was trying to. The cut of their clothing was of school uniform clothes from the Metalworks Academy, not the Peacekeeper uniform.


    The figure seemed to sense him, for it turned its head towards him in that split moment. Abel quickly ducked and dropped down the ladder, pressing himself against the alleyway walls for cover.


    A moment passed.


    Then two.


    Abel¡¯s heart pounded in his chest, the very  thought of fighting off another gang attack already exhausting him.


    The coast should be clear in the opposite direction, right? Maybe he could circle around¡ª


    He attempted to slink up the alley, to exit the scene entirely, only to stumble into a body.


    The hooded figure was taller and more slender up close.


    Abel backed off, hands flying into a defensive stance. He was about to start swinging for their face when he noticed a flash of faded blonde hair wisp out from beneath the hood.


    ¡°Quinn Volta?¡± Abel breathed.


    He lowered his hands and stepped back further, creating distance between them. ¡°Why are you following¡ª¡°


    ¡°So you were watching the patrols.¡± Quinn stood before him in her cropped jacket and loose pants. Her hood was big enough to obscure most of her features in shadow.


    She coolly stuffed her hands in her pockets, appraising him. ¡°Who are you and what the hell are you up to?¡±


    He didn¡¯t believe she didn¡¯t know exactly who he was. His name was on her list after all.


    No, she was trying to catch him in a lie.


    Abel attempted a light smile.


    ¡°I¡¯m Abel, and I¡¯m just trying to find my cousin.¡± He raised his hands to his sides in a casual surrender. ¡°Your good friend Milo seems to have involved him in something dangerous that probably won¡¯t sit well with his mom.¡±


    All quite true, given Reyna Fenharrow¡¯s wariness about the District.


    ¡°Hah! My good friend Milo.¡± Quinn scoffed, trying to hide her amusement. ¡°You¡¯re cheeky. But why should I believe you?¡±


    ¡°Because our goals are aligned.¡± Abel tilted his head. ¡°You¡¯re tracking Milo too, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Quinn¡¯s gaze sharpened with suspicion. She remained silent.


    ¡°You have every reason to. He¡¯s constantly harassing you, and I don¡¯t want my cousin to face the same fate.¡± Especially if Milo finds out they¡¯re both lying about their heritage. ¡°Milo deserves to be taken down a peg. So why don¡¯t we go after him together?¡±


    Abel extended his hand to her.


    ¡°That way you can see exactly what I¡¯m ¡®up to¡¯.¡±


    Quinn¡¯s eyes flicked from his expression to his hand and back.


    ¡°You¡¯re new to this neighborhood, right?¡± She mused, calculating. That can¡¯t be good.


    ¡±Landed just this month.¡± Abel confidently affirmed despite the growing dread in his stomach.


    ¡°Can you run?¡±


    ¡±Fairly well?¡± Abel opted to sound unsure. Better to seem like he wasn¡¯t a threat.


    ¡°Can you fight? Can you take a hit?¡±


    ¡±Well enough.¡± Much better than he could run, but she didn¡¯t need to know that.


    It was enough for her.


    Quinn took his hand, deliberately pulling him towards her.  He stumbled forward and they locked eyes.


    ¡°You stay in my sight. You follow my lead. You don¡¯t get Caught.¡± She then smiled. ¡°Got it?¡±


    ¡°Got it.¡± Abel nodded quickly, a bit dazzled by her forcefulness.


    ¡°Stick to the shadows.¡± She instructed. ¡°Oh, and you were wrong about one thing.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not going after Milo. We¡¯re going after his prey.¡±

 Chapter 17: Scaling a Building Should be Easier

    There was a party in front of the target apartment complex.


    At least that was what Abel thought when he and Quinn tracked Mio¡¯s lackeys to a steadily growing crowd. Even kids from within the building peeked out to witness the revelry.


    ¡±Arwen hasn¡¯t been home in hours!¡± A girl yelled down at the crowd from her window.


    ¡°Coward!¡± the crowd below chanted in response.


    Abel must¡¯ve slowed his pace to witness it all, because he felt Quinn¡¯s voice close behind him.


    ¡°You know what they¡¯re going to do with him when they find him?¡± She asked as she tapped Abel¡¯s shoulder to guide him towards the west side of the complex.


    ¡°Rockwell described it as a swarm that leaves you on death¡¯s door.¡± Abel attempted to peer over his shoulder to look at her. ¡°Will they do that to you too?¡±


    Quinn¡¯s palm pushed his cheek forward, away from her.


    Was she being¡­ bashful?


    Cute.


    ¡°What, do you think Milo gave me a special exemption?¡± She scoffed.


    ¡°Well, you seem very alive.¡± Abel reasoned bluntly. It got a huff of a laugh out of Quinn.


    ¡°The thing about a swarm is that it requires cornering and overwhelming your target.¡± Quinn mused. ¡°How effective do you think they are in doing that?¡±


    Abel clocked a few curious glances thrown their way from a group strolling alongside the building perimeter just as they reached the other end of the apartment building. Unlike the partygoers, these were security detail¡ª Milo¡¯s gangsters on the hunt.


    ¡°Seems like you¡¯re giving them a good opportunity now.¡± Abel mumbled as the gang shambled closer.


    ¡±Not quite.¡± She turned her gaze up to the second floor window, which was fully opened for its residents to overhear the ruckus without getting involved.


    Quinn leapt and scrambled up along the wall before grasping onto the windowsill. She then vaulted herself up and in through the window, then reached back and extended her hand to him.


    Impressive.


    The security detail was now rushing towards Abel. He lept and grabbed her hand. She quickly yanked him in. Before he had a chance to find his footing, she was dragging him through a stranger¡¯s apartment. Abel narrowly dodged a broom thrown his way as an old woman within shrieked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t get it. Isn¡¯t the guy they¡¯re looking for not here? Why did we go in?¡± Abel dipped his head in apology to the family as they approached the front door. Quinn pulled open the bolt of the door with practiced ease.


    ¡°He¡¯s not home, but he¡¯s still in the building.¡± The two stumbled into the hallway, down to a stairwell, then slowed to a halt, fatigued.


    ¡°How do you know that?¡± Abel spoke between huffs.


    ¡°Unfortunately, Milo is working off reliable information.¡± Quinn breathed as she leaned on the railing. Her eyes darted around the stairwell as she began to calculate their next move.


    ¡°Why is that unfortunate?¡± Instead of answering his question, Quinn began to lead them down, eyes on the basment.


    They were suddenly intercepted when Milo¡¯s gang burst through the exit doors, standing between them and their target destination.


    And a familiar large figure stood in the doorway to the exit, looming above the rest. Milo¡¯s arm slung around his shoulder.


    Neymar.


    Neymar was a part of them.


    Petty anger twisted in Abel¡¯s chest. Neymar had such shit taste in friends.


    But maybe Abel could put this anger to good use.


    Abel quickly peeled Quinn away from the steps and pushed her back against the wall, out of the gang¡¯s sight.


    ¡°What are you¡ª¡° she attempted to push him away, but he held firm.


    ¡°Shh.¡± He whispered, holding a finger between them. ¡°Want to get to the basement? I have a plan.¡±


    ¡ª-


    Within seconds, though it took some reassurance, Abel was stationed ready by the second floor door, and Quinn was trepidatiously leaning over the stairwell railing, her hood lifted firmly over her head.


    ¡°Hey!¡° She yelled down at the Gang that was beginning to fan out across the ground and first floor. ¡°You losers lookin¡¯ for me?¡± The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Confused yells erupted from the gang below. Quinn immediately rushed up the steps leading to the second floor as her name was yelled out in recognition, echoing up the stairwell.


    She slipped off her jacket as Abel did the same for his plaid uniform jacket. They flung their jackets at each other, Quinn shrugging Abel¡¯s on as she tucked behind the opened door leading into the apartment hallway. Abel threw Quinn¡¯s on. It fit snug, but his build was lanky enough to pull off the resemblance. He threw the hood up and took off down into the hallway as the first of the gang reached the second floor landing.


    One by one, the gang pursued the one they thought was Quinn Volta into the apartment complex hallway. The real Quinn waited for the last straggler to leave before she peeled herself out from behind the door and descended rapidly to the basement below.


    If Abel had any doubts about her intentions, he had sealed his fate now.


    Abel bounded around curious heads that poked out of doorways and into the hall. Confused cries erupted around him. He kept his head low and  barrelled through limbs that tried to grab at him.


    And then he saw Milo catching up to his pace from the corner of his eye.


    ¡°You¡¯re done for, Volta!¡±


    He twisted to feint a double back, which slowed Milo¡¯s pace briefly, but he quickly caught up again.


    ¡±Wait¨C You¡¯re not¡ª¡° Abel could hear Milo mutter beneath his breath. He panicked and scanned the hall ahead of him. It was about to reach its end.


    And at that end was a window.


    Bingo.


    Abel rushed up to the window and braced himself.


    Don¡¯t cause trouble. Don¡¯t use magic. Don¡¯t get caught. Don¡¯t get noticed. Don¡¯t use magic.


    Don¡¯t. Don¡¯t. Don¡¯t.


    These limits are starting to sound a lot like provocation.


    Abel channeled energy through his breath. As he pried the window open, he released a gust of wind behind him that barrelled through the hallway, knocking the gang back in surprise. Some lost their footing, others knocked into each other. Milo stopped in his tracks.


    ¡°What the¡ª?¡±


    It gave Abel enough time to climb out.


    But he was three floors up.


    The ground was much too far away.


    So he gripped onto the windowsill and dangled off it just as Milo reached the window. Abel quickly swung to the side and launched himself at the balcony on the floor below.


    His arms hit the metal railing surrounding the balcony with the full force of his swing. His grip slipped and he nearly fell past it. Biting back the pain he quickly secured his grip on the floor ledge of the balcony. Bloody scrapes trailed down his arm, including a newly-rendered hole in Quinn¡¯s jacket.


    Hope she¡¯s not going to get mad at me for that¡­


    A crowd was beginning to surround the ground below him. The mob had identified its glorious leader in the window.


    ¡°Get her¡ª them!¡± Milo desperately yelled.


    Abel needed another way out.


    Shit. Shit. shit.


    He shakily pulled himself up the balcony rail again, only to face a pair of kids who stared at him with wide saucer eyes, tucked behind their older sibling brandishing a bat.


    Abel narrowly ducked a bat swing to the head and pushed off of the railing, leaping across to the neighbor¡¯s balcony.


    But that wasn¡¯t much better either.


    He was grappled by a woman as he attempted to dodge another bat swing.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got him!¡±


    His cover was blown.


    Quinn was going to get caught.


    The thunder of footsteps of the gang surging through the hall echoed above and around him.


    And then shouts began erupting below.


    The stairwell doors opened and Quinn Volta emerged into the courtyard with a boy in tow. Abel¡¯s uniform jacket was wrapped around her head like a babushka¡¯s scarf. She took one scan of the scene, recognizing Abel¡¯s unfortunate circumstance.


    There was a slight hesitation. She then disengaged from the boy beside her.


    ¡°Look! It¡¯s Arwen!¡± She yelled as she retreated. As soon as the crowd turned to the boy, she ducked into a side street, disappearing.


    The boy looked shocked, then terrified. He immediately broke into a run. The mob pursued.


    Why did she go through all this to find him, only to give him up?


    Abel took the distraction to free himself from the grapple and launched himself off the balcony.


    He landed on the ground with a tumble that sent pain straight through his knees, then ducked through the rush.


    As he turned to look back at the apartment, he saw Neymar standing on the balcony, staring directly at him.


    Furious.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Abel couldn¡¯t find Quinn Volta after that. Anyone remaining from the mob that attempted to pursue him had stopped in their tracks the moment they spotted a Catcher. He played it casual as well, ducking away to hide and lose their trail as soon as he could.


    Once he was out of sight, he tucked Quinn¡¯s jacket in a bundle under his shirt and returned to school to retrieve his guitar.


    It was right where he hid it in that abandoned classroom.


    Phew.


    He stuffed the jacket in his guitar case and returned back to his apartment, where he made quick work patching up his arm.


    At dinner, Neymar was characteristically quiet. Abel only briefly mentioned the new practice room he had found on the corner of campus. Neymar grunted in acknowledgment.


    It was only just before retiring to bed that Neymar faced Abel.


    ¡°Big scrape you have there.¡±


    ¡°It is. It stings, too.¡± Abel noted, aloof.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t come across any Catchers, did you?¡± Neymar looked genuinely concerned.


    Odd.


    ¡°Not beyond the usual walking around.¡± Abel shrugged it off. ¡°Rockwell missed you.¡±


    There was a pause as Neymar searched his memory. Nothing.


    ¡°¡­ like she was aiming for me?¡±


    ¡°She asked me to invite you to some study group. It was canceled in the end.¡±


    ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not the ¡®she¡¯ we¡¯re looking for, by the way. So it seems like she invited you out of the goodness of her heart.¡± Abel gave him a look. ¡±And you stomped on it.¡±


    Neymar blustered.


    ¡°That was completely your fault! When were you going to tell me?¡±


    ¡°Oh just before you blew me off for bloody Milo.¡± Abel failed to keep the venom out of his voice. It was enough to set Neymar off.


    ¡°You want to talk about blowoffs?¡±


    ¡°How could you?¡± Abel interjected.


    ¡°How could YOU? With Quinn? It¡¯s a miracle nobody recognized you back at that apartment.¡±


    Abel scoffed.


    ¡°Even Milo?¡± Abel clarified.


    ¡°He just knows he was tricked. That Quinn is working with someone else. Be thankful he didn¡¯t sense the magic you threw at us. What were you thinking?¡±


    But Abel stopped listening.


    Be thankful.


    Be thankful.


    Be thankful we plucked you from that backwater village.


    Be thankful we gave you a purpose, so fight for us.


    It grated on him. He wanted Neymar to hurt.


    ¡°How was the swarm? Was it satisfying seeing Milo¡¯s mob rip that kid to shreds? Did they even ask him why he did it?¡±


    Neymar¡¯s gaze turned hard, anguished. Of course he wasn¡¯t comfortable. Of course he hated it.


    But it was a sacrifice. If only Abel could see that.


    ¡°I¡¯m trying to protect us.¡±


    ¡°So am I.¡±


    Now it was Neymar¡¯s turn to scoff.


    ¡°No, you¡¯re being¡ª¡°


    ¡°Being what?¡± Abel snapped.


    ¡°You think I can¡¯t tell you¡¯re down bad? Every other word out of your mouth all week has been about her.¡±


    Abel flushed red, fuming.


    ¡°Fuck you, Neymar.¡±


    Abel stormed to his room without another word.

 Chapter 18: Brotherhood

    Abel expected the Altiman District to turn into his personal battlefield.


    He had lost Neymar as an ally. His only other potential ally, Quinn, was hated by the rest of the District. Rockwell was far too stubbornly neutral, and Milo had many ways to suspect him as his number one enemy¡ª as the one who duped him into chasing a fake Quinn Volta.


    And the bandage on his arm was glaring evidence of that.


    So Abel put together a meager alibi. He threw more bandages on himself. A second one on his opposite hand, a patch on his cheek and neck.


    When Milo asked him¡ª or rather, demanded answers from him¡ª Abel claimed it was a cooking accident.


    ¡°Seems like serendipitous timing.¡± Milo scoffed.


    Abel stood, bracing himself for the swarm to consume him.


    After all, Neymar was bound to refute him, to turn him in.


    But to Abel¡¯s surprise, Neymar corroborated his story instead.


    ¡°My mom gave him hell for messing with oil like that.¡± He grunted.


    It was enough to get Milo to back off, at least momentarily, for he had developed a reputation amongst the school for being the Catcher-Chaser¡ª the one to rescue a man from the clutches of a Catcher.


    Abel barely managed to keep his emotions in check. There was a strange twist in his chest that he couldn¡¯t quite shake off.


    Maybe this is what it meant to have a brother.


    Later that afternoon, Abel squirreled away to the abandoned classroom he now dubbed his practice room. It had become a sanctuary for him. Away from Milo¡¯s prying eyes. Away from the Catchers, away from the Empire at large.


    It was just him and his guitar, and potentially Quinn Volta listening beneath the window.


    And maybe that was why the first thing he did was pull out her jacket.


    But he couldn¡¯t exactly reveal that he knew she was there. She would undoubtedly run off or attack him.


    So he pretended to dismissively toss the jacket aside, conveniently towards the window with her tucked note. He even added a scoff to sell the charade.


    When the sleeve slapped over the other side of the windowsill, he heard a light squeak.


    Then the jacket shuffled with movement as it was pulled on the other side.


    Abel began playing his guitar, waiting as he watched the jacket shift side to side on the window, then stop.


    And he stopped with it.


    ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± He called out.


    A soft silence filled the room.


    ¡°Unless you¡¯re a mouse, I saw you move it. Show yourself.¡± Abel called out again.


    ¡°You ripped it.¡± Quinn¡¯s voice responded from the other side, measured. Abel saw the top of her head slowly rise into view from the bottom of the window.


    ¡°I tried to fix it.¡± Abel attempted an appeal.


    ¡±You¡¯re bad at sewing.¡± Quinn¡¯s hand came into view and pulled the rest of the jacket over to her side.


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    Her eyes flicked to his bandages.


    ¡±How¡¯s your arm? And your¡­ face?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll heal. Doesn¡¯t hurt too bad. This one is fake.¡± Abel pointed to his cheek bandage.  That didn¡¯t seem to ease the frown on Quinn¡¯s face.


    ¡°It was a bad plan¡ª the jackets, all of it. Here¡¯s yours, by the way.¡± She flung Abel¡¯s jacket through the window. Abel caught it before it touched the ground. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°Is that why you let that Arwen guy go?¡±


    ¡°He was a dud.¡± Quinn scowled. ¡°Whether the plan was good or not didn¡¯t matter.¡±


    ¡°A dud.¡± Abel prodded for more information.


    ¡°Useless, pointless, ineffective.¡±


    ¡±Are you going to keep listing synonyms, or are you going to share what utility you were trying to find in him?¡±


    Quinn shot him an annoyed look. Abel merely smiled at her, his jaw clicking in tandem.


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to return to your music.¡± She turned away, disappearing from sight.


    ¡±You still don¡¯t trust me?¡±


    ¡°Trust has nothing to do with it.¡± Quinn muttered.


    Abel crossed the room and stuck his head out of the window, peering down at Quinn propped against the building wall.


    ¡°I could help you.¡±


    ¡°With another bad plan?¡±


    ¡°The more I know, the better my plans can be.¡± He tilted his head slyly.


    She huffed and finally looked up at him.


    ¡±Do you know what I find odd? You¡¯ve been here for less than a month. Most kids would be shitting their pants and cowering in their homes just from the Catchers alone. But I¡¯ve seen you chase after a gangster, break into someone¡¯s apartment, run headfirst towards a mob, and leap from a building.¡±


    Abel blanched.


    Well shit.


    When she put it that way¡­


    ¡­he did sound a little psychotic.


    ¡°I bet the only thing you know about me is that those same Catchers are my good good pals, and that¡¯s why Milo has a bounty on my head. Now you¡¯re trying to help me?¡±


    She then groaned.


    ¡±Is that what it is? Are you doing all this because you think it¡¯ll help your chances with the Catchers?¡±


    ¡°Well, that depends.¡± Abel rested his arms on the windowsill, drawing closer to her. ¡±There was a great crowd at that apartment building yesterday. Plenty of unrest for the assault of an informant for the Catchers. Did they turn a blind eye because you asked them to? If that were the case, you made it harder on yourself to complete your mission.¡±


    Quinn stiffened.


    ¡°Or is it that informants aren¡¯t valued after all? If I truly wanted salvation, I would have better luck pretending to be a Catcher myself.¡±


    ¡±Then what? Are you just some thrill-seeker?¡±


    Abel hesitated. Would that be a useful assumption? She might treat him cautiously, like a firecracker. She might dismiss him.


    And he wanted answers. He wanted a resolution¡ª a way to get out from fearing both Milo and the Catchers all at once. To finally enjoy his time in school in peace, regardless of where the Empire threw him.


    He had already sullied his promise to Dmitri to stay out of trouble this much that he might as well get something out of it.


    ¡°Someone made me out to be their enemy the first day I arrived here.¡± Abel finally spoke. ¡°She had her gang jump me in an alley. I once thought it was you, but it seems like you work alone. She does not.¡±


    ¡°She.¡± Quinn repeated the word like it was foreign.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think she is Rockwell¡¯s either. But¡ª¡± Abel stopped at the sight of Quinn trembling. What he first believed were sobs turned out to be laughter.


    ¡°She!¡± She squeaked in between laughs.


    Abel didn¡¯t know how to react. Quinn scrambled to her feet, energized. She pumped her fists in celebration.


    ¡°She finally messed up! Oh, Arwen was a dud but you aren¡¯t.¡± Quinn turned and grabbed Abel by the shoulders. ¡°I could kiss you. You should¡¯ve started with this!¡±


    ¡°I thought¡ª¡° Abel blustered.


    But Quinn wasn¡¯t listening.


    ¡°So you¡¯re in it for payback. Good, good.¡° There was a glint in her eye that made Abel fascinated and apprehensive at the same time. It was like she came to life before him. She then leaned in towards him conspiratorially.


    ¡°You want to take her down? I¡¯ll show you.¡±


    ¡ª¡ª¡ª


    Milo was uneasy ever since he hosted Arwen¡¯s trial. He was repeating his motivational speeches more often. He took less people with him on patrols. By the end of the week, he even threatened to kick Neymar out of his inner circle¡ª a position Neymar had only recently earned after earning the title Catcher-Chaser. He was set to join the rest of the circle in their regular meetings with their Lady Informant at the end of the week. It was what allowed him to hold his stomach during Arwen¡¯s trial¡ª when he watched dozens of kids crush and bleed a person until his cries turned to dull sobs.


    And he couldn¡¯t just sit by and lose that on a whim.


    ¡°Milo. Talk to me. What¡¯s going on?¡± Neymar asked him in the midst of their laps around the school field. He was barely managing to speak between huffs.


    ¡°There¡¯s nobody we can trust now. Nobody.¡± Milo huffed back, his gaze focused on the field ahead of them. ¡°That guy¡­Back at the apartment¡­¡±


    Abel?


    Neymar held his breath. He nearly tripped over the uneven ground.


    ¡°He was a Catcher. But he was in civilian clothes.¡± Milo finished. ¡°It¡¯s the only explanation.¡±


    ¡°W-What?¡±


    ¡°The Catchers are the only ones in the District who can wield magic. I¡¯m sure that¡¯s what I felt.¡± Milo frowned. ¡°To think Quinn Volta would pull that kind of trick¡­ First they try to hide from us, now they try to imitate us?¡±


    Milo turned to Neymar in desperation.


    ¡°I am only telling you this because I know you have a sense of these things. You found that hidden Catcher. Yes, maybe you¡¯ll find this one¡ª No, I know you can find this one¡ª out of anyone. If you really want to keep your place, you¡¯ll bring me that imposter.¡± Milo¡¯s eyes glittered with anger and fear. ¡°We¡¯ll give them a trial. We¡¯ll show them that nobody can escape accountability.¡±


    ¡°What if they use their powers against us?¡±


    ¡°We have numbers. They can¡¯t get all of us before we have a chance to make them feel our punishment. ¡° Milo spoke quickly, decisively.


    Neymar paled. He was going to sacrifice his own people for the sake of making a statement. This was lunacy¡ª


    Then, Milo¡¯s gaze lit up with lucidity for a brief moment. As if he had just woken up from a dream.


    ¡°Keep this quiet. Not even the rest of the patrol can know. The Catchers could interfere with our plans or worse¡ª the mere suggestion that someone in plainclothes wielding magic could embolden their actions. So keep your mouth shut until you have answers. Got it?¡± Milo slapped a hand on Neymar¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Can I rely on you?¡±


    Shit.


    Shit, shit, shit.


    This was spinning out of control.


    If he turned Abel in, Abel would get in trouble and risk exposing his real identity as a non-Altiman to the rest of the District. Neymar¡¯s identity would be compromised shortly after.


    Then, even if they manage to survive the inevitable wrath of the District in the aftermath, Madame Fenharrow would find out about Neymar¡¯s own involvement in an attack against Abel and hate him forever. Maybe even send him back to his aunt.


    And then he would get pulled back into his old life¡ª the life he promised himself he would never return to.


    But if he didn¡¯t turn Abel in, Milo could be mad enough to start an Anti-Catcher riot, which could turn the whole District into a bloodbath.


    Damn it.


    Why did Abel have to be so irresponsible?


    There must be a way out of this.


    Neymar needed to find a fall guy.


    ¡°Of course you can rely on me.¡±

 Chapter 19: Lies and Bloodlust

    Of course, Neymar immediately told Abel about Milo¡¯s plans.


    Abel took the idea of being hunted too well for Neymar¡¯s tastes.


    ¡°Me? A Catcher? Funny.¡± He scoffed.


    Neymar failed to find this all hilarious.


    ¡°If Milo or the Catchers find you a threat to whatever is going on between them, it¡¯s going to be a fucking mess.¡± Neymar huffed. ¡°It just might be better to stay away from Quinn Volta until this all blows over.¡±


    Abel lips twitched. Neymar braced himself, expecting a flash of anger just like their last conversation. Instead, Abel let out a frustrated sigh.


    ¡°I guess you¡¯re right.¡±


    ¡°I¡­am¡­?¡± Neymar stuttered, surprised.


    But nothing more needed to be said. The following day, Abel complied perfectly.


    With that out of the way, there was the issue of finding the fall guy.


    Milo¡¯s suspicions towards Abel remained so long as no other Catcher appeared with a similar arm injury.


    But how does someone even get in contact with a Catcher?


    He certainly didn¡¯t want to immediately get put on Milo¡¯s trial list for trying, so he couldn¡¯t exactly walk up to any Empire Peacekeeper to ¡°report a crime¡±.


    There must be a secret way¡ª some back alley that keeps the heat off of a snitch for at least a few days.


    And who would be willing to share that information without Milo knowing?


    ¡°Rockie.¡± Neymar plopped into the seat in front of Rockwell¡¯s desk.


    When did he decide to give her a nickname?


    Focus.


    She looked particularly surprised.


    Of course she would. He had never initiated a conversation with her before. For the first weeks in the District, he simply sat by Abel and listened to them chatter on and on. She was incredibly thorough about the most mundane things, even providing drawn maps on scrap paper for the location of cafes within the District, to which routes would avoid the most Catchers.


    Maybe Neymar¡¯s plan was a little too suspicious.


    No, this is fine. He¡¯ll start off casual.


    Like a ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± Or a ¡°How are you?¡±


    ¡°What are you?¡±


    Idiot.


    He scrambled to recover. ¡°¡­. Doing¡ª What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Oh- uh¡ª¡° She blinked. ¡°Club stuff.¡± She closed her notebook before he could look at it.


    Why was everyone in the District so damn suspicious?


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you usually with Milo nowadays?¡± She didn¡¯t look at him, focused on using the side of her pen to flatten the cover of her notebook.


    She was already trying to dismiss him? Harsh.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for missing your study group¡­thing.¡±


    ¡°You had other plans.¡± she said it as a matter-of-fact.


    ¡°Well, speaking of, I¡¯ve¡­ seen what Milo works on outside of here.¡±


    Rockwell¡¯s gaze lifted to him with interest, her icy demeanor instantly vanishing. ¡°You have?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, and I need your help. It¡¯s kind of serious.¡± He attempted to hold her gaze, but his eyes kept flicking down to the desk.


    Why was he getting flustered?


    ¡°Go on.¡± Rockwell propped her head up with her arm, leaning in, attentive.


    ¡°I saw this kid get into an argument on the street the other day. I¡­ I don¡¯t know her well, but it sounded bad. She might try to retaliate by calling a Catcher.¡± Neymar whispered, internally praying his fake story was convincing enough.¡±I don¡¯t want her to end up making a decision she¡¯ll regret.¡±


    Rockwell¡¯s gaze was wide and round, taking in every detail. It was kind of distracting.


    ¡°I-If you know where she would meet up with one¡ª¡°


    She placed a gentle hand on his. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°That¡¯s very noble of you, Neymar.¡± She whispered back. ¡°What does she look like? Where did you last see her exactly?¡±


    Neymar flushed. He did not prepare for follow up questions.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t exactly see her face. It was dark and through a window. She sounded young¡ª¡° he couldn¡¯t bring himself to identify a location. Not if he didn¡¯t know what would happen to the poor stranger that lived there. ¡°Is it really that important?¡±


    ¡°Of course. Why wait until she¡¯s about to go to a Catcher when we can find someone she trusts to talk to her before she makes the decision? My siblings and I can find anyone anywhere in this city.¡± Rockwell¡¯s eyebrows raised in amusement. ¡°For instance, I know that if I had to look for you on the weekend, I would have to leave the District entirely.¡±


    Neymar froze.


    He did continue to make visits to the Fenharrow Inn when he could, if only to reassure Madam Fenharrow of their place in the District and check in on the old woman.


    Of course it was natural that people would begin to notice his coming and going. But why did that feel like a threat?


    ¡°Is that wrong?¡± Neymar attempted to brush it off coolly.


    Rockwell¡¯s smile slipped through the cracks of her facade.


    ¡°I¡¯m curious. Access out of the District for anyone living in it is hard to come by. Requires a lot of paperwork and glad-handing, and on top of that, overnight access is even more rare, so you must be someone very special¨C someone the Catchers wouldn¡¯t have their eye on. You could exist peacefully in the background, yet you don¡¯t.¡± She mused, patting his hand. ¡°Which makes your questions and actions very¡­ interesting. So, do you want to run that girl¡¯s story by me again, or are you going to actually tell me why you¡¯re seeking out an audience with a Catcher?¡±


    Neymar fell into silence.


    ¡°¡­How could you tell?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a bad liar.¡± She said with mirth.


    He figured as much.


    ¡°Would you answer my question if I can¡¯t tell you why?¡±


    Rockwell considered it, then shook her head.


    ¡°Access to them is a dangerous temptation. I¡¯m not interested in giving anyone a way to end up on Milo¡¯s shit list. Even if you don¡¯t do it yourself, knowledge spreads.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s for a good cause.¡± His hands twisted around to grip hers like a lifeline. ¡°Please.¡±


    Rockwell¡¯s eyelashes fluttered with emotion, but she remained steadfast.


    ¡°That¡¯s what they all believe.¡± She huffed. ¡°You¡¯re better off staying out of it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not¡ª¡° Neymar let out a huff of frustration. ¡°Never mind. I¡¯ll deal with it.¡± He attempted to slip away, but Rockwell¡¯s hand gripped his wrist.


    ¡°I won¡¯t give you the means to target others, but¡­ If you believe you may be targeted, then¡­¡± She mumbled, quiet.


    Was she concerned for him?


    ¡°¡­ It¡¯s very possible.¡± Especially if anyone found out who he really was.


    Rockwell pulled him back down to his seat.


    ¡°Maybe I can tell you something about the Catchers after all...¡±


    ¡ª¡ª


    Unlike Neymar, Abel Fenharrow was a damn good liar.


    The day he swore to stay away from Quinn Volta was Day Three of secretly meeting with her in the abandoned classroom he claimed as a guitar practice room during lunch hours.


    He didn¡¯t mean to deceive Neymar.


    It simply took too much to explain what was at stake if he stopped now. And Neymar was probably too stubborn to listen.


    Because Quinn was a treasure trove of information. But like anything precious, she kept her finest locked behind many doors, to only be opened after fulfilling many conditions.


    One such condition was to coordinate their next joint attack against Milo¡¯s prey.


    ¡°Milo¡¯s gang is a recent addition to the District.¡± Quinn noted one day after going through hand signals and tactical building infiltration and escape. ¡°He began recruiting only after coming in contact with this Woman.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t you give me her name?¡± Abel pouted as he practiced strumming amidst their conversation. It helped drown out their voices to any curious ears.


    ¡°So you can slip up and drop her name to your cousin? No. You know who she is. I know who she is. No names.¡±


    ¡°At least a nickname.¡± Milo insisted. ¡°Why don¡¯t we call her¡­ Toilet?¡±


    ¡°Toilet.¡± She repeated.


    ¡°It¡¯s memorable. It doesn¡¯t come up often in conversation, but nobody would guess what we¡¯re talking about if they heard us.¡±


    Quinn burst out laughing.


    ¡°Toilet it is.¡±


    And so, over maps of the District, Quinn explained how Toilet the Woman was operating through Milo, and that it was likely Milo¡¯s gang that had attacked him and Neymar that night.


    Quinn claimed she was after Toilet for her vendetta against Catcher snitches. She was Milo¡¯s information dealer and confidante, so the main way to remove her power over Milo was to convince him that she was not to be trusted.


    ¡°Milo¡¯s got the moral code of a nun,¡± Quinn explained. ¡±How is just as important as the why. He only goes so far because he believes what he¡¯s doing is necessary and right. But when he finds out that Toilet has misled him¡­¡± She hesitated. ¡°¡­I¡¯m not sure what he¡¯ll do, but I¡¯m hoping he¡¯ll turn against her.¡±


    That wasn¡¯t exactly inspiring.


    ¡°And you have a way to reason he¡¯s wrong for trusting Toilet?¡±


    ¡°Was it wrong to jump you in an alley?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Abel was doubtful, but he wasn¡¯t about to give Quinn any reason to shut him out.


    The fact that his entire life story in the District was a lie, the fact that he was an outsider, the fact that he was an enemy to her very people¡ª


    Yes, there were plenty of reasons.


    But how Toilet could know this on Day One begged more questions than answers. It meant that she was a force to be reckoned with.


    ¡°But Milo doesn¡¯t know me. He could come up with a justification that keeps him on Toilet¡¯s side.¡± Abel reasoned.


    ¡°You¡¯re right. It¡¯s not going to be enough. That¡¯s why we¡¯re going to follow him and look out for the next time that she messes up again.¡±


    How long would that take? How many people would be brutalized before they could snap Milo out of it?


    The doubts in Abel¡¯s mind began to pile as he waited for that next opportunity.


    Was Toilet in the right for punishing those who took advantage of the Catchers? Should he really be supporting a police force of fear even if it means erasing a gang of fear?


    The District was terrorized either way.


    Was he merely helping the force that caused people like Toilet to appear in the first place?


    And what made Quinn so callous as to ally with the Catchers regardless of all the anguish they created?


    But Abel was far too wary of reciprocating questions to dig into her personal life, so they stuck to focusing on their ¡°missions¡±.


    ¡°If Milo gets to his target first, we stay out of it.¡± Quinn emphasized.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t their story still be plausible regardless?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not worth risking getting stuck in his crowd when it turns on you. The only reason you were able to get out last time was the fact that they wanted Arwen¡¯s blood more than yours.¡±


    ¡±Fair point.¡±


    The first mission several weeks later was a failure.


    Quinn and Abel had just reached the apartment  courtyard when Milo dragged out his victim and began to exact his justice. The mob descended upon a body Abel didn¡¯t even have the time to identify. Clothes were torn and bloodied. A blood-curdling screech was drowned out by the din of yells.


    Abel shouldn¡¯t have stuck around to witness it.


    He couldn¡¯t control the flare of rage he felt upon seeing the surge of a swarm of bloodthirsty people. It was too familiar. He could place himself in the victim¡¯s shoes. He could imagine the retribution of wind and blades and blood he once wrought to bold crowds like that one.


    And for a moment he craved it. Dared himself to drop right in the middle and make them taste retribution.


    His body lurched forward on impulse, only to be suddenly pulled back by long arms that wrenched around his torso and pinned his arms to his side. The motion threw him off balance and the two bodies tumbled to the ground.


    ¡°We talked about this!¡± Quinn grunted as she wrestled him. Abel twisted and strained, fighting back. Quinn took an elbow to the face, but held firm, locking him in place.


    It was then that he realized Quinn was very very heavy.


    Was she always this heavy?


    Her arms around his chest felt like iron blocks. Her chest pressed over him was a boulder.


    It was painful, off-putting.


    And that distraction began to slow his racing, relentless thoughts.


    Abel eventually eased within her grip. She pulled him to a stand and released him, shoving him away from the scene.


    ¡°I¡ª Sorry¡ª¡° Abel attempted to recover. She raised a dismissive hand.


    ¡±There¡¯s nothing we can do now. Go home.¡±


    Quinn Volta was gone before he could get another word out.


    But all he could think of at that moment¡­


    ¡­was the faint hum of magic in the air that she left behind.

 Chapter 20: The Weight of Mercy

    Quinn was a mage.


    But that was impossible.


    She was Altiman, and there was not a mage among their people for as long as recorded history. Even mixed-heritage Altiman had a stark absence of magical potential.


    At least, in recorded history, this was all known to be fact.


    And it was always peculiar that Rockwell framed the Catchers as those who snatch up people they suspected of being mages within the District.


    Abel had always assumed it was a joke.


    It both made perfect sense and no sense at all. In fact, Abel was so confused by the revelation that he fell ill shortly after and remained bedridden for several days.


    Though, perhaps the fever was more a result of the shock of stress his body endured shortly before the revelation, when he nearly succumbed to a wave of bloodlust.


    Regardless, he was interred in his room, where his only means for gauging the state of affairs of the District was Neymar¡¯s appearance when he walked in with dinner in hand and a cloth mask over his mouth.


    ¡°That¡¯s a little excessive.¡± Abel noted, gesturing to the mask.


    ¡°Just eat your soup.¡± Neymar grunted. ¡°Can¡¯t afford to get knocked down right now.¡±


    ¡°Got plans or something?¡± Abel sniffed as he tested the soup¡¯s temperature.


    ¡°I just can¡¯t afford to miss a day of Math. That shit¡¯s hard to understand.¡±


    There was a stutter to Neymar¡¯s voice that made it clear that that was complete bullshit. There was something else on his mind that came first that he was not willing to talk about.


    But Abel never pointed it out.


    And so there was a certain filter he placed over every update that made it clear he didn¡¯t suspect Abel¡¯s afterschool spying with Quinn in the slightest and wanted to keep it that way.


    It was one part reassuring, one part annoying, for when Abel finally made a recovery and returned to school, he was blind to the fact that Quinn was completely missing.


    He couldn¡¯t find her by their usual meeting spot by the abandoned classrooms nor on their usual patrol routes.


    At first Abel panicked¡ª had the Catchers realized who she was and taken her out?


    Had Milo gotten to her?


    But no whispers of either story emerged. In fact, Milo himself harped on Quinn¡¯s elusiveness during one of his frequent pep talks. When he asked Rockwell, she merely redirected him to Milo¡¯s patrols.


    ¡°They¡¯re everywhere. If she was going to be found, they would do it, just like they¡¯ve done with all of the Catchers¡¯ friends.¡±


    There was no suspicion of Quinn¡¯s abilities. No mention of magic.


    So everything should be as it was.


    A pit of apprehension began to form in his gut. For he could only conclude that Quinn was certainly avoiding him.


    Waiting for him to rat her out.


    Maybe she was part of the Catchers all along. But it made little sense. She was with the District since infancy.


    Maybe she was pretending to be allies with the Catchers. But then what was she after instead?


    All Abel knew was that she was his only way of getting to the woman that threatened his peace. A woman who also had a hand in Milo¡¯s madness.


    He needed to get to that woman first. The true identity of Quinn Volta could matter another time.


    So Abel shut up and did absolutely nothing.


    He became the normal student Neymar was expecting him to be.


    It was agonizing¡ª listening to the same three speeches Milo used to rally his base, barely registering the history lesson in class on the founding of the Empire, back in the previous era when savage demons roamed the continent. Humans had been driven into the icy forests of the northern continent, taking refuge in the one basin of water, Lake Setia. Still, the demons descended upon them. And, when they thought they had cornered the human population, the First Flame Saint Alinassia had the city of Setia built as a maze to funnel, trap, and wipe out its leading forces in a last stand against them.


    It all didn¡¯t matter. It mattered less to his classmates, who could only take the fact that the Empire¡¯s finesse over magic was something they took with great pride. Something that was so antithetical to the foundation of Altiman society that they could only get pissed off at the soliloquy being shoved down their throats.


    The irony ate away at Abel.


    He might as well have been chewing rocks.


    It took a week for Quinn to appear before him again in the abandoned classroom.


    He had to stop himself from grabbing onto her. He anchored his grip on his guitar instead.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re okay.¡± Abel attempted to sound casual. ¡°You were gone for a long time.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re looking healthy.¡± She noted from her seat on her usual window. She was hard to read, impassive.


    ¡°I got sick.¡±


    ¡°I know. Your cousin was pretty insistent on telling everyone about your fever during his patrols.¡±


    Abel bristled. He plucked a few notes to ground himself.


    ¡°So you kept a close eye on Neymar. Was that before or after you decided to disappear?¡±


    She fell into silence, her firm stare boring into his eyes. Abel returned the look innocently, gently strumming to fill the empty air.


    ¡°Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?¡± Quinn tilted her head.


    ¡°You might be a little heavy, but you shouldn¡¯t call yourself that.¡± Abel remarked, trying not to smile.


    Quinn¡¯s let out a huff of a laugh out of shock.


    ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll admit I was surprised by it when I tried to push you away. But I have to live with Neymar and he¡¯s big-boned. It¡¯s not that different.¡± It was very different. ¡°Did you think I would judge you or something?¡± Abel raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°I-¡­¡± She hesitated, still processing the words. Her thoughts seemed to pivot, leaning into Abel¡¯s story. ¡°I¡¯m very embarrassed by it. It¡¯s not a very flattering trait for most people.¡±


    ¡°It must be so difficult to care what others think about you when you think of yourself as a giant animal.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m offended.¡± Quinn remarked, not sounding offended at all.


    Abel shrugged. ¡°Well, luckily I don¡¯t mind who you are.¡± He then set his guitar aside. ¡±And I don¡¯t want to abandon our mission over it. I promise to behave better next time. ¡±


    It was hard to gauge whether Quinn bought Abel¡¯s bluff or whether they were still talking around the suspicion that she was a mage.


    ¡°There won¡¯t be a next time.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just such a pansy. You folded the minute Milo began his trial. How could I rely on you?¡±


    Abel pouted.


    ¡°Now we know you can stop me if it comes to that, as much as it hurts my pride.¡± Abel reasoned as he  approached the window, closing the distance between them. ¡°I¡¯d still do all this, trailing the patrols, finding a way to take down Milo, on my own otherwise. But don¡¯t you think it¡¯s better to work together? What if I get caught?¡±If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Quinn blanched.


    If Quinn believed his bluff, only her sense of responsibility for his life would¡¯ve moved her to say yes.


    If she still suspected he had a sense of her magic ability, this was very much a threat to expose her.


    How effective that threat was entirely depended on her true relationship with the Catchers, Milo, and Toilet.


    All of which she kept him in the dark about, but her avoidance of him gave him enough of a hint to know that she feared it.


    So Abel was uncertain if Quinn agreed out of virtue or resentment. Regardless, they resumed their regular meetings in earnest, adding in combat training to help Quinn neutralize him during dire straits.


    She questioned the source of his knowledge, so he gave her a story about learning from soldiers headed to the war front coming through the border town he lived in before the District.


    And when the time came and they were late to reach the next trial, Abel abandoned the mission faster than Quinn.


    And she was satisfied with that.


    But this time¡ª this third time, they tracked down the first patrol to reach the trial grounds. They were early, had a plan, and looked the part.


    Abel wore a deep hood, which was always a little askew from being hand sewn onto one of his jackets himself, with a mask attachment that loomed over his face, distorting the shadows of his features to resemble a snake¡ª it was a blind homage to Ciella¡¯s Dragon motif, though an unskilled version of it that looked a little silly in comparison.


    They followed the three-person patrol to the namesake of the school: a Metalworks foundry overlooking Lake Setia. The patrol stopped before the main entrance to the foundry, where the foreman blocked their path.


    ¡°Good afternoon, folks. What brings you here?¡± He addressed the group, light and chirpy.


    ¡°We¡¯re here for Emil Yuba.¡± The patrol girl piped up.


    ¡±Emil hasn¡¯t shown up to work in over a week, the slacker.¡± The foreman shrugged. ¡°You¡¯re better off finding him at his home or somethin¡¯.¡± He struggled to hide the wariness in his tone.


    The patrol trio wasn¡¯t phased. They stepped closer.


    ¡°Get him out, and you won¡¯t find trouble.¡±


    ¡°You better hope he¡¯s in there. He got one of our own Captured.¡±  The patrol girl sneered.


    The foreman mutely nodded, and retreated inside.


    ¡°If the foreman¡¯s protecting him, the trial will be bloody.¡± Quinn murmured from their perch on the fire escape of the building across.


    ¡°Think we can stop that before it happens?¡± Abel asked, crouched beside her.


    ¡±Depends on how Milo reacts.¡±


    More patrols were beginning to trickle in.


    But there was no sign of Milo yet, thankfully.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± Quinn was the first to slide down the ladder and rush around the back alley. Abel mirrored her moves, taking an alternate route and leaping a metal fence to reunite at the cargo unloading dock behind the building, which was in the process of being sealed by a factory worker.


    Abel pressed his fingers to his lips, letting out a high-pitched SQUEE.


    The gull call erupted in a mirror of hundreds of birds flocked along the lakeside taking to the skies at once. The flurry of noise distracted the factory worker for just a moment, which was enough time for Quinn to slam her foot into the back of his knee and knock him down. She slipped through the doorway while Abel began to rummage through the cargo boxes out back.


    ¡°Just let them take me. Please! I deserve it.¡± He heard a voice cry within the building, audible just beneath the hiss of steam from the forges.


    Abel shook off the urge to look inside.


    He had to focus.


    He had to stall Milo.


    His eyes fell on the factory worker by the doorway struggling to get up.


    ¡ª-


    Neymar hated that his throat twisted less and less with each passing trial. That the notion of beating someone within an inch of their life was becoming an expectation. Yet he stomached it, as long as it meant he was closer to controlling the risk against Abel¡¯s life. Not just for Abel¨C certainly not. It was a matter of Madame Fenharrow¡¯s reputation.


    Abel could take care of himself, Neymar hoped, but it didn¡¯t hurt to have a little insurance.


    But what was worse, trial after trial, was that Neymar remained out of Milo¡¯s favor. Rockwell¡¯s words had given him an avenue to look for the Catcher he needed to clear Abel¡¯s name.


    Despite that knowledge, encountering the right Catcher in the open was more of a rarity than he thought. So, after several days of shallow promises of progress, Neymar was relegated to doing grunt work for Milo, patrolling on the fringes of the District.


    It was a blessing, Neymar thought, that he was placed so low on the totem pole during the trial of Emil Yuba.


    It was what allowed him to remain ignorant of how futile his plans truly were.


    Neymar was one of the last to arrive at the foundry grounds, so he did not see Milo¡¯s stricken face when a familiar hooded figure¨C though now masked¨C carrying what seemed to be a bound body dressed in workman¡¯s clothes over his shoulder.


    And so, Neymar was not part of the first line of defense that gave chase to the hooded figure, who sprinted down the street at a breakneck athletic pace.


    ¡°He has Emil!¡±


    ¡°Get him!¡±


    What was that idiot doing?


    Neymar was about to follow the crowd when his patrol partner pulled him back.


    ¡°Hey! We¡¯re on lockdown duty.¡±  She jabbed a thumb towards the foundry. Neymar gulped.


    Right.


    If anyone resisted or aided the target, they were to face the consequences.


    And the foreman was certainly on that list.


    He hesitated, looking after the retreating crowd, conflicted.


    If the hooded figure truly were Abel, he couldn¡¯t exactly help Milo bring him down, nor could he somehow help Abel get away without Milo throwing him out of the gang entirely out of suspicion.


    If Abel lied to him, he had to face the repercussions.


    Better to pretend he didn¡¯t know any better and follow orders.


    Fuck.


    So he followed the remaining patrols into the factory. It¡¯s large metal doors opened into a lookout deck flanked by halls of offices. Metal rails and catwalks stretched over dozens of forge pits where giant crucibles carrying bright burning hot metal rested within, casting a glow to the room. Large carts on rails carried hunks of scrap metal across the warehouse. Sand dusted the ground around crates of moulds. Chains hung from the ceiling, some carrying large hooks that looked like anchors attached to metal tubes. A crowd of factory workers stood beside one lit forge.


    Before he could get a closer look, Neymar came face to face with the foreman, who attempted to shove him back.


    ¡°You can¡¯t be here.¡± The Foreman nervously asserted.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir.¡± Neymar murmured. He slammed an elbow into the foreman¡¯s shoulder and shoved past as the foreman attempted to tackle him, leaving his fellow patrol members to take on the ensuing fight.


    Neymar descended down metal stairs into the forge landing. Steam and heat obscured his vision, painting the air in orange and white.


    ¡°Let me go, please. This isn¡¯t worth it.¡± He heard a voice crack from the crowd.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to harm you. I¡¯m not going to blame you. I can promise to hear your case, and maybe I can help you survive this.¡± A second resonant familiar voice rang out. Neymar couldn¡¯t quite put his finger on it.


    As he got closer to the lit forge, the better he could make out the grim faces of the workers, including one silhouette which stood out, her face partly covered by a deep hood.


    Quinn Volta.


    He was about to surge forward and approach her when he stopped to listen to the voices that spoke up around her.


    ¡°Tell her, Emil.¡±


    Emil? Then who did Abel take?


    ¡°You deserve to be heard.¡± a foundry worker interrupted his thoughts.


    ¡°You¡¯re done for either way. Might as well.¡± Another piped up.


    ¡°No, I deserve this¨C¡± a shaky voice responded.


    Quinn lowered herself to Emil, who was sprawled on the floor, on his knees.


    ¡°You deserve nothing.¡± She said plainly, then tilted her head. ¡±So why did you call the Catchers? Who did you hate so much that you couldn¡¯t stand to see them in this place anymore?¡±


    Emil continued to tremble. His gaze slowly lifted to meet Quinn¡¯s.


    ¡°I just wanted to make it stop.¡± He croaked, barely audible above the crackling of the forge behind them. ¡°Every day. It was the shoving, the yelling, the names¨C he took my things and destroyed them.¡±


    ¡°Hard to believe you couldn¡¯t get help when these folks are vouching for you now.¡± She made a point to look up at the crowd that warily eyed her.


    ¡°Farron Weyhand¡¯s protected.¡°One of the workers grunted. ¡±Can¡¯t call the neighborhood watch on him if he is the neighborhood watch.¡±


    Farron Weyhan.


    Neymar recognized the name.


    More than once, he had the pleasure of Farron¡¯s temperamental company on patrol. He was a spirited boy¨C always cracking jokes, even if some were at someone¡¯s else¡¯s expense. He was also someone who took satisfaction in violence¡ª always rough and aggressive, a guy who liked to get hit and strike back just as fiercely. But he was also amongst Milo¡¯s inner circle. It was presumed that despite his tendencies, he had a code of honor to him. Neymar never expected those qualities to take a more sinister turn.


    Nor did he expect anybody to do anything about it.


    And now, nobody will.


    For Milo never demanded the stories of his targets. His trials were in name alone, a judgment already sentenced for the irreproachable crime of calling a Catcher on a fellow man.


    No, this only proved one thing.


    Quinn Volta could be reasoned with. She had sympathy, or at least put on the air of it.


    She had mercy.


    Which only meant that the real threat to his peace in the District was Milo.


    And if he could get on Milo¡¯s side, he could keep Abel safe. He could keep himself and his current life as a Fenharrow safe.


    If he could be the one to bring Quinn Volta to justice the way that Milo had been agonizing over for weeks, maybe Milo would turn a blind eye to Abel¡¯s involvement.


    So Neymar let out a yell, alerting the rest of the patrol, and lunged for her.