ã€ŠBorn to Chase: A Storm-Chasing LITRPG Adventureã€‹


 Prologue: The Monkey and the Man

    Rudera Zai-Eun would wash blood from his hands on the day of his father¡¯s passing. His bright, blind eyes, resting behind the mask of a great silver ape.

    It was no ordinary mask. It had been re-forged, touched with crag-helega, a material strong enough to withstand even the worst of a tempest''s fury.

    Neo, his golden saber monkey, cooed atop his shoulder, planting a wet kiss on his neck.

    ¡°Hungry already?¡± Rudera laughed.

    He untied the knot of his hemp sack, reaching in for the cold biscuits he had packed for the journey home.

    The river ran true here, its fresh nile jetting against the surface of many boulders resting along a path downstream.

    A few hundred feet from where he sat, the Sinnalo Falls were rumbling. He could feel its beating heart, dumping water into the green alcove beneath.

    A spring mist carried through the air, clashing with the heat of a geyser caldera nearby.

    As beautiful as the world seemed in that moment, with its distant bird song and daylight petrichor. An unease lingered beneath its fragile balance.

    He had not been home in seven years. He had not seen his mother¡¯s divergent face in eight.

    ¡°Anei,¡± he said, splitting a biscuit in two.

    Neo grabbed at the offering, biting into it like a child, squealing with joy.

    ¡°Enjoying yourself, are you?¡± Rudera forced a smile, holding out his palm.

    Neo acknowledged him by running her little fingers along his.

    ¡°Eat quickly, now. They won¡¯t be long.¡±

    He followed his own advice, breaking two more biscuits to share.

    When he was done, he wiped the crumbs off his chaseleather, reattaching the bone-white chest plate he had placed in the grass beside him.

    Landstag hooves rode the riverbank to his east, armor much heavier than his, rattling with every advance.

    Neo hissed.

    Their pursuers had arrived.

    Half a dozen riders coming to a skidding halt behind Rudera, their last footfalls still an echo in the valley.

    ¡°Black Saber,¡± called a proud voice. A sovereigner, young and delinquent. ¡°Your legend grows in our circles. The man that is second in command to the Monkey King¡¯s great forces.¡±

    Neo touched Rudera¡¯s neck, granting him the blessing of a shared vision. Colors filled the void of his eyesight, memories of a familiar skyline coming back to him.

    He had been close on his count.

    There were five riders, not six; one sovereigner, and four storm apes. The apes wore armor shrouded in fallen-gold, their bright blue manes glistening under the new sun. The sovereigner was bedmizian, brown hair, black eyes, and a shorter build. His stocky legs hung high on the smallest steed, a testament to his place within their ranks.

    At the apex of the party, was the largest ape, his forehead mounted by a brass crown, bejeweled with the jade heart of a Janartha beast, the Dijjakan Empire¡¯s oldest enemy.

    This was a general and his hunting party. A high ranking shotcaller who spoke nothing but violence for those who did not belong near their borders.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been following me since Jafaieda.¡±

    The sovereigner raised his chin. ¡°We had the feeling you would catch on eventually.¡±

    ¡°What do you want?¡± Rudera asked, his back still turned to them.

    ¡°Wu kya pu?pe kaar vwuo itsi? , wi?i?r an rii!¡± The general roared with the might of a hundred tigers, his mandible fangs stained by a deep yellow and the tips of his mane crackling with blue electricity.

    ¡°He wants your head,¡± the sovereigner translated. ¡°The Monkey King has allied himself with the Tama. You are an enemy by allegiance now, Black Saber.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t answer my question,¡± Rudera exhaled. ¡°I asked you what you wanted¡­ not him.¡±

    The sovereigner lost his smile, his eyes dropping their false confidence.

    ¡°I can grant you your freedom, slave-boy. Just ask.¡±

    The general had seen enough. He huffed and dismounted his landstag, barking more orders at his man-slave, his hefty boots meeting the ground with authority.

    The sovereigner bowed his head, pretending to ignore Rudera, panicked by his master¡¯s tirade. ¡°He wants you to take off the mask, Black Saber. He wants you to stand and face him. Their tradition calls for a duel of honor.¡±

    Rudera merely laughed under his mask. ¡°He¡¯ll have to rip it off me.¡±

    Neo¡¯s blessing faded. The world turned black once again. Surges of dim sensation battled for hierarchy amongst Rudera¡¯s cognition. The touch of the fabric on his knees, the smell of the dewy afternoon grass, and the ever-present undulations of aya giving off from every living organism in the vicinity. From microbial to man, from man to ape.

    Rudera almost preferred this way of life. It made the violence easier. More tolerable. It made the world feel stiller, more in tune with a natural order.

    He inhaled a freshwater breeze, tapping on his shoulder to signal Neo that it was time for her to scurry off.

    He felt her absence from his shoulder and then rose from his kneel; the silky mail of his helega skull cap settling around his neck as he did.

    The general, petty and impatient, beat the metal of his armor to assert dominance. His aya waves rippled wider, pairing with the heavy thumping of meat, metal and bones.

    Storm apes were fast and deceptively agile, despite their brawny appearance.

    So it only seemed fair that Rudera got in the first blow.

    Chronos motes leaked from his hands like tiny pockets of blood. Their aya latching qualities providing one simple function; Influence.

    The hulking ape charged into his close periphery, the wind backing his powerful strides.

    Like a spear to a fish, Rudera spun around and drove an arrow of motes straight through the ape¡¯s heart.

    The general¡¯s eyes widened, his movements slowing as if the pocket of space around him had lost its hold of time.

    Easy there, general, Rudera whispered.

    He sidestepped the oncoming pounce and then cracked the ape straight in its jaw.

    As if time had accelerated back to its normal speed, the ape grunted off the jab, his nostrils blowing warm steam.

    Rudera prepared a second dilation. But on this go, the general did not disappoint. His natural mote shield broke through the Influence of Rudera¡¯s motes, sending them scattering out of existence. He flailed again with his powerful fists, but Rudera backed away.

    Switching channels, Rudera conjured power motes, using their Influence to enhance his own aya.

    Dodge, sidestep, weave. And then wham!

    The general felt a powerful fist cut through his mote shield like a blade through skin and then reverberate against the metal of his armor like a clap of thunder.

    The ape went sliding backwards, his boots drawing lines in the soil, dragging rocks and grass back with him.

    But the general would prove to be a reckless beast, daring and unpredictable. He was right back into the scuffle with two lunges forward, catching Rudera slightly off guard. Through a wild flurry of blows, one true strike found his mask with the jolting power of static lightning.

    Hurdling backwards in the air, Rudera felt his body go numb, the flow of the static current raising his long hairs to their ends. His armor bounced off the rocky edges of the riverbank, skidding to a stop near the flow of water.

    The general leaped several feet to cut the space between them.

    Sensing the sudden movement, Rudera channeled a stream of hex motes, fixing them to a point in the air away from him. Hex motes easily bonded with waves of aya, their super heavy nature allowing them to act as pivots of force and motion. Rudera used the pivot point to pull himself away, sliding towards the mote mass like a ferromagnet attracting its polar force.

    The general¡¯s fists struck rocky boulder, cracking it in half and burning the cobble, simmering the misty air with the heat of battle.

    He roared and then jumped again. But this time, Rudera was ready. He latched the hex motes onto the general¡¯s aya, and then used the pivot to yank the ape down, pulling on his massive form, sending him crashing face first into barren ground.

    The by-standing apes began to hiss from their steeds, hurling curses at Rudera for his use of sorcery.

    A smirk formed under his mask.

    It had been a while since someone had mustered the courage to challenge him this boldly.

    The general lifted himself on two fists, but Rudera was already in his face. A knee to the ape¡¯s nose, and then a spinning martial kick to his chin. Power motes enhanced his techniques, crushing bone and drawing blood from the heavyset beast.

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    The ape was out of breath, his labored puffs the sign of embarrassment and intense self-loathing.

    This would not end with any form of mercy. That had become more than obvious.

    The air around the general¡¯s mane buzzed, radiating sapphire electricity siphoned from a tempest long gone by.

    Rudera created some space; listening, reading, anticipating.

    The general found his footing, his aya waves pulsing in conjoined and infrequent bursts.

    They met in the middle. The general with his halo of tempest filled fury, and Rudera with a flurry of hex motes ahead of him. The cascade of tiny viridian particles clashed with the ape¡¯s blitzing aura; some, careening out of existence, others, holding their own.

    The general pushed forward headstrong, trying to overpower the density of the sorcery. He swatted away Rudera¡¯s first efforts to swarm him and then went in for a swinging blow.

    Rudera felt the heat of charged energy graze by him as he dodged the ape¡¯s fist.

    It clung to the nearby air, zapping and crackling as if it had an anger of its own.

    Their mote shields flickered, conjoining as they engaged in close combat.

    The general pounced again, trying to grab Rudera by his shoulders.

    Using the ape¡¯s own forward momentum, Rudera dropped a step and got behind the beast in one quick motion.

    Kick to the inside of the left knee and then one to the right.

    The general¡¯s mote shield shattered like glass, and he fell to his shins.

    Rudera walked up beside the roaring beast, leaped into the air and drove his boot straight into side of its head. The brass crown mounted on its forehead went flying off, settling somewhere in the dirt nearby.

    With the flick of two fingers, Rudera enveloped the ape in a hex, wrapping and compressing the stream of motes into a collar around his neck.

    The general teetered to his feet and then fell over backwards. He gasped for air, wheezing a slimy phlegm, his legs kicking back and forth in the grass.

    A quiet wind swept into the valley, whistling along to the general¡¯s song of suffocation. His eyes withered green and the siphoned energy around him slowly faded, losing its sapphire glow.

    Rudera yanked on the body as he trudged forward, dragging it across the ground as if it was leashed, and sending it sliding towards the onlookers.

    The other apes oriented their landstags, taking slow trots backwards, in fear or disbelief.

    One of them spoke up, howling at their sovereign slave to attack.

    Rudera waved his hand away from the general¡¯s quiet corpse.

    One, two, and then a third. Like an outrider wrangling his horses, Rudera lassoed the rest of the hunting party with his sorcery.

    The apes tumbled off their mounts, clutching their throats as the thud of their armor echoed on hard ground.

    The enemy¡¯s steeds galloped away in confusion, their strides kicking up a storm of dirt and pebbles all around the writhing pile of bodies.

    The sovereigner, not far away, was cowered low on his saddle, or so it seemed. His aya waves were uneven, indiscernible to a degree.

    But very suddenly Rudera felt a charge, the hustling of forthcoming hooves, the unsheathing of runic blade.

    Another smile formed beneath Rudera¡¯s mask. Eyes glowing ravenous from the surge of adrenaline.

    Ah.

    Gutsy.

    Foolish¡­ but very much gutsy.

    Rudera waited for the blade to swing, for the steed to pivot from its head-on course.

    Everything happened as he knew it would. The motion of the sovereigner¡¯s body, the lean of his dominant arm.

    Rudera snatched the edge of the blade with his bare hands, its runic enhanced nature battling with the strength of his natural mote shield. He yanked on the blade, and with it, came the rest of the sovereigner¡¯s arm ¡ª pulling him clean off the saddle.

    If he¡¯d have pulled any harder, there might not have been a body attached to the arm.

    The sovereigner bellowed out in abrupt pain, his fingers free of their grip on the blade, and his back surging from the impact of the ground.

    Rudera tossed the weapon aside and swallowed a deep silence, letting his own body heal after the rapid and successive bout of channeling.

    ¡°Please!¡± The sovereigner stammered, crawling backwards. ¡°Don¡¯t kill me!¡±

    He was digging his fingers into the dirt, clawing at it, as if it would help him bare the pain.

    Rudera lowered his head at the boy, breathing silently. ¡°If I wanted to kill you, you¡¯d be foaming at the mouth right now like your slavers.¡±

    The sovereigner stopped moving, but Rudera could feel his aya waves faltering with indecision.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t believe them! I didn¡¯t believe how they all spoke of you!¡±

    ¡°How did they speak of me?¡±

    ¡°They laughed when I told them we¡¯d bring you to them. I was a fool! I thought I could win them over! I thought a lone scourged bounty like you would be an easy catch. I deserve this. I deserve it all. If not you, then Tiol will punish me!¡±

    Neo climbed up Rudera¡¯s back and onto his shoulder.

    Rudera continued to stare down at the sovereigner, whose eyes had now bulged like a mantis.

    ¡°Am¡­ am I your prisoner now?¡± his voice cracked.

    Rudera smiled, dwelling on the idea for a moment.

    ¡°Nye.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Not prisoner.¡±

    ¡°You will let me go then?¡±

    Rudera took a step closer.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say that either.¡±

    ¡°What then will you-¡±

    ¡°I plan to put you to work for all the trouble you¡¯ve caused me,¡± asserted Rudera. ¡°It is about a week¡¯s ride from here to the Blackjung, and another day to the Sapphire City. That should amount to a sufficient payment to me for granting you your freedom.¡±

    ¡°You want me to ride with you to the Sapphire City?!¡± The sovereigner panicked. ¡°Really all that way?¡±

    ¡°YES.¡± Said Rudera. ¡°All that way, and perhaps even more. You¡¯re going to have to pay your debt somehow, slave-boy.¡±

    A dry and stretching creak of stiff leather gave off from the sovereigner¡¯s armor as he straightened his back at the remark.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a slave,¡± he claimed lowly.

    ¡°Not anymore you aren¡¯t. All thanks to me.¡±

    The sovereigner heaved out a sigh. A load of frustration embedded in his breath.

    ¡°Wh-what if I paid you in coin instead?¡± He offered. ¡°I have some savings left-over at the Apostle.¡±

    Rudera cocked his head, the bright of his eyes burning through the slits of his mask. ¡°I don¡¯t have much use for coin. Got plenty of that you see. But an extra hand? Ah, that will do me wonders. So many errands along the way.¡±

    There was a moment of consideration from the sovereigner. A quiet one.

    It was either that, or he was planning to take his chances and run.

    ¡°And if I did this for you¡­¡± he finally asked. ¡°You would not turn me in to the Ministry?¡±

    ¡°Now what reason would I have to do that, hmm?¡±

    ¡°I broke bread with the Dijjakanese, Black Saber. I¡¯d put to hang if the Ministry ever found out.¡±

    This brought a slight chuckle to Rudera¡¯s lips. ¡°Breaking bread is a very funny way to describe servitude.¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t like that!¡± The sovereigner perked up, finding his confidence. ¡°I was trying to earn their good faith!¡±

    Rudera bent down to the sovereigner¡¯s level, getting in his face. ¡°Good faith, eh? I¡¯ll give you this, slave boy. The mere fact that you are still alive, and not branded all over in charred skin is a blessing. Although the balls on you to risk something like that in the first place... it does say something about you, I¡¯m just not sure yet what.¡±

    The sovereigner let out an audible gulp. ¡°Sorry.¡±

    Rudera continued to stare intently at the boy''s aya, studying him with intense scrutiny.

    ¡°On Tiol¡¯s word,¡± the sovereigner promised. ¡°I will see to washing my sins and paying my debt to you. I have no right to curse anyone. I should have gone about everything differently. My vision became too narrow.¡±

    ¡°So it did,¡± said Rudera, backing away again.

    The sovereigner exhaled, extending his arms back in defeat. He wiped his brow, making it even more dirty with the soil that had stuck to his palms.

    This rebellion. The attitude of the boy. It was all too familiar. You spend a few years in higher education, you think you have a great idea, but it all pans out to nothing because the world doesn¡¯t care. Then you are left laying there on your back because you¡¯ve burned all the bridges that lead anywhere else. Eight years ago, when he was about the same age, Rudera probably would¡¯ve sympathized with someone like him. Things were a bit different now.

    ¡°Humbled to this degree by one single loss in battle huh? How will you ever pick yourself back up, slave-boy.¡±

    Rudera put forth his hand.

    ¡°Come on. Wounds don¡¯t heal just sitting there on your bum.¡±

    Neo growled menacingly from his shoulder.

    The sovereigner climbed.

    Rudera felt a soft hand grab his own and he lifted the boy to his feet.

    ¡°Let¡¯s start with a name then, shall we?¡±

    The sovereigner was shaking. ¡°Rory.¡±

    ¡°Rory.¡± Rudera used his hands to pat down the sovereigner¡¯s armor. ¡°Just, Rory?¡±

    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s just Rory.¡±

    Neo let off what sounded like a monkey¡¯s equivalent of a short chuckle.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Rory winced, shifting quite awkwardly.

    ¡°She finds it funny.¡± Rudera smiled, finding the monkey¡¯s hairy chin.

    ¡°Finds what funny?¡±

    ¡°A Rory from Bedmizia who says he has no noble name, finds himself enslaved by apes of the Dijjakan Empire. What¡¯s not to laugh about in that, hmm?¡±

    Rory had no answer.

    Rudera turned his back to him, walking away. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. Take all the time you need, Rory. We don¡¯t ask for details on the first day. Plenty of road ahead of us for all that. Besides, Neo and I have always been suckers for a good story.¡±

    Rory was hesitant at first but eventually did follow tail.

    ¡°You could¡¯ve killed me.¡± He said, catching up. ¡°I mean... I am very grateful, but I swung my blade at you, honor code says that you have every right to-¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care what the honor code says.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Rory seemed a bit disappointed.

    ¡°Does that bother you, Rory?¡±

    ¡°No. Of course not.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡±

    Rudera dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out an ornate bone whistle.

    ¡°Anei.¡±

    Neo swung over his shoulder and swiped the whistle from his palms. For a moment, she chattered, falling into a loop of bird-like trills as she brandished the bone high, twirling it through the air in glee.

    ¡°Enough with the theatre now Neo, let¡¯s get to it.¡±

    Neo chuckled in her own unique way before deciding to finally give the whistle a blow.

    A rustic shrill gave off from it, fluttering about the valley in uneven notes.

    ¡°Do you ever take off the mask?¡± asked Rory. ¡°I mean... surely before you sleep.¡±

    Rudera ignored the boy, listening for the distant waves of his landstag¡¯s gallop instead. She could not have gone too far off.

    Rhythmic beating paced towards them from the west.

    There you are girl.

    Neo hopped onto Rudera¡¯s other shoulder to see her sister galloping towards them.

    Rudera finally turned to Rory, meeting his gaze again.

    The boy¡¯s waves were simmering in tiny ebbs and flows. Often a sign of fear or anxiety in most men.

    ¡°What do I call you then?¡± Rory inquired again, persistent. ¡°You know¡­ besides Black Saber.¡±

    Rudera kneeled himself over the edge of the riverbank, wading water over his bloody and calloused fingers.

    ¡°I did say we¡¯d be sharing stories, Rory, but I never said I¡¯d share all of mine.¡±

 Chapter 1: The Kreaman Fog

    Engin

    ¡°CHASERS! CHASERS!¡± Little Tommy, the one-armed boy, came sprinting into Elenora Estate, interrupting a weekly game of kickball his fellow orphans were playing in the courtyard.

    ¡°The chasers are here! The chasers are here! Chasers in Sorens Peak! I saw them with my own eyes!¡±

    He was huffing like he had just run a marathon, holding onto his chest while the other orphans circled him.

    Mabel, the toffee loving girl, smacked Little Tommy on the back of his head as she always did. ¡°Oy Tommy! What have I said about lying!¡±

    ¡°No Mabe!¡± Tommy shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m tellin the truth. I swear it!¡±

    ¡°Pfft¨C what¡¯s new eh, Little Tommy¡¯s waffling about the chasers again,¡± snorted Boog, the big-lipped orphan, tossing a kickball from one hand to another.

    ¡°AM NOT!¡± Little Tommy barked defiantly. ¡°I saw them. Near old man Monty¡¯s shop. They was wearing tempest gear and mounted on landstags!¡±

    Mabel smacked Little Tommy again. ¡°Were, Tommy, were. They were wearing tempest gear. You¡¯re talking like a backward again.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what happens when you¡¯re always in the company of one,¡± taunted Boog. ¡°What was her name again, Tommy? That little backwards girl you always follow around. Erna, was it?¡±

    Tommy¡¯s excitement had died down to a cold frown. ¡°It¡¯s Eina¡­ her name is Eina.¡±

    Boog moved in closer to Tommy. ¡°And where is it that you and Eina run off to all the time anyways? Is it to the shanties? Where all the other dent-headed spazs like to hang around?¡±

    There were a few giggles from the orphan crowd, but most had reserved themselves to an uncomfortable silence. Boog on the other hand was quite amused by himself, sneering with pride.

    ¡°Stop calling her that,¡± gritted Tommy.

    Boog placed a firm hand on Little Tommy¡¯s shoulder, looming over him with his wide head.

    ¡°But that is what she is, is it not?¡± he smirked. ¡°A spaz.¡±

    Tommy shrugged Boog¡¯s hand off his shoulder.

    Boog¡¯s grin turned smug at that, as if he enjoyed it. ¡°The cripple and the spaz, everyone!¡± He spun around. ¡°The next big ballad of romance in Sorens Peak!¡±

    ¡°Stop it, Boog.¡± Mabel spoke up.

    ¡°Sure to make all of the palsies in the city jump out of their wheelchairs and cry!¡± Boog ignored her.

    ¡°Let him say his worst, Mabe,¡± scowled Little Tommy, his eyes now telling a furious tale. ¡°I¡¯ve been called much worse than anything a knob-head like Boog could come up with.¡±

    Boog whipped back around and grabbed a handful of Tommy¡¯s shirt. ¡°Say that again, I dare you.¡±

    ¡°Let me go, you oaf!¡±

    ¡°Oy!¡± Krip pushed forward from the huddle. ¡°Watch your tone, Tommy.¡±

    Krip was the tallest of the orphans. A formidable bully with broad shoulders and long arms.

    ¡°Boog is our eldest and you¡¯ll show him the proper respect. Apologize. Now.¡±

    ¡°Are you kidding! He was being disrespectful first!¡± Tommy retorted.

    ¡°I said- watch your mouth!¡± Krip shoved Tommy to the ground with scary ease.

    He had a short wick on him, perhaps already having had enough of the cripple¡¯s brave refusal to toe the line.

    The entire huddle took a few steps back, unwilling to stand in Krip¡¯s way.

    All but one of course.

    Engin, the troublemaker boy, had been watching the scene unfold rather patiently for his own standards. And while the rest of the orphans backed away so as not to interfere, Engin took a few steps forward, planting his feet into the ground with intention.

    ¡°Leave him the hell alone, Krip!¡±

    With clenched fists and a burning rage, Engin lunged towards Krip and shoved him as far as he could.

    The crowd of orphans gasped loudly, startled by his guts to challenge the biggest bully in the orphanage.

    Engin¡¯s eyes were a bitter caramel that afternoon, and he had enough spite within him to roll over a mammothan. He was getting tired of Krip¡¯s tyranny. Just in the last month alone, Krip and Boog had stolen from his secret coin stash, snitched on him multiple times to the caretakers and gotten innocent little Perry into trouble with Burn.

    It was time to stand up for himself, and a few of the others as well.

    ¡°Did you just push me, you little shit!¡± Krip¡¯s face flushed beet red.

    Engin wiped away the warm blood clotting on his lip from when he had been elbowed during the kickball game earlier. ¡°I did. What¡¯re you going to do about it-¡±

    From his blind-side, Boog came pouncing towards Engin like a raging bear. With little time to react, Engin took it head-on. A fierce grapple turned into a headlock, and then eventually a takedown by the much larger Boog.

    The flagstone floor of the courtyard felt hard and cold on his backbones, perhaps a bruise or two taken on from the impact of their fall. But Engin wasn¡¯t going to let Boog just have his way. He scratched and rolled, digging knuckles and elbows into Boog wherever he could.

    Boog tried to pin him to the ground flat, but Engin found an escape in the chaos. He got in one good knee, straight to the nose, which rattled Boog as he cursed to the heavens.

    ¡°AGHH!¡±

    Engin felt a strong tug on his hair, pulled backwards by Krip like he was a doll.

    ¡°Let go of me!¡± he struggled.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to kill you, you little shit!¡±

    ¡°Let him go, Krip!¡± Mabel yelled, trying to intervene.

    Engin squirmed some more, tugging and turning to loosen Krip¡¯s hold on him. But even at the expense of all his energy, Krip was just so much stronger. He felt the blade of Krip¡¯s forearm gradually close in on his neck, his pipes contracting in slow suffocation.

    ¡°Stop it, you bully! He can¡¯t breathe!¡± yelled Perry, the quiet orphan, trying to get into the fold.

    ¡°That¡¯s ENOUGH, Krip!¡±

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    Mabel finally got in between the two, prying them apart, just in time before things escalated any further. She freed Engin¡¯s hair from Krip and stood in front of him like a shield.

    ¡°You busted my nose, you mudguss!¡± Boog cried out, holding onto his nostrils.

    Engin was out of breath, coughing up a fit and still seething with anger. ¡°-and I¡¯ll do it again!¡±

    ¡°You rat-¡±

    ¡°No! NO ¨C more ¨C fighting! All of you! Or I¡¯m telling Mr. Piggot!¡± warned Mabel.

    Like the devil answering to the call of his name, Burn Majesterie Piggot emerged from the depths of whatever hell had birthed him, hammering away at his favorite gong. The sharp tones of the vibrating metal pierced through the air like a hot knife, enough to cause every orphan in the vicinity to clap their hands over their ears.

    ¡°ENGIN!¡± Burn called out, cheeks flapping like tarps in the wind. ¡°BOY, I¡¯VE JUST ABOUT HAD IT WITH YOU!¡±

    Burn¡¯s stride had become less of a stride and more of a waddle over the years. And his face; wide like a walrus, perched atop a body that could only be described as gross and bloated. An ugly yellow cravat hid behind the struggle of his doublet that afternoon, and a dark-brown suit jacket covered the rest. The countless nights of indulging in the Lady¡¯s booze were indeed starting to take their toll.

    Out of the five caretakers who served under the lady, Elenora, Burn was the worst of them all. It didn¡¯t help that Engin was also Burn¡¯s least favorite orphan, credit owing to Krip and Boog for instigating a lot of the animosity.

    Those darn snitches.

    Burn raised a fat finger towards Engin, falling into his typical scolding manner as he approached the orphans. ¡°I should slap you for this, boy!¡± he growled. ¡°You know the rules-¡±

    ¡°Mr. Piggot, it wasn¡¯t just him-¡±

    ¡°QUIET MABEL!¡± Burn snapped.

    ¡°Yes, Mr. Piggot.¡± Mabel apologized immediately. ¡°Sorry, Mr. Piggot.¡±

    ¡°I will not stand for this sort of backwards behavior on this estate!¡±

    ¡°Krip pushed Tommy first!¡± Engin protested.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care who did what first!¡±

    ¡°Why aren¡¯t you yelling at them!¡±

    Engin''s defiance earned him a tight slap across the face. He froze in shock, the blood beneath his cheek boiling upwards to take the form of a misshapen hand.

    He¡¯d never been struck before. Not like that. Lady Elenora rarely allowed any of the caretakers to raise a hand that she wouldn¡¯t raise herself. Discipline was often served with a ruler or the back of a hardcover on her estate. But a slap in the face? That brought a different level of shame. A nasty bruise to one¡¯s pride. Something Engin had never considered up until that very moment.

    He wanted to cry, and he almost did, but the little fight that was left in him pushed the tears back down, unwilling to give the others another reason to laugh at him.

    Burn was furious. You¡¯d struggle to find a day when he didn¡¯t roll out of bed irked or hammered from the night before, but as deplorable as a man he was, even he would think twice before laying a hand on the orphans. Lady Elenora¡¯s wrath was something he always looked to avoid, at all costs, often weaseling his way out of bad situations like the rat that he was.

    And he was very successful at it. Engin couldn¡¯t deny that. It was the one thing Burn was good at: manipulating the lady, playing at her weaknesses, and staying on her good side, no matter the circumstance.

    But over the last month, Burn was showing a new side of himself, a vile one, a confident one, one that wasn¡¯t afraid of repercussions¡­ and that made Engin sick.

    ¡°This is the third time this week I¡¯ve had to deal with your insolent behavior, boy,¡± spat Burn. ¡°The lady has been working day and night to provide for this estate, provide for your education, provide for your future, and this is the kind of behavior that you will honor her with? Fighting each other like street dogs? Where has your sense of gratitude gone?¡±

    Engin was staring at his own feet, but he could feel Burn¡¯s beady eyes looking down on him.

    ¡°You are not children of the shanties! You are the children of a Lady, and a very respectable one at that. The sooner you drive that through your thick skulls, the better-¡±

    ¡°-what in god¡¯s name are you doing, boy?¡± Burn snarled, snapping his attention onto Boog who was hunched over and whining like a baby.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mr. Piggot, it hurts a lot, Mr. Piggot!¡± Boog cried out, his voice a few pitches higher than normal. ¡°I think it¡¯s broken.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s leaking,¡± Mabel pointed out.

    Engin stared at the pool of blood that had stained the courtyard floor beneath Boog.

    Serves him right.

    Burn looked Boog up and down, his eyes holding nothing but pure disgust. ¡°Well, go on then, stop moaning like a little girl and go get yourself cleaned up,¡± he ordered. ¡°I¡¯ll have Madame Song come check up on you later.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Mr. Piggot.¡±

    ¡°And wait-¡± Burn stopped Boog with his heavy arm. He looked into his eyes for a moment and then at the rest of the orphans. ¡°Not a word of this to the Lady, you hear? You tripped and you fell while you were playing. Nothing else.¡±

    Engin watched Boog nod his head and then hobble away into the manor, still clutching at his nose with both hands.

    ¡°Idiot boy.¡± Engin heard Burn mutter to himself.

    ¡°You¡¯ll be scrubbing this off of the floor, Engin.¡± Burn turned back around.

    ¡°Yes, Mr. Piggot,¡± Engin acknowledged lowly.

    ¡°And you will be punished. All of you-¡±

    Burn was interrupted yet again, but this time by the heavy tolls of the city¡¯s belltowers. His eyes twitched as if he wanted to throw a fit, but he slowly reeled back with every consecutive toll.

    One by one the airways of Sorens Peak filled with the ringing of cathedral bells. The East Tower, the South Tower, the West Tower... and then...

    ¡°They tolled the North Tower!¡± gasped Cede, the orphan with eyeglasses. ¡°That¡¯s the North Tower, Mr. Piggot!¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡±

    ¡°Is it a mistake?¡±

    ¡°Quiet!¡± Burn shouted, stopping the imminent panic within the huddle.

    It was at that moment that the old foghorn sitting atop the city¡¯s forecast bastion began to wail a very low and mournful warning.

    Engin¡¯s arms sprouted immediate gooseflesh, stretching far and wide like the tired notes of the horn blast.

    A bone-chilling silence befell the courtyard at its end, every orphan frozen to their place in fear, waiting on Burn to give them direction.

    To the east, a murder of crows circled and cawed about the estate¡¯s largest evergreen as if one of their own had perished underneath.

    ¡°It¡¯s the Kreaman Fog, Mr. Piggot!¡± declared Mabel, breaking the silence. ¡°It¡¯s come early this year!¡±

    More and more birds took to the skies all around them; broods of black, brown and grey, erupting high-pitched squeals as they migrated south in urgent tandem.

    Burn had a nervous look about him, terrified almost, as if he¡¯d never lived through the fog before. Of course, that wasn¡¯t the case, anyone who¡¯d ever spent more than a year in Sorens Peak had experienced it at least once, and Burn had spent a lifetime.

    ¡°Everyone to your rooms,¡± he ordered, the command in his voice a few notches lower than before. ¡°Mabel, round up the other girls and tell them to do the same. I will go inform the Lady.¡±

    <hr>

    As the late afternoon sun died behind curtains of bruised overcast, the orphans of Elenora Estate flocked into the manor in a jittery silence.

    Engin broke away from the group, noticing a brooding Little Tommy scurry off upstairs when no one was looking. He found Tommy in the frame-filled corridor that led to Lady Elenora¡¯s old room, sitting against a big bay window, hugging his knees.

    ¡°Coming, Tommy?¡±

    Tommy looked up from his silent somber. His eyes were faintly red; wet and swollen from the tears he¡¯d shed.

    ¡°Mmm.¡± He nodded, quickly turning away.

    ¡°Don¡¯t think about it too much, okay? You know how they are-¡±

    ¡°-I didn¡¯t need your help.¡± Tommy blurted, quite bitterly.

    Engin dropped his thoughtful smile. ¡°No... but I didn¡¯t do it just for you.¡±

    ¡°Liar.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t!¡± Engin tried to reassure. ¡°They had it coming, and you know it, Tommy.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯s all still think I¡¯m weak, I know that.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not true! I don¡¯t think that! Nor does Perry or Mabe.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit! I don¡¯t believe you.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care!¡±

    Engin immediately regretted the way his words had come out.

    Tommy didn¡¯t back down. ¡°I can handle myself Engin. I don¡¯t need your help. I don¡¯t need anyone¡¯s!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not what I was doing! Krip elbowed me while we were playing earlier. I was just getting my payback, Tommy.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Tommy shook his head furiously. ¡°It was my fight, and you should¡¯ve stayed out of it. All you did was make things worse, Engin. That¡¯s all you ever do!¡±

    ¡°Is everything alright?¡±

    Perry had walked back to find them. A curious but cautious look drooped over his face.

    ¡°¡­everything is fine,¡± scoffed Little Tommy, standing up. ¡°Just leave me alone.¡±

    He brushed past Perry, avoiding any eye contact with Engin, before leaving the two boys all alone in the corridor.

    Perry slumped his shoulders and sighed once he knew Tommy was gone. ¡°I feel horrible. Boog shouldn¡¯t have said all those things.¡±

    Engin walked up beside him. ¡°Boog is an instigator. But he only does it because he knows Krip has his back. They¡¯re both dicks.¡±

    Perry¡¯s face had lost some color, probably numb from all the conflict he¡¯d seen.

    ¡°He is right you know; you shouldn¡¯t have gotten involved like that.¡±

    Engin broke their eye contact.

    ¡°They were pushing him around, Perr.¡±

    ¡°I know¡­ but... Mr. Piggot is already so hard on you,¡± stressed Perry. ¡°I just don¡¯t want to see you get hurt.¡±

    Engin put his arm around Perry, pulling him close. He was his best friend, the only orphan apart from Mabel that he felt like he could share anything with. ¡°I had to do it, Perry. You just... you wouldn¡¯t understand...¡±

    ¡°I do understand.¡±

    Engin shook his head. ¡°They were going to make him do something he was going to regret. I could see it in his eyes, Perr. It¡¯s not the same for him. He¡¯s been through more than enough.¡±

    Perry gave Engin a weak smile.

    ¡°I guess you are right.¡±

    Engin was tired. Tired of all the bickering. It felt like he¡¯d exhausted a week¡¯s worth of his energy all in one day.

    Perry finally broke away, pulling on Engin¡¯s dirtied garments. ¡°We¡¯d better head back down then, before Mr. Piggot notices. And you¡¯d better get changed.¡±

    ¡°Mhm.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re okay then?¡±

    Engin stared out of the window one last time, almost hoping to see the fresh gloom of the fog roll in before them.

    ¡°Better than Boog, that¡¯s for sure.¡±

 Chapter 2: The Outsiders

    Sorens Peak

    It was the 3rd of Sumair, in the 1467th year after Monarchs Fall, and the belltowers of Sorens Peak had tolled to full attention that day, bringing chaos unto the bustling streets below.

    Two tolls for midday, one for morning prayer, three for sunfall.

    That was precisely how Amadeus had noted it. A sovereign custom, not any different from where he grew up in the western hills of Dabo.

    But to his surprise, there were four bells rung that afternoon. Four¡­for the Kreaman fog.

    ¡°Fog¡¯s rolling in! Fog¡¯s rolling in!¡±

    Shouted the town criers, taking to the streets like missionaries on Tiol¡¯s Eve.

    ¡°Heavy and grey it will be, into the night and until dawn! Fog¡¯s rolling in, fog¡¯s rollin in, folks! Zip your work and head on home! Within three hours and before the rains, so says the word of the bastion!¡±

    Amadeus poured his coffee out into a saucer, watching on intently as the public went mad around him.

    ¡°Quickly, Bartem, quickly¨C¡±

    A mother wrangled her children nearby, juggling three full baskets of fresh produce in her arms.

    Behind her, a well-dressed brunette and her burly husband tumbled their way into the nearest carriage ride before anyone else had the same idea.

    It wasn¡¯t an astounding panic, but an entertaining one to say the least. The great big emporium with its green paned glass and eight different entrances had seemed to burst like a pipe, losing all of its patronage within mere minutes after the foghorn had been blown. They scattered like ants escaping a dying hill, bags on bags of trinkets and silks stacked in their arms or over their shoulders.

    Outside the emporium, amidst a sea of market stalls closing for the day, the traveling fool named Genesis and his stupid parakeet had finally shut up for once, the crowd surrounding him dispersing after they¡¯d lost interest in his barf.

    Amadeus was of course pleased by all of this.

    Finally, some real entertainment in this miserable gutter of a city.

    Any longer and he would have cut the fool¡¯s tongue off himself. And used the bird¡¯s feathers to give his saddle a nice d¨¦cor of greens and blues.

    ¡°They run from it like it¡¯s the devil,¡± said Quillen, his companion seated beside him.

    Hendric, their other companion, broke into a very dry pastry, crumbling the flakey puff all over their table. ¡°Haven¡¯t you heard?¡± he mumbled through his chewing, a voice thin as old parchment. ¡°They¡¯re saying it carries a madness now. A monarch¡¯s curse from the everglades not too far. Few folks have up and slit themselves in the night. The Haastarians say it¡¯s getting worse. Been making the papers all over.¡±

    Quillen took a sip of his black tea, green eyes still sharp and focused on the rapidly clearing market ahead of them. ¡°I¡¯ve kept away from the papers.¡±

    Amadeus couldn¡¯t help but let a smile spoil his naturally timid demeanor. He used a finger to turn his half-empty mug in a slow and playful manner.

    ¡°Terrifying tales of terrifying things. An effective way to justify curfew don¡¯t you think?¡±

    Amadeus felt both of his companions turn to him.

    ¡°Often it is the promise of a great evil that will do the best work at controlling the masses.¡±

    ¡°Are you saying it¡¯s all a farce then?¡± Hendric raised his brow.

    ¡°No Hendric, rather I am speculating on the true nature of this riffraff. The Haastarians scarcely have tempests, most of their rains come with drab and gloom, without any of the¡­ dare-I-say exhilarating components that the rest of the sovereignty, much less, the rest of the known world sees on a common occurrence. And the people here in the east... well, they have it very similar. I would wager to say some of these folks are deprived of reverie. Deprived of that rising feeling, that inciting fantasy knowing that any one day could be their last, that any one day, a monster, never before seen could descend from the skies and swallow everything they know and love.¡±

    Amadeus paused to feel the heat of his coffee.

    Not yet.

    ¡°It¡¯s that reverie that they hold onto that makes them malleable. A tall tale here and a tall tale there, it goes a very long way for political control my friends,¡± he continued. ¡°Especially, during times like these.¡±

    Amadeus¡¯ companions nodded their heads in silence as if they agreed. He was certain that Quillen had listened and understood everything he had said, but Hendric was always a toss of a coin. Most of the time the man''s head was between two worlds: the real one, and his own little phony one, crammed with halfwit fairies conjuring all of his depravities. Nodding along was just a habit for him at this point, even if he¡¯d stopped listening mid-way through.

    He was a hell of a fighter though, to his credit. The boy could win you a scuffle. Rough around the edges with his defensive technique, but scrappy and doggish in his attitude. That was the only reason why Amadeus had brought him along. Within these eastern borders, Haastar crowcaps were becoming a common sight on the city streets. They bred them like roaches now, invasive and resilient. A deadly brood to uphold the law, an outcome of the last twenty years of reign under the new Wardnik Jovan, the Usurper with no surname.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    One or two crowcaps from a watch patrol; Amadeus could probably handle that on his own, but any more than that and he¡¯d be risking life.

    Quillen could hold his own too, but he was useful in other, more meaningful ways. Ways that would rarely come in handy this far east. Mostly it was his loyalty that Amadeus treasured the most.

    Loyalty was a fickle thing. Hard to be found and easy to be fooled by. Any assignment that Amadeus had led in the past, he¡¯d always chosen a man under him that he could at least defer to for a knowledgeable second opinion. And more often than not, that man was Quillen.

    ¡°Northerlies¡­¡± Quillen noted as the wind had seemed to pick up around them, disturbing a few of the potted ivies on the patio.

    Amadeus enjoyed the highland breeze as it whisked by their table, cooling his coffee, just enough to finally indulge. He savored it with slow sips, tilting the saucer just barely to let the light brew flow down to his lips.

    Mmmm¡­ the right taste of bitter at this joint.

    The consistency in quality brew at Baaduk¡¯s ¡®Roast at the Summit¡¯ Saloon had been a welcome surprise for Amadeus. He¡¯d grown a sort of quiet admiration for the establishment, despite having only visited a few times.

    Never once have I been cheated out of a good coffee here.

    ¡°-umm, excuse me ¨C sirs.¡±

    Amadeus looked up from the white porcelain of his saucer to see the umber frock of the young barista who had served them earlier.

    ¡°I hope you are enjoying your meals, but we are going to close the shop very soon. Wouldn¡¯t-want-to get stuck in the fog when it rolls in,¡± she said nervously, giggling at the end as if she¡¯d told a joke. Her accent was strong, east-harbor to be specific, they had a knack for making the sovereign tongue sound very unusual. ¡°My deya Baaduk asked me to inform you of this.¡±

    ¡°But we¡¯ve only just paid for our meals,¡± whined Hendric, taking the initiative to say something first. ¡°I¡¯d say we¡¯ve got the right to sit here for another hour if we wish. Tell your deya that a little fog that won¡¯t be here for two more bloody hours shouldn¡¯t strip me of my merits to use a table and a few chairs, yeah lass?¡±

    The barista was taken aback by Hendric¡¯s words, her head dipping low as if she¡¯d shamed herself for even bringing up the topic.

    Amadeus looked around the outdoor patio of the saloon. If he hadn¡¯t been so distracted by what was happening in the market, he would¡¯ve noticed that everyone else in the saloon had hurried off too, leaving them to be the only ones left seated.

    ¡°Now now, Hendric,¡± Amadeus spoke up. ¡°Let¡¯s not take it out on the poor girl. Just because our innhouse is only a short walk away, does not mean that our lovely server here shares the same luxury.¡±

    Amadeus gave the barista a reassuring smile. Her shoulders loosened once again as she reciprocated him with her own.

    ¡°We¡¯ll take not a second more than five minutes, lass. We¡¯ll be out of your sight just as soon as I finish my coffee.¡±

    ¡°Of course, sir. Many apologies, sir. It is very much appreciated.¡± The barista bowed, and then quickly left without saying another word or batting an eye at the others.

    ¡°Why so cordial with Ghordus swine?¡± Hendric huffed, after she¡¯d left their vicinity. ¡°I could practically smell the fish from her hair.¡±

    ¡°Know when it is good to stand out, and when it is good to blend in, Hendric,¡± scoffed Quillen. ¡°It will do you a lot of good in this field.¡±

    Hendric pouted childishly. ¡°I thought we weren¡¯t afraid to stand out here.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not,¡± said Amadeus. ¡°But if I demonstrate proper restraint, you should learn to observe rather than question it. Besides, barking at a woman who¡¯s just served you food and drink is ill-mannered. Do you speak to your mother in this way?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­ she¡¯s not my mother,¡± argued Hendric.

    ¡°Of course not, she looks nothing like a hog.¡±

    Quillen let out an audible chuckle. Hendric looked the other way, singed by the sting of Amadeus¡¯ words.

    ¡°See, now¡­ that is foul, Amadeus.¡± Hendric frowned. ¡°Very foul. Why is it always a jab at my poor mother?¡±

    ¡°Easy pickings,¡± grinned Amadeus. ¡°You make it easy pickings¡­¡±

    He concentrated on his coffee for the little time they had left remaining, pouring the rest of it out into his saucer.

    Coffee was a beautiful thing for two reasons.

    Firstly, it never failed to get his bowels moving. A quick-working remedy it was, every time he needed to cleanse the gut.

    And second, it never failed to clear his mind.

    Amadeus sat up from his seat with intention after he¡¯d finished, clearing the table and returning the cup-ware into the saloon before they went on their way.

    When he walked back out of the saloon, he¡¯d put on a serious gaze. One of calculated decision.

    ¡°Off to the inn then, are we?¡± Quillen asked the group as they exited the market.

    The trio weaved through the light traffic of horses and carriages on the street, arriving onto a balustraded parapet just before the road curled down to the lower residentials.

    Amadeus placed his palms on the cool white stone of the wall and looked out to the long stretches of rolling hills in the distance; mossy-green caps topped jagged bedrock that had been cratered by a falling star many years ago. Sorens Peak was a scattered settlement, expanded from its original mine-in-a-crater township into something much bigger over the centuries.

    There, at the center of impact, still sat the Monarch King Soren, four hundred years old, his body made of glossy black star-rock, shielded by a beautiful mess of lichen and twisting ivies. The city was changing, different from the photographs Amadeus had seen even just five years prior. The Haastarians had brought not only their flags and culture down from the north, but their architectural aspirations as well. A new spire was going up in the aya district, tall and slender, made of a dusky grey priestess stone, that holy rock they cherished in their churches. It was impressive, you couldn¡¯t deny it. Almost as good as the high cities in the south and the west. For such a small province, they were advancing fast.

    ¡°There it comes,¡± Hendric murmured, his breath catching in awe.

    Quillen held a similar expression. ¡°It... looks like snow.¡±

    Amadeus shifted his body, leaning over the stone to see where they were looking.

    Along the ebbs and flows of county road, several estates sat aged and cozy just past the crooked spire of the North Cathedral.

    Behind all of this, like a colossus of white ash, came the fog. And it was only then, after seeing it with his own eyes, did Amadeus understand.

    ¡°Oy! Move along now! Don¡¯t crowd the roads!¡±

    Across from them, a square-jawed municipal trooper was scolding a group of young men who seemed to be causing a bit of drunken mischief in the middle of the road. Flanking the trooper¡¯s gold shouldered coat, were two crowcaps, with their signature black-feathered leather long-coats and raven-styled warhelmets. Jet-black hair ran long and carefree down to their chest, and a radiating wingsword was belted around their waist like a cummerbund.

    These were just initiates, no brooches of their own, no shadow to their armor. Simply fodder that the trooper stations were loaned to enforce the new rules. Make no mistake, even an initiate crowcap could be the equivalent of three well trained troopers. The Haastarians had constructed a formidable force ¡ª just about conquered the whole damn eastern sovereignty with it, them cocky bastards.

    Amadeus was never afraid of a challenge, of course. In fact, he quite enjoyed it, ripping the metal from their face, snatching their soul as if it was his to take.

    He¡¯d done it twice before. And he wouldn¡¯t mind doing it again if he had to.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been awfully quiet Amadeus,¡± said Hendric. ¡°Everything alright?¡±

    Amadeus frowned, turning to his companions. ¡°Nye, I¡¯ve got to take a big shit. I¡¯ll be heading off to the innhouse now.¡±

    Hendric eyed him funny. ¡°Well, alright then, let¡¯s go.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Amadeus stopped him. ¡°Not you. The two of you will go fetch me my stag.¡±

    Hendric and Quillen shared a confused glance.

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Because I¡¯ve changed my mind,¡± declared Amadeus. ¡°We¡¯re doing it tonight.¡±

 Chapter 3: Storm Thump!

Engin

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

 Chapter 4: Memories on a Canvas

    Engin

    He¡¯d cupped the petals into small porcelain bowls, carrying them on a silver tray, one floor up to the Lady Elenora¡¯s room. Treading carefully down each step, balancing the bowls so they didn¡¯t fall, he made his way through a short corridor lined with wide storage rooms stacked to the ceilings with the lady¡¯s scrapped artwork. At the end of the hallway was a double door, on whose walnut oak surface he knocked three times. It gave off a rich rap, echoing like only a strong door could.

    He stared at the marquetry inlaid on the wood; subtle white blooms married to a dove like a wreathe.

    He looked down at his own platter of flowers; dandelion, buttercup, honeysuckle, rose.

    I hope I¡¯ve picked the right ones, he thought.

    After what was a long silence, he tried the door himself. The knobs turned ever so gently, opening to greet him with an enticing aroma of dried paints and coconut butter.

    The lady was sat on a stool. Not a very big stool, but comfortable enough for her slim stature. Her hair flowed straight and black, her gown just as elegant, resting atop the flooring around her feet. In her hands she held a palette and a brush, her eyes gliding across the canvas between every stroke.

    ¡°Lady Elenora.¡± Engin called out to her.

    ¡°Just a moment,¡± she said immediately, her voice a shallow whisper.

    She was not fazed by his interruption. Dabbing then stroking then dabbing again, she created waves of blue, then midnight purple, before moving the easel a bit closer to her face. Her hands were shaky, frantic almost in the way that they trembled.

    She was so beautiful, not a single marker of age blemished on her skin.

    But Engin knew her appearance was fool¡¯s gold.

    The lady was sick. She¡¯d been ill for a month.

    Ever since she¡¯d made the trip out of the city to see her family, she¡¯d returned a shell of her former self. Her mood a constant grim, long ways from the caring and spirited woman that she once was.

    ¡°I¡¯ve brought flowers, Lady Elenora,¡± Engin said, soft and with a hint of impatience. ¡°Your favourite kind.¡±

    ¡°Set them down,¡± she spoke, wasting no motions in her work.

    Engin moved across the room, placing the tray onto a table that was illuminated by what little sunlight there was seeping through the large draping curtains of her window.

    He stood there for a moment, in complete silence. Watching, observing, hoping.

    The lady continued to paint, broad strokes, then subtle details and palette swaps. The image was starting to become clearer, a boat on a river, floating beneath the darkness of purple skies along the horizon.

    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful, Lady Elenora.¡±

    ¡­

    Silence.

    A heart wrenching one.

    It was never this hard. To talk to her. To get a smile out of her. Even if it was just a short one.

    The room was a mess. But that was not out of the ordinary. She liked it that way. She called it her haven. Her place of worship. Where she could be alone and never have to worry about anything other than her art.

    Engin pivoted awkwardly, taking one last glance around the space. The far end was littered with canvases covered in rags, some so large they looked like they belonged on the walls of a church or a gallery.

    I thought she was done with her panel work, he wondered.

    For a moment he felt excited, almost blurting out another compliment for the lady to hear. But his conscience stopped him. This was not the time to seek her attention. She was busy, working.

    I should leave now, any longer and I¡¯ll be a bother.

    But as he approached the double doors on his way out, the lady stopped him.

    ¡°¨Cwait ¨C¡± she said, calm but still demanding. ¡°Just a moment. Not much longer.¡±

    Engin¡¯s heart sank. He turned to face her again, but she was still painting.

    And so, he waited. A minute or three, long enough for it to feel like an eternity.

    Finally, the lady put down her palette, and then pushed her easel farther back, the wheels squeaking like mice as they rolled.

    ¡°What do you think?¡± she asked, staring at her own work.

    Engin moved closer, seeing the full picture now. Faces in the skies, the likeness of gods and goddesses watching the boat float down the river below. Inside the boat was a figure, a shadow with no face.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    Suddenly, his thoughts began to change. An unsettling pit, growing deep within his mind. He felt so hollow, so full of despair. Crude images of glory and conquest shuttered by him, and then a queen, a crown on her head and fiercely cunning eyes to match. He tried to hold onto her visual, but it was already lost, shuffled away with the others. A flurry of emotions had washed over him, and he couldn¡¯t help but feel that he had failed to reach a precise understanding.

    ¡°It¡¯s Balan¡­¡± Engin said, thinking aloud. ¡°Riding the Kreflon Moat back to his city.¡±

    Lady Elenora met his eyes. She finally smiled at him, ¡°I¡¯m impressed, you figured it out so quickly.¡±

    ¡°I felt his pain. His heartache. His¡­ longing to return home.¡±

    Lady Elenora nodded. ¡°It isn¡¯t finished yet, of course.¡±

    Engin was in awe. He knew the lady was talented, but her gifts had far exceeded even what they were before. The Aya-Machine had given her a rare blessing, illusory feats that were still inoperable in modern-day primanetics.

    ¡°But I have a question,¡± Engin asked.

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°Why did I see his mother?¡±

    ¡°The queen?¡±

    ¡°Yes! She was alive, sitting on his throne, awaiting his return.¡±

    Lady Elenora made a face; one of thoughtful confusion. ¡°I¡¯m... not sure, to be honest with you. But the mind does have its own unique ways of coping with my aya. You see, I have infused a certain layer of influence into this piece, one that sways your emotions in a particular direction. How far they go in that direction is based on you, the observer ¨C and your interpretations of the content in the piece. At the end of the day, your individual perception gives any art it¡¯s meaning, Engin. No amount of my influence can change that. And I wouldn''t want it to either.¡± The lady dusted off her dress. ¡°Does that make sense to you?¡±

    Engin nodded. ¡°Yes, I think I understand.¡±

    Lady Elenora smiled and then said, ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you that you are still so inquisitive.¡±

    Engin felt a sense of pride boil over his cheeks. ¡°Will you be sending this to the guild, lady? Are you working with them again?¡±

    Her lips turned weak. ¡°No, my dear. This one is just for me.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    I shouldn¡¯t have asked that. What was I thinking.

    ¡°But if you¡¯d like, we can hang it up somewhere downstairs once it¡¯s finished.¡±

    She was smiling at him again.

    ¡°Um, yes, please! I would like that.¡±

    ¡°Alright, then. I¡¯ll leave you in charge of where to put it.¡±

    Engin already knew where he wanted to hang it. Right outside their sleeping quarters, on the wall across from the door.

    ¡°Now then, let¡¯s see the flowers you¡¯ve brought for me today, shall we?

    ¨C goodness, the roses are so vibrant this season,¡± she said, picking apart the contents of each bowl as she juggled them in her hands. ¡°You¡¯ve even remembered to bring the leaves.¡±

    ¡°I figured you¡¯d want to make some green paint out of them, better than them going to waste.¡±

    Lady Elenora gleamed with excitement. ¡°Perhaps you should always be the one bringing me my flowers from now on then.¡±

    Engin hadn¡¯t seen her smile this much in close to two months, he felt his own anxiety melting away. ¡°I would be happy to! Any time you want!¡±

    She studied him for a moment, with caring eyes. A side of her that had been scarce for so long.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry that I¡¯ve been so distant from all of you.¡±

    She asked for his hand, and he gave it.

    ¡°I want you to know that I¡¯m still here. No matter how hard things are right now. I¡¯m not going anywhere. You know this right?¡±

    Engin let her caress his hand. The Lady¡¯s palms were soft, but unusually warm.

    ¡°Are you sick, lady?¡± he managed to ask. ¡°Is there anything I can do to help?¡±

    She looked off to the corner of the room, and then back towards his eyes. ¡°Some battles are meant to be fought alone, sweet boy.¡±

    Engin felt a sense of dread wash over him. He was hoping that she would tell him she was okay, or that her sickness was nothing of worry.

    Lady Elenora ran a finger across his knuckles. ¡°Better days are never far, Engin. All I need from you is your trust in me. And your strength to be good, good in every way that you can. Look out for your brothers and sisters. Can you do that for me?¡±

    Engin felt his heart racing. ¡°Yes. Always, Lady Elenora.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± She let go of his hands, turning her hips to set down the bowls. ¡°And how is your sketching going?¡±

    ¡°Its-¡±

    He wanted to say it was going well. But he shouldn¡¯t lie to her.

    ¡°I feel like I¡¯m not getting any better.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± she said, lifting her chin. ¡°What are you struggling with?¡±

    ¡°I just make so many mistakes in my shading, and the features never turn out how I want them to look.¡±

    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± her eyes wavered over to her right. ¡°Here, hand me that pad over there,¡± she pointed.

    Engin followed her gaze to a desk with three small towers stacked with scrapbooks and art tomes. He brought back a dingy brown pad of paper that had a few old sketches sticking out of its side.

    The lady propped the pad open, discarding the old sketches onto the floor like they were trash.

    Engin watched as she began her demonstration, scratching away at the blank sheet with her graphite tip.

    * He still remembered her advice from that day. *

    ¡°Sketch the lines that you see, Engin, not the ones that you think you know. What you know is complete and indivisible, but what you see, can be divisible.¡±

    ¡°Use the world around you to learn. Learn shapes, learn perspective, learn angles. Then, once you¡¯ve truly learned, you can use it to create something new, like this...¡±

    The lady had drawn 5 different sketches of Engin on that paper, each one more impressive than the last. The fifth was only of his likeness, but a lot more aged, and a tad bit more savvy. The young man had a poncho on, and a rancher''s bandana that accentuated his smile.

    Engin had left the room that afternoon with the pad in his hand, unable to stop himself from looking down at it every chance that he got.

    He¡¯d never stopped sketching since that day; never stopped drawing faces, never stopped drawing the city landscapes, never stopped drawing the clouds during the monsoon rains. He wasn¡¯t the best, and some of the other orphans were so much better. But he never did stop.

    <hr>

    ¡°It¡¯s a lot better than the last one,¡± smiled Perry, staring at Engin¡¯s work from his bunk.

    ¡°I guess so...¡± Engin said, taking another look at it, wondering if he was being too hard on himself.

    It¡¯d been well past an hour since Burn had left them with the promise of dinner, and some of the boys were starting to become a bit cranky. Cisco was making those loud sighing noises he¡¯d make when he wanted something really bad and wasn¡¯t getting it, and Krip was occasionally yelling at him to shut up and let him finish his nap.

    Engin stopped sketching, wiping away some of the rubber shavings still left on the page. The mountains didn¡¯t look right, the way they dipped across the landscape.

    ¡°Lady Elenora says I should stop erasing my mistakes.¡±

    Perry raised his brow. ¡°But then, how would you fix it?¡±

    Engin chuckled. ¡°With more sketches I guess.¡±

    ¡°Mm, I¡¯d still give you eight coins for this one.¡± Perry reassured him.

    ¡°Eight?¡± smirked Engin. ¡°That seems a tad too high don¡¯t you think?¡±

    ¡°Not to my eyes.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± Engin played along. ¡°What would it take to get ten coins in your eyes then?¡±

    Perry¡¯s lips pressed into gentle mischief. ¡°Um,¡± he leaned forward so no one else could hear. ¡°Well, it depends. Do you still have that funny drawing of Mr. Piggot you made.¡±

    Engin couldn¡¯t help but grin widely. He did indeed still have it, stashed between a number of the other comical portraits in his art-book.

    ¡°I¡¯ll show it to you later,¡± Engin whispered back. ¡°When there aren¡¯t any snitches around.¡±

 Chapter 5: A Visitor from the Fog

    Mabel

    Mabel stretched her feet out of the pillow-fort, caressing the tips of her socks up against one another as she rubbed her thighs. These were the softest pair she owned, an expensive saffroni fabric from the south, dark blue with white daisies fluttered all over. They also happened to be her favourite, a gift from the Lady on her 15th birthday that year.

    ¡°I told you using the clotheslines would work!¡± Merabella exclaimed.

    She crawled in to place another candle in the fort, her black hair falling partly over her pretty green eyes like a cascade.

    ¡°It¡¯s certainly the best one we¡¯ve made thus far.¡± Neina smiled proudly, straightening her legs out as well.

    ¡°The boys would lose their minds if they saw this.¡± Isa giggled.

    ¡°Yes, they would. And then they¡¯d get their dirty, ugly feet all over our pillows and blankets. Which is why we¡¯re never going to tell them¡­ right, Isa?¡±

    Merabella was glaring through Isa with her judging feline gaze.

    ¡°Cut it out.¡± Isa frowned, looking away.

    ¡°You¡¯re the only one always going around telling Cisco about everything we do.¡±

    ¡°Am not!¡±

    ¡°Oh yes you do! The two biggest blabbermouths on the whole estate.¡±

    ¡°Mabel!¡± Isa sobbed, tugging on Mabel¡¯s dress for help.

    ¡°Leave her alone, Bella. She¡¯s not going to tell anyone.¡±

    ¡°Pshh ¡ª yeah right.¡± Merabella scoffed, finding her space in the fort.

    It was bigger than the last one they¡¯d made, bedsheets draped over clotheslines, fitted together with pins and supported by chairs. There were pillows from every bed in the room and few extra ones supplied to them by Madame Song in secret. It felt like the inside of a cave, a very warm one with bright red candles lighting the walls, and a comforting white floor made of blankets instead of stone.

    ¡°Why do you seem so sad today Mabe?¡± Neina asked.

    Mabel looked up from her socks, giving Neina a smile. ¡°Oh nothing. I¡¯m just feeling tired that''s all.¡±

    The other girls were now gawking at her too.

    She couldn¡¯t help but blush, laughing the attention away. ¡°Really! It¡¯s nothing!¡± She reiterated, putting her hand through Isa¡¯s short-cut hair.

    ¡°Is it because of what happened outside?¡± Neina asked, her earrings twinkling over the candles.

    ¡°No, of course not.¡± Mabel shook her head absently. ¡°The boys are always being idiots.¡±

    ¡°I heard that Engin got slapped by Mr. Piggot.¡±

    ¡°WHAT?¡± gasped Merabella.

    ¡°How did you hear that?¡± Mabel raised her brow.

    ¡°Mm, I-¡± Isa coiled further into her pillow. ¡°Cisco told me in the hallway before we went to our rooms.¡±

    ¡°Hah! I told you they were both blabbermouths!¡± Merabella shouted.

    ¡°Ugh shut up!¡±

    Merabella crossed her arms, pursing her lips proudly. ¡°Well, he probably deserved it, the brat. Always giving me trouble.¡±

    ¡°No one deserves to get slapped, Bella.¡± Mabel snapped at her. ¡°It isn¡¯t right.¡±

    Merabella looked down at her dress, fidgeting nervously with the folds of her cummerbund.

    ¡°He was just doing what he thought was right,¡± Mabel continued. ¡°It was me who should have stepped in sooner. None of this would have happened if I¡¯d have just stopped Boog.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you did the best you could, Mabe,¡± said Neina. ¡°You always do.¡±

    Isa interlocked her arm with Mabel¡¯s. ¡°I want to hear about your new boyfriend, Mabe. Tell us about him.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Mabel recoiled, caught off guard. ¡°I don¡¯t have a boyfriend, Isa.¡±

    ¡°Yes, you do.¡± Isa cooed, her cheeks inflating like a squirrel. ¡°That handsome boy who¡¯s always waving to you from the flower shop.¡±

    ¡°I remember him! He was very cute.¡± Neina said, hugging herself.

    Mabel felt her blood go warm.

    ¡°What¡¯s his name Mabe, what¡¯s his name?¡±

    ¡°I-uh, I don¡¯t know!¡± Mabel¡¯s voice climbed a few octaves. ¡°I¡¯ve only spoken to him once!¡±

    Merabella was eyeing her suspiciously now. In fact, they all were. Mabel didn¡¯t like it. She couldn''t handle all the attention.

    ¡°My first husband is going to be tall and muscular, just like the Sovereign Prince,¡± declared Merabella.

    ¡°Your first?¡± Neina giggled. ¡°How many do you plan to have?¡±

    ¡°Whatever makes me happy.¡± Merabella beamed.

    ¡°You wish,¡± Isa gave back to her. ¡°You¡¯ll have to grow out of those small dresses first.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the same size as me!¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m two years the younger!¡±

    Mabel rolled her eyes. Her tummy grumbled. She hadn¡¯t eaten anything since breakfast.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to go check on dinner,¡± she said, getting up to crawl out of the fort.

    ¡°But- we were going to tell frightening stories,¡± Isa complained, trying to stop her.

    Mabel turned back around, grabbing her cheeks. ¡°After dinner. I promise.¡±

    She looked at Merabella, and then the other two girls. ¡°Behave. At least until I get back.¡±

    ***

    During the nights of the Kreaman fog, Elenora Estate often had an unusual dimness to it. A shade of darkness that only seemed to come around a few times a year.

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    It wasn¡¯t that the lighting was any different, the terra-stars still glowed just as bright within their lanterns and chandeliers. It was rather the unspoken mood; the eerie quiet of the halls, the lack of cheering footfalls on the hardwood, and the ever-forbidden curiosity of what may be lurking outside.

    Mabel found herself clinging to the console tables as she made her way to the kitchens, stopping to check the health of every potted plant arranging the walls between their sleeping quarters and the foyer. She held their strength in her palms, running the veiny leaves along her fingers.

    Finnel-leafs were a tough grow, the light had to be just right, the air and soil; not too dry but just damp enough. And when they grew, they grew to be kings, outgrowing their small pots, in need of something larger. In the Estelas, they were everywhere, you couldn¡¯t find a home that wasn¡¯t adorned with their sheening emerald leaves and fruit-bearing trunks. The fruit had managed to become famous all over, they were small and red-skinned, fig-like in shape, with a honey apple interior. Mabel wasn¡¯t the biggest fan of it, she liked harder, more sour fruits like white plums or those big green apples that came around to the market every summer season from Tristan.

    However, there was a certain appeal to growing things that were hotly desired. If not by her, then the other orphans on the estate, at least they could appreciate the fruits of her labor.

    I should get to snipping this one now, Mabel thought, stopping at one of the older Finnel plants.

    ¡°If it seems like its dying, just cut it right from the top.¡± The old lady mossseer from the market had told her. ¡°Chop from the trunk like so¡­ and you should be fine there, lass. These here ones can grow right back, good as new.¡±

    Mabel let go of the decaying plant in her hand, debating whether to go through with snipping it or not. Perhaps there was still a chance it could survive in the new soil. Maybe it would be better to give it another day or two.

    Her gaze shifted down to the end of the hallway. A voice was hissing, rupturing the silence of the walls.

    ¡°I CANNOT believe you would let him inside without consulting with me first!¡±

    ¡°MR. PIGGOT!¡± Madame Dietrich gruffed, the sides of her pale rolled up fists coming into view as Mabel edged closer to the noise. ¡°I may not hold the same authority as you on this estate, but on Tiol¡¯s word, if you expect me to turn a blind eye to a wounded child on our doorstep, you have sorely mistaken me for a bloody tool!¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s a damn backward, Madame Deitrich!¡±

    ¡°HE IS A CHILD!¡±

    Mr. Piggot snarled, exhaling to his side. He was trying to control his disdain, but it was showing all over his face.

    ¡°Do not tell me that you would not have done the same, Mr. Piggot, because I know it¡¯ll be a damn lie.¡±

    ¡°I wish you had just spoke with me first.¡± He growled. ¡°You know how I feel about opening our doors during the peak of the fog. Ever since the Haastarians have put down their damn flags here, nothing good has come of it. Every year... it just seems to be getting worse.¡±

    ¡°If we let their stories frighten us, then they have already won, Mr. Piggot.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not just stories anymore, Madame Deitrich.¡± Mr. Piggot¡¯s scowl turned pale. ¡°It¡¯s much bigger than that now. It has been for the last five years. Don¡¯t you see it. The monarchs are angry. Their resting graves are rolling. And the Haastarians will never acknowledge that they and they alone are the reasons why.¡±

    Mr. Piggot¡¯s lips had begun to quiver, his hands, trembling at the beat of a nervous rhythm.

    ¡°You are still in pain after what happened to your friend,¡± said Madame Dietrich, reaching her palm out. ¡°I understand that- Burn. But you must-¡±

    ¡°Renley was a good man.¡± Mr. Piggot whimpered out, his voice suddenly catching on the edges of a sob. ¡°He would have never done what they say he did! He loved his family, more than anything in the world.¡±

    Mabel had never seen Mr. Piggot cry before. Nor did she ever think he was capable of it. The sight of it made her legs go numb, her heart unsure of how to feel.

    Madame Dietrich was tense, but trying to be caring. That didn¡¯t happen often either.

    Seeing this side of the both of them made Mabel question if she was supposed to be hearing any of this.

    ¡°It was the fog.¡± Mr. Piggot went on, beading red eyes welling with tears now. He was shaking, uncontrollably. ¡°It was that damn madness that took him over, Madame Deitrich. That-that damn monarch madness!¡±

    ¡°Please, Burn. Please, please, sit down somewhere.¡± Madame Deitrich pleaded, trying to calm the heavy man down. ¡°Pull yourself together,¡± she said, leading him to a lounge chair.

    Mabel took a few steps forward, coming into their view, if she wasn¡¯t already before. It took a moment, but Mr. Piggot did see her. He was wiping his eyes clean, and sniffling back what sounded like an abundance of snot.

    ¡°Let me get you some water. You just wait right here.¡±

    ¡°I can¨C¡± Mabel spoke up.

    Madame Dietrich finally noticed her.

    ¡°I can get the water,¡± Mabel repeated, more confident this time.

    ¡°Yes, girl,¡± Madame Deitrich nodded, a hint of relief on her brow. ¡°Get it from the kitchens, Madame Song is in there as well. Quickly now.¡±

    Mabel nodded, taking long strides out of the foyer to get away from the tension as fast as she could.

    ¡°I don¡¯t need it-¡±

    ¡°Oh heavens, Mr. Piggot, it won¡¯t hurt you to drink something other than booze-¡±

    The voices of their bickering faded behind her as Mabel paced towards the kitchens. The smell of tenderloins and red pepper mash hit her fast down the corridors of the caretaker wings.

    She didn¡¯t like this feeling. She didn¡¯t like what she¡¯d walked into. What if Mr. Piggot resented her now? Now that she¡¯d seen him shed a tear.

    And who was Renley? And what was that about letting a child in?

    When she pushed to enter through the arched doorway of the kitchens she felt a fluffy ball of fur squeeze between her legs.

    ¡°Oh no! Don¡¯t let her in!¡± Mr. Dooley shrieked, immediately running forward as the doorway opened.

    The humble, long faced man had no stubble today and was fully covered in black cotton garments.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡± He yelled, crashing into the side of a few lonesome pots as he dove to stop Chae in her hot pursuit for a snack.

    The fur-ball pranced across the stone tiles of the room, using the handles of a cabinet to catch herself onto a counter top. She was fast, but Mr. Dooley was smarter.

    ¡°GOT YOU! You little deviless,¡± Mr. Dooley guffawed, taunting the cat as he triumphantly swooped her into his arms from the other side of the counter.

    He ruffled her head and rubbed her belly as she pushed her paws out in an adorable little struggle.

    ¡°Sorry, Mr. Dooley! I didn¡¯t see her, I swear it.¡±

    Mr. Dooley smiled. ¡°It¡¯s alright, lass. She¡¯s been finding new corners to hide in all week. You¡¯re a cunning little girl aren¡¯t you?¡± He cooed, looking down at the cat.

    Chae meowed back.

    ¡°Everything alright, Mabe?¡±

    At the far corner of the kitchen, seated on a side table, Madame Song was looking back at her with her head turned. Across from her was a boy about Mabel¡¯s age, maybe younger, wrapped in gauze all over and holding a spoon over a bowl of steaming hot stew.

    ¡°Um, yes Madame Song,¡± Mabel replied, confused. ¡°Mr. Piggot wasn¡¯t feeling well, so I came to fetch water for him.¡±

    Madame Song immediately got up from her seat, her teal dress twirling to expose the white stone anklets adorning her sandaled feet.

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter, is he hurt?¡±

    ¡°Not hurt. Um¡­¡± Mabel couldn¡¯t say that she¡¯d seen him crying. That would be rude.

    No. She couldn¡¯t, she couldn¡¯t ever say that, not to anyone. ¡°He¡¯s just not feeling well I think,¡± she said quickly. ¡°Madame Deitrich is with him.¡±

    ¡°Ugh,¡± muttered Madame Song. ¡°Must be his stomach again. I don¡¯t know how many times I¡¯ve told him to put down the booze.¡±

    She beckoned Mabel over with her hand. It fell out of the sleeves of her dress, showing off swirling golden veylas drawn onto her bronze skin, the birthmarks of every young Esteleron maiden. ¡°It¡¯s alright Mabe, I¡¯ll see to him myself. Come here, maybe you can get something out of this poor boy. Found him banging on our windows, screaming for help. Hasn¡¯t said a word to me that I can understand, but he was right cut up, beat up and warm as a fire before this.¡±

    The boy continued to stare at Mabel as she slowly approached the table. She made out a hint of a grin breaking through his lips when she waved to him hello.

    Madame Song¡¯s golden braids fell over Mabel¡¯s shoulder as she bent over to give her a kiss on the cheek. ¡°Be nice,¡± she whispered. ¡°I¡¯ll be back in a hurry.¡±

    She looked down at the boy again. ¡°Eat your stew now, youngin. It¡¯ll heal the pain. Mabe will keep you company.¡±

    Mabel took her seat on the table, watching Madame Song scurry over to the taps to fill some water.

    ¡°Hungry, Mabe?¡± Mr. Dooley asked her, Chae still in hand.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she nodded. ¡°But I can wait to eat with the others.¡±

    She felt awkward at first, unsure of what to say to the boy. His hair was very long, and unkempt, like all of the other backwards boys. There was a chain around his neck, tiny beads of grainy feldrock strung together. The backwater folk worshipped the mire gods, or at least, that was what the sovereign church called them. To the backwards it was the freegods. The freegods who ruled long before Tiol, as they would say.

    Contrary to their moniker however, their followers didn¡¯t have much freedom for the longest time. Backwards were called backwards simply because of who they worshipped.

    But Mabel didn¡¯t see much difference between her and the boy sitting across from her. No matter the clothes he wore, or how untidy he looked, in that very moment, they were both nervous, and that, she felt, made them one in the same.

 Chapter 6: The Backwards Boy

Engin

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 Chapter 7: Ashes and Flames

    Engin

    ¡°GET AWAY FROM THAT DOOR, BOY!¡±

    Burn had come hobbling into the foyer with his runeblade drawn. The slim mahogany steel glimmered at his side as he shoved Engin behind him. He¡¯d taken off the vest of his suit, donning only an undershirt now that was tucked under a pair of suspenders and into his pants.

    ¡°WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT DO YOU WANT!¡± demanded Burn, shouting through the door.

    There was a brief silence from the other side. And then the voice came again.

    ¡°You must be the humble caretaker.¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± grunted Burn, staring through the peephole. ¡°I am. May I ask why there is a trooper on my doorstep at the height of the fog?¡±

    ¡°An unfortunate situation, really. I am merely on some urgent business on behalf of the Ministry.¡±

    ¡°Well, you can come back tomorrow then!¡± muttered Burn. ¡°We don¡¯t open our doors during the fog. Not even for a trooper.¡±

    ¡°How about for a man looking for a missing girl then?¡±

    Burn pulled away from the peephole, a red grimace occupying his face.

    Madame Deitrich and Mr. Dooley had also poured into the foyer by this point in their nightwear, Mr. Dooley holding a black mace in his hands, and wearing a circular pair of eyeglasses that was falling low on his nose.

    ¡°Who is it, Mr. Piggot?¡± asked Madame Deitrich, panicked.

    ¡°A trooper. Says he¡¯s looking for a missing girl.¡±

    ¡°A trooper...¡± Mr. Dooley¡¯s ears perked up. ¡°What if he knows something about that boy?¡±

    Madame Deitrich nodded her head aggressively. ¡°Oh, yes, yes! Ask him about the boy, Mr. Piggot!¡±

    Engin met Krip¡¯s gaze, who was sharing the same nervous angst as he was from across the foyer.

    ¡°He can come back in the morning,¡± said Burn. ¡°When the fog has passed us.¡±

    ¡°But if he knows something about the boy, we shouldn¡¯t wait till the morning,¡± stressed Madame Deitrich, grabbing Mr. Piggot¡¯s arm. ¡°Perhaps he can take the boy off our hands. Return him to his home, safely.¡±

    She looked to Mr. Dooley for support, who gave her a few nods of approval. ¡°It certainly won¡¯t hurt to ask, Mr. Piggot.¡±

    Burn did not seem like he was a fan of the idea but stuck his forehead above the peephole anyways. He drew in a breath and then asked, ¡°Are you sure it is a girl that you are looking for there, trooper?¡±

    The trooper¡¯s words came a lot more muffled this time for Engin. He tried to move closer to the door to hear, but Madame Deitrich stopped him.

    She shook her head at him sternly and pulled him back.

    After a long silence, Burn grumbled something under his breath to the door and then surprisingly moved to slide the lock open. His grip on his blade seemed a lot tighter as he rounded the tiny opening he¡¯d created in the doorway.

    ¡°Perhaps we can have this discussion inside.¡± The trooper requested, his voice coming through much clearer now. ¡°You see, I¡¯ve already spent a lot more time in this fog than I intended to tonight. It would be nice to put it behind me. Even if it is just for a brief little chat.¡±

    There was a certain brevity to the trooper¡¯s cadence, not authoritative like Burn, but more so; condescending. As if he was entirely content. Comfortable, with how things were going, despite being in what most would consider to be an odd circumstance.

    Burn was hesitant at first to do so, but he did eventually let the trooper through the door.

    He was much taller than the peephole had made him seem. About Burn¡¯s height, but more defined at the neck and shoulders. At his waist was his own runeblade scabbard, and an aya-lock pistol in its holster.

    ¡°Trooper Amadeus Tennoleq Quro. Pleased to make acquaintance with you all.¡± The trooper announced, looking about the room at all the many faces staring back at him. ¡°Apologies again if I gave you all a fright. Circumstances have made for quite a night.¡±

    Burn sheathed his runeblade at his hip and crossed his forearms at the trooper. ¡°What¡¯s this about a missing girl, then?¡±

    The trooper smiled, amused. ¡°Ahh... yes, the girl. Been missing for years now, the poor lass. She¡¯s got a birthmark on her neck, about wee small. Should be about your age by now.¡± He pointed to Krip, whose eyes bulged at the attention. ¡°How old are you son?¡±

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Fourteen years,¡± said Krip.

    ¡°Yes,¡± The trooper nodded to himself. ¡°Bout that age for sure. Maybe older.¡±

    ¡°A girl gone missing for that long.¡± Mr. Dooley stepped forward, adjusting his eyeglasses. ¡°I¡¯m terribly sorry to hear it, trooper, but what¡¯s that got to do with us?¡±

    The trooper cocked his head at the mace in Mr. Dooley¡¯s hands. ¡°And you are?¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Mr. Dooley lowered his weapon. ¡°Apologies, Trooper. The fog tends to keep us on our toes around here. Freidrich Dooley. Head Chef of the manor.¡±

    ¡°How delicious...¡±

    Mr. Dooley shifted uncomfortably in his spot.

    ¡°Well, you see, Mr. Dooley, it just so happens to be¡­ that this evening, I received a report from one of my officers that this very same missing girl was seen being harbored on your estate. Now you folks wouldn¡¯t know anything about that, would you?¡±

    Burn¡¯s eyes had narrowed onto the trooper, studying the man like he would the orphans when he¡¯d caught them in a lie.

    ¡°What about you, young one?¡± The trooper turned to Engin, his scar curling upwards into a smile. ¡°Seen a girl like that ¡®round here?¡±

    ¡°No, sir.¡± Engin spoke confidently. ¡°No one like that.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no missing girl here, trooper,¡± said Burn. ¡°And you can set aside your assumptions of foul play on our behalf. We work directly with the church in our adoptive practices, and the Lady Elenora is close with the Archbishop Meida himself. We invited you in here not because we know where your missing girl is, but rather in regards to another child. A backwards boy who happened to come onto our doorstep this evening, battered and wounded. We took him in and tended to his wounds, but have not the slightest idea who he is, or how he ended up here under such circumstances.¡±

    The trooper squinted his eyes, mulling over the information. ¡°And here I was under the impression that you folks didn¡¯t open your doors during the fog.¡±

    ¡°The boy was very hurt,¡± explained Madame Deitrich. ¡°I was the first to see him. It was horrible, the state of him. Let him in myself, without giving it much thought-¡±

    ¡°And a very honorable act it was!¡± The trooper raised his voice, cutting Madame Deitrich off. ¡°Perhaps I should meet this boy, see him for myself.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± Madame Deitrich nodded. ¡°We were hoping you would take him back with you tonight. Get him home safely to his family.¡±

    ¡°And I would love to do that for you.¡± The trooper turned his attention back to Mr. Dooley. ¡°But first, I will need to speak with the Lady of the house, of course.¡±

    ¡°You can speak with me.¡± Said Burn, raising a finger.

    ¡°Are you the lady of the house, my friend?¡±

    Burn gritted through his teeth. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Then I shall like to speak with the Lady herself, please. No one else.¡±

    Burn uncrossed his arms. ¡°That will not be possible. The Lady is busy with her work, and she has entrusted me with overseeing all the responsibilities of this estate. I am Burn Majesterie Piggot, treasurer of Elenora Estate.¡±

    Trooper Amadeus merely rolled his eyes. ¡°How unfortunate.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    A column of flame erupted close to Engin and Perry, seething their skin through the fabric of their clothes.

    Everyone in the room backed away to safety, Engin pulling Perry along with him.

    ¡°AAAAgh!¡± Someone shrieked.

    Madame Deitrich was suddenly lifted into the air, her feet dangling and her body convulsing within a rapidly rotating vortex of fire. She screamed out bloody murder, but it came forth muted, in odd, estranged bursts of sound.

    ¡°Don¡¯t move a muscle, boy,¡± uttered a voice, very close to Engin¡¯s ear.

    A blade wrapped around his neck, held secure in the tatted hands of Trooper Amadeus himself.

    ¡°ENGIN!¡± Perry yelled.

    Engin looked down at the dagger threatening his life. The blade shimmered like obsidian stone, a bright green engram rune embedded into its hilt.

    ¡°Flashy, isn¡¯t it?¡± The trooper snickered, breath as foul as rotten milk. ¡°The slightest nick on your skin, and you¡¯d bleed like a virgin.¡±

    ¡°LET HIM GO!¡± Shouted Burn. His runeblade was drawn, power motes surrounding it and the rest of his body in a maroon aura.

    Mr. Dooley had done the same, mace in hand, and ready to fight.

    The trooper yanked Engin farther back, pulling him away and creating some distance from the caretakers.

    Perry was bawling tears. And Krip was standing paralyzed with fear, watching Madame Deitrich suspended in the air within a cage of banding flames.

    ¡°MAKE ONE WRONG MOVE PIGGUMS AND I¡¯LL SLICE HIS THROAT WITHOUT THINKING TWICE!¡±

    Burn¡¯s face had turned entirely red. But even with his power mote channeling, there was something else fueling this color.

    Burn¡¯s blessing.

    The Aya Machine had gifted him too. All the orphans knew about it. But they¡¯d never seen it in action. Until now...

    His face began to bubble. His body began to transform... a red anger inside of him, boiling to show its true nature.

    ¡°OH NO YOU DON¡¯T!¡±

    It all happened so fast.

    Amadeus snapped his fingers, and Madame Detrich went up in flames. Like the fall of white snow, her ashes powdered the ground. An acrid fallout of charred hair and skin singing Engin¡¯s nostrils. He almost fell backwards in shock, but Amadeus held him in place.

    Time slowed.

    Burn¡¯s body returned to the same shape and complexion as it was before¡­ a pale and pudgy mess. Mr. Dooley dropped his mace and fell to his knees.

    And all was quiet, once again.

    ¡°I warned you not to test me.¡±

    Burn twitched, eyes unmoving from the pile of ashes on the floor.

    ¡°Now then,¡± said Amadeus. ¡°The Lady of the house, please.¡±

    Engin was sick to his stomach. Everything he had eaten for dinner, threatening to come up in volcanic bursts.

    ¡°QUICKLY!¡± Amadeus barked. ¡°I don¡¯t have all day! I can slaughter this one as well if you want me to?¡±

    ¡°NO!¡± Mr. Dooley shouted, getting back up to his feet. ¡°NO! Please!¡± He was shedding tears, uncontrollable rivers of them, streaming down his face. ¡°I beg of you please, leave the child out of this.¡±

    ¡°Then fetch me the Lady of the house!¡± Demanded Amadeus, grinning wide and hysterically. ¡°It really isn¡¯t supposed to be this difficult.¡±

    ¡°¡­I will go fetch her for you,¡± said Burn, his demeanor as grim as Engin had ever seen it.

    ¡°No, Mr. Piggot.¡± Mr. Dooley stopped him, with trembling hands. ¡°You stay here with the children. I will go. Just, please.¡± He looked to Amadeus, eyes surrendered. ¡°Don¡¯t hurt anyone else.¡±

    There was a nod of acceptance from Amadeus before Mr. Dooley disappeared into the darkness of the halls.

    Engin tried to break loose from the tight grip Amadeus had secured onto him, but the man was just too strong.

    ¡°Don¡¯t make this any harder for yourself, boy.¡±

    ¡°I HATE YOU!¡± Engin screamed at the top of his lungs, the air of grief finally escaping him. ¡°I HATE YOU!¡±

    ¡°Pity, I know.¡± Amadeus whispered to him. ¡°To witness something like this so young. But you¡¯ll get over it. Believe me, you will.¡±