(Game Time: 9,344.1 Years)

  (Date: The Third Day of the First Month — Erlinnux)

  The Sibere river flowed as liquid glass might in a dream, so clear the naked eye could glimpse every detail within the stream: from Bronze Trout racing downstream for spawning season, to the brightly-shaded pebbles lining the riverbed. The river's babble hummed a soft song throughout the city of Palos, a constant reminder of the beautiful territory's original shape. For after two centuries of building, the Sibere was the last piece of nature alive in Palos.

  The river cut straight through the heart of the Merchant's District, a neighborhood where, regardless of which side of the Sibere one stood upon, they'd find themselves on cobblestone roads filled with worn and mismatched bricks. The district's roads constantly caused issue, having been notoriously neglected for close to five decades. Some streets were decayed to a point of being unusable, riddled with potholes and bricks so uneven that horse-drawn carriages couldn't dream rolling in without risking a wheel's spoke or a steed's legs. In those cases, merchants adapted, building large carts to carry their goods from carriage to shop.

  Merchants and shops came every few paces no matter which direction you walked through the district. Some sold their goods out of well-kept storefronts that had elegant window displays lined meticulously with their goods, bolstering their shop's name on signs out front to attract customers familiar with their branding. The more upscale shops had attendants waiting inside to hang the coats of patrons as they walked in—the most luxurious even offered wide varieties of expensive beverages while potential customers browsed. However, there were far more merchants who didn't own formal store fronts, the resilient who would simply roll a blanket out on the cobblestones wherever they found themselves that morning, lining up their goods upon it for anyone walking by to take notice of. A simple motto was well known by not only the citizens of the Green Edge, but the entire Corvus Kingdom: Whether it be jewels, sweets, or a strong ale, you're guaranteed to find what you seek in the Merchant's District of Palos; you just need to look hard enough.

  At the southern end of the Merchant's District, an area dubbed as "The Bricks" by locals for its cobblestones being decayed neatly to a point where they nearly flattened together into a smooth surface, stood a large bridge that connected the two riversides together. This was the Ol'Phanx Crossing, the largest bridge in the city and a focal point of the Corvus Kingdom. The crossing had been erected one-hundred-and-twelve years ago and was one of the only pieces of architecture in Palos that underwent regular maintenance. Singiun Ol'Phanx, a Hoof from East Hilbarth, was the civil engineer responsible for the construction of this behemoth of a bridge that stretched eight carriage lengths over the peaceful river. Along the sides of the crossing were five-foot graystone rails to ensure no horse could accidentally be led over the sides. Two pillars, sunk deep into the riverbed on each side, were installed during construction to hold the bridge's immense weight. At both ends of the Ol'Phanx were staircases that led down to walkways below; smaller paths where carriages could never travel.

  These walkways were originally built for the city's residents to come down and admire the grace of the Sibere; a much-needed escape from the hustle and bustle of the demanding urban environment. It was a place to reflect over that last piece of their world's forgotten beauty; a place to find oneself. But since then, the walkways had become accustomed to hosting vagabonds and local troublemaking children who would drink liquor and sleep beneath the overpass.

  The bridge was especially lively on Spring days such as this. The wind still brought a chill with it, but the occasional oak budding with new leaves on the sides of the city roads served as a reminder that warmer days were just ahead. Atop the bridge was a bustling uproar of merchants and street cooks pushing their goods at any potential shoppers. The gentle clopping of horses pulling carriages, accompanied by the pungent aromas of Palos' street vendors, and the incoherent lulls of three dozen simultaneous bidding wars filled the air. This did an elegant job covering up the sounds of bone falling against stone and the stench of burnt skin creeping up from the West walkway.

  It was here that our crimson-haired hero sat on the cobblestones, his weight against a stone guardrail at his back. At his feet, two dozen newspapers, once pristine and tightly rolled, spread crumbled and stained across the damp of the walkway. His name was Sachi Van'Heatah. He had grown tall since that day on the beach meeting Mira Bolt, and he was now a man by his culture's law at fifteen years old. The skinny boy had grown into a lanky young man, standing at five feet and ten inches. He had long arms with an athletic build from his lifetime spent as the only working son of a silversmith, and when he picked up selling papers as a part-time job the long walks shaped his posture more confidently; as he thought a man should. Upon Sachi's left ear now sat a silver clasp around the outer cartilage of his oversized ear. This piercing was the Qia'Dāv; "The First Step" as his Father referred to it. It symbolized his adulthood in the eyes of his Father's Clan, a meaningless piece of silver in the Human Nation.

  Sachi, like so many times before, got his ass kicked on this day. His spiked-up crimson hair, which forced him to wake early each morning to shape properly in the mirror, was wild and clumpy from the fight. His khaki slacks, once crisp with a cuff and crease, now wrinkled after being knocked down to the wet cobblestones time and time again. Sachi's socks had soaked through too, and his feet were beginning to prune. Over the years he had made a habit of taking his shoes off to fight—after all, they were his only good pair, and he thought it was pointless to ruin them over silly after-school tussles. He fought in a scuffed-up white shirt with a collar, toned darker than his hair, and on the left side of his chest was a small insignia of the same shade no bigger than a bottlecap. The insignia was that of his Practical School; a feather of the Burning Crow of the Corvus Kingdom.

  The lid above Sachi's right eye was swollen, making it increasingly more difficult for him to see well on that side. Below his left eye, a small cut had opened, and his cheeks were freckled with small scorch marks that sizzled more each time he stretched his jaw to speak.

  "Take it back!" Sachi grumbled through his teeth to avoid unneeded pain from his burned face. "Take back what you said about my mother!"

  His demand was met with a roar of laughter from his adversary, for above Sachi stood Faron Ali, his classmate and longtime nemesis. Faron was a large boy, even larger than Sachi. His eternally angry demeanor and dark eyes intimidated most, even men many years his elder; even Corvan soldiers. Faron only turned sixteen last month, but his stern face and square, chiseled jaw pushed his looks many years beyond his age; despite lacking facial hair. Faron towered over Sachi by over a head when they stood back-to-back, and his shoulders and hips were twice as wide without appearing obese in the slightest. While growing up, many of Faron's educators in Palos had wondered if he had ancestors from the Titan or Blood clans due to his size, but he attested that he was a full-blooded Human; just a big boned one. The bully's skin was brown, looking light-skinned next to someone as dark as Sachi, and he wore his greased black hair in a tall mohawk shaved flat on top. On this day he wore the same outfit as Sachi. After all, it was their school uniform. However, Faron's shirt fit him much tighter, and his clothes remained spotless throughout their scuff beneath the bridge despite the pools of riverwater about the walkway.

  "Woo-ha-ha-ha!" laughed Faron. "Did ya hear that, lads? Long Ears over here hasn't learned his lesson yet." Faron was with his three favorite cronies: Lestin Faerall, who was lanky like Sachi, but with pasty white skin and black hair that draped past his shoulders; Daan Polk, who was tan and portly, with beady blue eyes that made women feel uneasy when he stared; and finally, there was Charick Metzin, who had a narrow face with a curls of black hair, and skin even darker than Sachi's. The buffoons laughed at their leader's joke on cue, bending over and clutching at their stomachs like they were being paid to react to every quip Faron could think of.

  "You got that right, Faron!" Chimed in Daan, his nasally voice always hitting Sachi's ears in a way that annoyed him instantly. "Looks like 'Silver Spoons' still has some fight in 'im." Daan snorted when he laughed like a boar. It was a quality that made Sachi cringe more way he spoke through his nose. Sachi had always despised these three lackeys more than Faron himself for the way they would shrink behind their leader, hurling their insults while never raising their fists. At least Faron had the manners to punch him instead of whispering behind his back.

  Pathetic... thought Sachi to himself.

  Sachi shook his head and raised his voice again. "I'm not leaving yet... Not until you apologize for what you said about my mother!" He stumbled back to his feet. His arms already shook while he raised them too to square off again with Faron; not a good way to start. Despite aching muscles and wobbly legs, Sachi charged in with everything he had.

  "Right. I guess you want it again." Faron grinned as he clenched a fist by his side. As he tightened his hand into a ball, his fist ignited, surrounded by a Radiance of bright orange flame that crackled down just past the wrist. The flames burned unwavering despite the unpredictable winds being thrown off the Sibere. Faron cocked back the flaming hand and took aim at Sachi's head once more. "Take this, Elf!"

  Sachi crossed his forearms in front of his face in a frantic attempt to block Faron's burning punch, but his guard hadn't the strength to push back any longer. The fist slipped cleanly between Sachi's arms and connected head-on, landing at the left side of Sachi's face and searing his cheek. Again, Sachi was sent back to the wet cobblestones he sprang from; his only trophy being a new injury. He would have to think of something new.

  "Take it back!" Yelled Sachi from his hands and knees. He stumbled to his feet again and took another rush at Faron, but he was quickly knocked back down after getting caught in the gut by a flaming right hook. Sachi's persistence finally irritated Faron. He pinned the red-head against the stones with a single knee and rained down a barrage of his fire-infused punches to end Sachi's foolishness.

  "Why won't you stay down!" The ringing of Faron's punches echoed through the walkway and up to the Ol'Phanx bridge, even catching the attention of some of the merchants passing by. None of them cared enough to run down to the walkways, but some still noticed. After all, gold was chased in the streets of Palos, not the gutters.

  Crack! Smack! Crack!

  Sachi's body grew limp as Faron's fists bounced him up and down against the mismatched bricks digging deeper into his back. When Faron's arms grew tired, he tried his best to regain his composure. He let out a shaky breath that that released as much sadness as it did frustration, his eyes grew shameful when they finally looked at his handiwork. "Sorry... guess I got carried away..." Faron wiped the sweat from his brow and stared in contempt at the mess he had made of Sachi. Several of the young man's front teeth were shattered or missing, with bruises that masked the original form of his face into a lumpy disfigurement of its former self. The young half-Human wasn't unrecognizable thanks to his signature crimson-hair, but his cheeks and forehead were swollen to point of appearing blue. Too many chunks of his flesh sat burnt, nearly black from Faron's flames after the last unguarded round of punches he let loose on Sachi's face. The assailant's crew of cowards continued to linger behind their protector, rejoicing at every lump and scar upon Satchi.

  Feeling confident that victory was assured, Faron made sure to gloat at his fallen enemy before turning away. He leaned over at the waist and tilted Sachi's head to make sure their eyes were met; that Sachi heard every foul word leaving his mouth. "I'll say it again, Elf... loud and clear so yer' long ears can hear me well." He paused momentarily, only to make sure Sachi's attention was on him completely, not the pain about his face or the ringing in his ears. "I'm glad yer' Ma's dead. Any Human who would have a child with a filthy Elf wasn't needed in this Kingdom to begin with. She was a worm."

  Through his welts and burns, Sachi began to tear up. He tried to blink the tears away, but he lost that fight too.

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  Pathetic. thought Sachi. I can't stop him... I'm so pathetic.

  With tears running down his swollen cheeks he tried to scream at Faron and his gang of wanna-be tough guys, but all that came out was an indistinguishable gargle of phlegm and sadness.

  I won't let it end like this! I won't be pathetic any longer!

  Faron's back was turned already, a mistake that Sachi had been biding his time for throughout their entire encounter. The oversized boy walked towards the stairs where their navy-blue sports coats were hung before the fight began, a request Sachi had made to keep his most expensive coat clean. Faron didn't have a care in the world in this moment, much less a fear of Sachi making a final charge for vengeance.

  Sachi smirked devilishly as he noticed his nemesis' over-confidence, the punk's unprotected back staring at him arrogantly; waiting for someone to take him down a peg.

  "Let's go, boys." Faron waved at his followers to come along. Sachi began to rise discreetly while his least-favorite classmates began their retreat from the walkway ambush, praying to any Game Master who would listen to keep Faron distracted while he regained a bit of balance. Fortunately, Sachi's mohawked tormenter remained steadfast in his assumed victory, never once turning over his shoulder after dropping Sachi's face onto the bricks to confirm the fight was conceded. "We'd better get on before-."

  Unfortunately for Faron, and more so for Sachi, a blue flash zipped by Faron's left side, cutting off whatever he was attempting to say with the sharp buzz of concentrated static. From the azure sparks suddenly emerged Sachi's closest acquaintance, Mira Bolt, now sixteen-years-old; waving his arms at his sides like some defective penguin in an awkward attempt at catching his balance.

  Mira's bare feet skid along the cobblestones as he came to an abrupt stop, forcing a trail of white smoke to wheeze out from the old bricks beneath his weight. The island boy had grown in the last few years, just barely. He now stood at five-feet-and-zero-inches with an innocent, and often-times deceptive style of face that made him look no older than twelve on any given day. His once sun-kissed skin had pulled back to its naturally pale state after the last five years of adapting to the shifting climates of the Green Edge. Today, the blue-haired teen wore a sleeveless zip-up, hoodie. The garment's fabric had been as black as fabric could be dyed when it was purchased, but now the shade was closer to muddy asphalt after Mira's many misadventures throughout the Green Edge. The worn hood of his jacket had been blown off by the speed of his entrance, now lying flat on his slumped back. The teen also wore his favorite pineapple-patterned shorts, which Sachi's Father had been kind enough to stitch back together after saving him. It had been a painstaking process for Mr. Van'Heatah to mend the foreign material, but his work was much appreciated by Mira who wore them more than any other piece in his wardrobe.

  "Woah!" Called Mira, barely managing to keep himself from tipping over. "That was close, I almost tripped down the stairs again." Blue sparks jumped off Mira's feet as he stepped towards Sachi. Faron and his crew turned around with brows raised and a cold sweat sticking to their backs of each of their necks.

  After a moment of stunned silence, one of Faron's followers was bold enough to speak up.

  "Look, it's the drop-out!" Lestin sneered with the most self-assured of smiles. "Y'all remember him, right? He didn't even make it two weeks at school. I heard he couldn't even sing the alphabet! I'll bet he came here to save his Long-Ear brother." Charick and Daan burst into a laughter once the silence had been broken, feeling safe now that the notorious fool of their district had been ridiculed. However, Faron didn't join in for any laughter. Instead, he glared at Mira intently, waiting to see how the small boy would react to Sachi's condition.

  "Yoo, Sachi! There you are. I've been looking all over for you." Mira trotted up next to his friend without a care in the world, stepping right through the splotches of blood that had painted the walkway around them. "Willy wants us home. Dinner should be ready soon." He smiled widely at Sachi with an uncovered mouth as if the Elvish child wasn't laying broken, face covered in burns and bruises.

  Sachi groaned in irritation at the sound of Mira's voice and sight of his easily recognizable hair. "Get out of here, Mira. I'll be home soon. Just wait for me there."

  Mira scratched his head, perplexed that Sachi wouldn't want to walk home with him. "Hmm, I'd rather go back together." He glanced towards Faron and his snickering companions, then back down at Sachi with a grin. "Oh... I get it. You guys are wrestlin' again, huh?"

  "Sure..." Satchi managed to whistle between broken front teeth, managing to push himself back upright. "We're just messin' around down here, so don't worry about it." He glared up at his nemesis, with a stare of green sharp enough to cut firewood. "Right, Faron?"

  With Mira around, Faron knew that this was a thinly veiled threat from Sachi. He understood, like most in Palos, that Mira was removed from their school; but he was observant enough during the blue-haired boy's tenure at Palos Practical School to know the expulsion had been for a much more concerning reason than a simple as a lack of education. For two straight weeks, every person that Mira saw bullying Sachi was beaten into the emergency care center. Sachi was half-Elv and half-Human, with tall ears that landed at prominent points at their ends, which made him an easy target for bullies like Faron throughout his life. The total number of Mira's victims by the end of those two weeks was fifty-nine.

  "Yeah... right." Faron grinned at Sachi. "Just a friendly contest."

  "Well, hold on!" Called Mira, taking off his jacket swiftly and spiking it to the ground. "I got next round with the winner!" He looked over Faron's shoulder to his snickering friends. "That cool with y'all?" Under Mira's jacket was nothing but his pale, skinny body with a flat tummy. On the left side of his chest was a tattoo of the black symbol "V" over his heart. The dark ink shined especially well on Mira's pasty skin, like it was etched on parchment. Sachi had asked about the strange mark many times over the years since their meeting on the beach, but Mira never gave a complete answer to how he got it; or what the symbol meant. All he would say is that it was a 'gift' from his dad.

  "No, no." said Sachi, doing his best to keep the ruse up. "There's no time for another round, Mira. I'll be heading home right after this, so I'll catch up to you." He was usually good at lying, especially to the blue-haired fool who was as gullible as Mortals came. But even Mira was able to sense something was out of the ordinary by Sachi's tone.

  Sachi was angrier than usual.

  Mira cocked his head and raised a concerned brow. "You sure? I'm waaay faster than you on when I'm alone. There's not a chance you'd catch up to me."

  "Yeah. I'm sure." Sachi pressed a palm to his swollen forehead.

  Just take the hint and go home, idiot!

  Mira's complete lack of social awareness was something Sachi had grown to both respect and hate at the same time. It simultaneously made Mira the most frustrating and honest person to speak with. He was a being with no filter, saying whatever was on his mind, doing whatever he felt like doing—regardless of what others might think of it.

  Mira looked back and forth between Faron and Sachi a few more times, but eventually shrugged his shoulders and turned away. "Whatever... Just be home soon, 'kay? Otherwise I'll be the one to get an earful from Willy." With that, he threw his hands behind his head and started marching towards the stairs. He passed Faron without glancing up to him and disappeared beyond the stairway.

  Faron took this interruption personally. Once he felt confident Sachi had sent Mira off, he began barking toughly again.

  "That dumb-ass almost ruined our bout, but I guess ya should've kept him around. Now there's no one here to carry ya home."

  "Mira's got nothing to do with this. And I don't need anyone to carry me home—not ever!"

  Faron glared at Sachi, "Well then, I guess I'll have to keep beatin' some sense into ya." Faron's fists ignited once more. "Because, you'll never beat me alone!" He charged at Sachi at his full speed, but after a few steps he suddenly felt weightless. The blue flash had returned.

  "She-he-he..." chuckled Mira between clasped teeth. "That didn't sound very friendly to me, Sachi...".

  In Faron's eyes his crimson-haired opponent was now sideways. But it wasn't just Sachi, the whole world had flipped at a ninety-degree angle. "Huh?" The large boy, mohawk currently hanging sideways, looked down to see Mira gently holding him up by the ribcage with a single hand. Mira showed no strain in his face from Faron's weight, just the same joyfully brainless smile that their city knew all too well. Faron's crew yelped as they watched their frontman dangle helplessly in the childish teenager's fingers.

  Irritated, Sachi stomped on the uneven brick in frustration as he called out to Mira. "Stop it, Mira! This is my fight! Put him down, now!"

  The blue-haired boy looked up at Faron, and down to Sachi with a playful grin. "Okay!" He flicked his wrist and sent Faron sailing gently through the air and over the railing. Faron flung his arms wildly in the air, trying his best to learn how to fly with the time he had.

  "No! No! No! N-" He hit the river with a splash tall enough to send a small rainfall of the Sibere's clear water onto the boys in the walkway. Faron came up gasping for air, flailing about to keep his head above water once he found his breath again.

  "Faron!" screamed Charick. The crew rushed up the stairs to follow their leader before he drifted too far downstream. They looked back to the boys with weird hair, terror flashing in their eyes before fleeing, showing their true natures without a shield like Faron in front of them.

  "Damn it, Mira!" Sachi stood abruptly and limped as quick as he could, shoving his crooked index finger in Mira's face when he made it to arms-reach. "That was my fight! My fight! I didn't need you to come save me like that."

  Mira responded plainly. "Maybe say that after you win a fight."

  Sachi grumbled in frustration at the insult Mira tossed out without notice. He made his retort under his breath, wiping blood and mucus away from his broken nose. "I've won fights..."

  "Sure. But you've never beaten Faron."

  "Well, I had a plan this time!" Sachi leered before turning to begin picking up his papers, far past waterlogged. "I was waiting for him to waste all of his Light. Then, right when he though the fight was his, I'd jump him." The young Elv's face started to grow overconfident. "I'd throw him in a chokehold and make him tap out. Easy win!"

  Mira looked at the red-haired paperboy blankly. "So, what? You were just gonna let him pummel you until he ran out of fire?"

  "Mhm!" Sachi nodded sternly.

  "Dude... you're dumber than me!" Mira laughed whole-heartedly. In another flash of blue static, Mira fetched Sachi's things from the opposite edge of the walkway: a pair of shoes, a weathered satchel, and Sachi's school coat. He shoved them into Sachi's freshly bruised chest. "Come on, dinner's probably ready."

  Sachi tucked his coat and papers into his bag and carried his shoes over his shoulder. They were his best pair, costing Sachi ninety Copper Pigeons four months ago; more than he had spent on any piece of clothing in his life. The black leather boots cut off at a clean obtuse angle just below his ankles, leaving his stride with a more comfortable range of motion. The soles were bright red, with laces to match, only a few shades lighter than Sachi's dramatically red hair. He had done his best to keep them clean since the record-setting purchase, but they had still managed to gather a few scratches despite his best efforts. And the leather, once pristine and smooth, had begun to wrinkle after wearing them one too many times through the Corvan Winter. Sachi rolled off his dripping socks and tossed them into the river to preserve the insides of his boots; he was always prepared with an extra set in his book bag for situations exactly like this. With Sachi's business settled, the two boys with mismatched hair trotted up the staircase together, aimed to head west on the Ol'Phanx once they reached the top.

  Before Sachi could get a quarter of the way up the staircase, a sharp chill ran down the back of his neck, causing the young man to shudder and wriggle his head back and forth to shake the discomfort. It was a feeling that was familiar to him: he was being watched. Sachi snapped his head over his shoulder on impulse. His eyes widened in fear as they fell upon the other side of the underpass.

  Across the Sibere, Sachi spotted a cloaked man leaning on the guardrails of the walkway. He couldn't make out a face under that dark hood, but he could tell by the width of the figure's shoulders that a very large man hid underneath it. The cloak's shade was of a deep purple, weathered and frayed; centuries old at first glance. It was clear that at one point this cloak's color was vibrant, but by now every thread had been sullied by time's unforgiving stains, with some patches permanently blackened by grime and others missing entirely.

  How long has he been there?

  Sachi turned back to Mira and tugged on his arm. "Who's that?" He pointed across the river, but when their eyes returned to the cloaked figure's spot there was nothing left to see. Sachi looked north and south on the river in confusion.

  Did he jump in?

  Mira gave Sachi a look with both brows raised. Upon seeing this disappointed look, Sachi became defensive.

  "There was someone right there—I swear! He was watching us."

  Mira hopped down the stairs quickly and looked for himself, but when he saw nothing, he turned back to Sachi with a doubtful frown. "Maybe it was another one of Faron's friends. Could've been some lost merchant too. Sometimes they look a lil' creepy."

  "Maybe..." Sachi stood frozen, his eyes locked across the river to the empty walkway where the bulky figure stood moments ago. "But I doubt it." His brother was right that poorer merchants within the district had a habit of wearing odd rags and looking mischievous, but this man did not seem like he was selling anything; and the way he stared at them felt more dangerous than the looks of Faron or any other bully in Palos. Those eyes felt wicked. "I don't know, but something just didn't feel right about that, Mira."

  Mira shrugged off the mystery, like he did with most of the things that worried smart people. "Come on!" he called back to Sachi, now marching back up the stairs. "If we're late Willy'll think it's my fault again."

  "Stop calling him that!"

  Sachi turned and followed Mira up the stone staircase. He rubbed at his swollen eyes aggressively, trying to scrub the image of the strange figure out of his head.

  Faron really must've really done a number this time to have me seeing ghouls.

  (To Be Continued...)

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