CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

SHORT STORIES

Once these streets were his best friend and his worst foe. He knew them like the back of his hand. Knew them well. Every corner, every alley, every building, everything. He does not recognize them anymore, but he remembers the cold; an old unforgettable memory stuck in the back of his mind as an unyielding nail stuck to a piece of wood. Hard times stick with you. Hard to forget, hard to ignore. Now, they are but a stranger who looks familiar. He walks until reaching a pile of rubble.

I remember this, Shaphas thinks as he watches the remnants of a time long forgotten. Still the same, still unchanged.

“There once was a grand church here,” an old man says as he slowly limps towards him with a walking stick.

“A grand church?” Shaphas adds, watching the ruins with a fleeting expression.

“You do not know?” the old man asks, turning his gaze towards Shaphas.

“Tell me,” Shaphas says, stuck deep in thought with his gaze fixated at the ruins.

“The church of Aion. A place of worship and a sanctuary for those in need. Or so they said,” the old man explains.

“So they said?” Shaphas adds.

The old man spits on the ground.

“It was a place of evil hidden under the veil of good and righteousness. What they did in the shadows is enough to make your stomach turn. They have...” the old man talks as he takes a better look at Shaphas; he freezes in fear as he takes a step back.

“Those robes? You are a priest of Aion! I’m sorry, please forgive me. I did not know,” the old man whimpers in fear as Shaphas approaches him.

“Why should you apologize, old man? You only spoke the truth,” Shaphas says as he turns and walks away.

She missed it. It is cold during the winter, reeks during summer and the people are difficult, to say the least, in every season, but she missed it. It is home. Noname never went far, but it felt far. Very far. She walks, hidden in cloaked robes, toward a fruit seller. The large battle that happened a short while ago and the numerous dead did not stop him from returning to his everyday norm. Life goes on.

“One pertin, please,” Noname says to the fruit vendor.

“A coin,” the fruit vendor says, eyeing the suspicious customer.

“Here you go,” Noname says as she gives him a handful of coins.

“What? Wait! It is only one coin. This is too much,” the fruit vendor yells at her as she walks away with two pertin. One that she bought and the other she did not. Noname smiles as her right eye twitches.

It has been almost two years since Harry last visited the graveyard on the outskirts of the city; he goes there when the mood hits him. It rarely does. In one of the countless graves rests his father. Burials are expensive, few bother with them but his father wanted to be buried. Worked hard so he could have a small piece of earth with a tiny stone monument.

Ridiculous, Harry thinks.

“Whatcha doin’, pa? Imma still live and kickin’! Survived a Northman invasion, I did. Noname is a princess. Imagine dat!” Harry says, smirking.

Further away he notices a young woman with braided hair; she is placing colorful flowers around a grave. Tears cover her face as she struggles to hide them.

“Ya okay?” Harry asks as he walks toward her, almost as drawn without his will.

“As much as I can be,” the woman answers.

“Who did ya lose?” Harry asks. He feels a little inappropriate for asking, but he already did.

“My sister Layla,” Sara says.

“Imma sorry,” Harry says as he tries to figure out what exactly is he doing.

“So am I. She died a hero. Layla protected the Princess,” Sara says as a single tear drops from her eye.

“Da Princess?” Harry blurts out.

“Yes. She always did her job as a maid whole-heartedly,” Sara says.

Big Pete and the silent spear-wielding woman that he met at the banquet sit upon the great walls of Union. They slowly drink as they smile at each other in silence. Big Pete never did talk much, and the woman shares this trait. A silent match made in quiet heaven.

Melinoe wonders through the castle with wide-open eyes filled with curiosity. She looks at finely crafted statues in awe as they depict historical figures in imposing postures; she looks at skillfully painted paintings that depict kings and queens of old in awe, and she looks at a regular basic wall... still in awe. Walking through the long halls, she finds a curious place amid it all. A small garden with many colorful flowers; red, blue, gold, white and so many more.

“I see you’ve found the garden,” Master Abacus says as he approaches Melione.

“Garden?” Melione responds, looking at the flowers.

“This was the Queen’s garden. She used to attend the flowers here when she wanted to escape from the politics and the troubles of the court. Now, it is a place of a forgotten memory, forsaken. How things change in life,” Master Abacus explains as Melione kneels to smell the flowers.

“They smell nice,” Melione adds smiling.

“You know? They say that the spirit of the Queen still lives in this garden. They say if you stay here at night you will hear her whispering to you from the great beyond. What do you think about that?” Master Abacus asks as he jests.

Melione pauses for a second as she turns her gaze to him.

“I like the red ones,” Melione says with a smile. Master Abacus sighs. This is her way.

Those that are persistent enough shall receive... or they shall waste a lot of time. Luckily, this situation is one of those more fortunate. Tyr returns to his appointed quarters carrying a bag. He opens it. The contents reveal four bottles of wine and a small bottle of something else, something green. Tyr does not know what it is apart from being alcohol. He opens the mysterious bottle as he smells it.

“What the hell is this?” Tyr says. Being a self-proclaimed expert on alcohol Tyr, on his honor, surely must know what this is.

He takes a good sip as he pauses, looking at the bottle, carefully tasting.

“It is... it is... green,” Tyr concludes as he successfully continues drinking the day away.

Night covers the sky as life goes on in the city. Little Pete walks through the streets as he smiles at a lady of the night; she does not smile back.

He pulls out a bag of coins as he shakes it; she smiles back.

High above the castle floors on a lone balcony, a man sits as he gazes at the Moon. Smiling and murmuring to himself.

“I am never alone, for the Moon is my friend. I am never lost, for it shows me the way. The moon beckons me,” Ulric says, smiling while gently caressing his crossbow as the carved name almost shines under the moonlight. Everose.

Rash-An turns for the night; removing his robes reveals a muscular body. Strong chest, shoulders wide, back scared. He pulls out a many-tailed whip as he sits on his bed. Rash-An whips himself as the flesh turns red and tiny droplets or blood pour. He continues.

Tomorrow will soon come and tomorrow will change everything.