“You pretend to be righteous and caring...”

Roland hobbled through the ruins at an unsteady pace. Sometimes he cleared obstacles within second, whereas a flat stretch of ground turned into the deepest of bogs. Other times he flew across the dilapidated streets only to stop dumbfounded before a stone in the middle of his path, not even considering going around it.

“Something desperate...”

A voice rung deep in his head. Roland however had no idea who it belonged to. It sounded friendly, but bile rose in his throat every time he heard it.

“...frantic...”

It felt like he should protest. Argue against this foreign thing invading his head. That place belonged to him alone, outsiders shouldn’t just invite themselves in on their own. But whenever Roland opened his mouth to retort the taste of blood spread through it, erasing anything he wanted to say.

“Running and running and running…”

Unimaginable fear rose from deep inside of him. The shadows on the ground. The air on his skin. The ever-present sun shining down on shattered ground. Everything tried to devour him. Stretching their formless claws, they tore into Roland, binding him tightly to stop him from advancing further along the winding road.

He didn’t want that. Couldn’t allow it.

Newfound power surging throughout his entire body, Roland started frantically running. Past torn down buildings and plundered workshops, through this graveyard of failed resistance. He kept getting faster and faster, lungs on fire and muscles screaming in pain.

The voice drowned it all out.

“...UGLY thing inside you...”

One step missed and a small body went sailing through the air. Roland impacted the ground painfully, his fall’s remaining force making him roll forward until he collided against the remnant of a factory wall. Battered and bruised he kept laying there with closed eyes, slow movements of his chest being the only indicator that he was alive.

An indeterminate amount of time later the battered boy stirred. Pulling himself upright with trembling arms, he slowly stood up, supported by the wall which had previously stopped his violent tumble. Roland’s entire body trembled as pain coursed through it. His previously empty eyes were once again full of life, and completely bloodshot.

That pompous rich bastard. Drugging me to get to my secrets, just because Claire won’t give him the light of day! The trembling intensified.

All the people I have saved, all the pain and suffering I had to endure.

While you and everyone else played around I was crawling through the dirt on my knees, praying things would work out.

His breathing grew heavier by the second as more and more dust fell from the spot where he gripped the ruined wall, his fingers slowly turning white from the force he exerted onto the stone.

Without thanks, I helped people that didn’t even realize they were in danger. Even when they spewed abuse or told me to get lost, I persevered.

“I have given everything for my duty!” Roland’s hoarse scream echoed through the air, spooking various animals hidden in the ruin’s shadows.

Whispering to himself, his voice gradually got colder and colder. “Desperate?...Frantic?…Ugly?... Who are you to judge me?!”

And just as suddenly as everything started it also stopped. With a soul-crushing whimper Roland tore his arm away from the wall, before stumbling forward once again. Tears threatened to fall, but he wouldn’t allow them.

There was nothing, truly nothing at all Roland would like do more than to prove that psychotic golden boy wrong. To show his righteous heart to the world and be proclaimed a man of honor and principles. But he could not. For only one singular thing coursed through his veins at this very moment.

Boundless anger.

Anger at the unknowing fools, obstructing his duty, and at the greedy worms, forcing him to hide his gift.

Anger at his worthless parents for making him start with nothing, and at the orphanage’s children, living their life aimlessly.

Anger at all the moronic fools he had to save, and at those he saved not showing him any appreciation.

Anger at the world for giving him a burden he never asked for.

And he despised himself for it. For he had been chosen to save those in need from an untimely demise. To be a fighter for justice, shining brightly alongside the stars themselves. It was his purpose, his duty, his everything.

And if he despised his everything, what even remained of Roland Crescent?

Walking at a steady pace, Roland slowly approached the more populated part of the slums. Pain pulsed through him with every step, though it did not slow him down much, his nightly visions already having gotten him used to the feeling.

Despite looking horrendous, this was hardly the worst he had ever been hurt. The earlier years after awakening his ability were especially ruthless at times. Though him being much weaker physically probably contributed to many of the injuries he received back then.

By now Roland’s expression had returned to normal, discounting the unflattering palm print and multiple bruises. Those that knew him well however would instantly notice something different.

While the warmth of life shined in his eyes, it wasn't the kind he usually displayed. It felt like a painting that had been put in front of a window. Even if the world’s most talented painter had captured the outside scenery to a masterful degree, something crucial was missing.

Behind the canvas Roland’s subconscious was busy repairing a tower. Said tower had been standing tall in his soul since the day he fully understood his duty. And while it had been damaged often, sometimes almost to the point of complete collapse, Roland always mended it, trying his best to make it sturdier each time.

The tower was a prison for anything unnecessary, housing the feelings and emotions Roland did not need for his duty. Especially those that hindered it.

Ayer’s interrogation had agitated some of the things imprisoned inside the tower, making them break free. Now these twisting shadows slowly crawled away from their former prison, holding anger, fear, confusion and despair inside of them as they cried out in distorted voices, like lost children calling for their mothers.

Their freedom would be short lived. The stressful situation had passed and Roland quickly started calming down. Which is why these shadows were now being pulled back into their prison, no matter how much they wailed and struggled.

Once all returned, and the repairs had finished, Roland would be himself again. He would once more roll his eyes at the children’s antics, and smile politely while the adults chewed him out. He’d try his hardest to get stronger, saving everyone he could.

And to not incur their wrath, he’d even bow his head towards the nobles, looking down upon him from their gilded thrones…

A shudder went through him, but it was of no consequence. He needed to imprison them now. Before his duty called again. Otherwise the consequences would be dire.

More and more people appeared in Roland’s surrounding, most giving disturbed glances at the roughed-up boy. The red cheek would have been quite funny on its own. However, coupled with the cuts and bruises he suffered during his fall, and the dried-up blood on his chin, it created a gruesome scene instead.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

If he had been walking through the city proper, Roland would have undoubtedly already been stopped and question by a guard or concerned citizen. Here in the slums however the predominant mantra would be something along the lines of ‘not my business’. Which suited him quite well.

The already small crowds started thinning even more the closer he got to the White Mill Bridge. Which was only to be expected, as a surprise assembly of nobles possessed quite the crowd clearing ability over here.

The first thing that entered Roland’s visions once he got closer was their patchwork monstrosity, destined to stick out like a sore thumb for all eternity. Or until someone replaced it. The two speeding blurs rapidly approaching him were what captured his attention next.

In total disregard for what should be physically possible, Thomas and Arthur ran neck and neck, the younger boy somehow edging out a small lead despite his incredibly lackluster physique.

Though Thomas’ abrupt stop around ten meters before he reached Roland allowed Arthur to finish first. Something which the latter promptly regretted upon seeing their leader more clearly. His sorry state being the least of Arthur’s concerns.

“Welcome back, Boss,” the large boy greeted, wary look on his face. “Looks like the noble brat treated you quite rough.”

“You could say that,” Roland replied listlessly. “Though basically all of this is self-inflicted.” The way he so languidly said it made it hard to decide whether it was supposed to be a joke or not.

While Arthur had quite a lot of experience when it came to dealing with this sate of Roland’s, the only real solution to it he and the other Crescent Moon Helpers found so far was keeping their leader away from other people to the best of their ability until he returned to normal.

Not that it would be a disaster if Roland talked to people now. Most would probably not notice any difference. There was however a much too high chance of him doing or saying something ‘unique’. A risk best avoided, considering Roland’s good reputation remained vital for their activities.

Thomas had his own special method to deal with situations like these, only usable by him, as it required a high amount of finesse. Cheeks puffed up and eyes hidden behind his hands he stormed forward, nearly barreling into Arthur, who only narrowly managed to dodge the speeding blob.

Having charged forward a good fifteen meters or so, Thomas stopped and triumphantly raised his hands in the air. Turning around confidently, he displayed a look of pure pride, looking like he had just figured out how to eat in your sleep or something of similar significance.

This chubby boy really liked Roland, to the point that he considered him his best friend in the whole wide world. What Thomas did not like was looking at those scary eyes. So being the little genius, he had long ago come up with the perfect solution.

By standing behind their leader, Thomas could keep him company and at the same avoid his friend’s front side completely. All he needed to do was carefully anticipate any turn Roland might make and counteract it beforehand.

What a shame that such a masterful tactician ended up stuck in an overweight child’s body. To think of what he would be able to achieve otherwise.

In what must be an instinctual spurt of camaraderie, Roland did not run the eager boy ragged. Another clear indicator he was not quite himself at the moment.

“Going to go for a quick wash,” Roland told his friend, looking at the river. “I don’t feel like drowning just yet, so your help would be appreciated.” Not waiting for an answer, he started walking down to the shore.

“Sure thing, Boss,” Arthur replied, trying his best to ignore Thomas. The latter was currently running behind them, arms stretched out like wings as he made whooshing sounds with his mouth.

An evaluating look at Roland’s movement made his faithful right-hand man gauge the likelihood of him having to carry their soaked leader back to the Orphanage. Because once the adrenaline left him, there was a fairly high chance Roland would simply fold like a deck of cards.

And despite him seemingly having no trouble moving, Arthur still seriously considered slinging him on his back to avoid any complications. Though of course there would be no avoiding the coming one, which is why he carefully put the books down and stood by Roland’s side in front of the water.

Nonchalantly kicking of his shoes, Roland waded into the cold water, eliciting an exasperated sigh from his big companion. It seemed like his clothes would also be receiving a wash. A bit too much efficiency in Arthur’s humble opinion.

Cursing under his breath he quickly took of his own shoes and rolled up his pants as best as their flimsy fabric allowed.

Roland was already up to his waist in the water when he stopped. Still having the presence of mind to wait for support, he turned towards Arthur, which caused the startled Thomas to make a desperate sideways dive out of Roland’s vision.

Impacting the ground like a sack of potatoes, Thomas quickly rolled away at high speeds, covering a surprising distance, before he came to a stop next to a small shed behind which he took cover. That bugger wasn’t going down without a fight.

Once Arthur joined him in the water Roland dunked his head in, keeping it underwater for a long time, doing nothing else.

Arthur, protruding from the for him shallow water, felt very awkward. His gigantic figure towering above the bruised boy, currently dunking his own head into the water, left a little too much room for imagination.

Luckily their only witness prioritized hiding himself, so he should be in the clear, safe any random passer-by. Fortunately word traveled fast. Factor in the solid sense of self-preservation those living here had and there should be little chance of anyone appearing.

Roland, done with his impromptu drowning, scrubbed the dirt of his skin and rinsed his mouth. Spitting out the reddened water, he carefully rubbed his face, making extra sure no dried blood remained on his chin.

Watching his shivering friend clean himself, Arthur’s previous surprise and shook gave way to anger. To think some flashy looking brat could push their leader this far, he seemed to be even more dangerous than Bardric.

“So much for ‘good person at heart’,” Arthur grumbled to himself. He’d really like some quality alone time with dear old Ayer, to jovially exchange some opinions as ‘fellow men of virtue’.

Something which obviously would never happen, unless the Toktuam’s in a spurt of madness decided to throw their fortune into the ocean. His only consolation was that the noble boy would definitely not come out unscathed.

Seeing Roland in that state did not simply end as a little scare, a part of it would stay with Ayer for some time. When a figure suddenly popped up at the edge of his vision. When lights or shadows briefly obscured someone’s face, or when he looked down at the dinner table, seeing the edge of his knife glistening. The gaze remained.

It had been a long time since it last appeared, being more frequent in their earlier years. Remembering a particular low point in their adventures, almost two years ago in that quiet mining village, Arthur couldn’t help but shudder. Shacking his head forcefully he dispelled the dark thoughts, instead focusing on making sure his friend didn’t get swept away on accident.

If Stephan were here right now, he’d doubtlessly be a nervous wreck, seeing he was one of the incredibly few people who had been on the receiving end of Roland’s abyssal gaze.

As should be fairly obvious to everyone not currently hiding behind a shed, Arthur did not particularly like their sketchy companion. But even he had to respect that, after experiencing a horror so piercing, Stephan still chose to remain and make amends. It certainly was one of his few saving graces.

“Thomas,” Arthur called out to the masterfully hidden boy without averting his eyes from Roland. Thinking of their last member had made him realize that there existed a more sensible way for Thomas to spend his time. Though when did there not? “Run back home and get Stephan to prepare some healing salves and bandages. Tell him it’s mostly for bruises.”

Thomas perked up at the chance to be useful, but hesitated for some reason.

“Is he looking away?” he shouted loudly, remaining behind his cover.

The inane question his companion gave back as a reply made Arthur roll his eyes. Though his small grin showed that he quite appreciated Thomas ability to keep being entertaining, no matter the situation.

“Yes, all clear,” he assured Thomas, once again thankful for the absence of any spectators.

Jumping out from his safe space, Thomas performed a tuck and roll on the very much obstacle free street, before running towards his newfound purpose.

Away from the Orphanage.

He could, after all, hardly cross the bridge without being seen by Roland. The only option remaining for him was to follow the river to the next bridge and cross over there instead.

A constipated look on his face, Arthur couldn’t believe he had just felt thankful for the simpleton. Now he and Roland would most likely arrive first, unless they decided to crawl there. The saying that too much of a good thing was bad seemed to apply to Thomas’ antics.

“Should be about good enough,” Roland decided, voice strained because of the cold water. “Let’s go, I doubt anybody is going to use the bridge after today’s commotion, so no point in sticking around.”

Arthur couldn’t help but stare at his leader for a moment. Roland’s long wet hair stuck to his skin, making the boy’s already small features appear even more delicate. Adding in the shivers going through his battered body, he looked frail beyond belief. Like a lost puppy sitting alone in the rain.

“How deceiving appearances can be...” Arthur muttered under his breath, pitying anyone that dared underestimated this seemingly frail orphan, before helping him out of the water.

Shaking off as much water as possible, Roland picked up his shoes and looked towards the books lying on the earth.

“Make sure they don’t get wet,” he offhandedly commanded, already walking towards the bridge, water dripping down with his every step. “Maybe I’ll still manage to get some studying done today after all.”

“We’ll see about that,” came Arthur amused reply. “Let’s dry you off first tough.”

And so, the two of them left today’s shoddy project behind, heading home. From a feast fit for kings, if said kings enjoyed chicken and did not mind foreign regicide, to destruction of public property. Joking around with the most down to earth noble lady, and subsequently getting drugged by one of her much too ardent fans. Finally topping it all off by literally trashing yourself, before taking an impromptu soak in the Tarna.

Life truly kept on giving.