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Apocrypha of the Four Moons
Chapter 7. On the Grid

Chapter 7. On the Grid

[ … ]

Rancent blinked, groggy, his vision still adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the faded curtains. The smell of something savory wafted through the room, filling the space with warmth and comfort, a hint of herbs and spices that only his grandmother knew how to use. He rubbed his eyes and looked around, taking in the wooden furniture, the small trinkets on the shelf, and the tapestry that hung on the wall, depicting some long-forgotten tale. It all felt familiar yet distant, a life so far removed from the one he’d been living. He woke up to the sound of sizzling, and what was familiar to pots scraping against each other. As he finally opened his eyes, he had went to usually where his bed room door is, but forgot that this wasn’t his house. Rancent hadn’t gone out for awhile because all he needed was at his sister’s house, but he was still relatively close to his grandparents. The floor boards were scrappy and worn down, but it gave them a nice antique look.

[…]

“Ten locks.”

”What? But my grandma only gave me 8, she said that you’d spare.”

Rancent’s grandmother made him go out from time to time, as he was a growing boy and needed to develop his sense of independence, plus with all the things that recently happened he needed some fresh air and to spiritually ground himself from the area around him. Although the nature was nice, it was usually overlapped with sounds of mischief from other children. Throwing stones and rocks at a bird, two boys. A young boy in what seemed to be in a school outfit, although it was more well kept and complemented his ginger hair. Although, the other child had jet black strands and green eyes. One held the stones in his hand while the other kept throwing the stones restocking off the stones in the other’s hand.

Only problem was, their aim sucked ass. Only 3-4 hit the bird, but it still didn’t feel right at all.

“Hey..”

Spaced out, he didn’t hear the man but was instead fixated on the children. Only then would he refocus when the man had snapped in his face multiple times.

”Jesus, the attention span of you children these days.. Nine locks, and that’s that.”

Luckily Rance had a spare on him, but 9 locks for bread? Even his grandmas haggling couldn’t compare to the price.

Rancent hesitated, clutching the few locks left in his pocket. “Nine locks? That’s robbery. My grandmother said you’d spare me a bit.”

The man let out a short laugh, rolling his eyes. “Spare you? These days, a spare might as well be charity.” He eyed Rancent, an unspoken judgment flickering across his face. “Look, kid, bread’s bread. Prices aren’t what they used to be.”

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Rancent bit back a retort, glancing down at the stale-looking loaf. “Fine. But my grandmother’s going to hear about this,” he muttered under his breath, fishing out the last lock and handing it over.

Pocketing the bread, he turned to leave, only for the man to call after him, “Tell your grandma I said hello, and that next time, bring an even ten.”

Rancent grumbled as he walked away, shoving his hands in his pockets as he retraced his steps back toward the village path. The bird-throwing boys were still there, laughing as they lobbed their stones, but now a few feathers scattered the ground where the bird had once perched.

One of the boys noticed Rancent watching and sneered. “What’s your problem, huh?”

Rancent looked away, feeling a flare of irritation bubble in his chest. “Nothing,” he mumbled, but he couldn’t resist adding, “Doesn’t seem right, though—throwing rocks for no reason.”

The ginger-haired boy shrugged, unaffected. “It’s just a bird. Who cares?”

Rancent felt the weight of his bread loaf shift in his hand, a reminder of his grandmother’s words to get fresh air, stay grounded. But there was something here, a lingering tension he couldn’t shake.

”What a crybaby, guess he’s feeling a little homesick huh?”

”Hey, want us to help you too? Cmon, it’s fun! Just try it, trust us.”

“Hey, hey. Anybody in there?”

As the boys circled around Rancent spouting on and on just to agonize him, Rancent took a breath, telling himself to ignore it, but it was no use. His patience snapped, and before he thought it through, he stepped forward, grabbed a rock out of the boys hand, and swung his fist straight into the boy’s face. There was a sickening crack, and the ginger-haired boy stumbled back, his hand shooting up to his nose as blood began to trickle down.

“What the—!” The boy’s friend lunged at Rancent, shoving him back with more force than he’d expected. Rancent hit the ground, skidding against the dirt, but he scrambled up quickly, ignoring the sting in his scraped palms.

The dark-haired boy threw a punch aimed at Rancent’s stomach, landing it hard and forcing the air out of him. Rancent doubled over, gasping, through the haze of pain, he aimed a punch at the boy’s ribs, catching him off guard.

They stumbled back and forth, fists flying in chaotic, desperate swings. Rancent’s knuckles ached, his arms heavy. The ginger-haired boy, still nursing his bloody nose, joined back in, tackling Rancent to the ground. Pulling on Rancent’s hair, he tripped over his own shoelace and let momentum take them both to the ground. As he fell, he locked his legs over Rancent, letting the other boy kick him in the stomach multiple times.

Pinned under him, Rancent struggled, feeling the weight pressing down on him. He managed to jerk his knee up, slamming it into the boy’s side, and the boy let out a pained grunt, rolling off him just enough for Rancent to shove him away.

They both staggered to their feet, bruised, breathing heavily, sizing each other up with a new wariness. Rancent’s gaze dropped to the loaf of bread, now lying in the dirt, its crust cracked and smeared with mud. The sight sparked another flare of anger, but this time, he just gave them one last, hard look and walked away.

After wiping the blood off his nose, suddenly a force pushes him onto the ground, seemingly a noble. As he skids back onto the ground, his hands take a even greater toll being skidded and mixed with blood and mud.

“How dare you fight the noble’s children?!”