Sunlight illuminated the room through the fogged windows. The wooden floor felt slightly damp to the touch, and a subtle stench of decay wafted from the room. Outside, crows cawed, their cries waking Quinn from his sleep.

Quinn’s face felt stiff, and his body was numb from sleeping on the floor. A short distance away lay Gerald Spade. The painful reminder caused his heart to tremble with grief before he sat up, staring at his grandfather’s corpse. His mind was void, yet his heart surged with pain.

A white bedsheet covered Gerald, shielding what was too painful for Quinn to witness. Every word of solace had been offered the night before; today, he found himself wordless. Quinn knew he needed to visit the morgue and request their services.

The space inside the house seemed oppressively large to Quinn, with darkness creeping in from the corners. Dust floated around the front door, settling in a thin layer on his scarf and jacket.

He quickly flicked his hand against his clothes to brush off the dust, muttering, “I’m still hungry...” He grabbed a biscuit and paused, his mind drifting back to when he first met his grandfather, Gerald Spade.

A twist of fate brought Quinn to meet him in the slums, where he was just a little urchin. Gerald, having recently retired from the Hunters, still possessed a formidable demeanor that initially frightened Quinn. Over time, however, he mellowed into the kind man Quinn came to know, his raven black hair gradually turning gray.

That day, during his final patrol, Gerald made a life-altering decision to adopt Quinn—perhaps recognizing a glimmer of potential or a shared sense of resilience. A slight smile and a chuckle escaped Quinn at the thought, “I would’ve died without him…”

Running his fingers through his tousled hair in a quick attempt to tidy it, he stepped out into the courtyard of his neighborhood. A few crows perched on a nearby statue, their gaze fixed on Quinn. The morning air was crisp and invigorating, contrasting with the later smells of the busy day.

The maze of mossy cobbled streets, with their narrow beginnings and multiple endings, felt longer on his day’s journey. The shingles of the roofs shaded more of the natural morning light, making it dimmer. Quinn felt the constant urge to spit every dozen steps, cleansing himself before choking back his saliva. The world was disgusting, and he was an inhabitant of it.

Quinn couldn’t help but think introspectively during this walk; ‘What do I do now? What does this mean?’ He sought answers, but his questions led to unknown destinations like the roads. These were thoughts he didn’t wish to explore but was forced to.

Suddenly, the alley widened, revealing a small intersection with stalls. To his left was the morgue farther down, and to his right was the way to work. The restless column of smoke billowed in the direction of the morgue, unceasing in activity. Quinn stared in its direction, his eyes slightly trembling.

Pulling his eyes downward, he watched as his steps continued forward past the intersection, lost. He would have to go in both directions eventually. This moment, while passing, was not about forgetting; he had time to be a little lost today.

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He had never been down this street, passing a small bridge over a downstream creek flowing towards the great river. A moment of hesitation caused him to pause, looking up at the river. No, perhaps he shouldn’t… it stank like sewage.

“Rot stinks. It should be removed,” he muttered, turning past the bridge towards the column of smoke. The unfamiliar roads posed no challenge with guidance; however, his eyes often drifted toward the cobbled stones, leading to a few wrong turns.

Only a few blocks away, Quinn found himself stalling at some stalls at another intersection. “Hmm—no—Two Talor for a loaf,” he bargained, rubbing two coins at a stall owner.

“I cannot do such a bargain. Three Talor!” The baker held up three fingers, then crossed his arms. Quinn showed a silent expression before stowing his coins away. His eyes drifted back to the smoke overhead.

“Three Talor for a loaf and a half,” Quinn offered after a short moment. The baker was momentarily silent, then replied, “A loaf and two biscuits. Best deal.”

The exchange was completed before Quinn stopped hesitating and finally approached the morgue. The walls and streets were stained darker from the ashes of the dead. The lingering smell was surprisingly masked somewhat in the area, replaced with a more earthy scent.

The morgue doors were wide, and a couple disheveled fellows came in and out; perhaps he looked no different. The steps up were worn and slumped downward. Two statues stood guard at the door, one weathered headless and another impaled.

Inside was not too dissimilar to a bank layout, quiet but dimmer. The ceiling was held up with arches- similar to a church with small colored windows letting in dim morning light. A symbol of God was perched on the wall, instantly visible and well-lit.

The symbol of God was abstract and seemed to face every direction, like the sun. Quinn offered a silent prayer by touching his chin and waving down his chest where his heart lay before entering.

An older clergywoman was sitting at the front desk, her hook nose holding up her thin-framed glasses. Her quill inked the pages of a book before Quinn approached silently. “Excuse me…”

The clergywoman looked up with a sideward glance towards the young man; she reached for a folder before handing him a paper and a quill. “You look well-read enough; fill out this form yourself.”

Quinn felt a sudden flush of sadness. He held some hopes for empathy but received only a quick look. He only released a shaky but futile sigh and silently filled out the form. Asking basic questions such as address, name, position, and services offered.

Ink filled out the form before he finally finished and reviewed it. His thumb gripped it tightly, almost regretting what turning in the forum meant. At some point, however, the lady noticed and reached out her hand. Quinn reluctantly handed it over.

The woman overlooked the page, and her gray hair draped over and obscured her face slightly, “That’ll be thirty Talor for the basic cremation service.”

Quinn reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch counting thirty Talor. There was a slight shake to his movements, but the lady hardly paid attention outside counting coins. “T-there is thirty Talor.” He made a gesture of prayer before leaving and pushing his coin pouch back into his jacket pocket.

There, he exited a little disheveled and observed as, this time, a woman walked from a distance to enter shortly after his departure. He could only slightly shake his head, disapproving towards something and releasing another sigh towards the sky.

The cloudy morning sky began to part, showing the azure sky above. Daily morning traffic began to move- signifying the beginning of the new day. Doors to small corner shops opened, and Quinn immediately realized he’d be late for his library shift if he didn’t start running!

Quinn looked at the distance needed to be covered; even running at a sprint would take at least 20 minutes without factoring in the number of stairs and traffic.

Quickly with stride, he picked up his feet and sprinted!