Leisure Valley.
Tall buildings with animated ads and Frosthelm decorations blotched the area. People in downy clothes congested the streets, their chatters became garbled noise, their dropped popsicles and ice creams littered the road.
Music boomed and the leaves rustled with it, some people in costumes danced on the open and crude stage built to the right. Soon more joined from the audience, and the stage creaked under their mistimed steps.
Towards the left—the park area—had the core of the festival, the once-a-year Frosthelm fair. Stalls lined up the sides, and sellers sold their specialties, from food to photo sessions with half-naked girls who struggled to hide their cold shivers, their teeth clattering under their strained smile.
Fake snow blanketed the grass lawn, kids frolicked around. Intimate couples flirted while families enjoyed their food and drinks together. To the front was an arena of sorts, a coliseum. Its walls and structure looked aged and ancient with fractures racing across, but the sharp smell of fresh paint gave it away.
Ewan stood by the side of the tram after stepping out, already regretting his decision to come here. This kind of atmosphere, oozing with people, was exactly what he didn’t like. There wasn’t even any space to move, yet people walked at their usual pace. It amazed him how they didn’t collide.
He took a deep breath as the tram went on its way after a bell.
“I’m here already. Let’s check it out, what can go wrong…,” he muttered.
The coliseum was the tournament venue, the spam message had its picture. Ewan avoided the crowd by moving around them and reached the arena. An open bluestone plaza in front had people roaming about, some bought tickets from the booth set up on the side.
“For one,” Ewan said to the booth man.
“Watching or taking part?” The seller asked.
“Watching.”
“It’ll be two Sols.”
Ewan proceeded inside after the printer wrestled to vomit his ticket out, shaking with every retch. The staff at the entrance marked his ticket and guided him to his seat, 63B, a not-so-comfortable plastic seat in the second row. They didn’t even have any armrest, Ewan grumbled.
“Would you like something to drink?” the staff asked.
“No, thank you.”
On the stage down below, two men, both dressed in garish costumes of their contracted Astylinds, battled. Though ‘battled’ was an overstatement. Their Astylinds, a red-furred fox and a brown-furred feline with horns, growled at each other from a distance. They circled the stage, glaring and howling, while their masters yelled out instructions from the edge.
The scene left Ewan gaping. He didn’t expect much from this tournament, but this was something...
“Excuse me,” he asked the staff who almost walked away.
“Yes?”
“The drinks, are they free?”
“Yes sir. May I ask what you would like to have?”
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“Lime soda if you have it, triple the sugar.”
“I’ll bring it right away.”
The fight wasn’t worthy of the Sols he spent, so at least he could get some drinks and relax before going to that festival market. Those half naked sisters waited for him.
…..
Ewan’s section was half empty when he came in, or half-filled—he was in a good mood today—but more audience trickled in as the ‘fights’ went on. His lime soda hadn't even arrived yet and the seats around him bent from the weight. They hollered, they cheered, some made bets while some stood on their seats and applauded their favorites.
The matches were insipid, how could these excite anyone… Perhaps they hadn’t seen any Severynths before. Lime soda or no lime soda, he wasn’t staying among the rowdy crowd another second.
“Excuse me.” He made his way out, threading through the narrow space left between the seats. People complained and grumbled, and he apologized when he stepped on their feet.
“Sir, your lime soda!” The staff he’d given his order to yelled from the aisle. Ewan gestured him to meet at the entrance and continued his way out and climbed the stairs.
A man of about his height stood on the topmost step near the exit, mumbling away, his hood shading his face. He fiddled with a wooden cylinder in his hand, about his forearm’s length, its head thicker than the shaft. He flicked the button on the shaft while stretching his inner t-shirt’s collar as if it strangled him. He gasped for breaths, his nails scratching his neck, drawing blood.
Except for a fleeting frown though, Ewan didn’t mind him.
“AHH!!! I don’t want to do it!!” Ewan flinched at the sudden scream and stepped back on the stairs, away from the man. Some of the audience in the vicinity turned towards him, but no one else paid him any attention. And the overzealous roars of the audience drowned him soon.
“I don’t want to…I don’t…I’m sorry, Teal…forgive your useless brother.” The man broke down, sobbing and mumbling, his back slouched.
Ewan inched away, each step careful and slow, not attracting any attention. The back of his neck tingled; it was his connection with Toast—their merged souls. His enhanced bestial instincts screamed at him to get away from this man, he was dangerous. But any sudden action could trigger him, so he eased his strides.
The sobbing man bawled away, his shoulders shaking, and tears and snot trickled down his face. He pressed the button on the cylinder he was holding and dropped it, collapsing on his knees. The cylinder clanked on the floor and rolled towards Ewan, growling on the concrete as it did and thudding on each step.
Shit!!
Ewan’s senses sent a tremor down his spine, but before he could bolt away, the cylinder exploded.
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Status: Healthy
Step-0 [2nd Awakening]
Name: Ewan Ayres
Species: Human
Vitality: 1.3
Spirit: 4.0
Anima: [Fire – 4.0 | Ice – 4.0 | Blood – 4.0]
Astylinds: 4 [Potential: 0]
Rolling Cat [Toast]: Step-0 [2nd Awakening]
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Fire Monkey [Orange]: Step-0 [Level-1] [Grade-D]
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Imp [Frost]: Step-0 [Level-1] [Grade-D]
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Blood Lotus [Iris]: Step-0 [Level-1] [Grade-C]
Equipment: Common Clothes.
Storage: Journal; Elementalist—The Path of Anima [Subtype-Book]; Spellbook; Bloodlust [Spell]; Transmute [Spell]; Anima-Crystals; Obsidian Dagger; Hub-Connector; Ingredients.
Novas: 72
Sol: 25