It took Myrkas two more days to gather sufficient courage to put his plan in motion. His preparations were done. He was as ready as could be for his not-at-all hare-brained plan. It was time, time to take risks in the name of progress.
Stealthily, Myrkas exited the estate once night had fallen. Outside the gates, he quickly checked on Snow, his second rabbit, hidden in his darkly coloured outer robes. The sneaky ball of white fluff would provide emotional support as well as a contingency plan in case things turned south. She would be in charge of running and getting help. She was the cleverest of rabbits. Much more resourceful than Lilac, truth be told. And easier to hide than a goat. Myrkas would not risk his life without any failsafe. That would be utterly idiotic, and Myrkas was no idiot. He was taking risks, yes, but in a smart, calculated way.
First, Myrkas headed to the seedier part of town, where the lanterns were—purposefully?—more sparse. The alleys narrowed, and most buildings were in a mild state of disrepair. Myrkas should hence have no issue finding an appropriately risky problem to fix. He expected to easily find someone to save or a robbery to interrupt, perfect as a first feat or his budding legend. All the boy needed was a little fight, a small altercation to start his heroic journey.
Myrkas was hopeful to attain enlightenment tonight: the mythical achievement of becoming one with the universe after a profound realization. The ultimate way to progress up the steps of cultivation, or so stories said.
Myrkas did not expect a big enlightenment, just a tiny one. No need to prove his innate main character superiority so early. Actually, after reconsideration, saving a cat stuck up a tree should suffice as a first exploit. A tall tree, of course, with small branches at the top. Anything to ensure maximum fright and danger. Myrkas even planned to look down and face the height. It would get his sympathetic system flowing, his fight or flight reflex—or freeze, the often forgotten defence mechanism—engaged. His body would then be flooded with norepinephrine (also known as adrenaline), and help the boy reach previously unattainable strength. Myrkas' opportunity awaited around the corner, the secret to unlocking his tremendous potential.
Myrkas moved from shadow to shadow, furtive mode on. As he looked for his opportunity, he practiced his silent-step technique—self-taught, evidently. The shadows were long and deep, the light from the few lanterns and the two moons visible in the sky not managing to penetrate the darkest corners.
On his way to adventure, Myrkas passed through his old neighbourhood, in front of the temple where he awoke nonats ago. The boy avoided the site of his old house and its burned remains, not ready to confront that sight. The plan was to risk his life tonight, not to have an emotional breakdown.
The cement-like walls bordering the streets soon gave way to wooden ones and then to unguarded communal courtyards. Brick, stone and mortar were replaced by wood and clay in the make of the more modest abodes. No longer could they be called estates or domains. Houses, cabins, and shacks were more appropriate terms. The people wandering the streets wore well-used garments. Their clothes were simpler, with fewer layers and seldom decoration. The walkers kept to themselves, looking straight ahead, as if unwilling to become embroiled in any happenings.
From the shadows, Myrkas looked for his challenge. No cat in distress had been found so far. Then, a muffled bang followed by a strangled noise gave him hope for his heroic endeavour. Myrkas quietly made his way to its origin. He ended up behind a tavern, as evidenced by the ambient noise, strong smoke, and alcohol smell. Myrkas brushed the alley's wall, careful to stay hidden, stealthy, ninja-like. Twin white and blue-tinted moonlight revealed the scene. Myrkas instantly froze. The boy had expected a patron being thrown out or a young thief breaking in. Not this...
This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.
The scarred, intimidating man leaning on the back wall of the establishment was being serviced, in a very literal way. The woman part of the noisy duo was on her knees, directly in front of him. Myrkas had an unobstructed view of their profile, to his great discomfort.
The lady held her robes so as not to dirty them—the cobbles were indeed dusty. The man's hand was twisted in her hair, moving along with her head. Wet noises and groans reached Myrkas, who stood immobile, still transfixed by the sight.
The youth was unclear on what he should do. Should he save her? Would he be saving her? Myrkas was not sure. Her level of "distress" could be debated. This situation was not something Myrkas was familiar with. He had no real-life experience in either of his lives to reference. Nor was it something often described in the works of fiction he had read. He simply did not know how to differentiate abuse from consensual acts in the moment.
The little amount of experience he had in the sexual subject was theoretical at best. Few memories of literary descriptions and blurry videos were all he had access to. Useless in his current decisional predicament,
Myrkas indecision snapped when he saw the woman gag and choke. This was definitely wrong. Choking was never acceptable. Air was primordial. Breathing the first instinct. No one could ever willingly accept to be choked.
Mind made, Myrkas surged forward, planning to surprise tackle the man's knees. Snow jumped out of his robes, smartly getting out of the way of the coming brawl.
A few steps and Myrkas was in range. Startled, the woman reared back. The man though, barely glanced at the rushing boy. He looked mostly annoyed. With minimal effort, the tall man caught Myrkas by his hair and yanked him aside. He slammed the boy once on the alley wall and turned back towards the lady.
Dazed, Myrkas felt his knees give under his weight. It was difficult to support himself. His legs were trembling like a newborn fawn. The man's steel grip on his hair was the only thing keeping him from crumbling to the grand. Worse, Myrkas had failed to even touch the man before being completely defeated.
Myrkas watched as the scarred man flipped a few coins to the lady.
"Here darling, for your trouble. You know the kid? Any reason he's so stupid?"
"No Master Ranil," she answered readily. "Never seen him. But do let me know if he wants a turn. You know I don't discriminate."
"That's what I thought. Doesn't belong here. Bored kid doing dumb things where he shouldn't be. Well, today is your lucky day kid, you get free advice from the Great Master Suna Ranil himself! Don't thank me, it's from the very bottom of my oh-so-generous heart."
The burly man then proceeded to drag the well-intentioned boy through the streets. He continued to berate the boy and his brilliant initiative along the way.
Master Ranil pointed out exactly how much Myrkas stood out in that neighbourhood. The kid's clothes were too fancy, too new. His posture was too straight, too secure. Not to mention Myrkas' attempt at stealth: laughable. Myrkas had been begging to be mugged or kidnapped.
Again and again, the brute reminded Myrkas how lucky the boy was to have been caught by his awesome self. Anyone else and Myrkas would have had better odds of waking up naked in a ditch. Or not at all. Or, worst of all, chained in some unknown cellar, never to be found.
"What were you doing running down the alley like a rabid dog anyway?" the man finally asked.
Myrkas spat, then answered: "I was saving that girl, from you. She was choking. She needed help."
The youth's voice broke on the last words. Myrkas felt his face flush, aware of how foolish he sounded. The muscular man stopped in his tract to look at the boy with a puzzled look on his face. He one-handedly raised Myrkas higher, taking advantage of the moonlight to get a better look at his visage.
Myrkas stared back at him, gritting his teeth not to flinch away despite the pressure he felt. Myrkas had convictions. His intentions were good even if not entirely selfless. All the boy needed was to improve his execution part of the plan. Maybe to choose his battles a little better too. This was only his first hurdle, a poor opponent match-up. Myrkas would not let this thug bring him down.
Seeing something on his face, perhaps, the man took a sharp turn while still holding the youth by his hair. Dragging him, he brought Myrkas along through side alleys and shadowed streets until they arrived in front of an old stone building on the outskirts of town.