Even prior to reaching the entrance of their apartment, he could discern distant voices reverberating down the hallway. They were brimming with seething rage, bellowed at the peak of their speakers' lungs. It was clearly not a friendly conversation. Pausing hesitantly for a moment, Anthemion halted before the door; then, curiosity got the better of him.

With caution, he slid his key into their door and carefully cracked it open, allowing only a narrow gap to emerge. Through the slit, the conversation streamed into his ears, now considerably louder, like a rushing river of words.

He grimaced at the thought of prying into his parents' fight, but his curiosity prevailed, ultimately overshadowing his other emotions.

“They fired me, don’t you understand? After all my faithful service, they left me standing in the rain like a beaten dog! I spent years there, working hard every day, just to earn barely enough money to keep our heads above water, and this is how they repay me; how they show gratitude? To Hell with them!” His father's shout held a ferocity that Anthemion had never before witnessed, like a primal lion's roar.

His mother’s voice, a mere whisper in comparison, carried soothing words in an attempt to pacify her enraged husband. However, her efforts proved futile as he erupted once more.

“Don’t try to calm me down! You're the reason for all my failures! You and your fucking son!”

“Don’t speak of our children that way, Carinus!” his mother shouted back, losing her seemingly composed demeanor as her voice skyrocketed.

"Your children, you stupid bitch! I was involved in only the making of one, and it seems that even in that, your genes failed and sabotaged me! Have I not shown generosity enough in even accepting you after you came to my doorstep with a small bastard for a child that costs me more nerves than I could have ever imagined?! Had I known the misfortune you‘d bring with you, I‘d have left you standing there without second thought!”

Anthemion stumbled backward, the door falling shut with a noisy thud, but he paid it no mind. He couldn't find it in him to care.

What had they just revealed? How could they - no, how could he, his very own father - even voice such a thing? How could his father harbor so much animosity, regarding Anthemion with such disdain, as to deny him even his status as a son? Or was it possible that this was, in fact, the truth? Had he been conceived before his mother and father had crossed paths? Was he an unwanted and unsightly burden, akin to an ugly gift that his mother had brought into their relationship?

It was all overwhelming, thoughts swirling in Anthemion’s mind like a storm within.

He yearned only for one thing: to escape. Without waiting a second longer, he bolted out of the building at breakneck speed, heedless of noise, and raced to the one place he knew would offer solace and diversion.

----------------------------------------

Roaring with laughter, Anthemion demanded another drink at the bar, spilling the last one onto the floor and the clothes of the unlucky person next to him.

The light from the gleaming lamps danced in a kaleidoscope of colors across the spacious room, while the air hung thick with the mingling scents of alcohol, sweat, and a medley of diverse perfumes, overlapping like waves and competing for notice. They formed a cloud of nausea; some fragrances luxurious and rich, others so intense and cheaply concocted as to prick his nostrils.

However, Anthemion was in too great a mood to be marred by a mere smell. He melted into the ceaseless tumult of the dancing crowd, effortlessly bringing his new drink along, avoiding further – perhaos vengeful - companionship with the man dripping with his spilled drink.

He had lost count of how many drinks he had downed that night. Perhaps - no, almost certainly - he had set a new personal record. Only under the influence of alcohol or other substances, so frequently indulged in within this District, did the city's drabness yield to vibrant hues, did hopelessness drown in a sea of pleasure.

His laughter bubbled forth as a girl, sporting a skirt daringly high that revealed nearly her entire bottom, along with a flashy top barely concealing her chest, approached him dancing, swinging her hips in wide movements.

His hands glided around her waist, and he inhaled a deep breath of her scent, propelling him to even greater heights. The music coursed through his body like electricity, and his blood raced joyfully in his veins.

His heart beat rapidly and strong, and he felt more alive than he ever had. In that moment, all was abandoned - every concern, every nagging guilt, every mundane issue that had dogged him throughout the day. The memory of the terrorist attack and the painful words from his father dimmed in the presence of the woman's bewitching form and graceful motions - and his drug-clouded mind, wavering around him like thick mist.

She spun around, and he barely had a chance to glimpse her face framed by long blonde hair before their lips locked. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, the odor of alcohol mingled with her breath. He met her with equal intensity.

For a while, he reveled in it - the touch of her skin, the warmth of her body under the firm exploring of his hands, evoking shivers in both of them.

She lifted her head, her lips hovering tantalizingly close to his ear. "Don't you want to go someplace quieter?" she purred, a sultry edge in her voice, and he felt his body igniting in reaction.

“I would lov-" he started, only to break off mid-sentence, allowing his words to dissolve into the cacophony of the surroundings, much like whispers carried away by the wind. In that moment, he spotted a familiar figure within the crowd, perched at the bar.

While he maintained a smile for the girl in his embrace, basking in her allure, he ultimately chose to decline. “I'm sorry, but I must go elsewhere. Perhaps another time.” A flicker passed over her face, and she muttered with a hint of spite, “Your loss,” before melting away into the crowd of people.

Anthemion's gaze followed her for a fleeting moment before she vanished entirely, swallowed by the masses. Seizing a drink from an anonymous person's hand, he downed it swiftly with a resolute motion, then allowed the glass to shatter on the sticky floor as he carved a path through the people.

With a little pushing, he forged a narrow passage and soon settled himself behind the familiar figure of the woman. Her hair cascaded in wavy brown strands down to the upper reaches of her back. She possessed a slight, graceful frame, her height almost meeting his nose.

Her attire stood in contrast to the revealing outfits of the other girls present in the club, and her demeanor bore an air of elegance, he observed. With a gentle tap on her shoulder, she pivoted around. Surprise widened her eyes, a momentary flicker of happiness dancing across her features before gradually dissipating.

“Hey, Anthemion. It’s nice to see you,” she leaned forward and shouted nearly to overtone the music.

"It's nice to see you too, Valentina," he shrugged. "A bit awkward as well, I must confess, but that's really just your fault," he added in jest, offering a smile as he took her in. The familiar shift as her lips curved into a grin, the ethereal melody of her laughter, more enchanting than a symphony of a thousand birdsong in the morning. It might be a bit of an exaggeration, he caved in.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“I see you haven’t changed,” she claimed, laughing, and butterflies erupted in his stomach. He munched them dead.

"How sad of a place the world would be otherwise," he replied, his grin widening. "And you haven't changed either. Still as stunning as ever," he continued, and she actually blushed a little. He added that to his list of things he could take pride in.

He couldn't help it but burst into laughter before mockingly adding, "Well, almost. I confess, perhaps time has taken a slight toll. Could it be that the luxurious life isn't suiting you? You miss the cold wheater and horror we call food? Missed Mr. Bernards shouting the entire night, preventing any restful sleep? There's always a place for you among us, embracing a simpler life, you know?"

Her expression dimmed momentarily, and he could see a fleeting shadow of sadness passing through her eyes before she managed to summon a smile once more, like sunlight breaking through stormy clouds. “I would lov-”

"How’s it going here, Valentina?" a young man's voice thundered through the chaos as he positioned himself beside her, flanked by two bully companions. Their crisp attire and the way they held themselves, their belief of superiority over others clearly etched into their faces suggested privileged origins - likely District 4 or perhaps even lower.

There was no room for doubt in his mind that they hailed from affluent backgrounds. He experienced a certain sense of puzzlement regarding why they would find amusement in a club nestled within the 8th District.

While it was pleasant enough, surely, but certainly only in comparison to the establishments he knew from the 9th.

The higher District, on the other hand, should be like Heaven on earth - a paradise.

The young man slung his arm around Valentina's shoulders, a blatant act of marking his territory. While it may have been a petty gesture, its impact on Anthemion was still like a blow to the gut. Nonetheless, he maintained an unflinching smile on his face. "Are these friends of yours, Valentina?" he asked easily, to which the young man retorted with a slight sneer, "Her boyfriend, indeed. And you?" His scrutiny of Anthemion's shabby attire oozed disdain. It was quite hard for him to hold back delivering a swift punch to the guy's arrogant face. Quite the impressive feat, he praised himself, given the torrents of alcohol coursing through his veins. Another one for the list.

Opting for a different path, he chuckled and responded with a self-deprecating bow, "Just a fragment of the past, but a rather charming one, wouldn't you agree?"

Valentina's smile at his comment added another layer to the boy's bewilderment, an emotion that soon transformed into a bubbling anger. Eager to belittle his adversary, the young man tilted his chin a bit higher and asked Anthemion with a bitter-sweet voice, "Oh, are you one of those rats scurrying around in the 9th?"

"Indeed, you've caught me," Anthemion responded dryly. "I must say, I'm impressed you figured it out all by yourself as it is rather obvious that you relied on everyone else around you so far, though I must say they did quite the bad job considering the pitiful figure you're now," he added, a smile doing nothing to mask the spite of his words. He couldn't help it but continue, jabbing another verbal strike.

„Good boy,“ he mocked, talking as if praising a dog.

The young man's brows knitted, and Valentina's unease grew as tangible as a prickling sensation crawling up her skin. She shifted in her seat and placed a calming hand on his arm. "Come on. Let's enjoy ourselves, Aemilian," she urged, aiming to diffuse the tension between the two conflicting sides.

But Aemilian's expression grew even darker, like a storm cloud intensifying, and in a surge of anger, he forcefully brushed her hand aside. "No."

Anthemion’s remark, “I absolutely understand why he would rather use the chance and keep me company here,” propably helped little in calming him down. Perhaps, it wasn't the wisest decision to senselessly provoke another, especially someone who was obviously somewhat wealthy and therefore maybe had some sort powerful backing. However, his rational reasoning had slipped away like sand in an hourglass, abandoning him around six drinks ago.

“Please!” Valentina pleaded and grabbed the boy’s arm to pull him away but was shoved back into her seat.

It was a weight beyond what Anthemion could bear, no matter the individual's district origin. He lunged forward, yet in his alcohol-laden state, his judgement had faltered. His fist merely grazed Aemilian's cheek, like a gentle brush stroke. The impact had barely more force behind it than a feeble slap, yet it was still enough to elicit a screech akin to that of a cat with its tail trodden on.

Anthemion was a somewhat experienced fighter and used his opponents moment of confusion. He swiftly followed with a punch aimed at the staggering boy's ribs, but the alcohol stole the intensity of the strike. Instead of collapsing as Anthemion had intended, Aemilian merely stumbled backward, struggling to catch his breath.

The consequences of Anthemion's actions unfolded immediately. The two friends behind Aemilian sprang into action, grasping his shoulders and steadying him. After confirming his well-being, they both advanced a step, a visible violence to their posture and eyes.

Suprisingly, their aggression was halted by Aemilian himself, who shielded his cheek with his palm, but more in disbelief and anger than pain.

Amidst the continuing tumultuous dancing around them, the ear-splitting music persisted, permeating every corner of the room as if untouched by the recent events.

Nevertheless, the world surrounding Anthemion appeared to narrow, the crowd of people receding into the backdrop. As though the miniature fireball Aemilian had conjured in his hand had eradicated not only the shadows encircling him but also rendered him the radiant, pulsating nucleus within Anthemion's awareness, ensnaring his complete focus. Conduit.

Giving him no time to reconsider or even think, Aemilian acted.

Without uttering another word, he released the tiny orb of inferno, launching it. It soared through the air, its trajectory aimed at Anthemion. In a hasty maneuver, he sidestepped, attempting to evade the incoming projectile, but confined by the limited space at his disposal and hampered by his sluggish and erratic movements, he proved incapable of evading the impact.

The fireball struck him, igniting a small explosion against his right shoulder. His attire succumbed to the voracious heat as swiftly as a dry twig to flame. The pain searing through his torso eclipsed any previous sensations he had ever endured. Stars bled into his vision and survival instict too over.

Driven by it more than reason, he vaulted over the bar counter, thrusting aside bottles and drinks that splintered upon impact, scattering piles of shards across the floor. In a state of frantic urgency, he seized a bottle brimming with fresh water - likely the sole one within this club, a stupid part of his mind mused - and promptly emptied its contents over his shoulder.

The flames ebbed just enough for him to smother them with a barely controlled beating of his hand. He leaned back, sighing in relief.

A returning blaze of orange light cast its glow on the vicinity, snapping Anthemion's focus back to Aemilian. The young Conduit now clutched a fireball in each hand, his expression twisted into a savage visage.

Anthemion chastised himself inwardly for the predicament he had landed himself in. For a fleeting instant, the notion of fighting back flashed through his mind, spurred on by the influence of his intoxication, but he swiftly discarded the idea.

Even if he managed to contend with a Conduit - even a seemingly weaker one, like the bastard confronting him - he'd still need to contend with the two friends at Aemilian's side. Both eyed him with unhidden aggression, signaling they wouldn't go do without a good fight.

Valentina sent him a furtive wink, carefully ensuring her gesture remained concealed. Her hand traced a signal all too familiar to him from days gone by, unearthing memories he promptly suppressed with a mental effort, like pilling dirt with a shovel upon them.

In an instant, she propelled herself forward, slipping directly into Aemilian's embrace. Exploiting this moment of distraction, Anthemion set his cunning strategy in motion, his devious plan. Swiveling around, he bolted and fled, surrendering to a mocking impulse that drove him to offer a small wave of goodbye.

Merging seamlessly with the bustling crowd, he vanished within seconds.

A final backward glance revealed Aemilian freeing himself from Valentina's grasp, his focus pivoting towards Anthemion. Fireballs twirled over his palms, like enormous radiant whisps, once again set alight, but he failed to locate his elusive target.

Disappearing into the masses, Aemilian, accompanied by his friends, combed the crowd, searching fruitlessly. Unbeknownst to them, Anthemion had long fled the club's entrance, dashing into the obscurity of the night.

Guided by the memory of a haven from times past, he sprinted towards refuge under the shrouding cloak of darkness.