Amon
This time, Amon had found himself waking up in a familiar place. Mencer had discovered him, slumped against the pub’s exterior wall. To anyone passing by, he would have looked like an ordinary drunk. But Mencer knew better and had carried him into his office. And not a moment too late. Once inside, Amon’s physical features had reverted back to their usual state.
To Amon, this revealed two things. First, Amon had underestimated how closely the Banshee monitored the fighters since Kalon had dropped him off at Mencer’s pub, which in his eyes was clearly not a random act. Second, their meeting must have occurred nearby as his face was still altered when Mencer found him. It must have only taken a few minutes for him to be moved there.The Banshee had multiple hideouts throughout the Undercity, but knowing of one in close proximity was valuable knowledge.
Overall, what initially had seemed like a horrible situation turned out to be beneficial despite the Banshee’s notorious reputation. Amon knew he had been extremely fortunate to be released so quickly by her. Though he was certain someone would be watching the pub now, hoping to trace his steps and identify his source of information. But they were out of luck; Aciel would not be leaving the pub anytime soon. Whoever was assigned to shadow him would probably deceive themselves into believing they'd somehow overlooked his exit. They'd only locate him when he wanted them to, which was when he needed to communicate with them again. Sonja would transform him back into Aciel, and then they’d find another fighting arena where he could meet Kalon—unless they made contact first.
In the present moment, Amon was making his way through Mencer’s underground tunnel towards the Second Mine. Earlier when waking up, Amon had begun piecing everything together and started to share what had transpired to Mencer. But Mencer had cut him short, informing him that Gideon had sent a message looking for him and that Jeb would be waiting for him.
Amon had already skipped one of Gideon’s summons while climbing up the tiers. He knew Gideon wouldn't be too bothered as long as it only happened once. Failing to respond to another call, however, would not be overlooked - a harsh truth Amon had learned early on. But he had always accepted his punishments without talking back, carefully maintaining an appearance of submission, working to gain his trust. Gideon needed to believe that he had Amon in the palm of his hand at all times. Thanks to this tactic, Amon had been granted the freedom to move about as he wished, no longer required to inform Gideon of his whereabouts or maintain full-time guard duties. Now, his only responsibility was to show up whenever Gideon called for him and carry out his orders.
Yet, Gideon did not trust him fully yet. Amon was never invited to accompany him to Undercity council meetings or social gatherings with other Overseers and influential figures. Gideon seemed to keep him nearby but always maintained a certain distance. Perhaps he feared that Amon would uncover the truth about his father, or maybe suspected that he already had some inkling of it. But if this was the case, Gideon gave no indication of it. It seemed unlikely though, as Gideon always seemed too preoccupied with alcohol and women to formulate any clear thoughts.
As Amon reached the end of the tunnel passage, a ladder leading up towards a metal hatch overhead awaited him. He climbed up and knocked on its surface: two quick knocks followed by a short pause and then one final knock, the sound echoing down the shaft. The sound of scraping metal filled the passageway and Jeb's weathered face appeared, framed by strands of unkempt hair and lined with worry.
"It's good to see you," Jeb uttered, with a sense of relief as he pushed the hatch further open, allowing Amon to climb out into the storage room above. The air was thick with the smell of dust and damp rock.
Jeb closed the hatch behind him and then placed a wooden storage box on top of it. His gaze met Amon's, and the worry etched on his face became more pronounced. “What’s wrong?” Amon asked.
"It's Gideon," Jeb replied, his tone heavy with apprehension. "He's not happy..."
Amon recognized that look. Something had gone wrong. “Someone stole from the delivery?” he asked, though he already knew the answer. But hoped he was wrong.
Jeb nodded gravely, his eyes reflecting a mixture of anger and sadness. "Yeah," he confirmed, his voice tinged with bitterness. "And now we won't meet our Crystal quota."
Amon cursed under his breath as he absorbed the news. The Crystal quota was not just a mere number on a ledger; it was crucial for maintaining the delicate balance of power in the Undercity. Failure to meet it would invite unwanted attention from the Uppercity, leading to an influx of soldiers and heightened scrutiny from the Overseers. The consequences would be dire, not just for their operation but for the miners. But perhaps it could be used in their favor. More unhappy miners would be more willing to join them.
“Did they catch whoever did it?”
“Yes, though I didn't get to see who it was. Dragged away before I got the chance.” Jeb’s expression was hard, but his eyes always betrayed him. Amon knew he was the type that couldn't help caring for others, and the sadness in his gaze was unmistakable. "There hasn't been an official announcement made yet. Amon, you have to convince Gideon to change his mind."
Amon nodded. He didn't want another punishment to occur, as it would only make the miners more fearful and that was the last thing they needed at the moment.
"I heard the thief only started working three days ago, only relative left died. You know how the gasses down here catch up to everyone eventually," he explained, his voice tinged with sorrow. "Their family member hadn't met the required quota of Crystals for a care package, so the thief took over. Obviously failed and then tried to snatch a batch to sell it."
Amon sighed. He knew the consequences would be severe if Gideon had his way. He liked to make examples out of people. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Jeb nodded. “They are keeping the thief in one of the main storage rooms. I’ll go there and wait.”
Amon was the first to depart. It was necessary for them to avoid being seen together without a valid reason; that would only draw unwanted attention. Walking into the main tunnel that would lead him up to Gideon’s office, he saw miners around him still working. But no one was putting their backs into it. No one really did when a punishment day happened. But they had to keep working, as they would also risk getting punished if they stopped. So they continued half-heartedly as a way to show solidarity. Amon caught some of them gazing at him before quickly looking away, their eyes filled with either fear or hatred.
Amon stopped in front of Gideon’s office door, knocking on the door and waited for permission to enter.
Gideon’s voice gruffly called for him to come in, and Amon stepped inside, noting the tense atmosphere in the room. Gideon, his face etched with lines of weariness and determination, sat behind his sturdy oak desk. But it wasn't just Gideon who commanded Amon's attention. Standing beside him, like a towering mountain overshadowing all else, was Yorgo—a man, or perhaps an ogre would be a more accurate description. He was the largest and ugliest person that Amon had ever known, with a scar running from his forehead down to his bottom lip on the left side of his face. His small eyes were mismatched, one black and one white and blind.
If he was already here, persuading Gideon would be an uphill battle, more than usual.
Amon gave the customary bow, placing his right hand over his heart as a show of respect. "I apologize for not responding sooner," he said. He would have to lay it on thick in order to succeed today.
However, Gideon didn't dismiss him casually as he usually did. Instead, he leaned in closer, eyes narrowing into thin slits. "What's my rule about orders?" he demanded.
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Amon didn't hesitate to answer. "They are the bulwark against chaos."
"Exactly," Gideon said, nodding slowly. "Chaos breeds more chaos, and that's something we strive to prevent here."
Amon wasn't sure where Gideon was going with this, but he knew that it couldn't be good.
“Today, a theft occurred right under our noses," Gideon continued, his voice heavy with disappointment. "You missed my first summon, and then the second yesterday. Had you been present at either, this theft might have been averted."
He had missed two summons? Shit. The whole ordeal with the Banshee had consumed his entire day and night. He hadn't expected this. He didn't have a good enough cover story to make up for his absence. Amon shot Yorgo a quick look. Perhaps it wouldn't have made any difference either way.
“You're going to have to take responsibility for this, boy.”
From the corner of his eye, Amon saw a wide, sadistic smile forming on Yorgo’s face. And Amon knew, all chance of convincing Gideon just got reduced to dust.
* * *
They stood on the sturdy wooden platform, towering above the sea of weathered faces that belonged to the weary miners. Amon positioned himself behind Gideon, flanked by three other guards, his hands clasped tightly behind his straight back.
"This is a mournful event for all of us," Gideon voiced out, his tone brimming with insincere sorrow. "Yet, we are all bound by the Law. Imagine our state without it? We'd be nothing more than rats, scurrying around, grabbing everything within our reach. It's greed that shatters our unity."
Amon clenched his jaw as he listened to the ridiculous speech. It had been years now since he had last heard it, yet it remained unchanged. The constant chatter about unity, the emphasis on allegiance, the discourse on identity. The same old drivel. As if these miners had a choice but to nod along. Their features were as hard as the Crystal they mined while they listened to Gideon’s words. Amon noticed Jeb's expression in the crowd, an unreadable expression on his face. But he imagined he was disappointed.
Amon knew this would ruin his reputation even further. These moments always did. Standing idle by as one of their own bore out the punishment.
As Gideon finished his speech, Yorgo dragged out the thief. Amon’s eyes widened. It was a child. The Uppercity had made a law that the minimum age of working in the mines was eighteen. Before that, it hadn't been as uncommon to see people all the way down to thirteen. But exceptions were made in rare cases where orphaned children had no other means of survival.
It was evident why she had failed to meet the quota; she was a fragile-looking thing, no older than twelve perhaps. Her blonde hair hung in disarray, and her dirt-streaked face. She wore tattered clothes that barely clung to her small frame, revealing scraped knees beneath.
The crowd, initially expressionless, erupted into a cacophony of cries and curses as she was dragged atop the gallows. Her arms hung limply at her sides, unbound. They hadn't even bothered to tie them behind her back. Their eyes met, and Amon felt a sudden pang in his gut. Her eyes were a piercing shade of blue, reminiscent of Eve's, right before she had left the Undercity, right before her blonde hair had been transformed into a dark hue. He couldn't let this happen. Not just for the sake of the mission, but for something deeper that tugged at his heart.
“This is what was found on her,” Yorgo barked, holding up a pouch filled to the brim with Crystals. If she somehow had managed to sell off that amount, which was highly unlikely, it would sustain her for a year.
The outrage continued. But not because of the wealth that Yorgo was holding up. Yet no one was trying to step up to take her place.
“This is what happens when we let greed take over our hearts,” Gideon’s voice boomed over the crowd.
Yorgo yerks at her shirt and lifts her on top of a wooden box that has been placed next to the metal table. Her body shivers as she's laid down across the cold steel, her hands put into the restraint.
She was completely silent as Yorgo raised the lash.
Without hesitation, Amon sped forward, grabbing Yorgo’s arm. Yorgo snarled and tried to shake Amon off, but with a newfound strength he held Yorgo’s arm still.
“Amon, what do you think you're doing?” Gideon demanded. It didn't reflect well on him that his own nephew, the lapdog, was openly defying him. This act would shatter the trust he had painstakingly built with Gideon over the years.
"I invoke law 3.7," Amon declared, his voice resonating through the stunned silence. "The right to bear out the punishment of one's comrades."
Gideon’s face twisted in anger. “I had hoped you had become wiser, boy. Didn’t the lashes last time teach you better?”
The memory of the first time Amon had invoked this right flooded his mind. He had been but a young guard at fourteen, punished to stand watch as they dragged an elderly woman forward for lashings. Unable to bear witness to her suffering, he had taken twenty lashes in her place. From that moment on, he had vowed never to miss a summon beyond one.
Amon held his ground. “I will take her lashes,” he declared, his voice steady.
“Very well,” Gideon said. “Get the girl down from here.”
Amon let go of Yorgo’s arm, so he could untie the girl. She was looking up at him in disbelief, but her eyes had come alive again. She was steered down the stairs, and Amon saw Jeb grabbing hold of her. She would be safe now.
“When calling upon the law, your punishment shall be doubled. Thirty lashes,” Gideon announced, raising his chin.
Thirty lashes. He could handle it.
Before Yorgo could shove him, Amon moved away the wooden box and got down on his knees, his upper body touching steel. The smell of Yorgo’s putrid breath hit him as he bent down to fasten Amon’s hands in the restraints.
“I will enjoy every moment of this,” he whispered into his ear.
The first lash struck Amon’s back, sending a searing pain through his body. He gritted his teeth, he didn't want to bite his own tongue off. The second lash followed. He clenched his fist, his knuckles turning white. Determined to not scream out. Then the third, each strike punctuating the air with a sickening crack. Amon looked at the miners, watching him in horror and awe. Most of them had probably forgotten the time he had taken the lashes for them years ago. Perhaps this time they would remember. The fourth one came bearing down on him. Yorgo was not holding back. The whip bit into the flesh on his back. The count reached ten, and Amon could feel the warmth of his blood trickling down his back.
Fifteen. Yorgo continued, the strength behind the lashes not weakening–each subsequent lash tearing through Amon's flesh like a fiery branding iron. His sight was hazy now, but he couldn't spot Jeb in the crowd anymore. Good. The girl didn't need to see this.
By the time the count reached twenty, Amon's back resembled a grotesque mosaic of pain, the agony etched into his every nerve ending. Amon could feel himself teetering on the edge of consciousness. He didn't understand how he hadn't passed out yet. He just kept counting. But he needed something more to hold onto for the next ten lashes left. So he allowed himself to think of Eve. Allowed the boy with the unnecessary emotions that he had killed off to come alive once more.
Amon summoned memories of their moments together and their dreams for a better future. He found himself back on the rugged mountain side with her. Their hands, calloused by their adventures, gripped onto the jagged rock. The wind whipped around them, adding to the exhilarating mix of fear and anticipation as they ascended higher and higher. Once they reached a ledge big enough for both of them to sit, they caught their breath. It had been a tough climb, but they both enjoyed the challenge. They sat together, taking in the view of the Spine, though most of it was covered by a dark cloud of fumes, only the Cervic district lying above it. Suddenly, a burst of sunlight had broken through the clouds. In that fleeting moment, Amon had felt the warm embrace of the sun on his skin, filling him with pure energy.
He had closed his eyes and just savored the warmth. So this is what the sun felt like, he had thought. Then the sun rays had disappeared again, leaving them with a chill that had not been there before.
“I wish that could have lasted forever,” Eve had sighed.
“Me too,” was all Amon had responded.
He hoped she was enjoying every strand of sunlight now.
The lashing had stopped, and Amon barely registered as they dragged him off to the side. He could hear Gideon announcing something, but he doesn't know what. The voices seemed too far away. Suddenly there are hands on him again, and shouting erupts around him. He opened his eyes, and for a moment he thought he saw Eve, but her features were slightly different.
“We’ll get you out of here,” and he registered it as Sonja’s voice, shattering the illusion.