Riley laid on the dirt ground and stared at the night sky. The light of stars and the moon twinkled brightly, blending into a beautiful spectacle.
As the young boy admired the display, a pang reminded him of his state. Recent injuries had left their mark on his body. Bruises tainted his pale skin, causing every motion to be aching. However, the recent pain he felt wasn't from those. It felt as if hundreds of ants were crawling over his wounds, intensifying his misery with each tiny bite.
"Ow!" His mind finally registered the sting, precisely where it hurt the most. His injuries protested when he rose abruptly, sending waves of discomfort through his body. Tears welled in his eyes, but he knew better than to bother the neighbors at this hour.
"Why would ants treat me differently when the entire village hates me?" questioned the child silently. A sad chuckle escaped him as he observed his pitiful state.
With trembling hands, he brushed off the remaining bugs and blades of grass clinging to his dirty, torn clothes. His bruises throbbed with each motion, forcing his mouth to quiver. The boy refrained from crying out, fully aware that any noise could invite another round of punishment.
"But it's not fair," lamented Riley as he trudged barefoot toward the small lake west of the village. Standing near its calm waters, he gazed upon the reflection of the night sky.
"Why do the others hate my eyes but like the night sky? Don't they look the same?" The child's inquiry hung in the air. How could something as mesmerizing as that evoke such disdain?
Beneath a veil of dirt and grime, a malnourished boy cast his eyes downward, seeking his reflection. He saw several red and bluish-purple bruises against his dirty clothes and skin. These patches scattered across his body acted as proof of his hardships. Dirty raven-black hair framed his young face, falling down on his shoulders. Believed by the villagers to be a harbinger of disasters, it held an ominous reputation.
"...I should wash myself," murmured Riley, catching blades of grass and dirt trapped within it. He redirected his attention to his eyes, running his fingers through the tangled strands. They drew attention with their captivating look, overshadowing the dark bags beneath them.
The black-haired youth compared his reflection and the starry sky above. He witnessed the constant shifting hues in his irises mirror the ever-dynamic colors of the night. As he scrutinized his reflection further, the resemblance became increasingly apparent. They changed from the deepest shades of purples to the brightest reds, merging seamlessly into a painting more enchanting than the sky.
Riley stared deeply into the colorful eyes for any clue to his unjust treatment, only to find nothing. He realized no matter how long or deeply he stared, he held no animosity toward them.
"If it's not them, then..." he sighed deeply, feeling the weight of blame on his shoulders. He figured if others reacted with disgust when they saw his eyes, it must be because of something he did.
"What did I do?" He was like a lost child seeking answers in the darkness. With no one to respond, Riley limped toward one of the houses in the Wilwich village, hissing with each step. As he approached it, the sight of the many humble homes came into view, each with stories woven into cracked stone walls.
In the center stood the house of the Chief, a grand structure more detailed than the rest. Its imposing presence spoke of authority and tradition, casting a shadow over the surrounding dwellings. A multi-purpose Inn was built on the road to the Chief. The smell of food aroused Riley's hunger, captivating his attention for a while before he continued his small journey.
The home of the Leader of Hunters lay closest to the Leukia Forest. Its exterior was adorned with numerous pelts, trophies of the Hunter Chief from his hunts. Riley never saw the place. He only knew of it by overhearing it when the hunters went on expeditions into the forest.
Near the small lake was an Orphanage. A sanctuary where children, orphaned or not, gathered to learn about the world and find solace in each other's company. The colorful-eyed child always wondered what it felt like living there. Surrounded by friends, eating warm food, and sleeping in soft beds. Whenever he got near it, the kids there would bully him until he couldn’t move. Wiping a tear from his eyes, he continued his little journey.
Next to the orphanage stood the only store in Wilwich. Its shelves were stocked with various goods, from tools to daily necessities. Window shopping was something Riley liked to do, dreaming of buying stuff from a store.
And finally, there was the house Riley was heading towards, nestled atop a small hill on the other side of the lake. Its reddish walls glowed softly in the moonlight, adorned with intricate engravings, shimmering with a mysterious light.
When the young child drew near the red home, he stilled like a statue as his hand hovered over the worn-out handle. The chill of the air pierced through his clothes, forcing him to shiver uncontrollably. The cold ground burned his bare soles and seeped into his bones. Riley knew standing outside for too long would only worsen his condition.
Yet the thought of what awaited him inside made him hesitate.
Cold sweat broke out of him when he smelled the unmistakable stench of alcohol from the cracks of the wooden door. The boy knew all too well what that meant. Dad's inside. His eyes suddenly stilled in hues of deep blue.
Gathering his courage, he shakily knocked on the door before cautiously pushing it open. Memories of flying bottles and punches flooded his mind, each a sore reminder of the consequences of being late.
"Riley," As soon as Riley entered the house, a deep voice called him from his right.
A knot tightened in Riley's stomach when he heard the familiar voice. Chills went down his spine, the ghost of barely healed scars pressed down on him.
His instinct screamed at him to flee. To escape this hell-like place and run away from his father's clutches. Yet, deep down, the raven-haired boy understood running away was not an option. He knew that even if he were to flee, the man would drag him back effortlessly.
And with each failed attempt, Riley would find himself in a relentless cycle of torment, adding to the weight of his despair. He felt as if he was chained down, facing an endless stream of misery. Sometimes, he wished he had wings. Wings that would help him escape this torment and fly high into the starry sky.
With a heavy heart, the child braced himself with trembling resolve as he turned around to meet his father. To meet the object of his worst nightmares.
"Close the door, you damned brat. It’s cold," said the man, his voice cutting through the chilled air like a whip.
Despite his harsh words, Riley noticed the absence of the usual signs of intoxication. There was no slurred speech nor volatile outbursts fueled by alcohol. As he closed the door, his only path to escape, a wave of relief washed over him at the discovery.
A small glimmer of hope wormed into his heart as his eyes brightened slightly. Riley believed that dealing with the man sober would be far better than drunk, even if he was rude.
Opilec, his towering father, was a tall man with short blond hair and a scar below his right eye. He was muscular, with numerous battle scars on his hands and chest. His attire, a simple white shirt, and some brown pants, highlighted his physical body. He sat across the room on a weathered wooden chair, his light-blue eyes fixed on the shivering boy. Yet beneath the surface clarity, Riley sensed a dangerous gleam.
"Come closer, kid," beckoned Opilec, his voice sending ripples across the child's body.
With every cautious step forward, Riley felt he was tiptoeing into the lion's den. The black-haired boy felt as if he was weighed down by an invisible force, slowing him down. Opilec’s presence loomed over him, making it difficult to breathe. The boy’s blue eyes darkened, reflecting the intensifying dread within him.
As Riley drew nearer, his eyes focused on the wooden bottle within Opilec's reach. The mere sight of it worsened his trembling. His mind raced with anxious thoughts. Would he take a swig from it and vent his anger at him? Or would he use its contents as a weapon, pouring it over Riley in a cruel act of dominance?
The bottle suddenly vanished from his vision, hurtling through the air. Riley barely had time to react before it pierced through the wall behind him, leaving a glaring hole. A sharp gust brushed past his neck, and Riley instinctively reached up to touch it. His fingers came away stained with warm blood as cold fear gripped his heart.
The black-haired youth stared at his bloodied fingers and took a shaky step backward. The odor of liquor slowly permeated the air, burning his nose with its stench. His eyes settled on the adult, silence enveloping the room like a suffocating blanket. The erratic drumming of his heart deafened his ears.
But amidst the chilling fog of terror, a flicker of defiance sparked in Riley's eyes, refusing to surrender to this terrifying pressure. Shades of red invaded his blueish eyes.
"Don't make me say it twice."
This time, he braved his crippling fear and walked forward.
“Sit in front of me.” Opilec's tone left no room for arguments.
Riley obediently followed his order, unwilling to give the man more reasons to harm him. He clutched his injury before staggering towards one of the empty seats. But when he neared it, he heard Opilec's voice.
"That's for people. On the ground," said Opilec, pointing down.
Riley sensed his body object to the order. It shuddered with disapproval, begging him to refuse. He felt humiliated at the treatment, but to Riley, the pain was a lesser evil compared to death. He bit his lips until he tasted blood before complying.
The man's blue eyes never left him for a moment, content with watching him sit awkwardly on the cold floor. The young boy trembled uncontrollably; whether from the cold or his injuries flaring, Opilec didn’t care.
From the corner of Riley's red and blue eyes, he noticed a smirk on his father's scarred face. Opilec's gaze pierced him, and he felt like a cornered animal with nowhere to escape. Despite his surge of defiance, his instincts urged him to flee.
Riley tore his eyes away from the adult man as if burnt, preferring to observe the wooden floor. The blond man chuckled, amused by the child's evident discomfort.
"Good boy."
Beyond those words, only deafening silence enveloped Riley. Each second melted into the next, obscuring the flow of time. After what felt like an eternity, his legs throbbed as if they were set aflame.
The crimson liquid flowing from his injury seeped through his fingers into his clothes, soaking them with their red tint. Tears soon streamed down his cheeks, joining his blood in their unholy painting.
Overwhelmed by floods of despair and pain, he summoned his resolve to persevere, but there was no end in sight. Riley wanted to cry his heart out. Every fiber of his being wanted to shout out and express how unfair his life was. However, he was too drained by the seemingly endless torrent of pain. But the boy knew this was no place to give up. He had no other choice but to endure and put up with it. Or else his father would put him out of his misery. Permanently. Strands of brown tainted his eyes at the sentiment.
Moments pass before the deep voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts.
"Tomorrow, you'll be ten years old," he stated matter-of-factly.
The blond man scrutinized the malnourished Riley, identifying a plethora of bruises and scars across his shivering, dirty body. Yet his expression remained as it was. Not even the tear and blood marks on the wooden floor wavered his stone-cold heart.
He looked at Riley's Black hair with disdain, unbothered by its absurd reputation.
Anyone who thinks this little brat can bring disasters is an idiot, scoffed Opilec. Look at him shivering. He's already scared shitless, and I haven't done anything to him yet. Besides, the cockroach lived through all of those beatings. Even if I roughen him up a little, it's just some tough love, right? Heh.
While the blue-eyed man berated him mentally, Riley twitched in response to his words.
Ten years... It was a long time. Long enough for someone to master an art. Long enough for a newborn to grow into a child capable of reading and writing. And Riley had lived through all of it despite his unfair circumstances.
It didn't feel that long... Something inexplicable welled in his heart, slowly melting the cold grip that froze it. He managed to survive this hell for that long, so why couldn't he do the same for another? All he had to do was stay patient, and a chance to change his life would come around. His eyes shifted hue, adding flares of cyan to the mix.
Opilec spoke, chasing away the momentary silence that filled the room.
"And kids like you have to go through something called PAR." Riley didn't know what a PAR was, but his instincts whispered something. This might be it. This might be his chance at finally changing his future for the better.
Uncaring for Riley's opinion on the matter, the blond man continued his speech.
"It's is a ritual that shows you the Path you have." He straightened his back, "Your entire future depends on what you get, so don't mess it up. You hear me?"
Riley felt Opilec's gaze was as sharp as daggers, and he nodded repeatedly to his questioning. The sudden movement may have reopened the small wound on his neck, but he knew no response would lead to more injuries.
I don't get what a "path" is, though...
Opilec smirked, seemingly reading Riley's mind like an open book. "You wanna know what a Path is, don't you? Or what PAR is?" he said, condescendingly. The small child hesitated before looking at him and nodded.
"Well, I'm not telling you, Heh," The man laughed at Riley's disappointed gaze. "Go to the orphanage tomorrow morning and ask for Maria. She'll explain all of this," Opilec declared.
"At noon, meet me next to the Village Chief's house. And don't be late!"
And silence descended once more.
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Riley's injuries worsened as more time passed. The bruises on his skin darkened, and every movement sent waves of pain shooting through his body. They pleaded for him to get up and leave. However, his father didn't permit him to, and going without it never worked out for him.
He heard something hit the ground before a maroon-colored rolled into his vision.
"Take this and go clean yourself. I better see your skin squeaky clean tomorrow, or else I'll skin it off."
Riley's trembling hands slowly clasped the marble, his muscles screaming with every movement. He knew the marble would warm his usual cold bath.
Opilec's face contorted in rage as he watched Riley's sluggish movements.
"Didn't you hear me? GET THE FUCK OUT!!" spat out the soon-to-be enraged man.
The boy stood abruptly, his movements hindered by a distinct limp as he quickly headed towards the back door, his bare feet dragging on the stone-cold floor. Waves of electric-like pain rushed through his legs, protesting against his hurried pace.
Instinct guided him before he could respond, taking any and all chances they got to flee from the menacing man. As Riley's hand reached for the door handle, his father's booming voice echoed in his mind, injecting a final surge of fear into his already trembling heart.
"DO NOT DISAPPOINT ME!!" The words echoed in Riley's mind, his father's heavy expectations weighing down on him.
Despite the urgency of his escape, Riley tried to shake the lingering fear that had settled in his chest. I gotta get out of here!! His reason soon followed as Riley remembered how his father got physical when enraged. Exiting the cold house to the colder outside, Riley shivered a little.
Looks like he was always like this, huh... His earlier hope of a sober Opilec being a boon was pulverized to dust.
image [https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/917254316912410654/1226298805205598238/biohazard_green_.png?ex=662442c2&is=6611cdc2&hm=09763213bf8efa904e1d51661c36499873be2c1f490a6fa471eb498aaf942fdf&]
Riley gasped for breath as soon as he left the house. The cold air chilled the child's sweaty face as he limped with fervor towards an old shack. Opilec could open the door and drag him for a beating, and Riley wanted none of that.
Approaching the shack, the boy opened its nearly unhinged door and entered his so-called "home." Besides the musty smell emanating from its old walls, a small bed marked the middle of the shack, crafted from bundled leaves beneath a torn-cloth blanket. A small firepit lay dormant near the entrance, its flames reserved for heating the shack on snowy nights and stormy weather.
Next to the wall stood a giant wooden bucket filled with cold water. A pile of bandages and a clean, albeit yellowed, towel lay next to the wooden tool. Riley had repurposed discarded items to make do with what little he had. He turned scrapped clothes into bandages, blankets, and a towel, fashioning them into makeshift necessities for daily survival.
Three small cloth bags filled with various items were hung on the walls. Each one held labels with clumsily written words; One for Coins, One for Food, and finally one for Items.
But before doing anything, he closed the door behind him gently. Riley leaned against the closed door as his mind finally processed the recent events. The child began to hyperventilate, and the weight of reality crashed down on him. He could feel the stickiness of his clothes and hair from sweat. Could taste metal from the stains of blood on his shirt. Each heartbeat pulsed through his cut and body, relentlessly reminding him.
I was going to die. Riley choked on tears, his hands trembling uncontrollably. In his small haven illuminated with threads of moonlight, Riley let his tears flow and cried. He repeated the same sentence as if reminding himself of what was at stake. Each tear expressed his pain in ways words could never do, cooling his inner turmoil with each drop.
Minutes passed in defeating quiet inside the shack, with only the choked sobs of a young child and the whistling wind echoing in it. Wiping his tears away from his now rainbow-colored eyes, he checked his body.
Most of his bruises still throbbed, while the ones in his legs darkened. Fortunately, his neck wound stopped bleeding a long time ago.
"Food..." Riley's stomach grumbled loudly. With hesitant steps, he made his way to the worn-out bag labeled "FOOD." The wooden floor groaned under his dirty, naked soles, protesting each unsteady movement as if mirroring his exhaustion. As he reached inside the bag, his heart sank at the sight. A few pieces of moldy bread lay crumpled at the bottom, a pitiful excuse for a meal.
Riley's parents rarely provided him anything, so he tried finding food for himself. He tried to fish from the lake, but the hunters thrashed him for it. He even ventured to the dangerous forest for food, only to meet his Opilec, enraged at his actions. He rarely saw his mother, but when he did, she never bothered with his presence.
Which left him scavenging for scraps like a hungry stray, fighting rats and dogs for any piece of food he could find. At best, he found clothes, half-eaten meals, or thrown tools like the bucket. At his worst, he starved for days.
As a result, despite the bland appearance and the stench of decay on the bread, Riley knew he had no other option.
…Aw, man. Riley sighed. His eyes flowed into shining purple, imagining the bread turn into various dishes he saw at the Inn.
With another sigh, he inspected one of the pieces, brushing off most of the mold before taking a cautious bite. The taste was stale and unpleasant, but with deep orange eyes, hunger forced him to swallow it. Each bite was fueled by a burning determination to survive. His neck throbbed with each gulp, but his body demanded nourishment.
In the dim moonlight of his gloomy house, Riley ate in silence, the meager meal barely satisfying the gnawing hunger in his stomach. With his raven black hair and skinny pale body, the child looked like a moving corpse, ravenously eating whatever it could find. The wind whistled louder, chilling him to the bone as it seeped through the cracks in the wall.
With a shiver, he hastily fetched a piece of cloth to cover the holes, hoping to ward off some of the biting cold. Despite the crippling pain and poverty that surrounded him, Riley clung to a flicker of hope that burned within him like a tiny flame in the darkness, his colorful eyes shimmering with hues of gold.
As he finished the meager scraps too quickly for his liking, the youth observed what was left in his bag with disappointment.
"Five left..." he murmured, weighing his options carefully. He could eat them now, easing his immediate hunger. But the pain of starvation haunted his mind.
I'll keep them for later. Riley's eyes dimmed into brown when he chose to hoard the rest. He would ration his remaining food, enduring the anguish of hunger if it meant staving off starvation in the future.
Tearing his eyes from the food with a mournful sigh, he tossed a maroon marble into the water-filled bucket, listening to the satisfying sizzle as it dissolved and tinted the water a reddish hue.
As the water slowly heated up, Riley went to the hanged-up sacks, his mind already on the next task. Opening the "ITEMS" bag, he retrieved a small container neatly labeled "Pale Moon Cream." Despite its simple design, the cream had its uses. It excelled at healing bruises and cuts, something that Riley desperately needed.
However, there were two catches that Riley was all too familiar with. First, the area treated with the cream would be encased in frost, which forced Riley to use it only on the hottest days. Second, its effectiveness diminished significantly on wounds older than 24 hours, rendering it near-useless for older injuries.
Riley grimaced at how much was left of the cream. It was barely enough to tend to his current injuries, let alone any future ones. With a pang of worry, he realized he would need to acquire more soon, either from the hunters or the general store. He happened to find this thrown away by luck, and going to the store to buy it might as well be a death sentence. Especially when he had no money.
Stealing from the hunters was a definite death sentence. The youth considered leaving the remaining cream for emergencies but quickly dismissed the idea.
That's a no-no. I need this anyway, and if I show up hurt to the ritual, Dad will skin me. The small boy shuddered at the mental image. As he touched the cream, he remembered the instructions with pinpoint accuracy.
Apply directly on cuts and bruises. Riley carefully applied the pale cream on his bruises and the jagged cut. Each touch sent a sharp hiss through his lips, but he gritted his teeth. After using the last remnants of the cream, a transparent white layer fully coated his injuries.
Wait five minutes, then wash. The youth settled into an uneasy stillness, waiting for the cream to take effect. No sooner had a second passed than intense pain overloaded his senses.
"Aaargh!" Riley cried out, unable to suppress the agony that shot through his body like lightning. He could never get used to this stinging pain. His skin sizzled from the pale cream. The paste worked its magic, soaking into his wounds and starting the repair process.
Riley felt the cold paste seep through his wounds. He sweated profusely as his injuries and bruises underwent a notable transformation, slowly but surely. The angry red hue faded, replaced by his natural pale skin color, while the bluish-purple bruises took longer to redden.
Riley groaned in relief after five agonizing minutes. Most of his bruises had nearly disappeared, leaving only faint patches of slightly red marks. His cut was still visible, but it had scarred over, proving the efficacy of the cream. The chill left from the paste made him shiver constantly.
Glancing towards the bucket, Riley noticed steam rising from the water. With unsteady steps, he reached the bucket and began to undress, his bloodied and sticky shirt and pants discarded in a heap in the corner of the room.
Riley dipped his hand into the water, checking its temperature. Satisfied with its warmth, he carefully climbed into the bucket and sat with his knees up. Immersed up to his neck and with dirty hair floating, A sigh of relief escaped his lips as the soothing heat enveloped his tired body, fighting off the cold and easing the tension from his muscles.
Riley closed his now pinkish eyes, relaxing as he hummed softly to himself. Riley's thoughts turned to the conversation with his father earlier. The mention of "Path" and "Discover" echoed in his mind, stirring a curious spark of purple in his eyes.
"What's that even mean?" Riley pondered aloud, his voice barely audible over the gentle sound of water. "Does it mean I already have a Path? But I don't know it?" His questions hung in the air. He soaked in the water for longer before scrubbing the Pale Moon Cream from his skin.
Yet, no matter how much he thought about it, no answer came to his mind.
"I think I have to go to meet this 'Maria' for answers," noted the boy as he cleaned himself thoroughly, scrubbing away the last traces of dirt and cream from his legs. Rising from the water, he dried himself off with a worn towel, the fabric rough against his tender skin. I wonder what Maria looks like.
He turned to the bucket and noticed that the Maroon marble had already melted in the water, giving it a deep red color.
Don’t feel like cleaning that up. Riley grumbled under his breath as he shuffled towards the pile of bandages. A subtle wince accompanied each step despite his efforts to heal.
Arriving at the mound of torn cloth, Riley selected several pieces and carefully wrapped them around his bruised skin. With delicate motions, he covered himself in layers of makeshift bandages, the fabric snug against his body and neck. Each fold and tuck transformed him into a makeshift mummy. Despite the dull pain, a small giggle escaped the lips of the young boy, amused at his current look.
He approached his corner of clean clothes next, his movements sluggish as he picked his last remaining set: a simple yellowish shirt and brown pants. Before wearing them, he took a moment to examine his worn-out clothes. Heaps of old torn sleeves and holed clothing were the findings of his scavenges. His colorful eyes gleamed red as he stared at the pile. With renewed purpose, he carefully dressed himself, making sure not to irritate his bruises.
His eyelids drooped heavily, provoking repeated blinks to stay awake. Drowsy, he collapsed onto the makeshift bed, pulling the blanket over himself in search of comfort. As warmth flooded his aching body, his mind wandered about what awaited it in the future.
I wanna get super rich and buy all the food and clothes I want. I'll get a big house with no holes in the walls, a big bucket to wash myself with... envisioned Riley, his eyes shining purple with the possibilities.
His body, however, didn't share his enthusiasm. Yawning softly, he closed his eyes, letting the gentle embrace of sleep envelop him. As his consciousness blurred, his mind wandered through worlds of adventures and explorations.
Whether he imagined himself a brave adventurer seeking buried treasures. Or a curious explorer traveling the world with his friends, one thing was absolute.
The ten-year-old's journey wouldn't be without its difficulties.
image [https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/917254316912410654/1226298805205598238/biohazard_green_.png?ex=662442c2&is=6611cdc2&hm=09763213bf8efa904e1d51661c36499873be2c1f490a6fa471eb498aaf942fdf&]
Back in the house, while Riley slipped in and out of consciousness, Opilec's rough hands reached for a bottle, the liquid inside sloshing with each movement. With a practiced ease, he tilted it back, draining half its contents in a single gulp. The liquid glugging down his throat chased the silence that enveloped him.
As he sat in the empty room alone with his thoughts, a woman emerged from the shadows, her long brunette hair flowing behind her hourglass figure like a curtain. Her dark blue dress fluttered with measured steps as she approached the blue-eyed man, her presence commanding attention despite her subdued demeanor.
Before a word could escape her lips, Opilec's voice cut through the air like a knife, his thoughts spilling out unfiltered.
"I still don't get what the old hag wants with the little shit," he muttered, his tone dripping with disdain. He didn't need to turn his head to acknowledge the woman's presence.
Her calm voice softened the tension in the room like a soothing balm, balancing Opilec's vulgar tone.
"Who knows? All I care about is the rewards she'll give us," she remarked calmly, her gaze steady as she locked eyes with Opilec.
"Then it better be fucking worth it," Opilec shot back, his voice tinged with frustration. "I didn't waste a decade on that brat for something cheap."
The woman brushed off Opilec's brashness, her focus drawn to the glaring dent in the crimson wall.
"Did you really have to do that?" Her voice, though calm, carried a hint of reproach as she addressed him. Her brown eyes lingered on the damaged surface.
She invoked her magical prowess, forcing her long brown hair to flutter as her fingers traced invisible patterns in the air, interacting with the inscriptions engraved on the walls. The glyphs responded to her, their ancient symbols shining with ethereal light as they began repairing the dent.
Opilec's expression remained impassive, but a flicker of annoyance danced in his blue eyes as he observed the aftermath of his actions.
"Yes, I did. Laidenvy," he responded briefly, his gaze unwavering. As the final cracks in the wall repaired themselves, Laidenvy fixed him with a pointed stare before voicing her concerns.
"Why? What if he becomes too frightened and runs to the forest? Or, gods forbid, takes his own life?" shared Laidenvy, her voice carrying a hint of worry. I invested too much in this place for it to be a dud.
"Yeah, right. Like you give a shit," replied Opilec, this time turning his blue eyes to meet her brown.
"I give a 'shit' when your tantrums cost me," she shot back, frustration evident in her voice. "This is my only chance to get into a noble house, and I am not letting you sabotage it."
"Relax. The kid can't go anywhere. He's smart enough to understand that," explained the blonde man. "I'm not gonna kill him because of that hag, but the villagers don't have a reason not to. You should bother them first," He drank from his bottle as he watched his "companion" contemplate his words.
"They won't," she said after some time. "While they may hate and even attack Riley, his death would only complicate things when the nobles come for recruitment."
Opilec arched an eyebrow, signaling his interest.
"Why should Nobles care if some village brat kicks the bucket?" questioned Opilec, his skepticism evident in his tone.
"Because, as long as their paths remain undetermined, all children are considered potential talents," Laidenvy clarified, her voice steady as she explained her reasoning. "And since paths only manifest after a decade of life, perhaps eliminating any child would pose a problem with the nobles."
"That's the only reason I can think of," She turned towards Opilec for his input. His eyes widened at the theory before he squinted.
Opilec shook his head, dismissing the explanation. "That can't be it. That's a noble's way of thinking."
Laidenvy furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?"
"If that was it, they could just lie. Say some disease or monster killed the kid," Opilec explained, frustration lacing his words. "But not only is that cockroach still alive, he even finds useful shit in the trash. Which confuses the hell out of me."
He drained the last drops from his bottle, hoping for more. With a grunt of annoyance, he hurled the empty bottle at the wall, only for it to be captured by a ball of wind. Laidenvy shot him a sharp look before calmly redirecting the bottle elsewhere.
"Hmm... So the villagers hate him but don't want him to die," Laidenvy summarized his thoughts before a sudden idea illuminated her mind.
"Wait. Would something happen if Riley died? Is he cursed or something?" inquired Laidenvy, her brows furrowing. Opilec, caught off guard by her question, shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"Enough," his deep voice boomed, halting his and Laidenvy's thoughts. "It doesn't matter if he's cursed or not. What matters is tomorrow," he declared, his tone tolerating no further speculation as he redirected their focus to the impending events.
"The village thinks we're his parents. So what happens tomorrow affects us too," stated Opilec with a hint of frustration. "I don't want these commoner pricks to bitch about us," Laidenvy nodded to his words, acknowledging the personal stakes they had.
"If he gets good skills and a high power rating, we will finally be rewarded by Maria," shared Laidenvy optimistically, her voice tinged with anticipation.
"And if he gets shitty ones and disappoints me, then I'll make sure he wishes he was dead," Opilec declared with absolute conviction, his words carrying a sinister undertone.
"I have a use for him if he gets bad ones, so do not harm him," Laidenvy interjected firmly. "If you keep beating him up, he might run away." she cautioned, mirroring her earlier worry to Opilec.
"And I keep telling you, he won't," Opilec stated with chilling certainty. "An animal like that kid is easy to tame. Just beat it into submission," His words dripped with scorn. In his blue eyes, Riley was no different than a bothersome pet, unworthy of respect or consideration. However, a flicker of recognition passed his mind, remembering the shimmering red and gold eyes.
"Whatever you say, Opi," responded Laidenvy, her voice full of resignation, acknowledging his declaration.
Sensing Opilec's silence as he finished speaking, Laidenvy approached him with deliberate grace, her movements exuding a subtle charm. Each step she took swayed her hips in rhythm until she stood before him, close enough for their breaths to mingle.
"Tomorrow is the day we get rich," she declared with a hint of expectation, her fingers tracing patterns on Opilec's muscular hands, igniting a spark of excitement between them.
"Why don't we celebrate it?" she whispered huskily into his ear, her voice dripping with lust that hung thick in the air.
"I could use some exercise. Heh," Opilec replied with a smirk, the promise of the night ahead enveloping them in a heated embrace.
Regardless of what happens in the Path Awakening Ritual, its result would change their lives. Whether it brings fortune or disaster to them, only time will reveal the truth.