“Hey, you! Brat! Get back here!”
Sprinting through the crowd gathered in the town square, a boy not older than 15 sporting a head of hair with black curls climbing down his forehead jumped past an older woman carrying some fruit. Weaving to the left, sidestepping to the right, and slipping adeptly between the legs of any passerby in his way, he looked back and snuck a glance at the butcher chasing after him. His magikblade, wrapped in his beefy hand, emitted a faint glow of light as his mustache rippled in anger. He seemed a tad upset, his face visibly distorted in a frown and very much red. He could probably attract a bull with that complexion. On second thought, he resembled the bull as well. Thankfully, he was much slower, jogging angrily a few paces behind the boy. The bull-looking butcher, while contradictory in profession, acted in line with his brethren as he ran straight ahead, knocking people aside during his charge.
Lifting the tied strips of (mischievously gained) salted beef over his head with one hand, the boy flashed the unfortunate shopkeeper a smirk before stuffing it inside his bag, only seeming to infuriate the man even further.
Hahaha! He looks a lot like a tomato from this distance, huh? Maybe I should swipe a few of those while I’m at it.
Scurrying between any 15-year-old-sized opening he found through the gaps in the crowd, the boy dashed through the marketplace while picking up and pocketing various food items along the way. An apple from this cart, a loaf of bread from another. The rope-tied bag he was carrying filled up rapidly, getting so full that the fruits of his labor started spilling out, making it a problem to run with it in his arms. Fortunately, the only one who chased after him was that old man the butcher, but he was running out of breath and slowing down quickly, being pushed farther and farther away from the boy until his face could not be seen amidst the rolling mass of people. The streets were busy enough that the shopkeepers wouldn’t even realize he had stolen anything if he ran fast enough. Leaning against the alley wall he found himself in, the boy let out the breath he was unintentionally holding in.
Haaah, he’s got lungs for an old man. However, I don’t think I’ve even gotten close to being caught in the last few months. Thank Sephira they didn’t send out the guards. Being an experienced pickpocket, avoiding people’s eyesight became second nature to him, yet against an Arcane Guard, he had no choice but to be found near-instantaneously. The difference between them was too great.
The people somehow stuck even closer together towards the main square, creating a human wall to try to get a view of the celebration occurring. Men, women, and children carried on their shoulders, nearly everyone he saw was pushing against each other in an attempt to peek over the hundreds of heads pointed toward the tall wooden platform in the center of the square. He stopped and peered over the heads of the murmuring onlookers.
Ah, I forgot about that—the noble inaugural celebration.
It was spread among the citizens through the papers that the city of Partisian was welcoming a new ruler. Baron Userio has become old and frail, leaving the city in the hands of his son, Victor, the new Baron Userio, who was to be inaugurated today.
From the various tradesmen to the housewives, everyone gathered around the podium where the newly appointed Baron prepared to make his speech. Dressed for the occasion was a pompous brown-haired man, looking to be in his late forties with his clothing not able to hide the fact that he was very, very well-fed. His stomach protruded out, stretching the fabric of his silky, purple shirt. I’m honestly surprised that a button didn’t burst and fly out into the ocean of people. On top of that, he wore a gray vest with a navy cloak lettered with the empire's insignia: a golden circle split into 12 equal portions. So that’s why the stalls were unattended. Nobody would expect someone to steal right under the newly appointed Baron’s nose.
The people's chatter continued even though the time to start was nearing, and it ticked off the Baron a little bit. The boy swore he saw a vein bulge in his forehead as his brows furrowed. A green sheen began forming in the air around his person. Like the eye of a storm, a gust of wind surrounded the podium and sent the front of the crowd reeling. Well, that's one way to silence a crowd. "Quiet! The Baron will now speak." A soldier spoke out to the audience as the clock struck 12, and the official inauguration began.
Not paying any mind to the noble talking up his own status, the boy adjusted his sight to the heavily armored guard standing at attention a few feet ahead of the Baron, directly between him and the crowd. While the other soldiers wore lighter armor crafted of enchanted leather and forged steel, his iridescent full-plate armor waved from a dark purple to a light turquoise. The shoulder guards were so detailed and patterned that they didn't even seem likely to withstand the brunt of a blade. The boy stared even more intently, hoping to see if he carried a weapon or a wand, or maybe a stone or a doll…I think there was a doll on the front cover of that book I saw, but who in the world uses a doll to channel magic? The boy felt it might be worthwhile to try and grab something if the crowd got rowdy. Suddenly, as if sensing his inquiring gaze, the guard's eyes flicked to the boy, locking with his own before losing interest and turning back to attention. Shit, I thought he spotted me from all the way there.
Shaking off his delusion, a sigh emerged from the boy’s lips and he turned his back to the ceremony. His eyes darkened and the smirk fell from his face. He eyed his bag of food. What’s so good about nobles anyway?
“They’re just greedy fools who put their pleasure before everything else,” he murmured. "They don’t care about the people." A scowl crept up his lips and his brows furrowed, but it vanished just as fast as it arrived.
“Hey! Where did that kid go!” He could hear the voice of the butcher over the crowd getting nearer and nearer by pushing and shoving the unlucky pedestrians that happened to be between the two. It seemed he made up for his speed with grit and sheer physicality. The boy decided that he’d be better off hightailing it out with his current haul instead of pushing his luck. Especially not with that soldier guarding that pompous prick. Something about him just gave him a bad feeling. Was he a knight, perhaps? Are they truly that much more powerful than a guard? The boy wondered many things as he attempted to circle around the stage.
He ran up against the mass of people crowding the center of the square, pushing against whoever was in front of him, but to no avail. Their bodies clumped together like a pack of sardines, everyone smushed together, trying to get a view of the ceremony. A wall of flesh that he’d either have to climb over or run through like that mad bull behind him. I don’t think I’d manage the second, and the first would probably cause a few headaches, so I need a new plan.
Gripping his bag of stolen food tightly, his gaze moved across the street, searching for any exit he could find to get out of the street before finding a narrow alleyway between two general commercial buildings.
He quickly hid himself in the darkness of the alley. Darkness truly is inviting sometimes. The light from the sun faded to a dim glow as the walls reached up so high that he needed to crane his neck to see the top of them. Sensing something, the boy ducked into the corner and peered behind the street in search of a tail. Scanning the entire space behind him and having not found anyone, he sighed in relief.
“Haahaa..” His shoulders drooped as the tension of the chase left his body, temporarily weakening him. The boy dragged himself along to wherever the path led, with only one thought left in his head.
Get home.
The maze of interconnected streets and alleyways can prove daunting for the average person to navigate. However, the labyrinth of pathways is truly a great escape route for the boy, a resident of these backroads. An 11-year-old kid living off the streets must know at least this much, especially when you’re up against the Marked.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Marks. A brand that forms on a person’s body on their twelfth birthday, but only to those with adequate potential. Every person has some amount of mana, the magical energy that permeates every living being in all Wivre, but, how did that saying go? Only the children who have enough mana to form a mark attain the brand and become a Marked, gaining the ability to manipulate mana according to their elemental affinity, or something. He couldn’t remember it exactly, but the newspaper he was reading said only someone with royal blood could be as powerful as the emperor. Normal people could still use magic with the help of magical weapons, but the ones who designed those weapons, who control powers far above those weapons…Imagine having a mark like that.
A hint of envy could be seen in the boy's eyes. His mana levels are strikingly low, barely able to collect and store any mana at all, so the chances of him gaining a mark are slim to none. I’ve always felt like it, but the mana hates me. Shaking his head at his misfortune, the boy slipped through the shadows and began the trek home.
Passing by the upper-class housing, he strained my neck to look up at the tops of the three-story buildings surrounding him on both sides. Textured wooden exteriors partnered with solid ironbrick support beams painted the walls on both sides. Copper gargoyle statues loomed over his head, staring ominously down as the guardians of the skies. The boy's hand reached up toward the rippling clouds overhead.
I want to reach those skies.
A crazy thought came to mind, but it was quickly brushed off. It’s impossible for me. There's no chance for me to develop a mark, not with my mana levels. I need to buy some more medicine, and not worry about things that can never happen. Shaking his head, the boy faced the road ahead and blended back into the darkness.
As the sun continued to set, he continued along the path. The roads became coarser, the buildings became smaller and more sparsely populated, and the slums became more pronounced. The stench of unfiltered sewage and trash that he had become so accustomed to invaded his nostrils. He walked past people, young and old, lying in the streets, begging for food, just trying to stay alive for one more day. This sort of activity was common around here, but it was a vast departure from the look and feel of the center of the town. It reeked of despair. Nothing had changed. Our small two-room shack slowly became more visible among the litany of other homes.
‘Finally.’
“Mother, I’ve arrived,” he announced his arrival as he pulled the tarp blocking the entrance of the house, only to be answered with silence. Looking around the shabby interior, all that could be seen in the sparse amount of light were the pots stacked against each other and a moldy loaf of bread sitting on a plate. The candle was snuffed out and there was no sign of movement. He set down his sack of food and again looked around. “Mother?” He asked again, a hint of unease in his voice.
No response.
‘Oh no.’ A feeling of dread overcame the boy as he sprinted to her room. Pulling the tarp aside, he was greeted by a horrific sight. His mother was passed out on her bedroll, covered in a mess of her blood. Her body continued to vibrate as the mana inside her destroyed her internal organs. Her medicine container was knocked over by the side, empty.
“MOTHER!” He screamed, immediately clutching her in his arms and flipping her onto his small back. Please, I need to make it to a healer. Stumbling through the doorframe, he ran as fast as he could through the tarp, nearly tripping over the stolen bag of assorted foodstuffs. Some uneasy onlookers gazed from their makeshift homes. Some voiced out their concerns, but he could hear none of it at that point. The boy just needed to keep her alive.
He stumbled on the rocky pathway, having to stop and catch his breath multiple times. His physique wasn't amazing, well, maybe it was amazing, considering he'd been malnourished for many weeks before. He was now living it up in comparison. Damn it, this will take too long. The priest at the church was only a lumen level marked, but that was enough to completely heal basic wounds and limit the spread and activity of disease, including the one plaguing his mother. Even as much as he hated the church, this priest was said to be a saint among sinners.
His breath became ragged, his vision blurred, and his legs shook, but he continued to move forward. Please let me make it to the healer. Please let me make it to the healer. Please please please! I’ll do anything they ask of me as long as they can save Mother.
"Reynold..." His mother murmured, her head resting on his shoulder. "Yes, Mother, I'm here. You'll be okay, I promise. Just save your breath and hang on for a little longer." The boy urged her. Things were getting more urgent. His mother's inhaling was getting weaker, if she didn't get some help immediately she would stop breathing altogether.
Nearly there, Rey. Nearly there. The outline of the church began forming in front of him and the building grew to the size of a small house as the boy approached the entrance. He struggled up the steps to the double doors only to lose his balance and fall headfirst through the doors, taking the fall instead of his mother.
Crack! The doors flew open under the weight of two people and opened up to an arched room with a statue of Sephira sitting in the front, surrounded by a pool of water. Her molded marble exterior with azure gems inlaid into the eyes gave the statue a feeling of ethereal beauty. The refraction of the tinted glass created an image of a beautiful woman with her eyes closed, draped in white cloth. carving across the church ceiling laid a colorful mural of the goddess Sephira blessing the first Emperor. The priest, caught in the middle of reciting a prayer, turned around with surprise to see who or what had entered the holy place.
“What's going on? What happened?”
“Father, please heal my mother! I’m begging you!” The boy screamed desperately as he pushed himself back to his feet.
“What?! First, bring her here. Child, what happened.”
“I don’t know. I got home and found her like this. Please, she has the illness of formation, and she has been taking medicine for years. Please, Father, can you heal her?” As soon as the words ‘formation disease’ left my mouth, the priest's eyes hardened and he lifted the woman's head off the ground.
He sent a pulse of mana through her body, scanning it for any foreign substances and toxic effects. Upon gleaming the information about the scope of the illness, he sighed. “Hmm…I understand. I’ll do what I can but be warned, I can only temporarily stop the effects of malformation. Nobody can cure it. You can only pray to Sephira for her guidance and mercy.”
I know. He inwardly spoke.
"Come, help me lift her." The priest motioned to him.
They hoisted her onto the table and the father stood over to her side, covering him in the statue's shadow. He pulled his sleeve up and his mark was revealed. A glowing white symbol of the sun was visible on the back of his forearm. The only white marks occur on Marked of the holy order, and he was of the lowest rank. His hand extended over the abdomen of the boy's mother and he closed his eyes in concentration. The mark shone brighter as his arm coalesced the mana, surrounding the unconscious woman with a warm, yellow light.
The blood dripping from her mouth began to cease and the cuts and bruises along her arms and legs faded at a rate visible to the naked eye. The dirt and grime disappeared and the woman's complexion improved. Sweat trickled down the priest’s forehead as he continued to pour his mana into her. 10 minutes passed and eventually, the light faded. The boy's mother lay on the table, deeply asleep.
The priest took a deep breath and then turned to the boy. His eyes contained sadness as he looked into his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he questioned. “I’m afraid that your mother’s disease has progressed immensely. She may not wake up, and she will have to be admitted to the proper facilities that can care for her and will provide medicine to keep her alive.” The priest’s words were a bombshell.
"What? Mother can’t wake up?" For a minute, the boy couldn't say another word. The idea of dying could always happen to those on the street, but to his mother, he never imagined that…No, she’s not dead. I can save her. His brows furrowed as he looked up at the priest.
“Okay, then I’ll do it. How much will it cost?” The boy's brain worked quickly as he tried to calculate how much silver I would need to pay per month.
“One gold royal per month is what they will need to keep your mother alive.” The priest delivered another shock. “O-one gold royal? I don’t have that kind of money, much less 50 silver royals. I can’t pay that!”
“I’m afraid that is what I need to extend her life. It’s either that or she will pass away within a month. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing that can be done.”
A solemn air swept across the room. Even the goddess’ smiling expression instilled on the walls seemed to pity him. Yet divine mercy never arrived. He belatedly regained his wits and bowed. “Please, I’ll pay the fee. Please keep my mother alive.” The boy's eyes narrowed as my face darkened, unbeknownst to the priest. I have to keep her alive at all costs.
"Sir, your name?"
I hate my name. I hate everything about it.
"Reynold Alwyn."
The statue's shadow grew far larger, clashing against the light from the enchanted lamps. The boy's eyes shone dangerously but changed quickly as he looked up at the priest and smiled.
Ironic, right? Alwyn means loved by all. It's hilarious. Loved by all?
That couldn’t be further from the truth.