The ocean, dark blue, sparkling under a pale sky, stretched beyond the horizon. The waves kept ebbing and flowing over a silver shore that was shrouded in the shadow of a tall cliff. Marble columns laid all around, cracked, some tilted to one side, others toppled altogether. The monotonous sound of the waves kept repeating over and over. Seagulls cried in the distance, some landing on the columns every now and then.
A young girl laid face down in the sand, the foamy waves washing over her body continuously. She was pale, so pale her blue veins stood out on the back of her hands like rivers crossing a frozen land. Her hair, auburn and long, wet and full of sand, stuck to her forehead and cheek. She was dressed in a satin peach nightgown stained all over by blood. The nightgown stuck to her back like a second skin, kept from drying by the waves.
The girl suddenly started coughing, spazzing, and wheezing. She propped herself on her elbows, facing the indent of her face in the sand. The foamy waves washed over the indent, burying it with water, sand, shell shards, and pieces of kelp. The girl gasped for air, then started coughing up blood. It poured out of her mouth, thick and dark like syrup, staining her teeth red. She groaned, placing one hand on her abdomen. Another wave came.
Blood started to drip down her fingers. She removed the hand and saw a cut in her gown, outlined by a bloody stain that faded into the fabric. Peeking through the cut, she saw her abdomen; the skin, pale like marble, turned pink around a deep cut that matched the cut in the fabric. She poked the flesh around the cut, prompting it to ooze more blood, sting, and hurt.
Another cough, another wheeze. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, feeling the salty air and the breeze. Then she opened her eyes: cognac-colored, like two pieces of amber. The sun was right above her, so she shielded her eyes with her right hand, fingers spread wide. It looked like a black silhouette against a pale blue canvas, light slicing through the spaces in between. Sudden realization appeared on her face.
Desperate, the girl started crawling around on palms and knees, looking around for something.
"No, no, no, no, no, no! Oh, don't tell me the waves took it!", she mumbled to herself, voice almost cracking from fear.
Whatever she was looking for, it was important enough to make her forget about her wound. After a while, as waves kept hitting her, she finally collapsed, blood drooling from the corner of her mouth, her pupils slowly growing large. She had her right cheek pressed against the clay-like wet sand, seeing the vertical horizon line diving the shore, on the right, from the sea, on the left. Waves were reaching up to her nose, making her gag and choke on water. She did not care. She was as good as dead.
Is this it? She wondered. Maybe I should accept it with dignity. It's been so long... but I still feel like I'm not ready. I'm scared to die.
Then, the girl saw it. As her vision became blurry, she saw a glint of silver, shining in the sand. A few seagulls landed nearby, starting to cry loudly. She mustered all her power left and started crawling on the sand using her forearms, leaving a trail of blood behind.
Then, she dug into the sand with her hand and squeezed, letting the next wave wash away all the sand through her fingers. When the water retreated, she opened her fist: in her palm rested a signet ring with two heads: A Sun face and a Moon face. She slid it onto her right hand ring finger, where it perfectly matched an indent. The Sun face was up.
The girl sighed in relief, then coughed once more and, with newfound strength, rose to her feet. She stretched the cut in her nightgown with her hands observing how the wound in her abdomen sealed itself within seconds, leaving behind only blood and sand as proof that it ever existed. She stood there for a second, the adrenaline still in her system, heart pounding in her chest, body frozen. Then, she started laughing, so hard she broke into tears.
"Ah, it's good to be alive!", she proclaimed with a big grin, throwing her arms up in the air, knowing fully well that it's been a long time since she felt anything.
A loud bell sound echoed throughout the shore, sending all the seagulls into a frenzy. She looked around and saw, in the distance, the pale silhouette of a port town built on a cliff, ships sailing to and from it. The town was built on what seemed to be a steep hill, the orange tile roofs layered in a neat pyramid, with a church tower on top, most likely the source of the sound.
The girl cracked her knuckles, then started her barefoot journey toward the port town, walking along the shoreline. The cliff that provided the shade to the place she washed up on grew was shrinking in the distance, and now the girl found herself in the open, the sand narrowing to a strip ten feet wide, blending into tall patches of pale beachgrass, their blades bending with every draft of wind. She kept walking along the line where the waves ended, letting the water wash her feet and erase the footsteps that she left behind.
*
A young man sat at a tavern table within the port town. The tavern was located in an underground cellar: red brick walls covered with animal pelts and pieces of broken and old technology, cartwheel chandeliers with flickering candles, and an infernal symphony of cheers, yells and clinking noises, mixing into something that either made you run away or turned into white noise. A set of stairs led to the highest point in the tavern: the exit door. The bartender, a gruff looking bald man full of sailor tattoos, was scanning the room constantly: he knew everyone, and everyone knew him. It didn't mean that strangers were unwelcome, though, as long as they did not stir any trouble.
The young man was alone, in the corner, where hardly anyone paid attention to him. His face was hidden by a dark green cloak, his forearms resting on the table. He had a deck of cards in hand, and he kept shuffling, cutting, and riffling it. A red headed bearded man sat down opposite him, slamming two foamy mugs on the table.
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“Care for a beer, stranger?”, the bearded man asked.
“Piss off, Otto. I’m not in the mood to gamble for some beer”, the cloaked man replied.
“You look like you’re waiting for someone, Han. How about I yell your name out loud, let the whole tavern know you’re here, huh? That would make it easier for that certain someone to find you”
Han stopped shuffling. He arranged the deck neatly, then hid it within his sleeve.
“Is Astrid still looking for you?”, Otto kept pushing.
“As good as one can look with only one eye”
“That’s one deadly mercenary, my friend. How come she didn’t catch you yet?”. As soon as Otto said that, Han scoffed and cracked a smug smirk. “Right... But bad luck will come and bite you in the ass, no matter who you are, brother. Some things you can’t mess with forever”
Han grabbed one of the mugs and drank half of it in one go, slamming it on the table and spilling some foam.
“Nobody lives forever, Otto! Nobody lives forever”
Han took out the deck of cards and started shuffling it, then turned it face up and fanned it across the table in an arch.
“Fine, I’m bored, so let’s play reverse five card draw”. He burped, then, drank the rest of the mug. “The bet is you can't beat me! Loser owns the owner 100 Crowns”
“What the hell is reverse five card draw?”, Otto asked, drinking some of his beer as well.
“It's the same as regular five card draw: you build a hand of five cards, and you can swap as many cards you like, but cards go into the discard pile, not back into the deck. The player with the stronger hand wins. Now... here's the catch: the deck is face up, so you can pick and choose which cards you like!"
"Sound like a stupid game. What moron wouldn't pick a royal flush? This will end in a draw every time! You just want to win on a technicality, since a draw means I can't beat you! You're not as smart as you think, Han!"
Han sighed, interlocking his fingers and bowing his head in shame.
"Very well, you got me! A good observation, Otto! Seems like that cinderblock between your ears has started to sprout some brain!". Getting an annoyed glance back, Han adjusted his voice, then continued. "Well... The royal flush is banned. New rule, but the bet still stands. What do you say?". Han waited for Otto's reply, who started rubbing his chin. "Come on, the bet was your idea! I even added a new rule, just for you! If anything, you should allow me to go first!"
Otto finished his beer in one gulp, then slammed the mug down, and wiped his mouth with his hairy forearm. He gestured toward the deck, then turned around, waiting for his turn while Han started building his hand.
Han chose four tens and a tree, which is a four of a kind hand. Confident and waiting with crossed arms and a big grin, Otto turned around when Han knocked on the table to signal he was done. Han kept his cards close to chest, while Otto picked a high nine straight flush, which means cards from five to nine of the same suit. A straight flush beats four of a kind, so Otto was very confident.
"Ok, I'm done!", he said, struggling not to burst out laughing. "You really are starting to slip, Han! That's the second time I outsmarted you today, and I'm a fisherman, dammit! Maybe your reputation is a bit exaggerated"
"The only exaggerated thing here is that rotting fish stench, you red-headed sonovabitch!", Han said with great confidence, turning around and starting to take cards from the deck.
"Hey, what the hell are you doing?", Otto asked, confused.
"Swapping, remember?", Han explained. "Don't worry, your turn comes after me"
Han took three of his four tens and placed them, face up, in the discarded pile. He then took cards of the same suit from six to nine and built a ten high straight flush hand. Since all the other tens were discarded, Otto had no chance to build a higher hand than Han, so he tossed the cards on the table and slammed his fist once, making all the cards and the two mugs bounce.
"I guess I got a little cocky there, huh?", the red headed sailor said, as his anger quickly turned into laughter. "You got me good, what can I say. Looks like I owe you ten crowns"
"Wait a minute, it was...", Han began protesting, but gave up halfway through. "Ah, forget it... I'll deduct that beer as ninety crown"
"Ninety crown mug of beer, most expensive in Arcadia!", Otto yelled and burst into a hearty laughter that Han joined as well.
Han got up after an hour of waiting when he realized that whomever he was waiting for was not coming. He could not afford to stay any longer, as a wanted man like him had to be moving all the time, for his own safety. He got up, pushing his chair back with a screech, collected his win, bid farewell to Otto, then headed for the door, climbing the stairs and opening it to reveal a blinding rectangle of light.
Han shielded his eyes until they adjusted, not even the cloak being able to compensate for the transition. When his eyes refocused, he looked up at the pale blue sky, and his face was revealed: a young man with jet black hair parted in the middle, blue-grey eyes, and a clean-shaven sharp chin. He looked down, adjusting his cloak to conceal his identity, looking around at the busy street where pedestrians, bicycles, rickshaws, caravans, and people on horseback were all moving in a frenzy, to and from the port.
The tavern was located in the basement of a building right next to the port, so he was at the lowest point in town. Looking to the left, he saw a steep slope, a cobblestone street with houses on both sides stacked like stairs, tall, narrow, and white, three stories at least, with orange tile roofs, flowers at every window and iron numbers over each door.
Suddenly, a sound started echoing throughout the town: the bells of the church, high up in the distance, barely visible in the skyline. Han knew that he had to make the trip count for something, so he decided to head to the church for a small score before his ship left port.