Noble woke the way he always did- eyes first, a few minutes before the rest of him. In those moments he wondered what would happen if the rest never woke. What would it be like, laying there, taking in the world but unable to move, unable to act?

The way he saw it, it’d be akin to death.

The welcome agony of experience told him today was not the day he’d woken up dead. He sat up in the tidy little room he’d rented for Saila and himself, shaking the wear and tear from his mind. The first thing he noticed was that the comfortable, familiar pressure of his filtration mask had gone unchanged- though alongside it was a cotton press bandaged to where the bottle shards had torn into his face.

The second was that his hat was off. His wiry, straw-blonde hair was a disheveled mess, strands blocking the ovoid lenses of his mask. That at least was normal- you didn’t tie sun-dried hair into a ponytail and stuff it up into a hat at all times and expect it to come out undamaged.

Slowly and deliberately, he looked around the room. The typical patterned carpet, wooden dresser, bed, and combo of table and chairs with faux-gold trim that had unimpressed him when he’d stopped by briefly to offload their pack of traveling supplies was still here. He found his hat resting on the table- damaged, but from this distance he couldn’t see how bad it was.

And sitting in one of the chairs, feet up on the table, was Saila, engrossed in the flimsy dime-novel he’d gotten her.

“Ugh… morning?”

“Noble! You’re okay!” Saila jumped up to her feet, book tossed into the air in surprise. “And- uh, night, actually. You were out for a while.”

“Hm. Expected to be out till the next day.”

“Expected to- Noble! I… god, I’m glad you weren’t. When you passed out, I thought you just straight up died!”

The concern in her voice was thick enough that Noble was sure he could rest on it if he needed.

“Ah hell. I’m sorry to worry you, little lady. Just not the first time I found myself in a scra- aah, that stings.”

His hand went up to the side of his face in reflex- simply moving his face caused the hurt to throb through his system. Pain was easy to turn off in short bursts, but it always came back twice as worse in response.

“Yeah you’re not doing a good job of making me not worry, Noble,” Saila sighed. She started pacing around the room, fetching her book in the process. “You need anything? I uh, kinda insisted I bandage you up myself.”

“Nope,” was his answer. “Thanks, though. Kept the mask on.”

“I mean, you wear it in your sleep… a- and, you said you need it to help you breath. Didn’t feel right to remove it.”

“Again, thanks. Did a good job. Should heal nicely.”

“Good. You uh, hurt anywhere else, they-”

“Nope.”

“-kinda got you in the gut there- ah, okay, good. I kinda doubted so, that guy busted his hand up. They weren’t kidding about that metal plate huh, took me, the barkeep, and the clerk to get you to our room. How’s Matchstick do it…?”

“Good horse,” Noble said simply.

“Good damn horse.” Saila nodded.

Satisfied with her check-up, Saila plopped down on the floor, and started flipping through it to find the page she’d tossed the book at.

Noble sat and watched, letting the pain sink in and subside. When he finally felt sturdy enough to stand, he creaked out of bed with intention.

“Whoa, you sure you should be up Noble?”

“Yup. Got to work.”

“What do you mean by work? I’m shocked you’re uh, not milking this for what it’s worth. It’d what I’d do.”

He gave her a curt laugh, and dug through their packs till he found it- a small portable sewing kit. He placed it on the table, sat down, and checked his hat.

“… you know how to sew?”

“Yup. It’s a hobby.”

His hat was a mess- the stains of splashed alcohol and spilt blood could be washed out, but the poor thing had taken the brunt of the damage when the bottle had hit. He had the materials to fix it, he just had to get to work. He went to pull off his gloves and-

… right.

“Saila… you sure you want to stick around?” Noble said, pushing through the fading pain. “I’m fine, you go out and enjoy yourself.”

“Pfth, naw, no thanks. I already had a bath- a long one, since you were out for hours. If I go out I’ll just get all sweaty again and then we won’t be able to go shopping tomorrow.”

“You could just bathe again.”

“What? No. That’s ridiculous. So, I’m staying.”

That wasn’t the whole of it, Noble guessed, but… he let it slide. Had more important things to worry about, and letting Saila fret over him would help her.

So off went the gloves.

“Whoa… what’s up with your hands?”

Black-silver hands looked up at him, segmented along the finger joints, the lines of his palms. Partly metal, partly plastic, and with enough connection to his nerves that he could touch things, that he could feel things- when he remembered he could.

“Not much,” Noble said simply, going through the stretches. Curl the fingers in, then out. In, then out. Stretch each finger, one at a time, rotate the thumb to ensure movement is not impeded by damage. Routine and simple. “Just a little… addition or two.”

Once he was sure he hadn’t broken anything but other people’s bones, he popped open the sewing kit, took a needle and thread gently between his fingers and began fixing up his hat.

“Addition or- oh. You uh… lost your arms, didn’t you? In the war? - uh, if I can ask.”

“Something like that.”

Saila gawked as he worked, his fingers moving through the intricate movements of stitching- then her face lit up like a bulb as she realized just what she was doing, and she shoved her face into her novel.

“Sorry, sorry, Noble. I just, never seen prosthetics like that before.”

“It’s alright, little lady,” he said simply. “They’re not common.”

“Yeah, most I saw around Dehali were like, the occasional wood leg or hand. Nothing like… this. They have these in Exova?”

“Nope. They’re a…” his hand twitched, as a slip of the needle scratched the point against a fingertip. “They’re Felisian. Special order- very rare, to tell the truth.”

“How’d you get your hands on’em- er, I mean-”

Noble laughed, cutting off her hurried apology- but didn’t answer... The two sat there a moment, Saila somewhat embarrassed, turning back to her dime-novel, Noble focused on his sewing. The needle went in and out, thread trailing, gentle and graceful. Practiced, routine, mechanical and smooth.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

In a shorter time than it felt, the repairs were done. He placed his hat gently on the table so it could rest its wounds.

“Looks good as new. How many times have you had to do this?”

“A couple. Should have seen it when I found it.”

Saila put down her book. “Found it?”

Noble thought a moment, and decided to tell her.

“More or less.” He scratched at the edges of the bandages. “Poor thing was full of holes and cuts, and I nursed it back to health.”

“… it’s a hat.”

“A good hat.”

Saila sighed. “You sure you’re alright Noble? They didn’t knock your brain loose with that bottle, did they?”

Noble knocked on the hard leather of his mask with a thok thok.

“Nope, still intact that I can tell. I just appreciate a good hat.”

“Hah, very funny,” Saila laughed. “Why’d those guys go after you anyway? I mean I-”

“Well, you heard the man.”

“- heard, yeah I heard that, but what did he actually mean?”

“What he meant.” Noble sighed, “Was that when Felisia first invaded Trestaria, Exova was slow to move on their ally’s behalf. They had their own problems- conflicts with Kaiga, Felisian agents disrupting supply lines, all that sort- so it’s not a surprise… and the men they did send weren’t prepared for what they faced. Things all went sour. Makes sense some of the old soldiers who’d survived to see the tail end of it might be a little upset.”

Saila seemed to chew it over in her head before continuing her questions.

“But, that’s no reason to… wait. You found the hat, and near I can tell that’s part of the uniform- you’re not a soldier, are you!”

“Never said I was.” Noble smiled behind his mask. “Just never bothered to amend that assumption in others.”

Saila stared at him blank faced, like he’d just said the sky was purple.

Noble just laughed.

“Oh, laugh it up! Noble they just about busted your head open because of that outfit. Tomorrow we’re going shopping to get you some damn clothes- and me too, obviously. We’re gonna make a day of it!”

“Whatever you say, little lady. Now… I’m feeling mighty peckish. How about we get some supper.”

Saila agreed, hopping to her feet and rushing off, saying something about “making sure there’s no other soldier-y looking types” around to bother them again.

Noble just let her go, taking his sweet time; partly due to the injuries of course, but partly because, all things considered, he was enjoying himself.

###

Supper was a lovely fried fish dish with a wonderful mixture of herbs and spices that actually, to Noble’s surprise, put some weight behind their hotel’s dressed up desires. The owner even stopped by mid-way through the meal to graciously apologize- not to mention comp their bill, going on about how this ‘just wasn’t proper’ and that they’d ‘do their best to prevent this in the future’, that one of the men even wished to apologize. All small comforts for the itching wounds on his face, but a welcome reprieve on their purse-strings.

Noble thanked him kindly, sliding past any questions the man had as to the source of the conflict- while the little lady was right that the outfit had set something off, Noble knew it went deeper than just a righteous anger. Finally, he left, and Noble enjoyed his meal, though not as much as Saila had.

Of course, Saila noticed his evasive nature, and had a few questions of her own. He told her straight that they’d talk about it later, and she accepted that, conversation turning to the book he’d gotten her. He couldn’t follow half of what she was saying, between her overabundant excitement and desire not to spoil it for him. But the point was that he’d picked right by her, and that’s what mattered.

It didn’t seem his thing, but Noble made a note to read it himself when they had some free time all the same.

By the time they’d finished, Saila was dead asleep- it was all she could manage to get back up to their room before collapsing into bed. That was fine by Noble, he had other business, and intended to sleep in a chair that night anyway.

He wanted that apology.

The older of the four soldiers stood in a corner of the Samudr Hivali’s bar, back to the wall. His sharp eyes scanned him as he approached, in the methodical way a soldier sized up a target. But there was no threat in those eyes.

And no smile either, as his friend had.

“On behalf of my compatriots I would like to apologize, Mister Walker,” he said, a thick Trestarian accent to his voice that made every word seem overly formal and a little dire.

“Appreciated,” Noble said. He gestured to the bar. “Care for a drink? It’s on me.”

“Humour? I’d expect a little more anger after what happened. And no, I believe I’ll be staying away from the stuff for the time being.”

“Fair- and no harm done that can’t be fixed. I don’t hold a grudge.”

“You wouldn’t, would you. That’s the Exovan way of things, is it not; four against one, with the one leaving the victor means you’ve no place to complain. You’re the greater combatant, after all.”

“Oh I wouldn’t say that. I had certain… advantages, such as your inebriation. I doubt I’d have won so handily otherwise.”

The old soldier leaned forward, moustache tilting with a smirk. “No boasting? You are an atypical individual, Mister Walker.”

“So they say,” Noble said calmly. “Now that you mention it, I’ve a question for you- I’m looking for another Exovan such as myself. I believe you- or more accurately, a friend of yours, have seen him.”

“What makes you say that, Exovan?”

Noble studied him through the ovoid lenses of his filtration mask.

“I’m looking for a man with a smile in his eyes.”

The old soldier didn’t react, not in any overt way. He did, however, speak.

“I believe I’ll take you up on that offer for drinks after all, Mister Walker.”

###

The old soldier told Noble what he’d seen, between sips of wine- a preferred taste to the alcohol of soldiers, he’d said.

A week ago, a man had arrived in town. A man in an all-encompassing black cloak and wide brimmed hat pulled low to cover his eyes, all of which did little to dwarf his height- some said he was near ten-feet tall, though the soldier put it around six foot five- a bit taller than Noble himself, he noted. Few actually saw the man- he seemed to glide about with the deftness of a shadow, never lingering for quite too long.

He was, those who met him said, looking for someone.

That sort of rumour could spread far in a city like Samudr-tat, and it wasn’t long before the old soldier and his friends- all retirees, their tours long over- had heard of it.

The shock, when he slid into the dock-side eatery they were having supper at and approached their table with hardly a sound, was one thing the old soldier would never forget.

Noble could imagine their surprise well.

He spoke to them, said he was looking for someone; “a certain type of folk” he’d said, and noted he was also looking for a place to stay. To lay low, for a few days.

There had been some murmuring among the group- they could tell his Exovan accent, and there was still some bad blood in them- “there still is, to be frank, but I will leave it be” the soldier added- so they opted not to trust this black-clad stranger.

Then he’d proffered a metal-clad hand carrying a sack of bills, and said it would not be out of the kindness of their hearts he asked them this.

There was an uncommon shame on the soldier’s face as he recounted what happened next. The promise of that money cut away any concern, and they indulged themselves in drink and conversation with the wanderer.

All the while, he felt an odd haze about him, be it from the drink or the way the man’s money flowed like it. He couldn’t say.

But when that dinner turned long night of drunken revelry had ended, they felt truly content in a way they hadn’t for… who knew how long.

He felt satisfied, the old soldier said, as did two of the others, so they bid each other farewell, wanting to get home to rest, thanking the kind stranger for his generous gift. But one of them- Rahul, did not depart. He stayed with the stranger, talking long into the night, and when in the morning they returned, expecting to find them both passed out in an alley, they were still talking, breakfast half-eaten.

“And that was the man who bottled me?” Noble asked.

The soldier nodded, and continued.

“He had this wild look about him- more youthful, more vigorous. As though he was an enlistee once again, high on his youthful ignorance. He talked much more readily about his anger at how the war with Felisia had gone, much more readily about his desire to do something about it- much more readily about his wants. It was like he’d changed.”

Noble understood that well, too.

“This went on, for three days,” the soldier continued. “Rahul would spend his day working at the markets, talking with us, but at night and through to the morning he’d talk with the stranger. Then…”

The old soldier paused a moment to finish his glass of wine, as he concluded his story.

“It happened on the fourth morning. Rahul asked us to come to breakfast with him and his wanderer friend. And there, at the table, he…” the old soldier pushed a finger up across his nose, imitating the gesture of pushing one’s hat up to reveal his eyes.

“They were like firelight. Ruby-red and shimmering white. And- had you not asked it yourself I would doubt you’d believe it, but they had marks on them, a full set of teeth, smiling wide in a ring around the iris. We could not look away. He showed us those eyes and asked us if any had the will to go with him, to Zarrhdad. To take him north, as fast as possible.”

“What did you say?”

“I said nothing. The others- even Rahul, said nothing. And after a moment, the stranger simply sighed, let his hat drop back into place, and left like the shadow he was. I know not where he’s gone since, save that he must be gone. I can feel it in the air.”

Noble sat there, watched the fear etch across the man’s face, not pushing any harder than this. The old soldier poured himself a new glass of wine and drank deep of it, to calm his nerves.

The friar had acted the same. Demon or human, those eyes put a certain kind of unease in those they caught in their gaze.

“After he had gone, Rahul grew… irritated. His anger at the Exovan’s bloomed. It was infectious, like sickness in the vein. When the bottle struck against your head, it was like a gunshot inside our souls.”

“Thank you, for the story,” Noble said simply. “And my apologies. Rahul- I gave him a ruthless shiner, is he okay?”

The old soldier nodded with a half-hearted sigh. “He is, though the doctor says he may lose the eye. Perhaps it is for the best… after the stranger left, I could feel that same draw whenever I looked into it.”

Noble nodded, thanked the man, paid his bill, and returned to his and Saila’s room.

The little lady was curled up in the blankets, sleeping peacefully, kicking occasionally in whatever gentle dreams a girl her age had.

He smiled simply, sat in one of the chairs, and tried to join her.

Tomorrow, they’d go shopping. Live a normal day.

Then they’d go hunting.

######