Six hours later, at a small desk in a small corner of Emilia’s small office, the last strands of sunlight meekly illuminated the twelfth tax claim to grace Oliver’s workstation. Which, after exhaustedly reviewing the guidelines, and searching for other information on this individual’s finances, had been declined. Declined, just like most of Oliver’s mental state. I’m soo tired.

Just as Oliver was about to drift away to a happier place, his drooping head hit the desk and he jerked back upright. Emilia looked up at the sound, and sighed. “I suppose that will do for now, I’m surprised we met my quota this fast. I was prepared to work into the night.”

In horror, Oliver looked at the monster sitting behind her organised documents. She had done twenty two in the same amount of time. No way she beat him by such a margin, he was setting good pace!

“My desk is smaller, so I was at a disadvantage.” Oliver mumbled, a sore loser.

“You’re annoying. I’ll see what I can do about the desk - but this is your first day here, so why would you expect to be better than me.” Emilia rolled her shoulders. “I’ll pay you on the midpoint, you can go home.”

“Midpoint?”

“The 15th day of the month.”

“... What day is it today?”

“The eighth.”

“Uuh. I don’t have enough money to stay anywhere for a whole week.”

“What’s a week?”

“You don’t know? - Whatever, I have nowhere to stay until then”

“Oh, right. Just sleep in the office then, plenty of officials do that anyway. I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“Uh. What. Like, just lock the door?” If Oliver’s brain was a power plant, he was out of coal and burning anything he could find at this point. He looked around the cramped room, “Sleep in a chair?”

Emilia, as she organised her belongings in her bag, and placed her cap on her head, "Well yeah, better than nothing right? See you tomorrow.” And with that, she closed the door behind her.

Stomach rumbling, splayed between furniture on the hard floor, Oliver dreamt of home. He hadn’t been home in two years since studying away. He imagined himself picnicking with his older brother, overlooking the beautiful city skyline from King’s Park. One of the last times…

The quiet capital from which he came, the most isolated in the world. Built on the backs of convicts, gold prospectors, and hardy travellers. One of the quiet paradises of the world, or at least, that’s how Oliver saw it. He would like to see it again.

He had been about to. He’d processed his grievances. He’d stayed away long enough.

The decision had been snatched away from him.

That made him angry most of all.

—

The increasing temperature and light from the window elevated Oliver out of his light slumber. He rolled his head on the hardwood floor, and the pressure headache he’d developed ignited. Why am I getting so many headaches these days?

He made an inarticulate grumble. There was nobody around for him to complain at, so that would be a waste of effort in itself.

He pushed himself up onto his knees, and waddled over to the windowsill. The sun was already high in the sky, which of course meant…

The rattle of the doorknob didn’t turn Oliver around, he just sunk his head in defeat. He’d slept right up until Emilia came back.

An unfamiliar, smooth, and undeniably deep voice. “Hmmm. How interesting!”

Oliver’s head whipped around, to the detriment of his headache. But the tall, slender figure in a Finance Official’s uniform was already ducking back through the doorway to leave. And as he was shutting the door behind him, he paused.

“Tell your employer, this won’t change a thing.”

Click, the door closed.

—

When Emilia made it to her office soon after, she saw Oliver sitting at her desk, starting at his second tax claim. She turned her head away, such that Oliver couldn’t see her expression. However, when she turned back to him, there was fire in her eyes. “Let’s double our workload today.”

“Do I get double the pay?” Oliver asked her deadpan.

She faltered for a second, then replied. “Any pay increases I get from increased performance will in turn increase your share of my pay.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow, "Half?”

“A quarter.”

“A third?”

“A quarter, and get out of my chair.”

“Fine, whatever.” Oliver pushed himself up, and trotted over to his little plank in the corner. Hardly a desk.

“Some guy came in this morning. Said to tell you ‘this won’t change a thing’.”

Emilia looked Oliver in the eye, “We’ll see.”

They worked until about two thirds through the day. Which translated to maybe four pm? It was hard to measure, apparently clocks existed, but they were–as with everything–a waste of mana.

—

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Stiff from sitting so long, Oliver stretched as he got up. Emilia told him she had some other things to attend to, and that he was free to go until tomorrow. So Oliver picked up his things - he still wasn’t confident about leaving them anywhere.

He’d been thinking throughout the course of the day about his goals. He had stability of a kind now, and he wouldn’t waste whatever this foothold granted him. He needed to start looking out for people from home, to stop them before… He straightened his posture.

Walking out of the Finance ministry for the first time that day, hefting all his worldly possessions, he made his way toward the front gates of the town. He wore his pants low, so his shoes were less identifiable. As he got closer, he felt his stomach twist more and more. What if he’d missed someone while he was working?

He walked past the place it had happened, a stone with a groove in it. It didn’t look very sinister, and it had been cleaned. He still shivered as he passed it. There was nothing else for it, he started through the gate itself. He heard a shout. “HEY! YOU!”

Oliver kept moving.

Do not stop.

He was mortally afraid, a hand landed on his shoulder and he flinched uncontrollably. The guardsman held a clipboard. “You haven’t registered your leave, idiot.”

“Uh, um - sorry. I was a bit lost in the clouds.” Oliver had the least realistic smile anyone had ever seen.

The guardsman just sighed. “Whatever, just give me your name and reason for leaving.” He pulled out a quill and placed it to a new line of the sheet.

“Oliver Crest, I’m just going for a bit of a jog around the walls.”

The guard stopped writing and looked at Oliver strangely. “The next gate along is something like a two hour jog” He eyed Oliver’s bags, which hung over his shoulder and at his waist. “Bit over-equipped for a jog, no?”

Oliver’s smile twitched, and he adjusted his reasoning. “Well, I want to do a bit of analysis and some calculations on the way.”

The guard just looked him up and down, then sighed. “Just say that, you academic types…” He mumbled off toward the end.

And with that scare, Oliver was outside the walls. But after thinking about what the guard said, a jog around the walls did not seem all that productive. It's not like he was going to find anyone offroad.

So, Oliver started walking up the road, with the guise of surveying its condition, should anyone ask. He passed a couple groups in caravans or on horseback. From what he could tell, none of them were wearing anything from home. He walked for about an hour, sat for a bit on the grass nearby, then started walking back. He went back through the gate, and continued on to the ministry.

Disheartened and starving, he hadn’t eaten all day.

—

After wiping himself down at the well in the courtyard, putting the same clothes on again the fourth day in a row, some cloth hit him in the face.

“How do you expect to sleep in that? Wear these, they’re available to staff.” One of the other fellows who was evidently getting ready for bed himself gave Oliver a thumbs-up. He pointed Oliver over to the linen room, which also contained bedrolls.

“There’s also some food in the break room, if you’ve not eaten.”

Oliver was able to do his laundry that night, and he slept much more soundly, with a full stomach and separated from the hard ground.

There was kindness here, it gave Oliver the strength to keep going.

—

He repeated his same routine over the next three days and nights, not once getting any luck when it came to finding his worldly compatriots, but he settled into his unofficial position in the Finance ministry.

“Hey, Oliver. Go fetch the summary for 21st street’s gross tax revenue, from last year.” Emilia said without looking up from her work.

“Can do.” Oliver exited the room, and went over to a room that was filled with wooden filing cabinets. Some of the other Official’s helpers were reorganising it.

He found the document he needed and started to walk away, when another guy in there spoke up. “What do you think you’re going to achieve? Working for her, I mean.”

There were a few people in the room, so after confirming the question was directed at him, Oliver turned, and responded to the young man. “I don’t really know what you mean. What are you trying to say?”

“It’s just… the other officials aren’t very happy about her sudden performance increase.” He smiled nervously, there was something he wasn’t saying.

Oliver wasn’t really sure what this was all about, but he wasn’t too happy about being told what was and wasn’t good for him. He didn’t quite snap back, but he wasn’t polite. “This arrangement is working for me at the moment.”

The other guy looked pained for a second, but let Oliver leave without saying another word. Thrown off a bit, Oliver returned with the documents, and brought it up with Emilia.

She looked resigned, but not surprised. “There are evaluations coming up soon, and I’m not especially well liked among my colleagues. It shouldn’t be an issue, but maybe it’s best to keep your head down.”

With that, Oliver went about the rest of his day.

—

“Did you hear? They found another one.”

It was the talk of the morning, Oliver was grabbing some extra stationary from one of the supply rooms, at least he had been. But he hadn’t moved for half a minute.

“They could be walking among us, it’s a scary thought.”

Fear, frustration, anger. Just steps away from Oliver, they were talking about the ‘terrorist’ that had been caught and executed this morning. He’d missed another one.

“At least the guards are good for something. Want to go get breakfast?” The pair walked out of the room, and their conversation became inaudible.

Face controlled, Oliver’s fingers trembled as he finished collecting the ink and paper he’d need for the day. He was not calm, but he was keeping it together externally. He droned his way back to the office on autopilot.

Not. My. Fault.

“-re you listening, Oliver.” Emilia’s voice.

“Huh?”

“I said, we’re going to finish earlier today. I have family business to attend to.”

“Right. Alright.” He half smiled as he half listened.

They both went back to work for a minute, but Emilia looked up. “You’re not working as fast today. Why.”

“I just had a bad sleep is all.”

Emilia waited a second, then put her pen back to paper.

—

He went straight toward the gate. His heart was beating faster than his feet hitting the cobbled road. There were some stragglers around the guardhouse, discussing the serious implications of foreign terrorists, and expressions of relief at their capture.

The execution stone.. Was recently used.

Oliver looked at it for a moment, but forced himself to look away just as fast. It wasn’t productive.

In his lapsed attention, he’d bumped into a kid, who fell to the ground silently.

Absently, Oliver mumbled “Oh, sorry.”

He held out a hand to help them up, but the kid just laid there. He must’ve been only nine or so. Oliver looked down at the small boy for a second longer, and spotted a detail he was glad not to have overlooked. The kid was clutching a branded black leather handbag. From Earth.

Before any of the spectators nearby could turn absent interest into conspiratorial concern, Oliver quickly squatted down to obscure the exotic bag from sight. Maybe the kid had just picked it up, but…

“Young man, what’s your name?”

The boy, blonde, was wearing plain but dirty clothes. To less knowledgeable observers, he could have been from here. He widened his eyes, and took a second before speaking. “I’m Levi.”

From the way he shifted to cover the brand on the bag, Oliver could tell he was from home. “I’m Oliver, is there anyone with you?”

The boy… looked over at the stone. “No.”

Oliver felt a tide of emotions, but now wasn’t the time. “I’m from home too,” He showed Levi his shoes, “Is there anybody after you?”

Levi looked up hopefully and widened his eyes. “C-can you take me home?”

He looked so very lost.