Outliers desperately attempted to learn of outsider ways, however. Some are merely curious, while others hide a nature that is lesser known. Much of them were two sides of a single coin; the face on which it landed, however, was up to fate itself.

— Study III of Tarkas, Second Verse

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Earl Sterling was a man of great renown. That much Varna knew. Though part of his fame came from the ongoing waves of the civil war, people still talked as if they’d known him since childhood. From the moment Varna had stepped foot on Marlyn soil, she would hear of the numerous achievements he’d made, both on the battlefield and off it. Constantly would they talk about his life, even more so than their own king. Marlyn had its own sun, and she saw that much through the Earl himself.

The man in question, however, had already agitated much of the kingdom’s population since childhood. She heard of his birth, which had been prophesied by the local priests; they often called him a “blessing of fate”, or a man who’d been gifted by god himself. It almost seemed true, to her surprise, for Earl Sterling developed innumerable talents as a young boy. She never looked into it, though. She simply refused to—zealous followers like those struck a nerve with her.

According to what she’d been told, though, Earl Sterling grew up in a terribly well-off environment. He was a golden boy, an individual who’d been given their meals on a silver platter since birth. The Verran territory his family held over was also no different. Since the establishment of the Sterling bloodline, reports of the land’s poverty had descended lower than ever before. Those who visited the land would often speak of its affluent nature: residents who appeared relatively well-off, nobles who’d recently risen to standard, and merchants seeking a valuable business opportunity would all flock to the territory. To Varna, it seemed almost devoid of stain—a safe haven, almost, for not a single man in poverty took up residence. That was only reserved for the capital.

“He’s a brilliant man, noble and righteous.” Kallas praised. “They say he started the war to help the poor. Admirable, is it not?”

Varna nodded. There, the three of them walked down the dark Central Road, guided by the warm light of Kallas’ lantern. The starlit sky gazed upon the trio, wind blowing as if the world were caressing their faces. It was peaceful, devoid of disturbance, nature playing its orchestral song the longer the road grew. There, the thought of a timeless scene where the land hadn’t changed in the slightest swept her mind. How pitiable it was, that the land lush and green were constantly consigned by the flames of war—a cycle of birth and death, such that there was no winner; only the remnants of an austere home and its residents.

It occurred to them then that the closer they paced to the Outer Capital, the more the Central Road warped into an unrecognisable mess of grime and dirt. Only when the Northern Gate blocked their view did the road turn into a dirt path. There, a dark forestry surrounded the high walls of the capital, and the distant silhouettes of housing among the night sky grew into the deep horizon. Turning a sharp right, they led past the road into an offshoot within the dark forestry, the only guiding light emanating from the old, metal lantern. There seemed little presence of animals, save for the insects which rustled among the knee-high bushes. On occasion, the shrubbery would shift to their surprise, and while Varna would jump at the fact, neither Ellen nor Kallas would give so much a reaction.

One particular observation stood out to Varna in the night: that the Scarf which she’d given Kallas had appeared considerably lighter than her arrival in the capital, and that its shine had become rather dull. Such prospects were rather harrowing, for to her knowledge the shine of a Scarf was, in part, indicative of its end—as the fate of a Fated neared their end, so did its Scarf and its brilliance, losing the very mystical gleam it was known for. In that way, it was what caused the Scarf trade within her former city, an illicit scheme which never entered the eyes of the Rayan Order. Or perhaps it did, though with the vile nature that was Farthos royalty, it came to no surprise that the secretive dealings were rested.

Excessive thought eventually led her nowhere, and Kallas, pondering Varna’s fixation on the Scarf brought her back to the present moment.

“Did you want the Scarf back, Varna? You stare at it with every chance you get.”

Startled, she gazed into Kallas’ eyes, which appeared wearisome and worried, yet contained a hint of hope.

“No— Um. That’s okay.” She paused, eyes swimming around the road before she settled with a contrived reassuring tone. “It, it looks good?”

Blinking at a loss for words, Kallas shifted his eyes to face the wilderness. He cleared his throat, palm covering his mouth.

“Thanks.” He said, a period of awkward silence lasting through the air until he chuckled.

“Wh— What?”

Turning to face Varna, he quickly spoke to clear the air. “No, it’s nothing. Just that I thought it was funny. Your answer, I mean.”

“Not nice.” She frowned, before jabbing lightly at Kallas’ arm, only to be met with an irritating smile.

There, the playful air slowly settled into a comfortable silence, as the three entered a more residential area. That wasn’t to say the Outer Capital had grown to resemble the confines of the capital, however; it still appeared far more scattered and open than the rest.

Settling within the comforting air, yet unbreaking, was Ellen, who’d been curious about the dull and lovely Scarf for the past while.

“Um. Miss Varna.” She gripped on her cape and tugged it lightly. “What is the Scarf for?”

Taken aback slightly, Varna pondered the question for a few moments. She knew it would arise eventually, though certainly not from the young girl. Smiling lightly, she scratched her cheek and responded.

“Protection.”

Ellen tilted her head quizzically. “Protection? But what does it protect you from?”

“Um.” She stammered somewhat. “Disaster.”

Ellen blinked in confusion. With the limited understanding of the Marlyn language, it was no surprise to Varna that her point could not be articulated. She could only smile awkwardly.

“Is it magic?”

“Come on, Ellen.” It was only then that Kallas interrupted. “You know magic isn’t real.”

Surprise washed over Varna’s expression. She hadn’t realised. Not at all. Thinking back, it made all the more sense that magic didn’t exist in their eyes. To them, it was a phenomenon heard only in fairytales—something which existed in their distant past.

Ellen rebutted. “That’s not true! I’ve seen it before!”

“Really?” Kallas frowned, looking back at the two of them.

“Yes!” She said, “At home. They said magic was real there!“

“Okay, okay. I know. Magic is real.”

“I saw it myself. I know it’s real.” Ellen pouted in displeasure.

“Well, if you say so.”

Her expression quickly grew depressed. It looked as if she were about to cry, her response devolving into sorrowful mumbles. “I know because my mum showed me. She’d prove it. I know.”

Kallas panicked, swiftly moving next to Ellen and wiping her tears. Handing Varna the lantern, he picked up Ellen and carried her, his shoulder acting as support. Kallas rubbed her back, and said softly.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Varna stayed silent in concern. She hadn’t known Ellen’s circumstances, nor had she known the safety of her parents. Yet, reading between the lines, she could still resonate with Ellen on some level. She, herself, had parental complications.

There, attempting to learn more about Ellen, Varna made her way to Kallas’ side and whispered.

“Her parents, okay?”

“I don’t know.” Kallas frowned bitterly. “I’d only known her since a couple weeks ago. Just that— when I found her by the side, it probably looked like a nightmare.”

“What happened?”

“You probably don’t know this, but about a month ago the capital was facing a major coup d’etat.” He took a breath, consoling Ellen as she fell to sleep. “It was… horrible. She was lucky I found her before anyone else had.”

“Was she okay?”

“Well, physically she was okay, but mentally she’s broken.” Kallas said. “I found her next to a guard. He was dead by then, and god knows how, but I think she killed him.”

Varna remained quiet, her eyes falling naturally onto Ellen’s back.

“And there was another person too. A woman. She was alive…if you could call a pool of blood one. But all I could remember was her begging to spare Ellen’s life. And well, you know the rest.”

“I see.” Varna said, facing the ground. There was nothing much to say, other than to give sympathies. But that would do no good to Kallas, and likely to Ellen either. It would only serve to be insensitive.

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The two walked ever silently down the dirt-beaten path. They were close to Riverbank Town. They were sure of it. Yet, in the silence, the walk to the town seemed ever to progress far slower than it did before. Attempting to break the atmosphere, Kallas asked about the Scarf.

“So, is it magic?”

Startled, Varna looked up at Kallas. “What?”

“The Scarf. Is it magic?”

Varna pondered the thought for a moment. Was it alright for her to lie? Magic didn’t exist in the human world, after all. Yet, at the same time, it would be improper to falsify the truth Ellen so desperately seeked. There was also herself. The mere thought of lying to Kallas made her uncomfortable. She did, however, eventually reach a conclusion.

“Yes.” She said, “It is magic.”

Kallas smiled. “Well, then I hope it does protect us, like you said.”

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If the Marlyn Capital was the centre of all activity, then Riverbank Town was its opposite. They were direct inverses of one another, and the effect on this was partly intriguing. In the night, citizens typically abided by law, save for the few who guarded the streets during that time. Here, much of the town’s populace were kicking, though not in a good way. The poor residents scattered themselves like mice around the streets, and the lighting from the houses’ windows illuminated the town. The town was neither quiet as well, chatter escaping from town’s taverns.

The atmosphere struck Varna. The town was certainly lively, but a stifling atmosphere coiled around her neck the deeper she walked into it. It didn’t take her long to realise what it was. The Forsaken Village. Riverbank Town was exactly like it, or the atmosphere at least. Even with so much a glance, she could notice its residents were exiled, perhaps considered outlaws in the capital. She hadn’t known the circumstances of the residents here, but she was more than sure they’d fallen prey to the same fate as her family. Corruption existed everywhere. It seems the humans hadn’t fixed that issue either.

Varna’s assessment of the town was held in the midst of Riverbank Town’s local eatery…or the underground portion of it. The trio were so far below the restaurant, that by the time they’d been sitting, waiting for a henchman, the boisterous chattering of drunken men couldn’t be heard in the slightest. The atmosphere felt rather stiff and despite that, it was only Ellen who’d stayed free of its hold—she only awoken once, and that was when they’d entered the restaurant the first time.

Kallas surprised Varna, though. She knew Kallas had connections, after all how would they be able to pull off the operation? But she certainly expected a more noble approach to the matter. With the way things were now, it felt like she was witnessing a secretive Farthan dealing—not that she’d seen one herself, only heard. Yet, here they were, waiting on old dusty furniture within a cold cobblestone cell, only illuminated faintly by some dimming candles held on the walls. There was a severe lack of people too, in fact, there was only one other person in the waiting room aside from them, and he certainly did not look too welcoming.

Turning her head away whenever the man glanced at her, Varna retreated to Kallas’ ear, asking him a question which bugged her for a while.

“Where are we?”

“Slave market.” He huffed, almost spitting the words as fast as he could.

Varna wasn’t too surprised, but she furrowed her eyebrows and questioned him in a low tone. “Sell them?”

“What?” Kallas faced her, confused, before looking as if a light had struck his head. “Oh, no! No, not at all.”

She sighed in relief. “Then why?”

“We’re not here to sell,” He insisted, “only to ‘redistribute’.”

Varna looked confused. Redistribute? What did he mean if not to send the children to a slave market? Perhaps the man he was waiting for had other means of safety, or perhaps he was to switch the children with other ones? She couldn’t picture him doing that, never, yet the thoughts ran wildly through her mind.

“Don’t be mistaken.” Kallas reassured, his hand rubbing Ellen’s back while she let out tired breaths, before responding to Varna in a hushed voice. “Sure, I’m selling them to a slave merchant, but only in name. The guy I know—he runs a separate business, an ‘orphanage’ so to speak, taking the children meant to be sold and giving them a second chance.”

“Can save—” She asked impatiently.

Immediately, Kallas raised a finger to her mouth, hushing her. “Don’t be so loud. We’re not the only ones here, remember?”

She repeated the question in a quieter tone. “Can we save all the children?”

“I can’t guarantee it, but he’s known me a long time and owes me a great deal. If anything, now’s the chance for him to finally repay me.” He grinned.

It was then that a woman, short and dressed in black entered the room. The wooden door creaked slightly as it opened, and within the frame was a dark hallway with the same atmosphere as the very room they were in. The woman herself, wearing an all-black suit and a mask covering a large portion of her face, stood next to the door and checked her watch. Then, scanning the room, she landed eyes on Kallas and spoke bluntly.

“Sir Einwald has been expecting you. Follow me to meet him in his chambers—and without delay.”

In practised motions, she opened the door and gestured for the trio to follow her, still reserving enough respect to let Einwald’s esteemed guests to accustom themselves to their procedures. With quick and almost elusive steps, she walked down the hall, passing different doors until they reached their desired office.

The underground chamber, in itself, wasn’t that big. In fact, the end of the dark hall could be seen from its entryway, just past a dozen or so doors of the same kind. Though Varna didn’t sit well with the operations in the underground, part of her was still curious about its clients. She eyed the other rooms as she walked by, sometimes even straining her ears to listen to any conversations happening within them. Obviously, she heard none.

“Please refrain from listening in on private matters.” The woman scolded, and Varna immediately stopped her antics. “It’s rather unbecoming, and infringes upon our establishment’s regulations.”

“Sorry.” Varna apologised, and was met with a huff.

The woman’s attitude stuck out to Varna. It felt rather brash, if not rude. It would make more sense if she were to hold her clients with respect, yet it seemed she held them in little regard, perhaps even none. It was rather counterintuitive as a business, and Varna couldn’t help but wonder about her.

Her curiosity would never be satiated, however, as the woman stopped in front of a particular room, knocking on the door to indicate their presence.

“Enter.”

A rather soft voice echoed past the door. Having confirmation, the woman opened the door for the trio, exposing a rather simple office clearly meant for negotiations. The atmosphere in the room, however, felt nowhere near formal, and the man sitting behind the room’s office desk seemed to be signing papers. There, the three of them entered the room, and the door was closed shut as the woman stood in the hall.

Einwald was by no means outstanding. In fact, had he not been the key individual behind the operation, Varna wouldn’t have noticed his presence. He almost blended into the background, despite his clothes shining a brilliant green. At a closer glance, the man certainly seemed the part of a noble—his clothes were tailored with an emerald green, and gold linings shone among the dim candles, and the collar made part of fur accentuated the already great value for the piece.

Einwald, raising his head as he signed the final bit of papers on the desk, removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. Then, placing them back on, he leaned back on his wooden chair, feathered at its back for more comfort.

“It’s been a while, Kallas.” Einwald said, his hand reaching to grab a glass cup of water. “I thought you’d never return.”

“I wish I never did,” He scoffed, “but here I am.”

“Here you are indeed.”

An awkward silence fell between them. He didn’t intend on coming back, Varna thought, realising there was more to Kallas than meets the eye. It seemed he had his own share of shady dealings, but Varna couldn’t judge his character off that. She’d seen firsthand what kind of man he was—but she hadn’t seen what kind of man he’d been.

Einwald placed his glass down after finishing its contents.

“What brings you here? Found yourself in another scuffle?” He glanced at Ellen and Varna, eyeing Kallas sharply.

Kallas averted his eyes, clearing his throat as he responded in shame. “It’s more than that.”

“More than? Like what?”

“Long story.” Kallas spoke abruptly. “Listen. I need a favour.”

Einwald raised his eyebrow. “Okay. What is it?”

Kallas scratched the back of his head, practically forcing the words out of his mouth. “Are you able to hide a group of prisoners?”

“What?”

“They’re children. And they’re about to be executed.” He said, impatient. “I’m not sure when, but I’m sure in the next few days lives are going to be lost.”

Einwald furrowed his brows. “Kallas. Have you gone insane?”

“I know—”

“I understand what kind of person you are, but this is simply outrageous.” He leaned against the table, hands holding his head as he stared at Varna. “Is she a prisoner too?”

“Not her.” Kallas responded. “She’s helping me save them.”

“Save?” Einwald rebuked. “Kallas, you’re not saving anyone.”

“I’m helping the kids—”

“You’re helping nobody. Listen, aren’t you supposed to be on patrol right now? What happens when the guards find out you’ve been skimping your duties?”

Kallas struggled to answer. “That’s…I can deal with it later.”

“No, you can’t. Did Milaine mean nothing to you?”

Silence.

“We both know what happened back then. Sticking your head in the wrong places will just repeat all of that.” Einwald said to him, pushing back his chair as it rubbed against the carpet floor.

Kallas stammered, trying to defend himself, yet there were no words that rose to him. What could he say? Einwald was right in his eyes. He always stuck his head into other matters like his life depended on it. It didn’t. What good did it do for him other than stroke his ego?

“Look. I’ve worked with you a long time, and if you’re asking for my help, then I’ll help you to the best of my ability.” Einwald reassured him. “But you need to understand—”

“So you’re not going to?” Kallas interjected, clearly unenthused. Varna couldn’t even tell what he was feeling. “That’s all I need to know.”

Einwald stared at him dumbfounded. There, the candlelights flared and the cold breeze swept past their faces.

“If you’re not going to, then I can do it myself.” Kallas stood up, heading for the door. He turned his head to Varna. “Come on. Looks like a waste of time.”

“Ah.” Varna jumped, also standing from the chair and scampering to the door. She didn’t want to test Kallas further, staying quiet. “Okay.”

“It was nice seeing you.” Kallas said. “Stay safe—”

“Wait.”

Einwald stood up, hands on the table as he leaned toward them. He sighed, before rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’ll help you.”

Kallas furrowed his brows, unconvinced. “Why so suddenly?”

“I know I told you all that…but, ” Einwald paused and smiled, “I said I’d help you— that, and I’ve got debts to settle.

There, Kallas scoffed and made a smile himself, one which seemed so bright even in the dark room. “That’s perfect then.”