Julie visited Abby’s house many times over the next month, their evenings filled with laughter and old stories, yet underpinned with Julie's subtle attempts to sway Abby towards her cause. All the while, Abby was constantly on the hunt for a new job. She didn’t want to reveal she had awakened her powers, but she couldn’t ignore that it opened doors for employment. As these visits became more frequent, Abby’s financial worries deepened; her savings were dwindling with each passing day. One night, while discussing this dilemma, Abby hesitantly broached the subject of her job search—a task she found daunting and disheartening.
Julie didn’t hesitate for a second before she responded with an offer, her eyes alight with an idea. “How about you join me at my shop? Your unique perspective could really brighten up the place," she suggested enthusiastically.
Taken aback but intrigued by the offer, Abby felt a surge of relief wash over her. Working in the heart of the community, especially in Julie’s shop, might be the fresh start she needed. "I would love to, Julie. Thank you," she replied, her voice tinged with grateful resolve. There was a warmth in her heart, mingling with a twinge of suspicion—was this kindness merely a strategy to draw her closer to the rebellion?
As she considered the offer, Abby found herself reflecting on the days she spent with Erik. He had always been a symbol of courage and conviction, tirelessly working to protect those he cared about, sometimes even at great personal cost. His commitment to his beliefs had been unwavering, inspiring her own sense of justice and duty. However, his path had led him away from her, driven by a divergence in their views on how to enact change. Now, Julie’s invitation seemed to echo that crossroad, presenting her with a choice that could align her with a cause that might veer too close to the edge of what Erik had stood against.
The memory of Erik's laughter, his thoughtful debates with Julie over their differing approaches to fighting for what was right, played in her mind. "He respected your determination, Julie, even when he disagreed with your methods," Abby murmured, almost to herself. She remembered Erik’s parted words about walking the fine line between revolution and recklessness.
Julie smiled, a hint of nostalgia softening her features. "He did, didn't he? But Abby, think of it. You have the chance to make a real impact, to continue what Erik cared about in your own way."
Abby nodded slowly, feeling the weight of her decision. Joining Julie wasn't just about taking a job; it was potentially stepping into a larger role in a movement that could shape their city's future. As she looked into Julie’s hopeful eyes, Abby realized this wasn’t merely a choice about employment—it was about deciding the kind of legacy she wanted to build, possibly diverging from the path Erik had chosen yet driven by a similar passion to enact change.
“I’ll start tomorrow, Julie. But let’s take it one step at a time,” Abby finally said, a determined glint in her eyes. This decision wasn’t just about survival or employment; it was about finding her place in a story still unfolding, perhaps away from Erik’s shadow but aligned with the spirit of his dedication to a better world.
The morning buzzed with hurried excitement in Abby’s home as she meticulously checked her bag, ensuring she had all the necessary items for the day. Within it rested Erik’s letter, and a lunch she had made that morning. She thought about removing the sand from her bag, but she enjoyed her molten sphere ability, it was random and unpredictable. She whispered a wish for Nat to have a great day, though he was absorbed in his own cryptic scribblings and barely acknowledged her departure. She fluffed out her dress she was wearing, mostly to try to blend in by hiding her tentacles, but partially to feel professional.
As Abby stepped outside, a chill of apprehension crept over her, a now-familiar prickle at the back of her neck as if unseen eyes followed her every move. This unnerving sensation had haunted her every morning recently, and it clung to her like a shadow until she was well beyond her own section. The urge to discuss this with Nat was strong—his insights could be crucial—but something held her back, a reluctance seeded by fear of what it might truly mean.
Navigating through the bustling streets of Arvendon, the morning sun cast everything in a golden hue, creating sharp contrasts of light and shadow that seemed to mirror her internal turmoil. Abby moved with practiced care; her tentacles snugly hidden under a broad dress—a necessary guise that felt like a shield against prying eyes. Yet, the disguise did little to soothe her growing anxiety.
Her pace quickened as she neared the colorful marketplace, the vibrant stalls a stark contrast to her dark thoughts. The air was rich with the scents of fresh pastries and exotic spices, a sensory overload that momentarily distracted her from her worries. The familiar chime of the shop’s bell greeted her as she pushed open the door, stepping into what she hoped would be a refuge from the invisible gaze that seemed ever-present.
As she crossed the threshold into Julie’s shop, surrounded by the comforting clutter of crafts and the murmur of familiar faces, Abby allowed herself a momentary breath of relief. Here, at least, she could pretend to be just another vendor, her secrets as hidden as the tentacles beneath her dress.
As she pushed open the door to the shop, the cheerful chime of the bell heralded her new beginning. Julie, spotting Abby, brightened immediately, her face lighting up with genuine delight. “Abby! Just the person I wanted to see,” she exclaimed, stepping around the counter to pull Abby into a warm, welcoming hug.
Their laughter echoed through the small shop, a harmonious blend that wove stories of past times and memories with their work. Abby paused amidst the joviality to absorb the vibrant array of crafts and local art surrounding her. Each piece seemed to tell its own tale, reminding her that here, amidst these colorful expressions of creativity, lay the potential for a fresh start.
As the day progressed, Abby seamlessly melded into the fabric of the shop. Her natural warmth and the novelty of her presence attracted a diverse array of customers. Laughter often burst forth when an errant tentacle, seeking its own path, inadvertently sent merchandise clattering.
“Sorry about that,” Abby chuckled, “Each tentacle has its own brain so they think for themselves. If my focus slips even for a moment, well, they have their own ideas about what to do next.”
Every individual customer interaction wove Abby deeper into the life of the shop, each successful sale affirming her place in this new world. Yet, beneath the surface of this newfound acceptance, a thread of unease lingered. Abby felt the weight of watchful eyes, a reminder that her identity as an Auctian and her association with Julie marked her as an anomaly, a subject of curiosity.
She sensed the gazes linger a little too long, the whispers that hushed as she approached. It was a familiar discomfort, one that had shadowed her since her arrival in Arvendon so long ago as a small auction with a newly adopted family. This city was a city of many faces and secrets, where being different wasn’t just noticeable; it was significant.
As she adjusted a display of intricately woven baskets, Abby let the rhythm of the shop soothe her nerves. Here, in this small area of the city, she would make her stand, tentacles and all, ready to embrace whatever challenges came her way, armed with humor and a resolve hardened by past trials.
A customer, a middle-aged woman with keen eyes, leaned closer to Abby as she inspected a basket. "You know," she started in a low voice, "they say there’s a group stirring things up in the Crown. They’re calling them the resistance, doing things the high-ups don’t want to talk about."
Abby kept her expression neutral, her interest piqued. "Oh? What kind of things?" she asked, her voice casual but her mind racing.
"They’re fixing up places the city's forgotten, popping up where they’re least expected, making the authorities look like they’re standing still. Heard they caused a bit of a ruckus last night. A few sinkholes suddenly appearing on the outside of the Points, blocking those new transport routes," the woman shared, her tone a mix of concern and admiration.
Another customer, overhearing the conversation, chimed in, "Yes, I’ve heard about that too. Some say it’s a sign of the city fighting back, others think it’s these rebels making a statement. Whatever it is, it’s got people talking."
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Abby nodded, absorbing the information. These snippets of conversation provided her with a broader view of the resistance's impact and community perceptions. Each a tale of subtle defiance added layers to her understanding of Julie’s efforts and the public’s mixed feelings about them.
As the day wore on, more customers brought snippets of news and rumors, each contributing to a tapestry of public sentiment that ranged from cautious support to wary skepticism. Abby found herself caught between her role as a shop assistant and an involuntary informant on the mood of the city.
These insights were invaluable. They painted a picture of a city on the cusp of change, of a population restless under the weight of traditional governance and excited by the possibility of something new. For Abby, each comment cemented her realization that her role in Julie’s shop was more than just a job—it was a front-row seat to the evolving narrative of Arvendon, a narrative she was increasingly intertwined with, whether she liked it or not.
As she closed the shop later that day, Abby reflected on the whispered stories and open debates that had passed between the aisles. The resistance was more than just a background noise; it was becoming the heartbeat of the Crown, pulsing through the veins of the city, up to the Points at least. The resistance was urging the Arvendonian people to wake, to act, to change but it was unknown if the whispers were making it to the Shaft, or the Arms. Abby also got the feeling that Julie’s shop was a hub for acceptance to discuss such topics as the streets were silent on the topic. As she locked the door behind her, Abby knew that her involvement was no longer a question of if, but a very possible of when.
Time passed, and once a week during the evening, as Julie locked the doors and the last customer waved goodbye, she would lean in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. "There’s another gathering tonight," she would murmur, her eyes searching Abby's for any sign of interest or commitment. Abby would deny, then Julie would tell her something new the slums were going through. Right now, it was sinkholes forming in the Crown, very similar to the ones the rebellion was making on the surface. Entire buildings had fallen, and neighborhoods had been wrecked. High King Sevas had sent troops to quell unrest but not to investigate why it was occurring.
Julie also made it a point to visit Abby at home, using each visit to strengthen their bond and gently encourage Abby’s participation in the rebellion. Over cups of steaming tea, Julie’s earnest words filled Abby’s modest kitchen. "You could make a real difference, Abby," she'd insist softly. “An Auctian fighting on our side, for the people!”
"I understand the need, Julie, but it’s hard enough to blend in," Abby would counter, her voice laced with hesitation. "I’m literally the only Auctian in this city, it would be putting a target on me that was forty meters tall and a hundred wide. And I always feel like I’m being watched. It’s unnerving."
“Abby, I know we see things differently,” Julie acknowledged, softening her tone as she sat down across from Abby, her eyes earnest and compassionate. “Erik believed in change through structure, through the system. But sometimes, the system is too broken. We need to shake the foundations, make them notice.”
Abby sighed, a trace of frustration mingling with fear. “Julie, I remember Erik arguing about the with you about the risks. Risks I now know were more that just relationship risks, about how going too far could backfire. He respected you, he did, but the Erik I knew, feared chaos could hurt those we aim to help.”
Julie nodded; her expression somber. “I know his concerns, and I respect them. But Erik isn’t here, Abby. We must navigate this storm ourselves. And right now, the slums need more than what the authorities are willing to give. We’re not just fighting for today, but for the future of everyone down there.”
“What of our lives if you are discovered?” Abby asked, worry in her voice of not only herself but of Julie as well.
“Door’s always open,” Julie’s voice was soft as she stood to leave, a gentle reminder of her invitation and her belief in Abby’s potential to contribute meaningfully to their cause.
Left alone with her thoughts, Abby stared into her empty teacup, the steam long gone, mirroring the cooling of her own resolve. Julie’s words echoed in her mind, a tumult of fear and admiration for her friend’s courage intertwining with her own desire to make a difference. Yet, the shadow of being watched, of feeling exposed and vulnerable, clung tightly to her, a constant reminder of the risks involved.
Her decision remained unmade, suspended in the balance between her fears and her yearning to act. The comfort of inaction was a thin veil, easily torn by the harsh realities that Julie brought into her kitchen each week. Each story of the slums, each report of neglect, and each plea for her involvement chipped away at her resolve to remain on the sidelines.
As the door closed behind Julie, the click sounded louder than usual, a definitive end to their meeting but not to the internal debate that raged within Abby. The choice was hers alone to make, and with each passing day, the weight of potential change grew heavier on her shoulders.
An hour or so after Julie left, as shadows danced upon the walls of Abby's kitchen, as the outside went on about its routine. She finally shared her fears with Nat. The dim light flickered softly as they spoke, casting a glow on their serious faces. "Julies determined, and I want to help, but the risk, Nat... It’s not just about me. Also, there’s this feeling like someone is trying to watch me every time I walk outside."
Nat paused, setting his notebook aside. "It’s a significant risk, Abby. Once you step into this role, stepping back won’t be straightforward. On that feeling you are sensing… I can probably help you immediately in that manner.” He took a few moments to write in one of his many notebooks. “There, if something really is watching you, it’ll stand out like a sore thu... um tentacle."
The weight of her decision hung heavily in the air. "I need more time," Abby murmured, her decision unmade, her spirit caught between her desire to help and her instinct for self-preservation. Nat having at least done something helped her uneasiness, even if a small amount.
The next morning, Abby's heart lurched as she stepped outside. Hovering before her door was a spectral apparition—an eye, its iris a deep violet with a swirling crimson pupil, scanning her home with unsettling precision. She moved tentatively, her breath caught in her throat, but the eye remained fixated on her dwelling, oblivious to her presence.
As she hurried through the streets, Abby noticed similar eerie sentinels stationed at intervals, their gaze piercing into buildings and following unsuspecting passersby. The sight of one trailing behind Julie as she entered the shop sent a chill down Abby's spine, and unease coiled tightly within her throughout the day.
That evening, Abby’s voice trembled with urgency as she relayed her observations to Nat. "They were following everyone! And there’s even one hovering outside now,” she gestured frantically towards the door.
Nat, with a grave nod, secured the door meticulously. Then he double checked his work to be certain. "Hmmm…” He started. Ain’t that something. These aren’t just any watchers, Abby. They’re Sevas’ eyes—Shadow Eyes as he calls them," he explained, thumbing through his notebook for the right page. “’Endowed with the power to observe without obstruction, Sevas wraps himself in a cloak of shadows that lets him oversee his realm with chilling clarity.’ This comes from a source very close to General Thane, another narrator.”
Abby peered anxiously outside. "So, he sees everything? That’s... unsettling."
"And if Julie was followed by one," Nat paused, the implications dawning on them simultaneously, "then Sevas might already know about the rebellion."
Abby’s stomach knotted. “What do we do now?”
Nat closed his notebook, his expression stern yet oddly resolute. "We need to assume he’s watching and plan accordingly. This changes everything, Abby. We’re not just fighting against a ruler; we’re up against a system that sees and knows far more than we anticipated."
The revelation hung heavily between them, a stark reminder of the stakes at play in their struggle for freedom and change. Abby realized that her involvement had escalated beyond mere support; she was now integral to a battle waged in the shadows of omnipresent eyes.
Abby paced back and forth, her tentacles twitching with nervous energy. "Nat, we have to let Julie know about the eye following her. She's walking into danger blindfolded."
Nat hesitated; his expression clouded with concern. "Abby, revealing the nature of these eyes to Julie isn’t a simple decision. If Sevas realizes we can identify his surveillance, he might escalate his tactics. Plus, there’s the issue with my Divine Law I can only share certain things with you."
"But isn't it more dangerous to let her remain unaware?" Abby stopped pacing, her voice rising in frustration. "She’s leading this resistance, Nat! How can she lead effectively if she doesn’t even know she’s being watched this closely?"
Nat sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I understand your point, Abby, but think about the consequences. Right now, Sevas might believe his surveillance is covert. If that changes, we don’t know how he’ll react or the domino effect of that reaction."
Abby folded her tentacles, her gaze intense. "And what if Julie makes a move that puts her directly in Sevas’ crosshairs because she didn’t know she was being watched? It’s not just about tactics, Nat—it’s about her safety too."
“Is it,” Nat closed his notebooks and looked directly at Abby. In one of his rare moments of seriousness he continued. “To me it seems that since we’ve been back here you have done nothing in your training. We were here to investigate the matter of Erik’s death. You’ve reconnected with Julie, yes, but she is a person capable of making her own decisions, Abby. Making and becoming leader of a rebellion isn’t something you do lightheartedly. She knew the risks. You forget I was with Erik before you for fifteen years. This rebellion started five years ago. Who knows how long Sevas has known about it.”
Abby took a deep breath, trying to steady her frayed nerves. Nat's words, though harsh, rang with truth, slicing through the fog of her emotions. "I know, Nat. I know Julie's strong and capable. But isn't part of our duty to look out for each other? Especially when we have the means to help?"
Nat softened slightly, recognizing the concern lacing Abby's voice. "Yes, we do need to look out for each other, which is why we are discussing this. But there's a fine line, Abby. We must also respect Julie's autonomy in this. She chose this path knowing well what it entails."
"Maybe so," Abby conceded, her tentacles curling in agitation. "But Julie might not know the full extent of Sevas' surveillance capabilities. Knowing about the eye could change her approach, make her more cautious. Isn’t it better to be overly cautious in these situations?"
"You're right," Nat acknowledged, opening his notebook once more, his fingers skimming the pages. "But this is tied exclusively to Sevas, so what to do, what to do.” He placed a pencil between his teeth as he spoke.
"So, what’s our move?" Abby asked, her mind racing with scenarios, each more complex than the last.
Nat smiled slightly reading he thoughts, the gears in his mind clearly turning. Suddenly he jumped up. “I’ve got it! It’s so simple if I had thought of it earlier we wouldn’t have had to have that conversation just now. I’ll start the preparations. We need this to be subtle but effective. It’s delicate, but we’re not in the business of taking easy paths, are we?"
"No, we're not," Abby agreed, a renewed sense of purpose firming her resolve. "We're in the business of making difficult choices for the right reasons."
As they finalized their plan, Abby felt a complex blend of anticipation and dread. They were about to walk a razor-thin line between intervention and interference. Yet, the thought of standing by while Julie and the rebellion unknowingly faced such invasive scrutiny was untenable. If they were careful, they could change the course of their resistance without compromising the trust and autonomy that held their fragile alliance together.