Reyna Fenharrow was a prominent woman in the Empire capital city’s ecosystem. Her rules kept the underworld out of the limelight, which meant that regular civilians could live in peace amongst the bustle.

If you asked around, rumors would recount the time where a rising gang named The Axis attempted to hassle her for a tribute payment. No sooner than a week later, the Axis leadership fell ill after being suddenly besieged by infected rats in their sleep.

They never asked her for tribute again, mostly because they dissolved the organization shortly after.

She also welcomed a dignitary to her inn who then sought her affections shortly after her husband was “sent away on business”. When the dignitary refused to take her rejection at face value and proceeded to threaten her reputation, she performed a live critique of his love letters at the inn’s pub. As much as he attempted to remove her from the stage, she claimed that he would assume ownership of the performed letter, and therefore expose his pathetic affections towards a married woman if he did.

It didn’t matter that the letter’s contents itself made its “mysterious author” pretty blatantly obvious to the common layman. Such is the curse of being a public figure.

And that was much of Reyna’s way of operating. She was one who set her own laws because she always knew how to bend the current ones in her favor. It is not defamation if the author’s identity is never explicitly revealed. It is not attempted murder if rats are so commonplace, it is impossible to determine whether they were intentionally infected or fated to be infected.

And then there was the case of a young boy who was built like a young man, who attempted to steal a box of jewels from her study.

It was a petty theft. Yet, instead of sending a plague against him, Madame Reyna took Neymar in, perhaps spoiled him, even, with the way she was exceptionally kind to him, even in his stubborn tantrums. Abel could find no real punishment inflicted upon the boy for his crimes. There wasn’t even any confirmation that he had returned what he stole.

And yet, Neymar looked absolutely terrified to find that Madam Fenharrow had discovered him and Abel bloodied from a fight.

“M-Madam. I-It’s not what you think—“ Neymar stuttered, meek. Reyna’s hard gaze never faltered. It bewildered Abel to see her reduce him, who stood twice as tall as her, so readily with a few words.

“Look how you’ve damaged the carpet with your blood! I’ll need to get proper cleaning powder to make sure it doesn’t stain.” She murmured, eerily quiet and composed despite the anger in her expression. Her gaze demanded an explanation from them.

“I started it.” Abel admitted, receiving a notable look of surprise from Neymar. “I provoked him.”

Not quite the truth. Not a lie, either.

“That’s—“ Neymar attempted to interject. Madam Fenharrow was faster.

“You will take responsibility for it, then. You both will. You are to fetch soda powder from the apothecary down the road and use it to wash it out by hand.” She clipped, then turned away. “You will be forgiven once the blood is gone, and not a moment sooner.”

And then she just walked away.

That was it? No threat? No sudden onslaught of hidden assassins?

An inn as efficient as the Fenharrow’s was likely stocked with proper cleaning supplies every morning. Could she have laid the punishment in the errand itself?

Abel anticipated a road full of plague rats would greet them the moment they stepped out. Or an army of assassins the moment they turn the street corner. Perhaps the apothecary will attempt to poison them—

“You heard her. Let’s go.” Neymar shook him out of the whirlwind of hypotheticals forming in his mind.

Abel reluctantly, yet curiously, followed.

The route to the apothecary was a challenge explicitly for Neymar, for its entire length spanned the river road.

And, Abel noted, Neymar refused to even set foot on the promenade that ran parallel to it.

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“Maybe we can take the backstreet? But then the other river road…” Neymar sucked in air between his teeth, calculating, rigid in his stance at the threshold of the inn’s entrance.

Abel then realized that he had not once seen Neymar leave the inn since he arrived. Perhaps that was why Neymar had not attended school in a while.

Maybe Madam Fenharrow was punishing Neymar, in her own way.

Maybe those assassins were still hiding in the alleys for Abel himself.

“I’ll make sure you won’t fall in.” Abel attempted to reassure Neymar. Though perhaps the reassurance was less effective, given that, just moments ago, Neymar had given him the giant purpling bruise across his left cheek that was now bright and prominent.

“Shut up.” Neymar grumbled and finally stalked out onto the crowded promenade. His limbs continued to shudder, despite the stern frown on his face. Abel could see splotches of crystal forming on the surface of Neymar’s skin.

Abel stepped on the portion of the road closest to the river, keeping apace with Neymar, which turned out to be rather difficult with how he weaved between carts and groups of pedestrians with a brisk speed.

He also peculiarly kept his collar popped up around his face yet no wind blew. He was hiding.

Curious.

“Are you hiding?”

“I’m not. I’m blocking my view of the river.”

“Ah. I see.” Well, Abel mused, he just needed a distraction.

“You know, I’m terrified of hats.”

“Hats?”

“They used to force us to wear these … headpieces.” Abel stuttered, wondering why his breath caught in his throat at the word. He didn’t think sharing this would feel so nerve wracking and at the same time, comforting.

“I see.”

“Yeah.” A silence fell between them. “You know who’s scary too? Madam Fenharrow.”

“Is she?”

“Well you seemed terrified of her.” Abel shrugged “I don’t see why you stick around the inn when she seemed ready to kick us both to the curb back there.”

“It’s different.” Neymar’s gaze nervously flicked around as he peeked over his collar. “She helped me get out of a bad situation. I don’t want to disappoint her, especially when she’s continuing to help me.”

“What kind of situation?”

“Piss off. As if I’d tell you.” Neymar scoffed.

“I already know about your parents.”

“It’s not them.” Neymar’s voice was clipped, unexpectedly sharp. ”They were good people.”

“Then what?”

Suddenly, Neymar’s stone claws reached out and grabbed Abel’s arm, digging into his skin. Abel jerked, anticipating another brawl to break out then and there, until he realized his back foot was hovering in the air. He looked down. River water rushed against the wall that he was standing on the precipice of. He had wandered to the ledge of the promenade, and was one step away from falling into the river.

“Watch where you’re going, Pipsqueak!” Neymar shoved Abel back towards the solid ground. Despite the roughness of the gesture, it made Abel smile. Neymar saved him, despite everything he believes to know about him.

Despite his incessant poking questions, too.

“Thanks.” He breathed, overcome with emotion of sudden kinship. It felt silly and simple, and yet it was so real.

“Don’t get any funny ideas.” Neymar grunted, clearly flustered. “Just know I wouldn’t jump in to rescue your ass.”

“You don’t want me dead.” Abel observed, the smile unable to leave his face.

“I don’t want anyone dead.” Neymar folded his arms defensively. “I’m not heartless. I just don’t trust you.”

“Dmitri was right. You’re a good one.”

“Never mind. I’m going to shove you in—“

“No, you won’t!” Abel laughed and scanned the area around them, wondering. It was like he was weightless for the first time. A gentle breeze wafted around him. “Hey, don’t you think that sign looks like a tiny butt?”

“That’s the apothecary.” Neymar grunted, squinted, then coughed. “It kind of does.”

Abel continued headfirst into the apothecary, with the complete assurance that facing Madam Fenharrow’s assassins would only strengthen the bond that was forming between him and Neymar. But, much to his disappointment, it was simply a normal apothecary, with normal soda powder.

So Abel made up his own story, where the soda powder was actually the secret formula to curing baldness, and they needed to traverse great lengths and great perils to spare the fate of the balding bellhop that manned the inn’s lobby alongside Madam Fenharrow.

By the time they had returned to the inn, Neymar’s skin formations had subsided. And Abel could swear he let out a laugh or two under his breath. Those laughs could’ve been sighs of resignation. Abel took any response as a win, because it meant Neymar was paying attention to him and not the river road.

It was strange, how Abel now felt a pang of pain at the conclusion of their small excursion. He thought of how their lives would soon separate, especially once he started attending school. He wondered if Neymar would continue to fear, and, despite knowing him for but a few days, Abel felt guilty for abandoning him.

That is, until Neymar interrupted his train of thought later that same day. They were donned in aprons and gloves, scrubbing out the carpet’s blood stains.

“You know, you’re pretty puny for a soldier.” He began, which startled Abel, and also offended him, just a little. Was he trying to start another fight?

“The folks in the Altiman District are tough. Tougher than me. You’re going to get pummeled for just looking at folks the way you do.”

“How do I look at people?” Abel asked.

“I don’t know. Like you’re studying them? Whatever— not the point.” Neymar huffed. “What I mean to say is… I’m going with you to that school. You’re going to need backup in there.”

And to that, Abel wanted to laugh, but decided to hold his tongue for Neymar’s sake. Clearly Neymar did not notice Abel’s restraint throughout their fight, and he was being particularly sweet about it.

“You… You don’t have to force yourself to do that.”

“I’m not doing it for you.” Neymar scowled, scrubbing harder. “I’m making sure nothing that you do goes back to Madam Fenharrow. Got it?”

“I appreciate the company anyway.” Abel smiled, stopping to watch Neymar work.

“What are you looking at? That stain isn’t gone yet!” Neymar twisted to face Abel’s work like a guard dog, alert and ready to bark.

“I’m letting the soap settle.”Abel laughed, unable to contain himself.

“Get scrubbing! Madam Fenharrow needs to forgive us by dinner.” Neymar proceeded to double down on his scrubbing, energized.

“Whatever you say.”