It was another trying evening at Sanctuary. They were able to offer bread again, but there was an issue with the soup and the kitchen volunteers worked desperately to make it palatable in time. Someone had gotten sick in a corner during the night and no one had noticed until now, so that needed to be cleaned up. A couple of the chairs were getting quite wobbly, looking liable to come apart if someone sat down too roughly. With no ready replacements Ana had to put her faith in duct tape and luck for now. She went over her medical supplies and worried about the amount of disinfectant she had left. One of the cabinets had scratches around the keyhole she and Damia agreed hadn’t been there before, and they briefly discussed possible culprits.

The dinner rush didn’t care about their troubles, any more than usual, and it was all quite hectic. There was a minor scuffle between two men over supposedly stolen socks, but Ana put that down with a firm reprimand. Finally, with everyone eating their soup and bread, she was able to get out her violin.

She sat down in her usual corner and started playing to her audience of unfortunates. She closed her eyes and tried to relive that moment in the garden the night before. She cast her mind to the wilderness, searching for her own soul and trying to guide it to her hands. She met with some success. There was still that nagging feeling that she could be doing better; that she was missing some key component that would truly elevate her attempts at art.

But life always offered disappointments of some sort, and that ghostly feeling of something being just out of her reach lingered all the way until she stopped and opened her eyes. She had been absorbed enough to not notice the silence that had descended. It seemed she’d managed to make an impression, and a sudden moment of raw emotion threatened to clutch at her throat.

But the people of Sanctuary had come to rely on their rock, and so that was her role. Deciding to take advantage of the moment, she stood up on the chair and made it clear with her mien that she had something to say.

“I want to thank you all for listening,” she started with. “But more importantly, I want to ask if anyone’s seen or heard anything from Kylis. Most if not all of you know who he is, and it’s no secret by now that he’s gone missing. I know this is not the first time, but this feels different. I am really starting to worry. So this is no time to be taciturn. I know I’ve asked this before, but has anyone so much as caught a rumour of where he might have gone? Does anyone recall what exactly he was talking about before disappearing?”

“He was just ranting,” said a woman.

“Scratchers must have got him,” Grego said ominously, to a muted but noticeable reaction. “Something’s skulking around the Jungle. ”

“In the dark,” added Old Alma. “When no one can see. When you’re alone.”

“Yes,” Ana said. “When people are alone. So do not be alone. Stay in groups and look out for one another.”

“Not everyone’s worth looking out for,” Grego said, turning to Sam, who had finally deigned to come visit. “Could do with fewer thieving bastards.”

“Eat shit, Grego,” Sam spat, his bile rising in the blink of an eye.

“It’s not a boogeyman doing this, it’s a man!” Grego went on. “Someone who preys on the rest of us, and-”

Ana produced a quick, violent screech on her strings, causing a universal flinch as the sound bounded off the walls and ceiling.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“None of that,” she said firmly and pointed with her bow. “Not under this roof. Not in Sanctuary. No blind accusations, no fighting.”

The men sullenly stared at her, then each other, then simply looked away.

“I think everyone who comes here has taken something that wasn’t theirs,” Ana said without condemnation. “And if not, then you simply haven’t been on the street for very long. But violence is altogether different, and it starts with words. Let’s be better than that.”

“It’s easy to be good when you’re not eating misery every day,” someone commented bitterly.

“Yes,” Ana said. “If goodness wasn’t hard it would rule the world. But who here wants to be human? Does anyone actually want to embrace the label society would stamp you with?”

“I hear there’s a real rash of people losing their homes,” Alma commented. “There’s going to be fierce competition. Probably cruel competition. And I don’t think anyone can stop it. It’s going to get ugly.”

“Well, let’s try!” Ana insisted with desperate force, as if she could hold back the evils of the world with will alone. “Let’s try to look out for our fellow human beings. I try. Please, do the same.”

“Who put you in charge?” Sam asked with sullen, meaningless defiance.

“Sam!” Grego said. “Will you shut-”

“All of you did,” Ana said. “Everyone in this room did, by leaving it up to me to hold everything together.”

No one objected, because upon even a moment of reflection everyone knew it to be true. She let her words hang in the air for a few breaths, and gratifyingly enough she got a few appreciative looks. Then she went on.

“Now, shall we talk about being human? Because there is someone lurking about with some sort of metal claw or something, and Kylis is stumbling around in a state where he cannot look after himself. I want to talk to you about organising into groups for safety, no matter who dislikes whom. But first I want to ask you again about Kylis. What do you know?”

“He was obsessed with a book,” Sam grumbled.

“A book?” Ana repeated.

“Treated it like holy writ,” he went on. “In his stupid, crazy way. And it wasn’t in his lair when I went there.”

“Thief,” Grego mumbled, but was ignored.

“Alright, that might give insight into his state of mind,” Ana said. “What kind of book was it?”

“Mythology, I think,” Sam replied. “Or history. Or something.”

He reached inside of his coat and took out one of the bits of paper he kept there for warmth.

“Found the dust jacket for it the other day, on the ground. Or it could just be from another copy.”

Ana walked over and he held the bit of crumbled, damaged paper out to her. It looked old, even accounting for having been picked off the ground.

Upon unfolding it seemed to have come from a rather small book. There was no author name, nor a summary on the back. Simply a brown jacket decorated with patterns that meant nothing to Ana, as well as a title.

The City That Was.

“Where did you find this?” Ana asked Sam.

“On Grocer Street,” he replied. “Near the old tunnel.”

Ana didn’t like this bit of news.

“But like I said,” he went on. “It could just be from another copy.”

“It could,” she agreed reluctantly. “I think-”

The door swung open and in staggered one of the regulars, leaving a bloody handprint on the wood.

“In the dark...” he gasped, clutching at his bleeding torso. “They’re in the dark.”