As the first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of gold and pink, the city below stirred to life. High above the bustling streets, nestled amidst a labyrinth of narrow alleyways and hidden staircases, lay a large-high-perched but seldomly frequented rooftop, a perfect place for a hideaway.
In this secret and temporary haven, the Rustler slowly awakened from his slumber. The soft warmth of the morning sun kissed his face, as he found himself cocooned in Odo. The rooftop was his sanctuary, shielded from the prying eyes of the world.
Stretching languidly, the Rustler sat up and took in his surroundings. Intricate tapestries adorned the walls, their vibrant colors accentuated by the soft light of the dawn. The air was scented with exotic spices, carried on the breeze that danced through the open archways surrounding the rooftop.
From his elevated perch, the city sprawled out before him like a tapestry of life. Minarets pierced the sky, their elegant forms reaching towards the heavens.
As the Rustler's gaze roamed the urban landscape, he could hear the distant calls of merchants setting up their stalls and the echoes of early morning prayers drifting from, he could tell, praying Odoe.
The city was awakening, but for now, the rooftop hideaway remained a tranquil haven, untouched by the world's commotion.
Seeking her presence, ‘she’ materialized before him. “Good morning,” she greeted, her voice warm and comforting.
“Good morning,” he replied with a sigh, followed by a smile of relief.
With a gentle sigh, the Rustler rose from his odo cushions, which immediately began crawling to merge with him. His bare feet found purchase on the cool stone floor as he walked up to the edge, absorbing the view of the sprawling city below from his elevated perch. Rooftops and narrow alleyways intertwined, forming a labyrinthine maze. In the distance, his eyes caught sight of the city's slums, standing prominently, with a solitary, aged structure protruding from its center.
As he gazed at the radiant life down below, he wondered, "How long was I asleep this time?" The Rustler was aware that he was changing, but the extent of it remained uncertain. The fact that he no longer felt the need for conventional sleep or hunger served as undeniable proof of this transformation.
Whether he ate or not, hunger no longer plagued him. Furthermore, sleep had become entirely optional, and he had developed a peculiar metabolism that allowed him to immerse himself in deep slumber, transporting him to an empty dreaming plane of existence. Once in that plane, there was no telling when he would awaken. It could take days, weeks, and lately, even months for him to rouse from his slumber. The only force capable of rousing him was a call.
A tormenting and visceral call that instantaneously urged him to wake, tearing him from the depths of slumber.
“It’s a long journey that is going to await us, right?”
Yes indeed.
***
In the bustling streets of the city of Denim Dale, he wandered with her at his side, his footsteps echoing through the lively alleys. She had a radiant smile on her face, her dark eyes filled with excitement and mischief. A sight that filled the Rustler with a light nostalgia. They roamed through the vibrant tapestry of the city, the girl leading the way and the boy following closely behind, his arm concealed within the folds of a long-sleeved tunic, to avoid sparking unwanted attention.
As they strolled through the winding alleys, the intoxicating scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, enticing their senses. Their steps came to a halt in front of a stall adorned with stacks of warm, fragrant loaves. Walking up to the stall where the breads were displayed, the girl turned to the boy, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
"Will we?" she asked, her voice filled with mischievous delight.
The boy's gaze shifted between the girl and the delectable bread on display. Memories of not-so old mischievous adventures flooded his mind, and a playful grin tugged at the corners of his lips.
Taking a breath, he made his decision and stepped forward, reaching out to grab a loaf of bread. However, before he could make his escape, the stall owner's voice boomed out in protest.
"Thief!" the stall owner shouted.
An accusation that wouldn’t be the first time he would be shouted at.
As proved by how swiftly he quickened his pace, evading the grasp of everyone attempting to stop him. The girl ran ahead, her laughter dancing through the air as she urged him to catch up.
"What are you waiting for? Hurry up!" she called out, her voice filled with exhilaration.
With a carefree demeanor, he sprinted through the crowded streets, his legs carrying him effortlessly, as if he were simply running a mundane errand.
This time around, there were no city guards to city guards to stand in his way, but had there been one or several, he would have simply a surge of aero-elementalis, blown them away.
Having reached a calmer corner of the city, in a neglected alley, the boy known as the Rustler leaned against a worn-out wall to catch his breath and finally savor the spoils of his daring feat. The bread he had managed to acquire was warm in his hands, its tantalizing aroma wafting through the air, teasing his senses.
He was about to tear off a piece of the loaf when, looking in the girl's direction, he noticed that she had nothing in her hands. After all, how could she? As he met her gaze, she raised both hands with a shrug. Seeing this, he hesitated to take the first bite, knowing that she wouldn't join him, especially since he hadn't stolen the bread out of hunger but rather to momentarily relive old memories.
"After all that trouble, it would be a shame not to savor a bite of it.”
Though slightly hesitant, the Rustler replied. "I suppose you're right."
Without further delay, he took a bite. The crust yielded to a soft, fluffy interior, and the flavors of freshly baked goodness flooded his mouth. However, that bite would be his last. Setting the remaining bread aside for later or whenever he would feel hungry.
"That will suffice," he declared, his gaze drifting away.
She regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and understanding. "I see. So, what do you feel like doing now?" she inquired, her voice laced with a sense of openness and possibility.
At her question, the boy's gaze turned distant for a moment, his expression briefly clouded with melancholy. He looked up to her, his eyes filled with a touch of sorrow, before he mustered his courage and replied, "Another name will leave the list."
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
***
A group of women, mostly common Odoe, camped in front of the grand bathhouse, dressed in colorful garments adorned with vibrant patterns. Stacks of peculiar green herbs lay at their feet as they stood in a row, their gazes filled with hope as they offered their cleansing services to passersby, among them the Rustler.
“Nostalgic, isn’t it?”
Yeah. It sure is.
One woman stepped forward, her voice carrying the soothing cadence of a practiced healer. "Boy, would you like to experience the cleansing ritual?" she called out, holding a bundle of aromatic herbs in her hands.
For the Rustler, it wouldn't be his first encounter with cleansers like them. His first experience of cleansing himself had left a lasting impression, one that he often contemplated repeating. However, at the woman's offer, not only did he feel she appeared too young, as someone had once advised him against, but he also found himself uninterested, especially so today.
"No," the Rustler firmly refused.
Undeterred by his apparent lack of interest, another woman, displaying a more proactive demeanor, approached with determination shining in her eyes. She stood before the Rustler, her voice gentle yet persistent. "Boy, a cleansing can bring balance and renewal. Let us cleanse the burdens that weigh upon your spirit," she implored, extending her hand with a crystal-clear bowl filled with fragrant water. However, the Rustler simply walked past her, paying her no further attention.
Slightly offended by being ignored, the woman withdrew, muttering under her breath. The other women watched, their expressions a mix of disappointment and understanding. They exchanged knowing glances, realizing that the Rustler had no interest in the services they offered.
Continuing his advance, the Rustler suddenly halted as his attention was momentarily captured by a sight. It was an old woman, seemingly among one of the oldest among the cleansers, who had caught his gaze. She waved at him, urging him to come closer, but the Rustler averted his eyes and pressed forward, moving beyond the massive wooden doors of the bathhouse. Stepping inside, he entered an expansive sanctuary enveloped in steam and serenity.
The room was cavernous, with echoing footsteps and laughter from the bathers. The air was warm and humid, with the scent of herbs and steam. Sunken stone pools dotted the floor, creating a serene atmosphere. The air was punctuated by distant conversations, rhythmic splashes of water, gentle sloshing, and occasional contented sighs created a symphony of relaxation and rejuvenation.
Amidst such an atmosphere, the Rustler roamed with a disinterested gaze, his steps carrying him through the expansive bathhouse. His wandering eyes eventually settled on two figures in the opposite corner of the room. Clad in clothing that set them apart from the relaxed bathers, these individuals stood with an air of authority, their presence commanding attention. Positioned before a closed door, it became evident that this entrance led to a secluded section of the bathhouse, one that remained inaccessible to the general public.
One might imagine them to work for the bath house but the Rustler knew they weren’t and for who they were actually working for.
A smirk crept on a corner of the Rustler's face as he confidently approached the guards. Their attention was swiftly drawn to his presence, but initially, they failed to recognize the Rustler for who he truly was.
"You can't loiter here, kid. Find another spot to play," one of the guards grumbled dismissively, assuming him to be a mere troublemaker.
However, realization dawned upon them in an instant, their eyes widening with recognition. "You!" one of the guards exclaimed, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword.
However, to the Rustler, their actions held little significance. Whether they were skilled mages or not, it made no difference. They simply stood no chance.
As the Rustler strode past the door that was once guarded, he stepped into a room that seemed to defy conventional proportions, resembling more of a disheveled storage area than anything else. Random objects and furniture were strewn about in a haphazard manner—multiple chairs, carpets, assorted tables, wooden crates, barrels, and a myriad of miscellaneous pieces. Yet, his gaze remained fixed on the door positioned in the far corner of the room, growing increasingly convinced that this space held a significance beyond that of a simple lumber room.
The Rustler approached the door with anticipation, his hand reaching out to grasp the cold metal handle. With a gentle push, the door swung open effortlessly, revealing a narrow corridor beyond.
“What…”
A breeze.
The very moment he stepped inside, a cool breeze brushed against his face, signaling that the door could be leading to outside the confines of the bathhouse.
Advancing through the corridor, the Rustler arrived at a door that, as he had already foreseen, led to the outside. He could feel the breeze leaking in through the gap in its wooden frame. Displeasure etched across his face, he furrowed his brow, disappointed by this turn of events. But then as he reached for the door, a thought backed by yet, an inexplicable feeling lingered within him, urging him to retrace his steps.
Returning to the lumber room, the Rustler stood still at its center, his gaze sweeping across the numerous objects scattered around the room. It was during this thorough inspection that something captured his attention—a carpet. He peered down at the carpet beneath his feet, then shifted his gaze towards a stack of carpets tucked away in a corner. His eyes narrowed as he recognized the peculiar arrangement of that one particular carpet, contrasting with the disorganized assortment of items surrounding it.
Curiosity piqued, the Rustler knelt down and examined the carpet beneath him, running his hand along its fibers, he began to lift the carpet in the center, revealing a hidden trapdoor beneath.
He attempted to open it, but not entirely surprised, he found it closed from the other side. For a fleeting moment, the notion of forcefully breaking through the door crossed his mind, but thinking about the high likelihood that the ones he was after were behind this fragile-looking door, he dismissed the idea. Opting for a more civilized approach, he decided to knock on it, as one would with any ordinary door.
For what felt like an eternity, there was no response to the Rustler's initial knock. His anticipation began to wane, and a sense of disappointment threatened to settle in. However, determined not to let his excitement fade away, he mustered up his resolve and knocked once more, this time with greater force and urgency.
To his relief, a voice echoed from the other side, accompanied by the distinct sound of footsteps climbing up the stairs. "Okay, okay, I'm coming," the voice called out, filled with a hint of annoyance
To his relief, a voice echoed from beyond the door, accompanied by the sound of stair-climbing footsteps. "Okay, okay, I'm coming," came the reply, muffled yet audible.
More than just relief washed over the Rustler upon hearing that voice—a voice instantly recognizable despite the passage of time. A hint of the rogue and untamed feeling submerged the Rustler's heart, causing his fist to curl into a punch that landed beside the wooden trapdoor. The impact reverberated through the room, leaving no doubt about its intensity, and likely reaching the one hidden behind the trapdoor, as evidenced by her next words.
"Who is this?" The voice, clearly that of a woman, carried a tone of torment that the Rustler could hear despite the barrier of the trapdoor between them.
With an unprecedented exhilaration coursing through him, the Rustler responded, "You already know who it is," as he heard the sound of someone retreating behind the trapdoor. In that very moment, he unleashed a punch that shattered the wooden trapdoor into countless splinters.
The trapdoor swung open, revealing a staircase that led down into a well-lit room. At the base of the steps stood a middle-aged woman, an Odoe, her face contorted in a ghastly expression as her eyes locked onto the Rustler. "You..." she uttered in a horrified whisper, before quickly recoiling and scrambling to distance herself from the Rustler's sight.
He followed.
Upon reaching the base of the stairs, he finally had a complete view of the room and its entirety. Despite being underground, the room was nearly as spacious as the one above, the only distinction being its striking contrast in terms of neatness. While the room above resembled a lumber storage, with the exception that this one from the door seemed to connect to yet another room, this one felt more like a livable space due to the presence of light and other furniture, indicating its purpose. In the center of the room stood the woman, who had gone to retrieve a peculiar object. She pointed it at him—a bow-like contraption with a curved wooden frame and a slender, taut "string."
“Don’t move!” she warned, shouting, with her voice flailing like a leaf.
The Rustler didn’t know what the thing was; however, its appearance gave a sense of impending lethality, yet it wasn't enough to even slightly deter his steps toward the woman. So just for safety and to properly greet the woman, he came to a halt, “long time no see, Del’hia,” he remarked. "Last I was, I believe, when you poisoned us. No! Actually I think it was when you ran away from me, in bluewater.”
"It's been months since I've been searching for you," the Rustler stated, scanning the surroundings. "You managed to hide yourself well. Without assistance, I doubt I would have ever found you."
"Shut up!"
At that very moment, a voice emerged from the room on the other side of the door. "What's happening, Mah?"
"No, Samir'h, you and your sister—don’t come over he—" Del'hia's words were cut short as a young man hurriedly made his way towards them, followed closely by a young woman in her twenties.
The Rustler instantly recognized both the boy, Samir'h, Del'hia's son and the woman, Del'hia's daughter. The last time Alexei had seen her, she was pregnant, and now she cradled a baby in her arms, a living testament to how well and how long they’ve been able to successfully hide away from him. But here he finally was.