Soon enough, the annoying light of another dreadful day bled through my barely closed eyelids. I began to stir, with each piece of my body waking up at different intervals. My mind was the first thing to start working, like always, and it immediately started thinking about how I despised the light of day. I always tended to find comfort in the darkness—not because it’s what I prefer, but because it’s when the righteous people rest. In the night, that’s when those that I seek truly come out to play. Although I never have any intentions on playing the fruitless games they partake in, I still go out because those are the kinds of people that really know what goes on in the area.
Still, the morning came and caused my body to groggily awaken. As I stretched, my limbs extended a few inches past their natural length, popping from the over-extension. I sighed a heavy sigh, accepting that the night was long gone. Finally, my eyes were the last thing to greet the new day.
Slowly, I forced myself to sit up in my bed. I reached for the sword that I always keep next to me, sheathed it, and then stood up. I paced around the room for a few minutes in order to fully wake every ounce of my body up. The heat from the morning sun leaked through my small window. Normally that would make it easier to wake up, but for me, I preferred to stay cold.
I then walked out of my room and towards the public streets of the town. It was the first time that I had traversed the town during the day. The bright nature of the sun’s light recontextualized some of the surroundings that I briefly saw when I first arrived. The roads were stone-gray, but functional. Nothing about them seemed particularly extravagant nor offensive. Most of the buildings that were propped up along the streets were wooden in construction and slender in design—which was probably intentional, seeing as the neighborhoods were way too compact. The closeness and friendly proximity of everything was unnerving and it made my skin crawl. And because of their tightnit design, very little greenery grew. There were the occasional potted plants hung on the window sills and the witheringly brown vines that looked as though their desperate attempts to live were in vain. Every instance of life that was growing outside of what was obviously placed by the townsfolk was uncared for. Everything seemed just the same as every other small town in the country.
My destination was the market for multiple reasons. The first was to get just enough food to last myself for the time I was to be in the town. The second reason was to see if there were any miizabloom flowers for sale, or something similar—I needed to stay awake during the night, and those are known for giving people an extra ounce of energy.
As I strolled down those brightly dull roads of Varunia, I found myself slightly glancing at the walking inhabitants of the town. There was no discernible reason for me to care, but something about the simplicity of their actions drew my attention. Most of them would casually mingle about, talking of things that had no future relevance or impact on the world outside of their own. The conversation would dance around an obvious topic that was constantly alluded to, but never fully spoken of. It was like a child parading around a wall of swords, oblivious to the potential danger. Or perhaps they did know, but pretended to act in blissful ignorance. Either way, their voices would reach one another, but most of their faces would be obscured by the shadows of the hats that they wore, covering their eyes from the light of day.
The boldest of people were those who wore the fewest articles of clothing. Their typically whitened smiles reflected the rays of the sun, constantly blinding those who looked in their general direction. Those who were like that usually flocked together in large groups of like-minded speakers. Their words were loud, proud, and like their mouths, blinding to all but themselves. However, when together, they would blind each other without a care in the world. In fact, one could argue that they preferred it that way—fully aware of their actions and what they spoke, but indifferent to how they affected anyone but themselves. Perhaps not seeing the results of their actions was why they flocked together. If only they knew of the night, then what they say would have no merit to affect others.
Even still, curiosity could only occupy my mind for a trivial amount of time. Soon enough I found myself on the central thoroughfare, Memory Lane, where the meddling of the city truly came to light. From each and every corner there were vendors of all sorts, peddling whatever they could in order to make a copper or two. Some of the salesmen were as malicious as a snake trying to sell its own oil, while others seemed to be somewhat more honest folk, marketing their harvest for the day. What truly caught me off guard when I sauntered through the market was the diversity of people. For what I assumed was a small town in the middle of nowhere, there was an unexpected amount of foreign faces. There were people whose bodies were slender and angular, like mine, but even more exaggerated, and some who were larger than I could ever be. All shades under the sun were casually seen talking between the pale ghosts that I thought mainly comprised the town’s general population. The familiar sight of faked business laughter was prevalent throughout the place, temporarily bridging the gap between those on the inside and those on the outside. When I took all of that in, I understood how such a trivial town had survived on its own for so long: it didn’t. It relied on those who were not from there to carry the burden of propping up anything beyond the bare essentials, and it was as plain to see as day.
“Excuse me, sir,” a peddler said, approaching me. “May I interest you in some of our wares? They’re new imports from the coast, and they’re as popular as ever.”
I stopped and slowly turned towards her, my dead-set eyes meeting her brightened, caricature-like ones.
“I have no need,” I responded. “I already have the clothes on my back...and that is enough for me.”
“Well wouldn't you want something a bit extra special,” she winked. “Something that would give others a reason to think more highly of you.”
I straightened my back, looking down on her as my shadow blocked off part of the sun. “I don’t care about what others think.”
She took a step back, but not one in defeat, rather one that allowed her to more firmly plant her foot in the ground. Throwing her hands in a defensive manner, she jovially responded, “My my, I’m sorry—I did not take you for the lone wolf.”
“Not by choice,” I lied. “This world is cruel and tough, and that’s why I have to defend myself. There’s no point in having anything nice if it’s just going to be soaked in blood.”
Her demeanor changed from that of a typical, lively scammer, to one of hesitation and inquisitiveness. The eyes that were once wide and bright on her face turned narrow and judgmental when they landed on my sword.
“Oh, I see,” she plainly stated.
Cracking my neck, I sighed. “Took you long enough.”
“Well,” she started, her voice carrying more disgust and tension to it, “I hope you find what you’re looking for…quickly.”
I leaned in a bit closer to her. “This would go by a lot quicker if you could point me in the direction of a flower cart.”
She took a deep, sharp breath and stared at me for a moment. A man who had not lived outside his own walls would think that her pause was from the hesitation that came from intimidation. He would break his empowering guard, satisfied in a victory that he falsely thought he attained. I, on the other hand, kept firm and continued to stare back into her eyes. And as I did, I could see her face sink back, slowly. Eventually, her hardened exterior cracked a bit, and she quickly glanced to her left before snapping her sight back at me, continuing her eye contact.
I pulled back and began to turn to my right. “Thank you,” I said to the saleswomen as I continued to walk away. Just as I made my way out earshot of her, I heard her swear under breath.
It took me a few minutes of strained observation, but eventually my gaze landed on a shoddy-looking cart with one broken wheel. The wood of this cart was worn and weathered, obviously having seen better days. Sitting on its slanted top were flora of different kinds—some sitting in chipped vases and others left to sit, exposed to the elements. However, the one that seemed unlike all the others was the black and purple rose-like flower that was kept inside a musty glass cube. Holding said container was a rather large man, sagging with every inch of skin, and it was obvious that the drooping was not caused by age. His face was mostly obscured by the incredibly wild beard that hung past the horizon of the cart’s top. His eyes were not yet focused on me, but rather on the same rose that I took an interest in.
As I approached, my shadow casted some unwanted shade on the open, yet covered man, causing him to subtly jump and look up at me.
“Well,” he laughed, “what do we have here?”
“A customer,” I replied.
“I see that, but I also see much more than that.” His exaggerated movements were flubbery but oddly controlled. I could tell that he was a man that knew what he wanted. “You aren’t like the rest of the riff raff that don clothes as dirty as you. From one man to another, I know a determined face when I see it.”
“I’m ecstatic to hear that,” I said with a deadpan expression.
“Woah there buddy, no need to get so excited.” He then chuckled and relaxed his expression. “Listen, I can see you’re a man of business, so I ain’t gonna do all this theatrical crap. What do you need?”
As he asked that, I saw him slowly lower the rose and glass container behind the counter with his off-hand.
“Well, I came for miizabloom,” I said, “but I’m curious about that plant that you have down there.”
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Stroking his beard, I saw his demeanor shift ever so slightly for just a second. It was so quick that I couldn't tell what kind of expression it was; all I knew was that it was different.
“Ah, this,” he replied, bringing the encased rose back up to the cart. “This is a rather special item. I’ve had it for a long time.”
“Can’t be too special if you haven’t been able to sell it.”
The man gave a hearty laugh, one surrounded by flem and weather. “Well, that’s because nobody really uses them anymore.”
“Why’s that?” I asked, partially curious, since I have never seen something like it. “What is it?”
The man furled his eyebrow for a second, giving me an inquisitive look. “I’m surprised you don’t know what this is—it’s part of our town’s history.” He then looked all around me: at my feet, at my chest, and behind me. He looked everywhere but my eyes. “Well, I guess someone from outta town might not know. This…” he said, gently patting the glass case, “...is a valrose.”
“What makes it special? It looks like an ordinary rose to me, just colored a bit different. Is it rare?”
“Uh, nowadays they are,” he replied, bobbing his head from side to side, “but it hadn’t always been that way.” He then leaned closer, like an old man about to retell a story of years long passed. “They say these things were used back in the day to catch monsters and murderers alike.”
“Monsters?” I quickly followed up. “And they used a flower?”
“Not in the way that you think,” he replied. “Apparently it reacts to people marked by evil, whatever that means. It only blooms for the darkest souls.”
“Seems like some imaginary magic, much like the kind that the scholars to the west believe in.”
“They really do believe in that crap, huh?” he laughed. “But yeah, these things were used so often in trials, and when looking for monsters, that we damn near ran out.”
“So why aren’t they used anymore? If they’re so incredible, like every other resource in this god-forsaken country, they would’ve been used until the supply ran dry.”
“Well,” he hesitated, “like I said, there ain’t a whole lotta ‘em left. And besides, there aren’t really any good uses for ‘em anymore—times are peaceful.” He then twiddled a few stray hairs in his beard.
“That may be true for here…” I replied, my thoughts lingering in the air. Shaking myself back from my thoughts of the past, I continued. “But anyway, I’m not interested in fake flowers. I just need some energy-giving flora.”
“Aw c’mon,” he playfully pleaded, “at least give it a try.”
I looked at him for a solid four seconds or so, trying to get a gauge on what he was after, who he was, and why he was acting the way he did.
“Fine,” I sighed.
With just a smile, the man slowly opened the case at an angle, facing himself. As he did, the air cooled down, almost to the point where it was as cold as my heart. When it was finally half-opened, he looked down at it and then back up to me.
Keeping his smile, he announced, “See? Isn’t that something?”
“If you’re talking about how it did nothing, then yes I did see it,” I disappointingly responded.
“Well, nothing happened because it’s facing me,” he snapped back, wagging a finger.
“So? Are you claiming that you’re some kind of holy man?”
He rolled his eyes. “Nah, not in the slightest. But,” he admitted, “I’ve never killed a man.”
“Oh, I see.”
The man then closed the case and asked, “Well, I can see you’re not interested in that. So what can I get you?”
I paused for a few moments. I shouldn't have cared about a rose that was most likely a con by a sleazy salesman, but for some reason my mind wouldn’t let it rest. There were many times before I spoke up again that I tried to move the conversation in a different direction. However, the words that my lips formed were only “valrose” and nothing else. My fists eventually curled up in annoyed anger and I let out a defeated sigh.
“Open the case, again,” I hesitantly demanded.
“What was that?” he asked, his face slightly cracking into a smile.
“I want you to open the case again, and this time face it towards me.”
And like I demanded, he began to lift the glass up, fully exposing the flower that had been long sheltered from the outside. As the clear, discolored, and slightly cracked cover was completely removed, the light of the day immediately surrounded the flower, giving it a new color. The darkened shade of purple that popped out of the abyssal black was now overshadowed by the lightened tones that the sun’s rays forcibly accentuated. I didn't know why, but for some reason, at that moment, I wished I would have beheld its beauty for the first time during the night. In the daylight, it seemed like a cheap copy of what it truly was. There was a subtle, unseen beauty to it that was all but gone when viewed by the bright world.
The valrose, in its unveiled form, began to shift. Now that there was nothing between me and the flower, I finally found myself curiously enraptured by it. There was some sort of deeper and darker connection that I felt from it. And apparently it felt the same, for it started to bloom and unravel in my direction. Its pettily limbs stretched out towards me, both in desperation and in companionship.
“I guess it does work,” I mindlessly commented, still staring at it. The words came out more like whispers, barely escaping through nearly shut teeth and limp lips.
“So what about it, Slayer?” the man asked. “You think it’ll be of use to ya?”
I instinctively reached into the hidden pocket within the inner lining of my coat. Pulling out a few coins—some silver, some copper—I looked back up at the man.
“How much?” I asked.
Stretching his beard a bit, he replied, “Two sils and a cop.”
Even though there should've been more hesitation from me, something about that flower made me yearn for it. I wanted it more than anything. I didn’t care what it cost me at the time, nor did I think about it—I simply handed the man the money.
The moment after I paid the price, I shook my head. With my mind starting to calibrate again, I asked, “Wait, how am I to keep this alive? If it’s dead, it can’t be of use.”
“That’s the real interestin’ thing,” he responded, not looking at me while he just continued to scoop my money into his collection, “they don’t die.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, a bit confused. “All living things die. In fact, they have to die.”
He then shook his pouch of coins, put it back under the cart, and finally looked back up at me.
“Well, maybe I should rephrase that,” he agreed. “They can survive any harsh environment or any sort of mistreatment. Honestly, the only time they wither and die is when they are given any sort of care. They can go a whole lifetime on their own, but the moment they’re tended to, they die.”
“Interesting,” I began to comment. “It's a shame that there aren’t many more.”
“Yeah, I tend to agree with ya…” His thoughts trailed off. “But I have a feeling that if they’re ever needed, they’ll somehow find a way to spread again—they always do.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I agreed, placing the valrose in my front coat pocket. “I’ll put this to good use.”
“I’m sure you will.”
I then nodded my head as a farewell gesture and continued on my way. I walked and made minimal talk to the rest of the townsfolk. I only interacted with those who seemed useful or knowledgeable—people with insight into the inner workings of the town or bakers, seeing as bread was the cheapest and most flavorful food that I brought with me on journeys. With the newly acquired flower on my person, for some reason, my passion that I set out on my decades-long journey for began to flare back up. It’s not that I ever forgot it, but it was an end that I was struggling to find a means to, and in that pursuit, I often lost myself in those means. Even though it was just a flower, it meant much more to me. It fueled me, it gave me motivation, and it relieved me. In reflection, however, I can also say that it blinded me.
Eventually, I managed to overhear a conversation with an older farm lady who was casually talking to a meat vendor about an unusual problem she was having with her stock. Normally I wouldn’t pay any mind to the stupid problems of the averge person. Even though I was a Slayer, I didn’t care about helping others with their problems. Not unless I needed money, that is. However, the way she described her issue caught my attention. I wasn’t sure if it was fate—since I don’t believe in such a thing—or my newly-found heightened attentiveness, but I was lucky enough to overhear that part of the conversation.
“What was the issue, again?” I asked, apparating like a phantom’s shadow.
Both the lady and the vendor jumped in surprise. The vendor was the first to recover from my sudden appearance.
“It’s nothing,” they said to me with a look of repulse. “We don’t need help from someone like you. We can take care of things in our town by ourselves.”
“Oh nonsense,” the lady interrupted, her voice more firm and full of more conviction than I was expecting from such a frail-looking creature. “The council hasn’t been any help—they seem to think they’re too good for the common folk anymore—and no one has bothered to listen to me.”
“Ma’am,” the vendor started to exhaustingly say.
“Oh, hush,” she interetuped them. Turning her attention back towards me, she asked, “Would you be willing to help?”
“Well, I heard something about a bite mark, is that correct?” I asked, just to be sure.
“Oh yes,” she somewhat excitedly began to tell me. Her eyes lit up, her voice grew quicker, and her wrinkly face couldn’t help but garner a large smile. “Every once and a while I find strange bite marks on the pigs in the corpse pit—”
“See?” the vendor said. “She’s worrying about dead livestock.”
“I said hush,” she retorted with even more sternness in her voice.
The vendor then rolled their eyes and started working on cutting up some meat into strips.
“Now,” she continued, “what I was saying is that I will occasionally find these strange bite marks on the bodies of my already dead pigs. There’s no pattern to when it happens, but when it does, it happens at night and it scares me a bit. I don’t know what’s causing it.”
“Are you sure it’s not just wild animals looking for a meal?” I pushed back on her.
“No, because the bodies are left as they were. It’s like something just took a bite and left. And this happens every time.”
“I see.”
“People think I’m crazy for fretting over something like this, but I’m terrified of what it could be. Please, Slayer, won’t you help a poor old woman like me out? That’s what you people claim to do, right?”
“Sure,” I replied, “lead the way.”