Someone began walking towards the front from the back of the line. He walked with heavy footsteps, a tactic to strike fear into the hearts of those he wanted to assail, Jerome knew. He skirted the line, looking for sheep among wolves.

  Jerome sensed when the man focused his gaze on him. It felt like seeing without eyes — a ‘knowing’ of sorts. The effect was way more pronounced than it was when he was Blank. He could sense eyes on him and ill-intent behind those eyes. He stood as steadily as he could without making himself look weak. But he knew he probably failed and looked like someone who would die from a slight push of the wind.

  The man stopped beside him and spoke loudly in a rather hoarse voice, “Leave the line, or lose an arm.”

  “Walk away,” Jerome said, loud and clear without even looking at the man. The line moved and he limped forward again, not caring to defend himself if the stranger decided to attack.

  The man was taken aback. The boy in front of him was surprisingly confident, even though he looked fragile and in pain. He looked Jerome up and down, just to be sure he wasn’t from a noble home.

  Jerome’s robe was a cheap-looking one, something common on the streets of Farryn. The scarf around his head concealed most of his face, but one could still tell he was a youngling. But what drew the man’s attention was that Jerome was clean, from head to boots, or at least cleaner than a runt from the streets had every right to be.

  “This was a misunderstanding, honored one. Do forgive this one,” he said with a bow and quickly walked back the way he came, not waiting for an answer from Jerome.

  “Brother, what the fuck happened?” The man’s brother and partner in crime asked him when he got to his position on the line. His voice was loud enough to not go unnoticed by Jerome, even from a distance of at least a hundred feet.

  “He ain’t no one we can mess with, brother, he clean. Too confident and clean ta be from the streets.”

  “What the hell ya come here talkin’ he clean, ya cunt!”

  “I’m tellin’ ya brother, we don’t wan’ mess with that boy!”

  “You watch me, watch me get we a space up front.”

  The second man left the line as his brother took his position. From the way they interacted, he seemed to be the older brother — and probably stronger. He walked up to Jerome, speaking in the same raspy voice.

  “So you’d rather lose an arm, won’t ya?” He raised his hand to place it on Jerome’s shoulder. “I’m gon’ give ya ta the count of—”

  Something sliced into his upper arm and drew blood. He quickly withdrew his arm but it was too late. He shot backward and looked at his arm. The man gasped in shock. His lower arm was dangling from bits of flesh still attached to his upper arm, with blood gushing out like a scarlet fountain.

  “What’s your name?” Jerome asked him, still shaking from all the pain he was feeling.

  “I, I, don’t have, don’t have…” he stuttered out an incomplete reply. His eyes were erratic, and his racing heartbeat could be heard a mile away. He went down on one knee to steady himself.

  He didn’t have a name.

  Jerome looked at him for the first time. The man was a roughly built Sprout, and haggard looking. Probably went through life, fighting tooth and nail to earn a living, plus he hadn’t taken a decent bath in like a year. He held his dangling arm as he cycled to stop the blood flow. That arm was as good as gone if he didn’t meet with a physician by morning.

  Sadly, sacred artists couldn’t regrow limbs, even if they could heal from grave injuries.

  It was the first time Jerome felt someone cycle. He could feel the essence from the man’s core moving towards his arm.

  So this is how Sprouts perceive the world, he thought in fascination. “I should end you. Not because you’re pitiful, but because you’re a parasite in this world, but I won’t,” he said, making sure to infuse his words with as much venom as possible. “Learn from your mistakes.”

  Jerome looked away. He noticed that the person in front of him and the one behind him had put some space between him and them. They were afraid of him. No average Sprout could fatally injure an older Sprout, especially with such ease.

  It was well known that different sacred artists in the same Realm were powerful with respect to age and experience, except you were from a powerful family fighting a street rat. The older they were, the stronger they would be.

  The nameless man scampered off with his arm holding back tears and pain.

  If you wanna hit someone, get ready to be hit. If you wanna beat someone, get ready to take a beating. If you wanna kill someone… Jerome got lost in thought as the line moved. He tried to remember where he heard those words but couldn’t. It doesn’t matter though, it just shows that reality is something every man has to face for himself.

  Jerome had never seen the nighttime in Farryn before. It took a lot of time, but he finally got into Farryn. The city was a beautiful sight to behold. For a moment he forgot his deteriorating body and took in the sight of the nighttime Farryn. There was an ongoing parade on the streets with beautifully decorated carnival floats, masquerades, dancers, jugglers, martial artists, dance fighting, and so on.

  Houses stood tall and colorful everywhere he looked, with colorful ribbons crisscrossing the rooftops and decorated lanterns hanging from them. Banners carrying the crest of the Royal family hung from rooftops as well. All the houses had these ribbons and banners hanging down their sides with tiny bells attached to them. They gave off sweet jingling sounds as the wind blew at them.

  There was a celebration but he didn’t know what for. There was little he knew about Farryn, he realized. He had only been a disciple for a year and some days, and the majority of that time was spent in the mountain range. He tore his eyes away from the street as he walked towards the Northern part of the city.

  The essence in the city was dense. Now that he was Sprout, his senses were a lot more powerful than before. Albeit, it was painful to use them. As he breathed in, he could feel the difference compared to outside the city.

  Some men would kill to live in a place like this, he thought. One could deduce how the concentration of essence in a particular location influenced its societal value. That was an important criterion for standard living, seeing how Farryn was a highly populated city.

  Suddenly, something caught his attention at the periphery of his vision. Jerome looked over and stopped dead in his track. A furred creature rose sharply into the air, doing some acrobatics before it began hovering. He sensed the ambient essence spike in its direction as it twisted and turned beautifully in the air.

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  Jerome marveled at the scene. “A sacred beast,” he muttered softly to himself in awe.

  The beast was only about the size of a small dog. In fact, it was a dog of sorts. It looked like a cross between a baby golden retriever and a baby fox, with bright red fur and big golden eyes. Its white-tipped tail also didn’t go unnoticed.

  Someone made a happy sound just below the flying creature — their voice, rising higher than the music playing in the street. They threw a ball in the opposite direction of it. The creature yipped happily and lunged for the ball.

  Jerome watched it grow in size as it dove upwards, eyes going wide in shock. Its tail seemed to grow bigger than its entire body and become hairier. Before his very eyes, the tail split into three. It caught the ball and flew back in the direction it came, yipping happily as it did.

  “Incredible!” he couldn’t hold back the awe in his voice.

  “Yeah, it is,” someone said from beside him. Jerome quickly took a step away from the stranger but fell on his butt as he couldn’t maintain his balance.

  “That right there is ‘hulu’. It’s a three-tailed fox. Basically harmless. The jesters just use her for entertainment.” The young man stopped as he saw him on the floor.

  “Sorry,” he said, trying to help him up. Jerome didn’t take his hand and stood on his own.

  “A three-tailed fox, you say?” he asked, breathing hard from the little exertion.

  The young man looked at him in confusion but answered. “Hmm. My ‘da’ wanted to buy her from them for me but they refused. Hulu can be so much more, though. Sacred beasts like her are known for their tenacity. And she’s very good with illusions.”

  “Illusions?” Jerome looked at the flying fox, wondering if this was an illusion. He watched, mesmerized by the way air molecules seemed to want to cling to its body. It gave the visual effect of a furry animal swimming under clear water. “Is this an illusion?”

  The young man smiled. “Hard to tell. You’re Sprout, aren’t you? Your senses should be sharper than mine.”

  Jerome studied the young man for a moment only now seeing how young he was. He was a boy and a Blank at that. He looked well dressed and seemed to be from a proper home. Not many say sorry around here, he had come to find out. But this one did, which said a lot about his upbringing.

  “It was nice speaking with you, stranger,” he said as he turned to walk away.

  “You too, stranger!” the boy called back happily as he rushed to join the festivities.

  Jerome shook head as he trudged forward at a snail’s pace, hoping he could get to the Royal Estate before he collapsed from exhaustion.

  “Innocence,” he muttered to himself, “hope you don’t lose it too quickly, stranger.”

  ~~~

  Rihal

  “Master, you called,” Rihal said as he appeared behind his master, Damien Vorthe.

  He had been training Ash to pass the time and was bored to death. He had wanted to do something, anything to get his mind off Jerome. But Ash reminded him of how he had failed his disciple. He was grateful she was alive, but at the same time, she was a reminder to him that he should have been watchful of the Alvric heir. As soon as he got his master’s call, he was overjoyed. Anything to occupy his mind with was a welcome distraction.

  Damien Vorthe sighed deeply. “What am I going to do with you, kid?” he muttered to himself. He’d been Rihal’s master for almost half a century and had gotten used to teaching him the same thing over and over; it had become a song.

  “Emotion, Rihal,” Damien said as Rihal appeared behind him.

  ““Emotions get in the way in our line of work. A rational mind means a rational man, which is the foundation of success,”” they both recited.

  The youngling had great talent, but all of a sudden he started thinking with what was between his legs, instead of what was between his ears. He fell in love with one of the common folk, the Royal Family found out about it, and he had his heart broken. Rihal had remained broken ever since, and Damien Vorthe didn’t know how to fix him.

  “I have news from the Sovereign,” Damien turned to face him.

  Silence reigned after that statement.

  Rihal waited, knowing what his master was doing. It was a matter of how long he could stand not knowing what he wanted to know, even though the one to give the information was standing right in front of him.

  Discipline.

  He stood, head bowed with his right hand in a fist over his chest. Waiting. His breathing was becoming ragged. If he cycled to calm his nerves, he lost. It meant he had no control over his emotions whatsoever. And he’d shame himself in the eyes of his master. Worst he’d shame his master. For all the years of effort he’d trained him and yet, he had no control over himself.

  Rihal shut his eyes and took deep breaths, taking care not to cycle. Thirty breaths of time in silence became sixty, which became a hundred. The tension in the air was so thick, you could cut out a slice of it with a knife.

  “He has awakened.”

  Rihal shook visibly. “With your permission, master, I would like to go welcome him back.”

  “Meet him at the entrance of the Royal Estate,” his master said. Rihal quickly vanished from the spot. He made it to Ash to tell her the good news and they both rushed out of the estate. Now they stood at the base of the stairway — the entrance into the Royal Estate — waiting for Jerome to make it to them.

  “Calm down, Ash.”

  “You’re not exactly calm yourself, Uncle Rihal,” she said, pointing at his tapping foot before she continued pacing.

  The night was far spent and there had been no sign of Jerome yet. They had been waiting for so long it seemed as though Jerome wasn’t coming.

  Please grant me permission to bring him home, master. He’s already in the city. Clearly struggling to reach the Royal Estate. Rihal sent his master a message.

  You will remain where you are until he reaches you…and this is NOT his home! his master replied coldly.

  Rihal sighed, frustrated. If only he could have his way…

  “What could be taking him so long?” Ash said absently, “Uncle Rihal, let’s go search for him. Who knows, he may be at the city gates. Or worse, the gates may be shut before he gets to any of them.”

  Rihal looked at her apologetically as he shook his head, expressing his dissent. She had no idea how injured he was or what the state of his body was. Honestly, he had no idea himself.

  “The city gates have already been shut,” he said.

  Ash stopped pacing for a breath and looked at him with a frown.

  “...but he’s already inside the city,” he said with a sad smile.

  “Urgh!” she groaned in frustration as she resumed pacing.

  Rihal sighed. His attempt at humor didn’t help to lighten the mood one bit. Perhaps humor wasn’t his strong suit. They waited quietly for two more quarters of the night before dawn began to peek out from the east like a lazy old flower.

  Finally, Ash saw someone walking up to them. “Is that him, Uncle Rihal?”

  “Yes, it is, Ash.” He nodded. “It is him.”

  Before he even completed his sentence, Ash dashed away from him, running toward Jerome like an arrow mid-flight. She jumped on him and they both met the floor in a crumpled heap.

  “Urgh.”

  “Sorry! I’m so sorry,” she stood up quickly and tried to help him up.

  “Who the hell are you?!” Jerome jerked his hand away.

  “It’s me–”

  “Ash? Is it really you?” Jerome’s voice quivered, on the verge of tears. He had recognized her face, though, she was a lot fleshier than before. And her voice — it was still hers as he remembered but with a slight singsong tone to it.

  The world stopped moving for him at that moment, shrinking to just the two of them. He held her firmly in his arms as he sobbed uncontrollably, as if afraid she might fade away. Tears streamed down their faces in unison as they were both overwhelmed by emotions. They both cried for a long time. But unable to hold up his own weight anymore, Jerome collapsed.