Chained

The city of Nyxria is home to rumors and myths.

All things I don’t have time to care about.

I try not to care. But when every doorway whisper rots the air, you end up breathing it anyway.

I’ve heard the wildest tales. After hearing some of them, I actually begin to question my sanity. How do people even come up with these stories?

But there is only one topic which seems to be finding itself in almost every conversation.

What lies beyond the black gates.

Yes, obviously Hunters.

That we can agree on.

Those egoistic bastards who trudge our lands with their noses up in the air thinking that they own the place. They might as well at this point. I mean, they are the same people who do all the dirty work for the king and loot us every year by placing a ridiculously large amount of taxes on our heads. We aren’t exactly known for being rich, as a matter of fact, it is the complete opposite. So why in their right mind would they be asking us for money?

But obviously, they are heartless. We can’t forget about that.

Believe it or not, people say that there is something worse that lie beyond those gates. The reason why people who dare to venture there never come back.

They speak of a prince.

And no, I’m not talking about a Prince Charming who holds the door open for you and offers to carry your luggage. I’m talking about the variation who makes you to murder your best friend to purely satisfy his sadistic amusement.

Or something along those lines.

I’ve heard that he looks like sin on the outside, his voice deceptive and sweet, allowing him to persuade anyone to do anything even if it leads them to ruin.

A weapon.

People speak in hushed breaths, refusing to say his name out loud.

Speak of the devil and the devil shall come.

That’s the phrase isn’t it?

If that wasn’t enough to terrify the locals, then the cherry on top definitely will.

It is said to be true that people beyond the gates have powers.

Magic.

And no, they don’t use it for good.

Water is used to choke off a person’s last words as he tries to find a way to move around it, desperately searching for a gasp of fresh air. Which never comes. The hope in the dying man’s eyes starts to fade as he realizes where he’ll be going next.

The afterlife.

I’ve heard the prince has one of the far more deadly types of magic.

Mind magic.

Whispers in alley ways followed by drunk confessions say that he’ll kill you off with a smile as he forces you to kill yourself in the most gruesome way possible as he stands over you, watching the life fade from your eyes.

The town shakes in fear at the sound of his name.

Azrael.

Angel of Death.

I wouldn’t be so sure of the angel part though. Maybe whoever named him hoped that maybe his personality might be one of an angel?

Well, they were wrong.

Dead wrong.

But again, these are all just rumors.

I’ve got enough things to worry about as it is. Why would I spend my time getting scared of a good for nothing bastard who I’m sure does nothing but whine in the luxury of his home.

Life is short.

Very short.

So you might as well live it the best you can.

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I don’t know how much time I have left.

Rough bark digs into the soft flesh of my skin, threatening to pierce to cause red hot liquid to pour out. But we can’t let that happen right now.

I’m dangling from a thin tree branch which I am not sure can hold my weight for any longer, waiting for the aftereffects of my reckless planning to fade off. I should have thought the plan through more.

I was supposed to go AFTER the clock chimed one, not at one. Little things like these are the difference between life and the possibility of standing in the public square with an ax being held closer than two ft away from your face.

I would know that feeling.

I’ve been there once.

I shake out of my past memoires as my muscles strain to the point where I’m sure that they might snap. I use the last bit of my energy to heave myself up so that I’m laying down on the branch with my legs wrapped around the branch like a koala. The branch creaks, threatening to give out.

My pride takes a stubborn hit as I pray to the fates that they do not see me.

Especially like this.

The Hunters settle on splitting up and decide to look for me that way, claiming that they could cover more ground that way.

Have fun looking for me on the ground.

That just made things a whole lot easier.

They split, which means patterns. Patterns mean blind spots. And blind spots are the only thing I’ve ever trusted.

I have to wait until they split up and then after about 3 minutes later (no less than that, they can still capture me if I go to early), I have to sprint to the east and I can hide in Port Town Square.

That was the easy part.

Now comes the hard one.

I count down from 180 in my head, each number sending adrenaline to my feet as I position myself to get ready to jump down from the branch.

3 ... 2 ... 1

My feet hit the sturdy ground as I make a run for Town Square. I have no idea if they are on my heels. The ambience of the wind blocks out any hearing that I might of had before as I try to race against time itself.

My vision adjusts as I see…

People.

Home sweet home.

I walk casually, blending in with the crowd, to the meeting house where the towns people meet every Saturday. The building is old, with an ancient beauty that is buried deep within these walls.

“Morning Mavin” I say before taking off my cloak and draping it on the back of my chair.

“Morning Selene, why do you seem like you were in such a hurry?”

“It’s a long story” I say as I sit down and smile politely at the other townspeople I’ve seen but never bothered to know their names.

Dorothea walks into the room, the once chattering voices now hushed silent as she enters. Her dark brown hair, now mixed with streaks of gray, are ties up in a tight bun and her usually friendly face is set into a grim line.

“He has been seen on our side of the border. Alone.” she says to the crowd.

Silence has never been this loud.

The crowd begins to murmur quietly, possibly talking about all the death and destruction he’ll cause.

I check my nails, which are now filled with dirt and grime.

I can barely keep my eyes open.

When was this going to end?

I don’t announce this to the crowd, of course. I am not in a mood to receive a lecture from Dorothea about how I should take matters more seriously. I fight to keep my eyes open as I stare off into distance, my mind going places far away from the meeting hall.

More chatter.

My brain gave up at this point. Everything now just all sounds the same. It’s probably another tale about how the prince drowned a fisherman with his own fish or some story like that. Honestly, if he existed, I would have no problem believing that he did that. It did seem to fit his… personality.

I start to rock my chair back and forth, tuning out the meeting completely. When the clock finally chimes, I’m the first person out. I walk back home in a joyous mood as I wouldn’t have to go to that meeting for another week!

I open the door of my small cottage, if you can even call it that.

It’s more of the literal definition of a roof over my head, no windows or beds. Just a small minimalistic bathroom at the most. But its home all the same.

I make myself comfortable on the floor and stare into blank space. I seem to be doing that an awful lot lately. What has gotten into me?

I deicide to do something a bit more productive. I stand up as I look for something to do as my eye catches on something. A very violent red circle that covers…

No.

That day could not of come so fast.

Taxes.

They are due tomorrow.

My eyes flicker over to the small heap of coins that I have stole over the past year.

Although I wouldn’t calling stealing… I’d call it surviving.

Money always seems to be the problem.

It’s not enough. I count them quickly, desperation and anxiety setting into me as I start to register the fact that tomorrow could be the day where my head is separated from my shoulders.

I don’t have enough.

I need something grand.

Something pricy.

An idea goes through my head and more than tempted to release it back to the depths of hell, where it came from.

But that could be my key to surviving tomorrow.

Or just assure my ending today.

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I’ll have to steal from the Conquerors.

Thinking of the thought clearly in my head sounds incredibly stupid and I imagine that it would sound even worse out loud. But I don’t have that many options.

A Goldmark is what I need.

The currency that the Conquerors use. They are worth way more than the Irons that I’ve grown so accustomed to.

A Goldmark could pay off taxes for the entire year without using the stolen savings leaving me with enough money to get a head start on next year.

This fact is starting to sound better and better.

Focus on the positives.

I know that isn’t a good mindset since I’m not considering what could go terribly wrong, but I need to hype myself up and gain the courage to step out of the safety of my house.

The thought of the Goldmark alone is enough to lift my feet up, dragging me into a standing position. I hastily throw on my cloak and sheath a dagger just in case.

In my opinion, daggers are way easier to wield than swords. Light and agile, that’s what I prefer. You can use them for long distance fighting too. I’ll say I’m not to bad with them myself, as I’ve been trained my entire life before the world went to ruin.

You never know what you’ll get into with the Conquerors. I walk towards the door as quickly as I can before my logical thinking can kick in.

I step over the threshold and walk straight to hell.