The walk to the forge today was oddly quiet. Hastily placed fliers lie edge-to-edge across the stone-and-mortar walls screaming all sorts of things.

  “This has gone on long enough!”

  “Down with these taxes! The elementals serve the people!”

  “The lords would let us starve for their greed.”

  Most people could barely get by without at least one elemental — a stark contrast to the self-sufficiency in Fuulen.

  I arrived at the forge, grasping at the door handle as usual. It jiggles back and forth, but does not otherwise give way. Locked? Certainly today is Thursday? My feet pivot, carrying my confusion all the way to the front door. My questions are not met with answers.

  Probably drank himself ragged...

  I decided to let the wind carry me today. The occasional guard appeared, sneering at the posters before tearing them out. Merchants sat on the street by their carts, yet an odd silence stood where their voices would have rang. A couple of souls gathered, speaking in hushed tones of a fight down the way. I know I probably shouldn’t, but my curiosity carried me closer.

  Not a soul stood in the cobblestone road. Carts lay upturned, pottery and glass fragmented themselves against the rocks, but against all warning I pressed on. The cages — the lamps that held the fire spirits — appeared torn open.

  Then, splotches of blood red.

  An injured man sat unconscious against the stone wall of a tavern, and a weapon leaned similarly to his right. On his arm was a bandage wrapped in a jarringly familiar way.

  He darted awake at the sight of me.

  “Good gods! Who in the hell are you?”

  My foot found the ground uneven, causing me to stumble backwards.

  “I’m Leonn, what happened here?”

  He coughed, before trying to stand up.

  “I guess the medics got to me... kid this is no place for you. We’re sticking up our best finger at those noble scum, and taking the fight to them.”

  I looked on, puzzled.

  “You’d take them on against insurmountable odds? That’s suicide...-”

  ”Suicide’s better than living a lie, kid. Most of us can’t even afford to pick up and head elsewhere now...”

  he paused for a moment to grasp at his wounded arm.

  “...not that we would.”

  His feet planted solid against the ground. He grabbed the scythe beside him — reforged so that the cutting edge faced straight up. That was...

  I sharpened that scythe.

  He limped further down the street. I assume in the direction of the liberation campaign. I turned my heel. I need to find Marilleth, now. The wind blew alongside me, down the narrow corridors leading to the inn.

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  In front of the building, a mass of soldiers pressed against angry citizens. Wooden cudgels came down on collarbones and balled fists crashed against cuirasses. How the hell do I get in there? I hid myself out of sight, buying time to sculpt a plan.

  Magic? No, I don’t have enough control. Slip by? How would I pull that off?

  Just go, you damn noble. It worked last time. I took one step, bracing myself for the pain of both cudgel and fist. Deep within, the beast once again grinned, worthy opponents to decimate.

  A hand squeezed my shoulder. I turned in a panic, but my wide eyes met a familiar face.

  “Agnes, where have-”

  She pulled me back into hiding, her hands wrapped around my elbow, trembling.

  “Leonn, why weren't you at the forge? You should have gone to work today, ignored this mess.”

  I turned again to the inn. The mob had exploded into a mass of blood and screams.

  “I need to get to Marilleth. How do I get past this crowd?”

  “You don’t. Let’s go. I cant have my prized achievement dying to some guards in...” the sentence died off.

  Marilleth was ever the practical one, and I am sure she could figure things out. Agnes, though? A different person entirely.

  I had expected a couple jabs, questions, or witty retorts, but her words carried a bitter cold from her heart. Maybe she had frozen over. My eyes guided me to her satchel. The buckle was undone, showing a glimpse inside. Bloodied bandages, drained vials, and tools fit more for a butcher than a medic.

  “Leonn, I’m bringing you to the old docks. You can be safe and lay low until I can find you a way out of here.”

  I sighed, gritting my teeth as the guards gained the upper hand in the riot. “Marie will be fine. You’re right to worry, but you need to focus on your life right now.”

  She was probably right.

  We made our way through the city. Guards patrolled every street, steel in hand to meet dissent with death. We took routes that Agnes could navigate in the dark, and many that the soldiers didn’t. If she had nothing to do with this, then we could have blended into the crowd. What could it be that she was hiding? The suspicion crawled as a centipede across my neck.

  We rounded another corner. The smell of herbs and ash stung my throat as we continued moving through an active battle zone. Guards in chain mail formed a shield line, short-swords poised to bite down on the very citizens they were made to protect. On the other side, commoners formed their own line of pitchforks, war-scythes, and repurposed barrel lids. A clash ensued as flames consumed the spice market.

  Agnes weaved through the chaos with surgical precision, pulling me along by the wrist. I found my momentum jerked in one direction, and then another, and then back again as we dodged through. A pitchfork scraped my arm, tearing the sleeve of my shirt open, revealing the damning red paint. For a moment, we found ourselves still amidst the chaos as Agnes frantically analyzed our options.

  I felt something enter my lower chest. A burning sensation gnawed at both flesh and psyche as it left the way it came. My body stalled for longer than we had time for. Agnes wrapped her arms around me, and my heels dragged against the stone. Out of the chaos, further in, I couldn't tell anymore. I grasped the wound as tightly as I could while awaiting some relief.

  It would not come so easily.

  Agnes half lowered, half slammed my body into the ground as she frantically ran through her medicine bag. I could smell iron in the air, from blade and blood both. Sound bounced into the narrow alleyway from the once spice-market, ricocheting violently off each stone.

  “Damn it all! Where is that water? I know its in here!”

  She hastily produced a moderately sized vial, before uncorking it.

  An arrow mutilated the glass, sending shards and droplets raining down on me.

  I winced from the pain. A shade landed a few paces away from me, an all too familiar green that I could barely recognize between my struggling vision and the agony.

  Marilleth rushed in, pinning Agnes down before drawing her dagger.

  “You were going to kill him! How could you?!”

  Hushed, and heavily labored, Agnes did her best to respond.

  “Marilleth... please look at him. He’s...”

  My neck refused my command to lift my vision, just enough to see the damage. I could see the pool of blood. It remained still, refusing to take another inch of territory on the ground.

  I refuse! I won’t bleed to death yet. I have so much left to do...

  have to come back next week.