"After weeding out all loyalists from the Royal Palace, the Blue Prophet mandated new targets: all Solari, especially everyone from the Tower. The strike was brutal and decisive. No survivors." - Sentinel Internal Report, 28th June 197 A.D.
***
9th May, 207 A.D.
Caerum
I wake up in the morning. My dreams are haunted. Red on the white floor. The dead man's milky eyes. I barely got any sleep.
Where am I?
I sit up, my heart pounding. I am in a small, plain room. Memories slowly flood me. My protectors. The blood. The thief. The old man.
Am I too trusting?
But they didn't hurt me. Well, the boy, Killar, seemed to hate me.
I look at the window. I could run. But then I remember the alley. The cold mud. The man who stole my pouch and the dead man's staring eyes. I have no money, no family and no friends.
The thought of wandering the slums alone makes my stomach twist. At least it's warm here. Even if they aren't my friends, maybe I can stay for a little while. Just until I figure out what to do.
I try to find something to wash my face. But the room has no pitcher, no mirror. Just a bed, a chair and a table.
I am in my underclothes. The old man probably helped me out of my muddy clothes yesterday. My face burns at the thought.
Thankfully on the chair lies a pile of clothes. I try to put them on. They are rough and scratchy, though they somewhat fit. Nothing like the fine cloth Jonah used to buy. They aren't comfortable at all, but I guess it's better than nothing.
I quickly check the locket, still around my neck. I squeeze it hard, the black metal digging into my palm. Then I grab my muddy boots. The dagger is still in its sheath, hidden inside.
I pull it out. It's light, lighter than steel should be. I don't want to leave it here, but I can't hide it in these clothes and don't want to appear like a threat to them. I look around. There is a loose floorboard under the bed. I pry it open with my fingernails and slide the dagger underneath. Safe.
I hold the handle on my door and slowly pull it, not wanting to wake anyone up. Once I open the door, I hear voices. I hold my breath, pressing my ear to the cold wood. They probably think I am still sleeping.
"You going out again today?" I recognise the voice of the old man. He sounds tired. Maybe I caused this.
"Yes, there are executions today. A perfect time to pull off some jobs," Killar's voice replies.
"You need more practice, so you can protect yourself, Killar."
"This is my chance, Silas. You always say I need allies and Blood Rats are it. The quicker I rise the better."
"I never said to neglect your practice. If this continues you will end up dead in some dark alley, like the majority of the Blood Rats."
"Maybe that is better than just sitting here."
I hear a door close with a loud slam.
"What did I do wrong?" I hear the old man mutter.
My stomach rumbles, loudly. It hurts. I walk towards the living room, hoping there is something to eat.
"Ah, you are awake Seraph. Are you hungry?" he asks, looking up from his tea.
I just nod.
He points me to a chair and I sit down. He brings me a plate with bread, a steaming mug and a jar with a knife.
"Why are you helping me?" I ask.
"Maybe I am just a good person," he says.
Don't trust anyone. Taliah's words echo in my ears. I look at the plate and dip the knife into the jar with marmalade.
A drop falls on the plate. Red.
The stain starts spreading. I panic, a small gasp escaping my lips and I grip the table to stop from falling. I squeeze my eyes shut and count to three.
When I open them, the red blood is gone. Just marmalade stain remains.
After calming my racing heart, I ask, "Who are you?" as I spread the jam over the bread.
"Oh, ... I didn't introduce myself. I am Silas." He offers me his hand. I hesitate, then accept it. His grip is firm. "I was a member of the guards, when I was younger." I can see his expression soften. "I kept the city safe. But I am too old now and just live off the money I saved."
I stuff myself with the bread. So tasty. It feels like heaven after yesterday.
"What about Killar?" I ask.
"He is a stray just like you. I found him in the slums and my intuition told me he has potential. So I decided to take him in."
So they are like master and acolyte.
I sip from the cup, but I almost burn my tongue. It's too hot. I blow on it, trying to cool it down. "What are the executions?"
"You don't know?" He looks surprised. "They happen every week. The False Prophet executes criminals publicly."
The False Prophet. That must be the evil person. The one who sent the Sentinels.
An anger flares in my chest.
"I want to go there," I say.
"It is no place for children," he says solemnly.
"I need to see him," I insist, my hands balling into fists, knuckles turning white. "I need to see his face."
He looks at me for a long time, then eventually sighs. "Very well. But if you go, you need to do something about your hair and eyes. If somebody sees them, you will be in trouble," he says rummaging through cupboards.
Eventually he pulls out two vials. "First we need to do something about your eyes," he points at one of the vials. "You need a drop of this into each eye. It will hurt. A lot. And if you use it too much, you will go blind. But it is necessary if you want to go."
He pauses, looking me dead in the eyes. "You still want to go?"
I nod. I don't care about the pain.
After I finish eating, he helps me apply it. He grabs my head and bends it back. He drops a single drop into my right eye.
It's not just pain. It's fire.
A burning needle stabbing through my eye into my soul. Pain overwhelms me. I scream and try to free myself from his hold. Tears start rolling down my cheeks.
"It will be okay," he says trying to comfort me. "Just one more."
I panic, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to get away. But he forces my other eye open and drops the second drop.
I'm blind. The world shrinks only to a fire burning in my eyes. I'm still screaming.
Finally, the burning fades, leaving only a sharp, stinging itch behind. I want to scratch it, but it feels like the itch is inside my eyeball. Uncomfortable. Wrong.
He checks my eyes and nods. "I warned you, but you insisted. For freedom, there is a price."
He hands me the other vial, "After you wash your face, put this into your hair. The colour of your eyes should stay for a week. The one for your hair will stay until you wash it with water."
I nod, clutching the vial and slip past him. I just want to escape from him and his burning drops, hoping the other vial won't cause such horrendous pain.
"I will ask a friend to keep watch of you and bring you to the executions," he says as I reach the door. "Clean yourself up first. She hates dirty people."
I freeze, my hand on the doorknob.
I think of the mud, the blood and the dead man's face in the alley.
She hates dirty people.
I nod again, this time without looking at him and slip out of the room.