Heatstroke was the least of his worries today, Michael thought, he was more waiting to figure out if he had done enough to have a decent meal.
Out east of the capital of Wilmere was Alanor, a developing town that was still under construction. Michael had volunteered, or actually joined, the worker's union as a last resort rather than becoming an orphan with no home.
It's been almost a year now since he's joined and he's been sick of every second of it. There was no more pay or income whenever his parents had died. His father and mother were both adventurers, finding money through quests they've done. There was little attention paid at home. Maybe his mother would care for him but his father was always out of the house. Sometimes, Michael even thought his parents forgot that he existed.
The truth is, he had a whoring mother and a stubborn father that hated responsibility. The life of an adventurer was a nasty one though Michael sometimes felt it could have been better than being a worker.
The worker's union is what they called it whenever Michael couldn't find anywhere else to go. He was just barely about the right age, a male, and understood simple orders. He followed instructions and he was rewarded. If he didn't, they cut off his meals which happened the majority of the time. He didn't blame himself since the workers here were literally more than twice his age. Michael is only fifteen years old and he's barely pulling his weight. Even the men hated working with him since they knew their load would have been burdened. Michael tried to mind his own business but it's hard ignoring the looks they give him. Still, that's hardly enough to stop his hard work for a hot meal.
Just as Michael thought about his appetite, he tripped over his own foot and dropped the wooden planks across the ground. He heard them laugh ahead. Other workers in a cart of planks pulled by horses, still laughing as they rode away.
"You okay, kid?" a familiar voice said. "That fall was pretty hard."
Michael looked up. It was Uncle, one of the other older workers that gave him any undivided attention. Uncle had rough gray hair, possibly balding though he wouldn't admit it, and a scruffy beard that he refused to shave. Though he was the nicest person that Michael had ever met in the union, even sharing some of his meal when Michael couldn't figure himself for that day. The only bad trait about Uncle was the faint of booze in his breath when he talked.
Uncle helped him up, even carrying half of the wood. "You know, you have your own right to say no to them."
"Yeah, right," Michael dusted himself off. "Like they'd actually listen to me. Why'd you even jump off anyways, won't you be penalized for time with me?"
"What's that they said again…when you told me—"
"It builds character?"
"Yes," Uncle laughed. "It builds character. That's a good saying."
"Don't tell me you're becoming like them."
"I go wherever the money goes, kid," he shifted his shoulder. "Thought I already told you that before."
"But now you're in trouble with me."
He scratched his beard. "Yes, that appears so."
Michael never understood Uncle. He never talked about his past or anything he's done before he became a worker. That sort of goes for everyone else in the union. Some of them have been here almost their whole lives and others, like Michael, came here for another chance. Instead of begging on the streets, at least in the union, they have some place to call home. Still, that doesn't change the fact that they were all on the same boat. Being mocked by nobles and seen as inferior, Michael knew they were just expendables being used for physical labor.
But for Uncle, Michael felt like he was here for the extra money. Money to buy some more booze.
They walked quietly along the road. They were supposed to be in charge of delivering materials but might be short of a few, just because some of the workers decided their humor was a priority. Michael was already used to this type of treatment. It started whenever he joined and everybody immediately knew he should be their source of entertainment. There was some unwritten rule of respecting your elders Michael recalled but he could hardly bother believing in that anymore. Though if he was brave, it wouldn't matter. The guards didn't care if the workers hated one another. They only cared about one thing, and that was meeting the quota. They said he should be grateful he was here because apparently, Michael can be replaced at any time.
So with that said, Michael felt like he didn't have a choice to be here or not.
"Got a family?" Uncle said, breaking the silence.
"No." Michael said back. He didn't understand why Uncle was nice to him. Was it just the pity of watching everybody else have their fun with Michael?
"Your father? Your mother?"
"My parents are dead."
Uncle nodded his head, pretending he was reconciling the subject. "No brother, no sister?"
"It's just me," Michael felt his face frown. "I'm the only one left."
"Do you want to talk about them?"
"No, not really."
"But would your parents be happy that you're throwing your life away, by being here with me?"
"I'm not throwing my life away."
"Hah," Uncle smacked his shoulder. "You know that's a lie. Have you even been paying attention to the people around you?"
Michael stared ahead.
"These people…the workers you know are all sad people. They have nothing going for them and rather subject as slaves to this kingdom. Why do you think they all pick on you?"
"Is that why you're helping me?"
"I'm helping you because you're young and they despise that. You still have your way ahead of you, everybody else has already ended. I mean, look at me, I have nothing going for myself. They're envious of you."
"Then what should I do?"
"I say, get the hell out of here," he gestured. "Run far away before these people eat you alive. There's nothing here for you, just the stench of sweat of shameless men."
Michael snorted. "And you're one of them."
"Don't make me leave you here, kid, because I will."
Michael's time in the worker's union isn't as bad as he thinks. Despite the other men making a fool out of him, he's been given somewhere to sleep and food to eat. Apart from the smell in the bedding, there's a roof on top to protect him from the rain. The worst case scenario is he would have been alone with no home, begging on the streets for coins. But hearing what Uncle had been saying, he was right to believe that nothing has gotten better. He's been doing the same work everyday, enduring the mess from the other men, and hoping for some type of promotion just to realize it was all for nothing.
People signed away their lives being a worker for Wilmere. Even if it was called the land of opportunity, this wasn't some life Michael wanted to live. He wanted more than this. He wanted to achieve something he would be proud about.
"Watch it," Uncle pulled him aside. "Horses coming through."
Michael saw them coming up. Horses steadily trotting to them. Two horses with three people mounted. But Michael was more focused on what they wore.
Each person was equipped with some type of armor and bore a silver weapon, sword or dagger, and a shield on their back. Their faces looked nothing like the men Michael encountered in the union. These people were different, these people were—
"Adventurers," Uncle moved him out the way. "Don't say anything stupid."