As Yoran crumpled to the ground, Elize snatched Ansel's hand and dashed out of the crowd. Stunned pedestrians watched the renowned 'King of Farrah' writhing on the ground with blood gushing from his loins.
A hooded man watched as Ansel and Elize fled the crowd, his curiosity piqued. Reaching into his left eye socket, the hooded man yanked out his eyeball. It came out easily with a soft, wet sound, and the man held it firmly between his thumb and index fingers.
"Drone activate." A mass of muscly tendons burst from the eyeball's rear as it gained a life of its own. Hovering in mid-air for a moment, the eye-drone looked at its owner once before zipping through the air in the direction Ansel had fled.
* * *
Arriving back at the cabin, Elize shut the front door, letting out a shuddering breath as she sank to the floor. Her shopping basket was completely empty—devoid of food of any sort—as she turned her gaze to Ansel, who sat curled up on the couch. "Ansel..."
"I'm sorry! Hic... I-I... I didn't... hic, mean to—" Ansel tried to speak, but the sobs ate his words. He was facing an overwhelming sense of guilt. If I hadn't reached for that coin, then mom wouldn't have had to go through that... I'm a horrible, greedy son...
Elize stood up and approached her crying son, embracing him in a warm hug. Resting her chin on Ansel's shoulder, Elize ran her fingers through his hair. "It's okay, Ansel. It's okay. I'm not angry. But next time, you should never let go of my hand, especially in the bazaar, okay?"
"Mhm, mhm," Ansel nodded, his tears spilling onto his mother's dress.
Pulling back and gripping her son's shoulders, Elize asked again: "Do you understand?"
"Yes, mom, I understand." Ansel pulled a weak smile as Elize reached out and brushed away the tears flowing from his eyes.
In all honesty, seeing Yoran agonised on the ground sent a jolt of satisfaction up Elize's spine—but she would never admit that, especially not to her own son. In that infinitesimally small moment before the attack, Elize had felt a small gust of wind by her side where Ansel stood.
Even though deep down she knew it was nearly impossible for Ansel to have coordinated that attack, she couldn't help feeling as if something unnatural had occurred.
* * *
"Well, at least you have one."
At the Snake Tamers' headquarters, Yoran was lying on a medical bed. The syndicate's doctor, Franka Arless, had finished stitching up his wounds just moments ago. Peeling off her latex gloves, she approached the door, ready to call in Yoran's worried subordinates.
"That brat..." Yoran clenched his fist hard enough to draw blood. Stopping short of the door, Franka swivelled her head to observe Yoran's tantrum with a detached expression.
"That brat TOOK MY TESTICLE!" Yoran slammed his fist down on the mattress, rattling the medical bed as he looked down at his blood-soaked underwear. "I KNOW it was that BRAT!"
"That's impossible, Fachil." Franka shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. For an unlicensed medical surgeon, she was wearing a very casual outfit. Her hair—like Hakim's—was a midnight black and swept across her left eye. Numerous piercings decorated her right ear, their metallic surfaces glinting under the fluorescent lights.
"You think I'm joking, Franka?" Yoran spoke through gritted teeth, bearing the pain as he swung a leg over the side of the bed. "I saw it clear as day with my own eyes... that little bastard disappeared. He stabbed me."
"How? Are you saying the child is an accessor?" Franka scoffed. "...You know his parents. Councillor Hakim and that high school floozy of yours. If they aren't accessors, then the 'brat' isn't either."
"...I don't know if Elize is an accessor. Maybe she had a late awakening or something..." Yoran's nose scrunched as he grabbed a bandage roll from a nearby cabinet and hurled it at the floor with all his might. "That bitch! That's how she got in bed with Hakim!"
"Not necessarily. Is she beautiful?"
"..."
"Look, even if the kid was an accessor, there's no way someone so young could've stabbed your balls like that. If you didn't even have time to react... he would have to have a broken chord of agility and the same level of skill as a squire... at least."
"...A squire?" Yoran spat, his tone offended.
"Look, thugs like us don't stand a chance compared to accessors. A single accessor from just Farrah's Unity Department could probably dismantle the Snake Tamers single-handedly."
It was the harsh truth for any criminal syndicate; compared to those who could break the laws of reality—the accessors—they were weak. Many criminal gangs desperately attempt to hire accessors, but most deals fail for one major reason: being an accessor grants opportunities and privileges most Federation residents couldn't dream of.
Being an accessor grants you the opportunity for a stable life. The fact that most accessor lineages are reputable families doesn't help either.
"Whatever," Yoran grumbled, "I know what I saw. I'm going to go find the brat and toss him off the edge of Farrah. I'll feed that little brat to the Forever Storm."
"Don't let your wounded pride get the best of you, Fachil." Franka turned around, opening the door and yelling down the corridor. "Hey, you fleas! Your boss just finished surgery!"
* * *
When Hakim returned from his council meeting, Elize recounted the day's events. Hakim had already heard the rumours, but hearing that his own family had been directly involved shocked a sense of apprehension into him.
Ansel was fast asleep on the couch as Hakim and Elize talked over some tea.
"Yoran won't be happy about it..." Hakim took a sip of his tea, leaning back against his favourite armchair. "...I'll go talk to him and settle things."
"Settle things? With Yoran? He's not someone you can negotiate with, Hakim..."
"I know. I'm well aware of that. I know he's stronger than me... he did knock out two of my teeth eleven years ago, haha!"
"Don't joke about that..." Elize frowned. "...But he can't do anything, right? What reason would he have to be suspicious of us?"
"I don't know, but he'll find a reason. It doesn't matter who stabbed him, since with Yoran, a wounded pride takes precedence over a wounded body. And today," Hakim turned to Ansel, "...Ansel wounded his pride."
Hakim's grip on his teacup tightened as he spoke. "...If he dares come near our son again, I'll make sure he rots in prison for—" Hakim's words caught in his throat.
Elize tilted her head with a puzzled expression.
"Dear..." Hakim pointed to the corner of the room, where an eyeball was lodged between jars of sugar in an overhead cabinet.
The eye-drone, realising its position had been compromised, raced from the cabinet. Elize let out a loud scream that stirred Ansel from his slumber as she went to guard her son.
Hakim, staring down the eyeball, walked over to the fireplace and picked up a fire poker. Feeling the metal against his palm, he turned around and pointed the sharp rod directly at the eye—a warning that didn't need words.
The eye nervously buzzed around, occasionally glancing at the door.
"Dear, w-what is that?" Elize asked, holding onto Ansel's sleeve.
"I don't know... but it was watching us."
"Yoran?"
"It must be..." Hakim's voice grew cold as he swung the fire poker. The strike fell short as the floating eyeball tilted back, tucking itself against the struts of the cabin's roof—untouchable.
"Enough games, Yoran. Come on out and face me like a man instead of secretly spying on my home. Do you have any dignity at all?" Hakim's voice grew angrier as he spoke. "First you assault my son, and then threaten my wife with a dagger? You have crossed a line, Yoran. A very important line."
At that moment, there were three rasps at the door. The cabin fell silent.
Ansel, sleepily rubbing his eyes, turned towards his mother. "Mom?... What's going on?" Seeing the floating eye pushed up against the ceiling, Ansel raised his eyebrows, his face contorting with child-like wonder.
Knock, knock, knock.
Another three rasps. Ansel looked to the door, and then back at his parents. Unsure, he spoke up. "Sh-should I get the door?"
"No, Ansel," Hakim spoke, holding the fire poker towards the door.
Elize's grip on Ansel's sleeve tightened as Hakim took a cautious step towards the door.
Knock, knock, knock.
Then he took another step. Then another. Reaching out to turn the handle, Hakim gulped. The door swung open and Hakim thrust the fire poker. As he began to attack, Hakim suddenly froze.
The fire poker stopped just a few inches short of the visitor's forehead—the inertia causing Hakim to almost topple over.
The eyeball hiding in the ceiling then whizzed down, burrowing into the empty socket of the visitor before locking into place with a soft, wet sound.
The man standing at the door pulled down his robe to reveal a long, narrow face—no eyebrows or eyelashes. His skin was a dull brown—the colour of dust—and his head was shaved bald. The only ounce of colour on the man's person was the pearly white of his teeth.
"I apologise for the surveillance; it was a necessary measure." The man bowed. "My name is Pengal Shimerone, officer of the Farrah branch of the Federation's Unity Department. May I come in?"