Three Months Ago

The canteen that day was half-empty. Like the stadium of a mediocre throwball team after a bad season. The crowd was mostly elleserech, those who once called themselves humans. Because they were outside the social ladder, they had no reason to show deference to a wynser, even one as important as Lyon. Only in official contexts were they demanded proper respect, and even then, they were only obliged to give such respect to the ahwynser, the goldies, as they used to be called behind their backs.

Lyon was drinking a doughy, bittersweet liquid, with an earthy texture reminiscent of the time he had been thrown to the ground and forced to chew powder.

-And you say this is the best you got? Come on, Iter, I know you’re saving the good stuff!

-Your father paid me four whites not to let you try anything too strong,” said the heavy-chinned barista with an annoyed expression. – And so I won’t let you overdo it. You know how you get when you cross the line. Go on! You’d better go and squander what’s left of your inheritance at the card table or something. But don’t bother me!

-Iter, you know I want to stay away from cards. Besides, they won’t let me play after what happened last year.

-You shouldn’t have taken that bet. It was obvious they were going to make you lose. But, if you want to stay away from cards, why did you keep coming back here after that?

-It’s habit, old friend. The damned habit.

-Maybe that’s true. Maybe it isn’t. But it doesn’t detract from the fact that your place is anywhere else but here.

Silence fell. Lyon began to think about what the barkeeper had told him, and he felt angry. At himself, for falling for such a cheap and obvious ploy. With the bartender, for not allowing him to escape the sweet oblivion of the wine. And to finish, with himself again, for not being able to recover from it and move on. It was because of his vices that he could not move on. It was because of his habits that at this point in his life, almost reaching adulthood, he still did not have a collection worthy of the name. It was his fault that the noble House DeFyr was falling apart, and all because he couldn’t stay away from alcohol, fights and gambling for a week.

And it would continue to be his fault. Because he couldn’t and wouldn’t remedy it. He didn’t want to, because he didn’t feel strong enough to even try. And he couldn’t, because the debts his family had incurred in order to bail him out time and time again were so large that only one of the Relics of the Dead Goddess could be an appropriate price.

He thought about stealing one. Allegh LaRey had a trident that he kept in a metal box in his closet. It would be easy to steal from him, but Lyon would be a very obvious suspect, he had been a confidant of hers until a few years ago. Yrette VaMeh always wore his relic, a sapphire-colored jeweled necklace. It wouldn’t be easy, but the list of suspects would be much longer.

He dismissed the idea. Canceling his debt after something like that would be like painting an archery target on the back of his neck and then walking past a bunch of black-feathered allehiser archers.

How then? There was no possible solution. At least not that he could think of then.

– What did you say the name of that scum you just gave me was? – Lyon said as he noticed a slightly sweetish aftertaste.

– Serashae’s breath. Why?

– I hate the name. And the drink is not my style. But I may end up liking it. What’s it made from?

– Groundinberry, a fruit that only grows in The Loathed Desert.

– Who’s stupid enough to go to The Loathed?

– Maybe stupid isn’t the word you’re looking for.

After a moment’s thought on how to continue the conversation, Lyon was about to open his mouth, but was promptly interrupted by the abrupt start of a canteen brawl. A dark gray scaled oorgrenser threw an elleserech over one of the tables. And that’s when the blows started.

Lyon smiled.

And then the smile was wiped off when he saw that the necklace the elleserech that had been thrown was wearing began to emanate a faint violet light.

The guy was a relicbearer. Dangerous. Not only did he have a relic, but he was capable of actually using it. Few were. But everyone knew not to provoke them. Once you saw a person with a glowing relic, the sensible thing to do was to run away.

Lyon didn’t. He wanted to see what the thing was capable of.

The tavern filled with a gray, thick, steamlike vapor, hot like water, but strange in a way Lyon couldn’t explain. He could see through the smoke, but he could only hear fighting. The oorgrenser was strong, rare it would be if he wasn’t, but the relicbearer would have the advantage.

Except that apparently the fight started rather unfavorably for the latter, because all he could hear was the sound of scuffling. No sparks or anything else weird besides smoke. The light from the relic, however, was increasing from dim to noticeable even through the strange haze, and Lyon was able to locate the two combatants amongst the crowd that was either trying to watch the duel or fight their own.

Suddenly, a blue flash like lightning filled the room. Seconds later, the haze vanished.

And Lyon could see with his own eyes that only ashes remained of the upper half of the oorgrenser’s body.

Nothing else in the entire canteen had been damaged.