The room was large in the way cheap things tried to compensate for quality with quantity. More space. Less comfort. The bed Lucid sat on creaked when he breathed wrong. The walls were thin enough to hear conversations three rooms over. The window let in cold air through gaps that were clearly poor construction or deliberate design.
Ayame sat by the door to more Back against the wall. Legs crossed. Eyes half closed but alert in that way she had. Like a cat pretending to sleep while actually cataloging every sound and movement in a three block radius.
Arthur sat by the window. A book open in his lap. Moonlight painted him in shades of blue and silver.
Lucid tried to sleep. Could not. Something was wrong. Not the practitioner. Not his sudden condition. Not even the girl who had clearly finessed him over a ring that was probably worth exactly nothing.
Arthur.
Why had he said Arthur Fredrickson? His real surname was Alexander. Arthur Alexander. So why use the fake name when registering them at the courthouse?
'Unless it is not a fake name. Unless Fredrickson is real and Alexander was the lie...'
Lucid looked at Arthur. Found Arthur already looking back. Those crystal blue eyes reflecting moonlight.
"What is it, partner?"
"Geez. No need to call me that. Just use my name."
"No can do." Arthur smiled weakly. "What is it? Is something bothering you?"
Lucid considered his thoughts. Organized them into something resembling coherence. "I was wondering why you went by Fredrickson and not Alexander. Why you presented yourself that way at the sky dock."
Arthur looked out the window. The moonlight hid his eyes now. Cast his face in shadow.
"Ah. Yes. I suppose." He paused. Set down his book with careful precision. "Lucid, there is something I have been meaning to tell you."
Ayame's eyes opened fully. Fixed on Arthur with that intensity she usually reserved for threats.
"What? That you have a double agenda?" Lucid tried to keep his voice light. Failed.
"Well. Yes." Arthur chuckled. The sound was hollow. "I am a terrible person. I used to be a paladin. Not only that, but I killed a lot of people in cold blood. For the empire's vision."
Lucid shot him a look. "Do not tell me you just grew a heart?"
Arthur looked back at Lucid. Met his eyes fully. No more shadows.
"No. For a while I did not feel a shred of sympathy on the battlefield. Taking lives was." He gritted his teeth. "Easy. Efficient. Necessary for the greater good."
Ayame fixated on him. She had his full attention now. Both of them watching Arthur like he might disappear if they looked away.
"I saw the empire's true vision. Its contradictory rules falling apart. Civilians being killed for trivial matters. A leader with grand ambitions and little foresight despite her supposed wisdom." He paused. "I deserted. And in doing so."
"You were held prisoner by another kingdom," Lucid finished.
"Worse. I have a bounty. Arthur Alexander the Betrayer." He smiled bitterly. "Funny title actually. The empire put out wanted posters. Quite dramatic ones. They really emphasized the betrayer part."
"So that is why you said Fredrickson."
"Yes. Fredrickson was my mother's maiden name. Less traceable. Less likely to get me arrested the moment I enter an official building."
Lucid leaned back against the headboard. The wood creaked ominously. "Can I ask you something, Arthur?"
"Of course."
"Do you feel any remorse?"
Arthur looked toward the window. At the twin moons hanging in the sky like eyes watching the world below.
"Ever since I met you and the princess. I guess. Yeah. Every day."
The words hung in the air. Heavy. Real.
Lucid nodded. Ayame closed her eyes in what might have been confirmation or understanding or judgment. Hard to tell with her.
Arthur looked away. At the twin moons. At the city sprawling below them. At anything except the two people in the room who now knew what he had been.
The night was young but all three of them were tired. Exhausted by travel and revelations and the weight of things left unsaid finally being spoken.
Arthur gave in to sleep first. Curled up on his bed still half dressed. The book abandoned on the windowsill.
Lucid followed soon after. Eyes closing despite his mind still racing. Processing everything. Arthur the deserter. Arthur the paladin. Arthur the betrayer. Arthur the partners...
***
The next morning Lucid practically had to sneak out before Ayame could notice. She was getting too possessive... The constant watching. The hovering. It was cute at first but now it was clearly starting to affect him. He needed space. Air. Time alone without feeling eyes tracking his every movement.
He walked to the beach. Forgot the life jacket. Did not care for weather. He Was not planning to swim anyway...
Something puffy sat half buried in the sand. He retrieved it. A bag. Canvas. Filled with something soft.
Just as he made it back to standing, he saw her.
A woman emerging from the water like some kind of ocean deity deciding to visit land. Sharp eyes. Pale skin that seemed to glow in morning light. Hair tied back in a practical knot that suggested she did this often.
They shared glances. Brief. Assessing.
"Good morning," she said. Her voice was measured. Professional.
"Good morning." Lucid clutched the bag awkwardly. "Isn't the water too cold?"
"Oh yes..."
"I have come to enjoy the cold. After being under constant pressure of work." She walked toward shore with easy confidence. "It helps clear the mind."
"Ah. That is good then."
A moment of silence.
"Alright. Bye."
"Sir, wait."
Lucid stopped. Looked around to make sure she was actually talking to him and not someone else.
"Have you happened to come across a boy your age? Carrying a suspicious bag of purple lilies? In the district?"
He stopped himself. Indeed! Just after that merchant interaction he had bumped into someone. Yellow curls. Black coat. Golden eyes that had called his face ugly!
Lucid debated saying anything. He was not keen on doing extra missions. Not keen on getting involved in things that were not his business.
"Yes," he said finally. "I have."
Her eyes briefly shot up with interest. "Are they important to you?"
"Well, yes. Let us just say they are a collaborator of mine." She waved goodbye. Draped a black coat over her shoulder. Put on a long white shirt over what looked like swimming clothes.
"If you see him, tell him to not think in terms of profit but long term margins."
Then she walked away. Leaving Lucid standing on the beach holding a life jacket he did not remember picking up.
'What a random interaction. What was that? Why do I keep having weird encounters in this city?'
He brought the bag over his shoulders. Started walking. Not back to the tavern. Not to the beach. Somewhere else. Somewhere new.
The slums.
He did not plan it. Just found his feet taking him there. Through merchant districts that grew shabbier. Through streets that grew narrower. Through neighborhoods where the buildings leaned against each other like drunks sharing support.
The smell changed. More desperation concentrated into air that felt heavier somehow.
A crowd had gathered ahead. Lucid could hear raised voices. Anger. Fear. The particular sound of conflict about to become violence.
He pushed through the crowd. Saw what was happening.
Five men. Dressed in dark robes marked with symbols surrounded a woman stood in front of a small bakery. Young. Maybe early twenties. Flour dusted her apron and hands. Her face was pale. Terrified. But she stood her ground.
"I told you," she said. Her voice shook but held. "Because of that boy.... I do not have money for tribute. Business has been slow."
"Then business needs to get faster." The lead cultist stepped closer. His hand rested on a blade at his hip. "We treat Everyone eirh equal interests... everyone pays. That is how this works."
"I cannot pay what I do not have!"
"Then perhaps your bakery needs a reminder about priorities."
One of the cloaked individual produced something from his robe. A bottle. Liquid sloshed inside. Something flammable based on the smell.
'Oh no. No no no. They are going to burn it. They are going to burn her bakery and probably her with it...'
Lucid's first instinct was to walk away. Not his business. Not his problem. He had enough issues without adding arson prevention to the list.
He set that instinct aside.
His second thought was to call for guards. Get official help. Let the system handle this. He set that aside too.
What remained was something simpler. More direct. More stupid.
"Hey!" Lucid stepped forward. Into the space between the cultists and the woman. "Leave her alone."
Five sets of eyes turned toward him. Assessing. Calculating. Deciding how much trouble he was worth.
The lead cultist smiled. It was not a nice smile. "And who are you?"
"Someone telling you to leave."
They evaluated him, taking in his physique his face.
"This is not your concern, mist face."
"I am making it my concern."
The cultist's hand tightened on his blade. "You are making a mistake."
"Probably," he agreed. "But I am getting used to that."
The cultists advanced. The woman behind him gasped. The crowd backed away.
And Lucid stood his ground, wondering how he kept ending up in situations like this and why he could not just learn to mind his own business.
'This is going to hurt. This is definitely going to hurt.'
The lead cultist drew his blade.
Lucid prepared himself for another scar he would add.
To their collection of course.