Emily's eyes jolted open. She gasped for breath. Her mind was foggy, lingering with dream residue. She sat on the side of the bed. Her skin was clammy, sweat trickling down her forehead. An incoherent grumble came from her lips, then she inhaled and exhaled. The bags under her eyes drooped while she rubbed her eyes. A crawling melancholy crept up her legs, spine, and into her arms.
Warm morning rays peeked through the curtain blinds. The smell of an electrical fire lingered in Emily's room. Sheets and pillows, thrown and scattered across the floor. Her bed creaked, then collapsed as she stood up.
"Mother fuck!" she growled, stepping on a splinter from a wooden painting frame on the floor. Her eyes drifted towards the broken clock on the ground. "What the fuck?"
An unsettling thought crept into her mind as she picked up the wooden frame and tossed it into the trash. Her eyes lingered on the broken frame of what used to be a bed. Emily sighed and pushed her hair out of her face as she struggled to recover any memory of how her hotel room got destroyed. She knew she had done all this. The walls, however, remained silent on the how, as she flicked the bathroom light on.
"This is why I can't have nice things."
She looked at herself in the mirror, one eye half shut as she rubbed her eyelids. Emily turned on the sink faucet, splashing cold water on her face.
"ⱤØɄ₲Ⱨ ₦ł₲Ⱨ₮ ₵Ⱨ₳₥₱?"
Emily blinked, turning her head towards the bathroom window. She opened the curtain, gazing down at the people conversing outside the window. A heavy sigh came from her mouth, then she shook her head, ignoring the monologue running in her head. She rubbed her messy hair, then scratched her chest as she left the room.
Her heart raced as she walked down the corridor, stopping mid-stride in front of someone else's hotel room door.
"₭₦Ø₵₭."
She bit her lip when she approached, lifting her right hand towards the door. Emily leaned her ear on it, then gazed down the hallway. She bit her lip, then looked up at the ceiling before walking away. Her spine tingled, unable to resist the urge, then turned back. The doorknob turned as Emily balled up her fist to knock.
"Fuck!" Rachel shouted when she slung the door open.
Emily collapsed onto the carpet, heart thumping in her chest. "Shit!"
"Emily?" Rachel asked. "What are you doing here!?"
"Hey Rache... I was heading to the bathroom," Emily replied, pointing towards her room.
"Bathroom?"
"Yeah... I mean, my room. I was going to my room, where my bathroom is."
"?ןǝʇoɥ sı̣ɥʇ ʞɔı̣d I pı̣p ʎɥM"
Rachel's eyes narrowed as she helped Emily to her feet.
"You're not buying it, are you?"
Rachel shook her head. "You're a horrible liar."
"So, I uhhh.... what's up?"
"What's up?" Rachel laughed, leaning on the wall. "What's up with you?"
"Just making a fool of myself."
"Wanna hang out?"
"YES!... I mean … yeah, that's cool or something?"
"ØⱧ ₥Ɏ ₱Ɽł₥Ɇ."
"Shut the hell up."
"What was that?"
"Oh... just talking to myself again. I really need to stop doing that."
"You're a weird one."
"˙ןǝqɐן ƃuoɹM"
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry... actually kinda refreshing."
"What?"
"In the empire, we judge people by their merit and prowess in combat," Rachel explained. She gestured for Emily to follow her down the hallway. "People who act like you don't survive in the empire. But you don't fight like how you behave."
"Thanks, I guess?"
"Usually, I can get a measure of someone just by their body language, but you not so much."
"˙ʍou ʎɥʍ ʍouʞ I puⱯ"
Emily rubbed her neck, gazing down at the ground.
"Think fast!" Rachel shouted.
Emily's skin crawled, and her instincts screamed to dodge to her left. She listened to her primitive brain, snapping her head to the left. Rachel's fist whiffed, grazing her skin as Emily ducked a roundhouse kick. She then countered with a legsweep.
"So it wasn't a fluke," Rachel said, avoiding the attack. "Who is your master, Emily of Leonore? It's that gentleman you were with yesterday, isn't it?"
"Why the hell are you attacking me?" Emily replied.
"Oh, I was trying to prove my point. That you don't fight like how you behave."
"Well, I live on the streets. You learn to trust your instincts."
"That is not just instinct, but fine; keep your secrets."
"₴₥₳Ɽ₮ Ɇ₲₲ ₮Ⱨ₳₮ Ø₦Ɇ."
"Shut up."
"Fellow chosen… a delightful surprise," a deep baritone male voice said in the distance.
Emily raised an eyebrow, turning her head down the hallway. An older gentleman with a red mask approached. He wore a designer two-piece gray suit with a red and gold tie. His silver beard and well-kept hair were perfectly trimmed. The man's ocean eyes stared at Emily before returning to Rachel.
"Arthur of Leonore!? You've been chosen by the ENGINE, too?" Rachel replied with a smile, her hands on her hips.
"˙uǝʇsı̣ן ʇɥƃı̣ɯ ǝH"
Arthur smiled and nodded, clutching his detailed cane in one hand. "Why are you surprised? Do you not think me worthy?"
Rachel chuckled, then shook Arthur's hand. "Of course you are. My family is huge fans of your work. They got your paintings everywhere in our estate."
"If that's the case, it would be my honor to paint you before the pilgrimage," Arthur replied, then gazed down at Emily. "Hmmmm.... I don't know you, but you seem familiar. Have we met?"
"Nope... don't think we met."
"This is Emily of Leonore, kinda surprised y'all never met," Rachel interjected.
"It's not surprising at all… people like him don't bother with people like me."
"What makes you think that? You are a fellow chosen… we are on equal footing in my eyes."
"Because if I didn't have this stupid mask, you would only see a homeless bum."
"That actually makes me even more curious why the ENGINE chose you."
"You and me both."
"The ENGINE doesn't care about wealth or status. It cares about who would be a good PRIME," Rachel explained.
"You say that, but every chosen I ran into so far is like y'all. You got it all — the money, the power, the status," Emily replied.
"Then knock us down a peg," Arthur said. "In one week, all this friendly formality goes out the window, and that's when you show everyone what a homeless bum is made of."
"In one week, I will be dead. You both will be dead, and you're all just treating it like an honor. Something is deeply wrong with both of you….all of you. This whole fucking world is upside down."
"˙ʍouʞ ʇ'usǝop ʎןןɐǝɹ ǝɥS"
"Someone being fatalistic this morning," Rachel replied.
"There is no such thing as fate. Power requires sacrifice, and a PRIME who did not earn the title of PRIME has no legitimacy. This isn't about bloodlines, wealth, or social status, Emily. This is about who is worthy to be the PRIME for the next hundred years," Arthur explained with a straight face.
"₩ØⱤ₮ⱧɎ ⱧɆ ₴₳Ɏ₴."
Emily sighed. Her head turned when she heard footsteps echoing down the hall.
"Everything good?" Elijah asked.
Arthur turned his head, rubbing his beard while Elijah lit a cigarette. "You keep dangerous company."
"What are you talking about?" Emily replied.
"He is talking about how I was a bodyguard for his family for a couple of years," Elijah explained.
Rachel coughed and waved the cigarette smoke out of her face. "Wait... you're that Elijah of Tyrial? The butcherer of…"
"Don't finish that sentence."
Rachel gulped then looked down.
"Of course, the ENGINE would choose the best bodyguard money can buy," Arthur said, then shook Elijah's hand. "Perhaps I could hire your services during the pilgrimage?"
"Perhaps … It's going to cost you a lot, though."
"Does that invitation apply to me as well?" Rachel asked.
"I don't think you need it. Cowards remember?" Elijah jested, then looked at Emily. "Did you sleep well?"
"Sort of."
Rachel smirked. "Bet she stayed up all night thinking about me."
Emily's cheeks turned rosy. A thin-lipped smile stretched across her face.
"Are you supposed to be?" Arthur asked.
"Don't finish that sentence."
"Understood."
"Damn, you're really crushing hard. Cheeks red as a tomato," Elijah mentioned
"I don't have a crush!"
"Stop being dramatic."
"I am not being dramatic!"
"Okay, kid."
"I am not a kid. I am fucking twenty-one."
"Don't act like it."
"Fuck this," Emily said then stormed down the hallway.
"Where are you going?" Rachel asked.
Emily didn't respond.
She left the hotel, heart thumping in her chest. Fresh fish, paint, musk, and morning dew lingered in the air. She wanted to curl into herself, escape everything and everyone, but all she felt were eyes on her. The bickering of everyday life echoed in her eardrums while she navigated Leonore's cobblestone streets.
Emily slammed into someone just as she turned a corner, collapsing to the ground.
"Sorry."
"No worries, I wasn't paying attention either," a mezzo-soprano-pitched woman replied. She offered her hand to Emily.
Emily looked up at her then took her tattooed hand. Her long, straight black hair complemented her neutral skin tone, which was covered in glyphs and symbolic tattoos. A blue mask fused to the right side of her face, which retracted from her cobalt eyes.
"Where are you going?" The woman asked.
"Nowhere in particular … just getting some fresh air," Emily replied. "You're a Sage?"
"Did the tattoos give it away?" The Sage asked. Her tattoos glowed with an ethereal mulberry hue. "I am Shiyu from the divine city of Xinhua."
"So what's a Sage doing in Leonore? I thought Sages never leave Xinhua."
"I am here for you."