The steaming aroma of morning coffee greeted him. Sunny looked at the fluctuating ripples; he swirled the cup, agitating the liquid inside before taking a sip.
Leaning back in the comfortable chair Sunny closed his eyes, enjoying the morning silence. He liked to appreciate these moments of peace; he was always the first to wake up, so he usually had about twenty or thirty minutes, at best, where he could simply exist.
He took a long breath and exhaled deeply.
Yesterday, after seeing Telle off, it had been ordinary. Nothing particular occurred that was worth mentioning; even after closing up, contrary to what he expected, he wasn't besieged with intrusive questions about what had happened. That made him tense, more than any complaint would have. At first, he had expected a mountain of questions and, at the very least, a discussion about the subject—even a scolding—but none of that happened. He even tried to bring up the subject subtly, testing the waters, but he was brutally ignored. Sunny was restless; it wasn't that he wanted to be lectured on how to behave, but he was still waiting for it: for the moment to talk.
Nothing he expected happened; instead, his expectations were buried under pure indifference. His mind circled around this.
'If no one sets boundaries for me... is everything permitted?' Sunny had thought in his most agitated moment.
The boundaries in their relationship were not established as they should be. Sunny had struggled for years to free himself from Fate and its shackles, but even he understood that to maintain order, one had to have limits. He had already proven to himself that he couldn't trust his own judgment to handle something like this; in that sense, he expected to receive some much-deserved moral chains, but it didn't happen. He was free from consequences. Not only that, but what would he do with Telle, what would happen now... all those kinds of questions bothered him.
At bedtime, even after cuddling up, he couldn't fall asleep easily, as he had little sleepiness, as usual. Aiko slept pressed against him, while Beth held his arm and slept on her side. It took him more than an hour to find enough peace to sleep, but he eventually did.
Upon waking up, his restlessness finally vanished, and now he was at peace. Taking a sip of his coffee, Sunny decided not to overthink the matter for now.
'I'll ignore it. I haven't settled any of this, but I'm more comfortable ignoring it. Is this the easy way out? Then so be it. It'll be a problem for my future self, screw that bastard!'
"Today will be a good day, a relaxed one, I can feel it," Sunny said in a low voice, looking out the window as the sun rose.
And just as he claimed, so it was... for a time.
That same day, later on, around noon and past lunchtime, the emporium had a low level of traffic. Sunny took advantage of this to take another short breather. He closed his eyes and stretched in his chair; a moment later, he felt a weight on his legs. He opened his eyes to see a small woman intruding into his personal space.
"And you?" Sunny questioned.
"I got sleepy..." Aiko said in a low voice. She had sat on his lap and wrapped her arms around him, seeking support; she too closed her eyes and relaxed just as he had. He reached a hand toward her head, running his fingers through her hair and finding a few tangles as he stroked it.
"You should comb your hair."
"You should too! And use shampoo, at least once in a while!"
"I don't need it."
"Whatever the boss says," Aiko murmured, laughing.
Both enjoyed the silence and each other's company. They had to reserve these moments of warmth and affection for more private situations, after noticing that these types of displays didn't leave a good impression; for some reason, this was mainly the case with women.
Aiko lifted her head just enough to look at his face. "Hey, you... I have a question."
"Mh?"
"I haven't seen you go out lately; besides that, you've been quite carefree. So a doubt occurred to me... have you paid your taxes?"
Sunny tilted his head. "What? No... Taxes, you say?"
Aiko's relaxed and sleepy expression vanished. She pulled away and looked at him with incredulity.
"You... don't you know what taxes are?" she asked, bewildered.
"Of course I know. I remember they're charged along with your purchases, as I recall. For the people of NQSC, I think it was different; regardless, Awakened weren't required to pay tribute, right? What's going on with that now?"
Aiko's face darkened.
"We aren't in the waking world, we are in Bastion. Those taxes you're talking about were collected passively by deducting a percentage from your salary or money spent on purchases and services. We don't have that technology here; we've gone back to the old way: you have to pay a percentage of your earnings..." she told him severely.
Sunny understood what she was saying, but he still didn't see the real problem; however, a hint of uncertainty grew in him due to the seriousness with which she explained it.
"And so?" he asked with uncertainty.
Aiko grabbed him by the shoulders and looked at him seriously.
"So you have to pay them immediately. Now! Right now! Don't waste another moment," she spoke with a seriousness he had never heard from her before. "Taxes here are paid by period, and the closing of that period is now, today. This is the last day. You'll get into a lot of trouble if you don't comply; a hefty fine will be the least of your problems. Drastic measures are usually taken against debtors here. If you don't want a couple of Valor Clan collectors at your door tomorrow handing you a court summons, get out of here now."
The relaxation in his face shattered completely. He still hadn't fully processed the information, which was apparently so heavy, but he understood that something was wrong and it affected his privacy; he couldn't afford to draw attention and be forced to answer questions.
"Where do I go? How much do I have to pay?" He stood up abruptly, brushing Aiko aside.
"There's a section dedicated to collections in the castle. I've never been there, but I know it exists; just ask where it is."
Sunny bobbed his head in a nod. The memory of the giant, imposing sack of gold he kept in the forge flashed through his mind like lightning. He turned around, preparing to run and take as many handfuls as necessary. But halfway there, he stopped and turned back to Aiko.
"Wait, you told me you'd never been there before. Did you pay your taxes?"
Aiko's expression became even more serious. She narrowed her eyes, looking around to make sure no one was there to hear her. She floated over to him, leaning toward his ear.
"No, I have my tricks for 'evading' some civic responsibilities. Don't ask, I can't tell you. Now, quickly, run," she whispered. When she finished, she gave him a pat on the back, urging him to go.
Without waiting another second, Sunny ran toward the basement, down the stairs, nearly falling halfway. He entered the forge and took out a storage memory he kept for everyday things; he stuffed coins into the bag until it was full. Even so, the great sack was barely diminished. Tucking away the bag-shaped memory, he started running again.
'It's already noon. Damn it! Will they close soon? Those cursed offices always close early!' he cursed in his mind.
Sunny left the emporium without looking back. Even in his haste, he couldn't run at full speed or use Shadow Step; if he ran at maximum velocity, besides raising suspicion, he could harm bystanders. Biting his lip and cursing, he trotted at a moderate speed.
'Why did I have to set up shop so far from the castle, damn it?!'
He had been trotting for several minutes; he was frustrated and trapped at that moderate pace. His annoyance dissipated and relief hit him when, turning into an alleyway he used as a shortcut, he saw the great castle of Bastion just a few minutes away.
Absorbed by the relief of seeing the imposing castle, he didn't watch where he was going. He was suddenly jerked out of his joy when he collided with someone. Due to the momentum with which he was running, that person fell along with him. He got up urgently.
'Damn it!' Sunny clenched his jaw.
Much as he wanted to, he couldn't afford to attend to that person properly. He grabbed the woman he had knocked down by the shoulders and brushed some dust off her clothes. He didn't even notice her appearance; only by her silhouette did he assume she was a woman.
"I'm sorry, I'm in a hurry!" he said, turning around and sprinting toward the finish line.
Just as he was about to take off, he felt a tug that stopped him. The girl had grabbed him; or rather, she had grabbed the fabric of the Nebulous Mantle. He was halted by the firm grip. He hesitated to turn around, but the urgency to move forward won out.
"Seriously, I'm sorry!" Sunny raised his voice and then pushed himself forward, breaking free from the woman's grip. He didn't even deign to look at her face.
Sunny kept trotting, but something strange was happening: everyone was moving out of his way with strange looks. Everyone looked at him with bewilderment, others with annoyance; he even heard someone insult him, but he couldn't pay attention to it. He swallowed the urge to turn around and respond to the insult.
After a few more minutes, he was finally in front of the imposing castle. He approached one of the guards at the entrance.
"Excuse me, the tax payment area?"
The guard looked at him with a professional bearing.
"Go inside, follow to the right, and then turn left before reaching the stairs. I suggest you hurry; there's not much time left before they close..." the guard's voice trailed off as he realized the man had vanished, leaving behind only a draft of air.
XXX
Morgan's brow was slightly furrowed.
"Why do I have to be there in the first place?" she asked with her arms crossed, her tone somewhere between annoyed and tired.
The young clerk visibly tensed at the rebuttal from the Princess of the Valor Clan; his hands sweated, and he had to swallow hard under Morgan's sharp gaze.
"I-I'm sorry if the information was unpleasant for you, but I'm only here to deliver the message; I don't know the details." He bowed his head in reverence. Hearing no response for the first few seconds, he looked up and saw Morgan staring at him with the same piercing expression; he quickly lowered his head again and tensed even more, looking like a trembling stone sculpture.
Morgan let out a long, heavy sigh and shook her head.
"Relax, I'm not going to split you in half. You've done your job here; you may leave."
The young man took a second too long to relax and straighten up; at no point did he have the courage to look her in the face again. He was visibly frightened. He turned on his heels and walked slowly toward the exit; once he was far enough away, he broke into a run.
Morgan watched all this with a raised eyebrow; people usually reacted that way around her, so she didn't give it much importance. Even so, she never felt used to it.
'Am I really that scary?' she sighed mentally. She looked at the floor and closed her eyes.
After a deep breath, she pushed off the wall and set off to fulfill what had been entrusted to her. It wasn't enough that the Council of Elders tormented her day and night with minutiae; sometimes she had to sit in a chair to be admired by the public for no real reason other than to show off their princess. These acts were an attempt to balance the great disparity in public preference between the Sisters of War.
Nephis had taken the lead long ago, and Morgan was becoming increasingly buried in public reception. She was still the legitimate princess of the clan, so she would never be completely overshadowed, but even within the clan, it felt like she was losing preference in her own home.
She was forced to continue lending herself to public appearances, but this was the most ridiculous one in a long time. Along the way, she grumbled to herself, trying to appease her annoyance.
'Standing there to make an appearance on the last day of tax payments? Seriously?' She clenched her gloved fists. It could have been her day off after a long time, but her hopes were frustrated by a few grumpy, bossy old men.
The Council of Elders asked her to stand and exert her position by making an appearance. Usually, on the final days before closing, the people who tend to attend are problematic or careless individuals with tendencies toward violence; so, with her standing there, she would give them a hard "behave yourself!" look.
'Aren't there guards for that?' was her last thought before shaking her head to clear her reflections.
It was early, and there was already a long line of people waiting to be served. Seeing so many people, she immediately felt the annoyance of what was to come; she took a long breath, preparing for the exhausting work of standing to one side of the service counters and maintaining a perfect appearance.
People looked at her like a celebrity; in reality, she was. Morgan was used to being the center of attention, but there was always something in the looks she received that unsettled her. It was respect, but not the veneration Nephis received; there was a certain trace of caution in their gazes. It wasn't everyone, but she noticed it.
Morgan held back a sigh and concentrated on her task. People in the line came and went; some were visibly nervous, some with tears in their eyes, others even raising their voices to the clerks. It only took her giving them an intense look for a few seconds for them to lower their voices. Previously, this kind of social power made her feel good, but lately, especially after her Third Nightmare, exerting these types of emotions over people had ceased to please her.
Since she arrived at the site, Morgan hadn't said a single word. No one spoke to her either, and so she remained for much of the day: just standing there, like a statue.
At some point, boredom set in and she began to get distracted. She counted the lines on the floor, the floating dust motes... She even sharpened her hearing, listening to the whispers of the people in the line, which was not as long as when she arrived. In the next few hours, service would close, and those who didn't manage to pay their taxes on time would have to be handled another way: in court.
The atmosphere was heavy, not just because of her authoritative presence; the glimpse Morgan caught of the people made her feel pity. Previously, these logistical problems of people not paying their taxes were strictly isolated cases, but due to the massive increase in people entering and living in Bastion, the previous systems became outdated, yet they weren't renewed. The great clan had its eyes on other objectives: the imminent war. All the problems occurring were not the priority, and the people suffered these logistical issues.
Morgan continued to be bored, to the point that the pity she felt seeing the people could no longer withstand her curiosity. She began to take quick glances at the people in the lines; they were ordinary faces, nothing impressive, but it was something.
Looking and looking, a small brunette head caught her attention. She looked down at the girl: she was a little girl of about four years old holding a lollipop, which she licked from time to time. The most curious thing of all was that her little black eyes were looking at her with that curiosity characteristic of children.
She looked back at the girl. The little one blinked a few times; on the last blink, Morgan realized they were holding eye contact and her face lit up in a smile. She waved her little hand, greeting her joyfully.
Morgan was surprised, and for a second, her mind went blank. She was so surprised that she let her mask of composure drop for a moment, but she quickly reformed it. After hesitating for a moment, she gave the girl a smile and made a subtle waving gesture with her hand.
The girl seemed to almost jump with excitement. She smiled so brightly that Morgan couldn't help but broaden her own smile.
'Is this how she feels?' A silhouette with silver hair fleetingly appeared in her mind.
She had lost her thread of concentration on the girl for a short instant; when she turned her attention back to reality and the little one, she was no longer there.
Confused, she looked to the side where the girl should be. There was her mother; she looked distracted, lost in her agonizing thoughts. Morgan understood all of that with a single glance.
"Miss," a squeaky yet endearing voice sounded below her.
Morgan looked down and there was the girl, just a few steps away. She looked back at the mother, who was still not paying attention, and then looked back at the little one; a spark of emotion grew in her chest. Morgan crouched down until she was at the girl's eye level; she felt nervous about something she didn't quite understand.
"Tell me, little one?" she said gently.
"What's your name?" the girl tilted her head.
"Oh, forgive my manners! I'm Morgan. What's your name, precious?" From her voice came a tenderness and emotion that had never before emanated from her.
"Valeria!" the little one raised her voice, almost jumping.
Morgan's arm moved on its own, stroking the girl's head.
"Valeria? What a lovely name you have... Tell me, why did you come to say hello? Do you need something?" The tenderness in her voice faltered as she asked; a genuine doubt filtered through.
The girl's cheeks colored subtly, but she didn't stop looking her in the eyes. She clasped her hands together and swayed from side to side as she spoke. "You're pretty. Why are you so pretty? I want to be pretty like that..." she said in a low voice, embarrassed.
The tension in Morgan's jaw slackened, letting her lips part slightly.
"Do you really think I'm pretty, Valeria?" Those words came out of her lips on their own.
The girl shook her head fervently in a nod. "Mh!"
On Morgan's face, a genuine smile found its place, discarding her dignified and firm expression. She stopped paying attention to everything else and focused on what was in front of her. On an impulse, she did something she had always wanted to do: withdrawing her hand from the girl's head, she brought it to her face and, between her fingers, gently squeezed the little one's nose. Then she withdrew her hand, tucked her thumb between her fingers, and showed it to her.
"Look, I've got your nose!"
Immediately, the little one put her hand to her nose. "Give it back!" she growled playfully, feigning alarm.
Morgan held back some giggles and shook her head. "Nope, it's mine now. I'm going to keep it."
Valeria looked at her with feigned anger. Her eyes landed on Morgan's red and attractive lips and an idea occurred to her: a little revenge.
"Valeria!" a voice shouted from a few meters away. Hearing the shout, Morgan looked up toward where the voice came from; it was the girl's mother. Her eyes went wide when they locked gazes.
It was only for a brief instant that she lost concentration on the girl.
Morgan first felt a pressure on her lips, a small one. Almost the instant she felt this pressure, she felt heat; a heat she hadn't felt for a long time: the heat of another person's skin, the heat of a palm. Then she felt more heat and a liquid sensation that was also familiar. Finally, a loud scream from a squeaky voice concluded the eternal moment.
The girl fell backward, clutching her mangled hand; she writhed on the floor, which quickly became stained with blood. Another scream followed, equal or louder, this time of absolute terror. Morgan didn't recognize what was said; she heard her scream, but the words didn't reach her. Morgan stood staring at the girl. Her lips had parted; the warm liquid smeared on her lips entered her mouth, and the taste of iron snapped her out of her stupor.
Morgan touched her mouth, which was soaked in fresh blood. Her senses sharpened, returning to reality. She heard dozens of murmurs and gasps from the crowd. Coming out of shock, she looked at the girl on the ground, writhing. She took a trembling step toward her, then another; she leaned over, slowly extending an arm toward the little one.
The girl was abruptly pulled away. Looking up a bit more, she saw that she was now being shielded by her mother. She lifted her gaze further and the same woman was looking at her with absolute terror; upon catching her gaze, she cowered, squeezing her child in her arms. She narrowed her eyes, tears falling.
"I-I'm sorry, please, forgive her..."
The words pierced her like thousands of swords in her chest. She looked up again and there were dozens of eyes looking at her with fear and rejection. Morgan felt small.
The guards at the sides, near the entrances, came running as they caught the commotion. Seeing the scene, they quickly ran to help the situation.
"Call a healer!" the guard shouted to his companion, who nodded in silence and ran toward the exit. The hurried guard passed by her side; it was only an instant, but she noticed how he avoided her gaze.
She hit the wall.
Morgan hadn't realized she was backing away, nor that her heart was beating so fast or her breathing was so labored. She tasted blood again, blood that wasn't hers. She felt the stares again, twice as piercing as before, and heard the murmurs attacking her eardrums with more intensity.
Her legs moved on their own. Morgan ran toward the bathroom, pushing the door so hard she nearly broke it. She entered hastily and opened another door inside, a stall. Encountering the toilet, she threw herself to her knees before it. She gasped deeply through a couple of torturous breaths before emptying her stomach with painful heaves.
She gripped the bowl tightly, shattering the edges where she held it, but then the strength she had vanished after expelling the last of what remained in her stomach. She wheezed for air as if she had been drowning. She wiped her mouth with the back of her gloved hand, which remained soaked in blood; some of it had already dried, sticking to her skin.
The lack of strength manifested in her legs as intense tremors. Unable to support herself any longer, Morgan slumped back against the stall wall with a dull thud. She looked at her trembling hands; the world was spinning without actually moving. Her eyes, nose, and tongue stung. She felt herself falling apart. In complete panic, yielding to the irrational fear emerging from the depths of her chest, she found the strength to pull her legs against her torso.
She grabbed her legs and hugged them. She couldn't bear the weight of her eyelids either; she closed her eyes, yielding to her body's inexplicable call. But when she did and stared into the darkness, Morgan felt herself in an empty space where there was nothing but her, yet that did not calm her.
Suddenly, in the darkness, a flash appeared. As it vanished, a pair of eyes emerged which, when they opened, stared at her fixedly, intensely; they penetrated and judged her.
'N-no.'
Another flash followed by the appearance of eyes occurred; this time they looked at her with fear. Then another pair appeared, and another, and another. Morgan could see hundreds of eyes hounding her. A wave of panic washed over her, and she snapped her eyes open in an attempt to escape them.
Her breathing was shallow and fast, matching the pounding in her chest; it beat so hard she could hear it in her ears. It felt as if it would explode. Amidst the pulsations, she began to hear unintelligible things, sounds that were barely whispers, but with every passing second, they grew louder and louder. Hundreds of murmurlike whispers lashed against her eardrums.
"Stop..." Morgan managed to mutter.
The murmurs became unbearable. Her head throbbed; her eardrums pulsed. She covered her ears tightly, but the noises didn't stop.
"S-stop, please," she sobbed.
Her heart began to beat even harder; it was like a drum in her chest. She felt as if her heart were going to die. In a fit born of desperation, she began to strike her head with the back of her hands. The pain hit her instantly, but she didn't stop; Morgan kept hitting herself relentlessly. The murmurs didn't cease; they were loud enough to consume her entire reality. The desperation reached its climax and, as a final defense mechanism, she screamed.
"STOP IT!"
She screamed as loud as she could, until her vocal cords ached. The scream was loud enough to push the voices away; they were still there, but like spectral whispers. Sweat poured from her pores in torrents, accompanied by drops of blood from the side of her head.
'I feel bad. I feel sick. I feel sick, I feel bad, I feel sick, I feel bad...'
Morgan clutched her head, trying to hold herself together. Her hands, feet, and head were sweating; her entire body was covered in a cold sweat. She felt like she was melting, yet at the same time, she was freezing. The drops fell to the floor one after another; one sweat, another blood, and so on.
But suddenly, one of the drops that fell cracked the floor and pierced it. That drop was different: it was metallic in color. Liquid of that same color was sliding down her arms inside the armor; some drops escaped through the gaps in the protection, falling to the floor and shattering the ceramic.
The liquid suddenly stopped flowing. It halted once it had covered a large part of her limbs. This didn't just happen in her arms, but also in her legs: they were losing part of their shape and turning liquid.
The metallic liquid moved again, but this time it changed form: it coiled against Morgan's skin, took on a sharper shape, and buried itself in her flesh like needles. They burrowed into her skin like worms wanting to consume her and leave nothing but remains. The atrocious pain of her arms and legs being crushed snapped her out of her stupor. The voices went silent, and with a deep gasp, she returned to reality.
Morgan took long, trembling breaths, her shoulders shaking. By instinct, she glanced at her arms; indeed, blood was leaking from the armor, staining the floor. She stared at this for a long time, looking bewildered. Her breathing became more stable. She looked one last time at her hands covered by the gloves before losing interest and hugging her legs again.
Morgan felt the blood trickling from her wounds inside the armor, soaking the inner fabric, but she paid no attention to it. The pain, which should have been searing and was at the start, quickly faded until she was barely aware she ever had any wounds.
Suddenly, Morgan had the urge to cry. Her vision blurred and her lip trembled, but before she could let the cry out, the impulse was abruptly cut off. The torrent of emotions that tormented her—the panic, the anxiety, and the intense stress—which complemented each other in a whirlwind of desperation, began to calm along with every other sensation. Her breathing finally stabilized, and her heart followed suit.
She looked at the wall in front of her; she stared at it as if hypnotized. Morgan remained ignorant of time and reality.
She stayed sitting in that blood-soiled corner, without any strength left, hiding her head between her legs. At some point, her feelings dwindled until they went out. Her hands trembled with no sign of wanting to stop. She stared at nothingness during all that time; she had already memorized every detail of the wall.
In a time she couldn't define, she regained some measure of reason. She lifted her head slightly and looked around.
'How much time has passed?' Morgan wondered, regaining consciousness.
It could have been five minutes or an entire day; she couldn't say. Before, she would have had the urge to go out and return to her post or run to try and amend her error, but this time she didn't even see the importance of it. Morgan had no reason to get up from her bloody corner, yet she ended up doing it anyway. She didn't even think about it; she just did.
Morgan left the stall and walked through the bathroom until she reached the exit door. She walked, but she didn't feel her steps; her wounds should have burned in agony, but for her, they weren't even there.
'Do I have to go out? Can't I just sit there and wait for something to happen? For someone...'
Morgan placed a hand on the door. She closed her eyes in weariness for a moment, let out a sigh, and, with eyes devoid of life, pushed the door open. When she crossed the threshold, she saw in the distance how the few people still lingering in the place were quickly withdrawing. She felt nothing in particular about it, neither relief nor nervousness. But she was disappointed, even if she didn't feel it; she wanted someone to approach her for anything. Even in the most brutal of reproaches, she would have found solace somehow.
Like a puppet without a master, Morgan moved forward until she crossed the scene of the origin of her previous panic. The pool of blood was there; no one had cleaned it yet. She stood staring at the pool of blood; she couldn't easily look away. She didn't feel anything in particular either, yet it wasn't easy to look at.
"The cleaning staff are truly inefficient..." Morgan murmured.
She had to close her eyes and walk past the scene, trusting she wouldn't crash into anything. Additionally, everything sounded like an echo; she didn't know how to orient herself well, but she cared little. Slowly she opened her eyes, having walked far enough to have passed the bloody scene.
She stood still. She had passed the pool and was now in view of the corridor doors. She felt no urgency to leave.
'Now what? Where do I go?'
The wide and enormous castle, in her eyes, became even larger than it already was; she no longer saw a clear path. Morgan sighed and bowed her head. She heard a voice, and she recognized it. It wasn't specifically familiar, nor was it unknown, but it brought her an inexplicable feeling of nostalgia.
Morgan looked up in the direction of the noise. She froze; however minuscule it was in that instant, however less than a flash it lasted, she felt something other than emptiness in her chest.
Her lips parted and she spoke his name.