"Man, this feels great!" I said to the ceiling as I sunk into the small mattress that hugged all my aches and worries, the sheets a blanket of warmth and security wrapped around me. The muffled clamor of people downstairs filled the still silence that bathed the dark room, a small but cozy interior.

Moonlight streamed through the modest window behind me and cast dancing shadows along the walls, a ballet of light and darkness that played before me. I leaned back and stared at the crescent moon that glistened amongst twinkling stars in the night sky. We're looking at the same moon, aren't we, Benjamin? I wondered as memories of the restaurant flooded into my mind.

I sighed. Life back at the restaurant was simple at least. No heartstopping adventures, just a comforting routine to wake up, work, and then sleep. It was bland, sure, but that was my life. It was all that I knew until I met Ken.

I slammed a fist into the pillow and bits of feathers flew out of a tear in the fabric, one landing gracefully on my hand. My fingers spasmed with a sudden anger and curled into a fist that crushed it into a dozen hairs.

I'm a monster, aren't I? I thought bitterly as I shut my eyes as if it would squeeze the boiling anger out of me.

No use. I clutched my sheets with my trembling hands, the hands that had killed someone. The sheets seemed more binding than comforting now as I struggled to wriggle out of them, folds of linen caught between themselves.

At last I freed myself from their alluring grasp, one that threatened to pull me into a deep slumber, but my mind would not rest. It couldn't. Guilt clawed at my pounding chest and I stumbled towards the door, dragging my feet with heavy steps.

The doorknob jiggled as I creaked it open tentatively, the gentle murmur of snores and whispers flooding the hallway with a muted atmosphere.

My gaze lingered on Ken's door for a moment before I headed down the stairwell gingerly. The once illuminated tavern that had bombarded my eyes with a plethora of sights and sounds had been toned down to a mellow gold as only a lightbulb here and there dimly lit the scene.

A few stragglers had collapsed on the tables, empty beer bottles staining the sodden wood as they collapsed as well. The bartender lay his head on his arms as he too, had succumbed to sleep after a long day.

The clerk gave me a small wave as I passed by the front desk and I returned the gesture, forcing a smile onto my face.

"You couldn't sleep, huh?" I could have recognized that soothing voice with a hint of snark anywhere. Matilda's long hair cascaded down her shoulders in uneven patterns, strands tangled between each other, and her eyes held a sorrow that I had only seen in myself.

I nodded. "I'm just going to get some air. Clear my mind, I suppose."

"Mind if I join you?" She asked and my heart fluttered. Not in the way my heart would skip a beat as I paused to admire a pretty girl back in Arborad—not that many came to the shabby restaurant, but I was just glad to have company. That I wasn't going to be alone.

The cold, night air bit at my cheek as we stepped outside, but it didn't bother me when crueler thoughts gnashed at my mind. Little droplets of water rapped against the cobbled streets and we ducked under the overhang—a thin piece of wood that quivered in the breeze.

A few moments passed as we stared at the sad buildings before us and the occasional passerby, the drizzle muddling any sense of clarity both outside and in my mind.

Matilda spoke up, a gentle ripping in the still atmosphere. "Lovely weather for such lovely times. It can't get better than this, can it?"

"I killed him," I murmured, overtaken by a numbing trance.

"You did," She said. "But killing is a strange thing, isn't it? To feel so in control in the moment, yet as that power and rage subsides, we're stripped down to our core."

I said nothing, trying to bottle up my emotions so that I wouldn't lash out like I did with the man. Yet the more I tried to suppress the boiling fire churning in my stomach, the more I couldn't control it. My chest burned with the familiar tingling, the same sensation that had forced me to send him to hell.

"Ahhh!" Before I knew it, the fire coursed through my veins, searing my arms with an unbearable pain and burst out my hands in a rapid display of raw power. No, not power—a facade of fear and anger that poured out from my heart.

As the rain snuffed out what I had tried so desperately to control, to hide away from everyone, I was stripped bare, shivering on my bare bones and racked to my core.

"You alright?" Matilda asked, her eyes widened not in the fear I had feared, but in curiosity.

I sniffled, shoving my hands into my pockets. "I just... I can't get over the fact I killed someone like that. What if I kill someone else? What if I kill you—"

"You're not going to do that." She scolded firmly, her gaze boring intensely into mine. "Killing has purpose, and you knew that man was going to kill us if you didn't, so you did."

She let her words linger in the air for a moment. "If it ever comes down to this again, kill with intent knowing that you've made the best decision in the worst situation. Don't do it like..."

"Like what?" I whispered.

She paused for a long moment, but as her eyes met mine again, a sense of comfort washed over both of us. "Like the man who killed my mother. And everyones' lives here in Wynnville, dead or alive. You don't just take one life when you kill."

"What was she like? Your mother." I asked.

A wistful smile formed on her face as the corners of her eyes crinkled. "She was an amazing person, always finding time to talk with me even after a long day at work. She worked at the train station here, y'know? She would tell me all these bizarre stories from these passengers she met, but now that I think of it, she was probably just nurturing my imagination."

Her expression tightened and she didn't need to say anything for me to know what happened next. "And then, one day, he came and he killed her—alongside half the people on the street. I joined aquageist the next day in utter spite, and met him. He was charming, clever, but just when I thought my heart couldn't be broken anymore, it shattered again. I—"

She suddenly lunged at me, her trembling arms gripping my shoulders before wrapping themselves around me. She said nothing for a while and we stood there in the street, the rain beating down on us but unable to break the invisible link bringing us together for a moment.

"T-thank you. I needed to say this for a long time."

Matilda averted her gaze, tears welling in her eyes, or perhaps they were mine. Or both of us. But then again, one could never be so certain about such things.

"What about your father?" She asked after releasing me from her hug, her cheeks burning even in the downpour. "What was he like?"

My father? She couldn't be referring to Dave, I thought and bitter thoughts bit at my tongue as I stared at the ground in... embarrassment? No, something subtler, something I couldn't quite put my finger on as it was never there in the place—like my father.

"I didn't know he existed until I met Ken," I said plainly and Matilda's eyes flashed briefly in surprise before subsiding to a sad understanding.

"Oh," She mumbled, trying to catch herself from stumbling over the words she had so bluntly said before. "So how did you..."

"I worked at a restaurant," I spat, but shifted my tone as I looked up. "There's been good and bad memories, but you can guess how that turned out."

My mind swirled with strange thoughts as a stranger feeling churned in my stomach, an uneasiness that seemed to never settle. I had never thought much of my real father since it felt unusual when the only image I had of him was my imagination—and the fact I was too busy running from the capital and all of this. But who was my father?

And why did I suddenly care so much? It wasn't that Dave was a bad father—he was the one who had raised me and coped with me, but it was like something had awoken within me at the thought that my life wasn't as simple as I had thought it was, or as I wished it to remain. A curiosity that formed as the easily dismissed coincidences slowly became scattered pieces of something bigger, and an explanation lingered just over the horizon.

It was like a memory lost to time, familiar but at the same time foreign enough that it was only held sane by that hint of familiarity. My life had been fine before, and would have continued on with its inevitable ups and downs—nothing as significant, though. But now that a part missing from me I never realized had been exposed, I couldn't close my eyes to the revelation.

Only to look ahead in the face of uncertainty with faith. Faith that had been drained from my hands and stripped from my heart. Yet I was standing here now—in the rain, of all places, a small boy in a big world with an impossible task at hand.

But not just my hands, Ken and Matilda's as well. And that made me smile. A weak one at that, but at least it was something that wasn't all dark and gloom nor fiery anger.

"C'mon, you're gonna catch a cold if we stay out any longer," Matilda said and I sighed. The rain was almost calming, but she was right. If we ever were going to survive in the looming cities where danger lurked around every corner, a cold would suck.

___

"Wallace, up and at 'em!" A voice roused me from a deep sleep and I rubbed my eyes groggily, my body wrapped in the blankets like a caterpillar in a cocoon.

I looked out the window: the sun had not yet begun to peek over the buildings and darkness enveloped the city, beside from the dim streetlights and occasional window that was illuminated. What was Ken doing up at this hour? My head reeled as I sat up a little too quickly, the bed sheets clinging to my body.

Pushing myself off the wrong side of the bed, I groped for my cape I had hung on a rusty rack by the bed and slipped it on along with my shoes I had left underneath. A sharp knock jolted me and I hastily shoved the sheets into one corner of the bed, not bothering to untangle the numerous knots that bound them together. The next customer would understand, right? I snorted and reached for the doorknob, jiggling with it for a moment before I was greeted with the blinding light of the hallway and Ken's goofy grin.

"C'mon, Matilda's already downstairs having their mouth-watering soup and bread." He lifted his head up as if tasting the food in the air. "Mmm... that smell is enough to feed me for days!"

He turned and headed down the stairwell, a wide flight of steps that were coated in a fuzzy rug. Still half asleep, I lingered in the hallway for a while, the gentle snores a lullaby that threatened to put me to sleep, and the faint illustrations of nature on the beige wallpaper complemented the view out the window.

The city had finally draped a blanket over itself, closing its many eyes as stores shut their doors and windows, and the colorful buildings, a combination of peculiar construction and unique architectural taste, snored gently under the cover of darkness. One strange house had an egg-like tower at its top and rusted pipes were strewn along its walls next to an assortment of mechanical devices that seemed to make it come alive.

"You coming, Wallace?" Ken's voice drifted up the stairwell, snapping me out of my daze. I stepped away from the window, my gaze lingering for a moment, and I bounded down the stairwell as my footsteps padded against the steps.

Stepping out of the entrance, a few light bulbs had been shut off, bathing the tavern in a dim glow as I walked toward where Matilda and Ken sat. Gone was the chaotic din that had racked the place earlier, and pungent stains and spills wrinkled my nose. The bartender rested his head against his hand, bobbing up and down in an attempt to stay awake. His eyelids fluttered briefly before he succumbed to fatigue, his head hitting the bar table with a thud.

I pulled up a chair from an adjacent table and plopped down next to Ken who was hungrily slurping on a soup that wafted dangerously into my nose, the aroma of salt and seafood nearly overwhelming me.

"What is that?" I whispered, entranced by the variety of vegetables and meat that floated in the creamy white soup.

He looked up, his soup-coated mouth—bits of onion clinging to the corners—forming a grin. "This is a bowl of clam chowder goodness. Here," the clerk walked over to our table and placed down a bowl and spoon. "Have a try."

Grabbing the worn wooden spoon, its brown color having faded, I sunk it into the thick, creamy liquid adorned by miniature leaves sprinkled over it, and chunky vegetables and finely chopped clams that bobbed as I took a scoop of the soup.

Without waiting any longer, I shoved the spoon into my mouth and immediately, my tastebuds were bombarded with the creaminess of the soup, the soft potatoes that melted on my tongue, and the tender clam pieces that were a mixture of sweet and salty flavors. It was a pity when the spoon left my mouth, but another mouthful of soup shut me up.

The clerk, who had taken a seat by the table next to us, smirked at my reaction. "First time, eh?"

I nodded, my mouth still full.

"Might I ask why you lot are here?" She asked. "Most people come here for the soup every few days, but I don't believe I've ever seen you three around these streets."

Ken opened his mouth to speak, but Matilda cut him off before he could reveal too much. "We're here to purchase some... goods under the shadows."

She stared at her for a moment, her eyes holding a sense of unease as the gray depths swam above the whites, before bursting out in laughter, a shrill sound that pierced my ears. "Doesn't everybody? These days I can't go down a block without being bombarded with a shady offer."

Her voice lowered to a whisper, and she glanced at the door before returning her gaze to us. "Tell you what. If you do wish to enter the underground market, it'll be in your best interest to have a guide."

"A guide?" Ken said through a mouthful of clams.

The clerk nodded. "It's a dangerous place lurking with avaricious criminals underneath every shadow and trust me: either you get ripped off a handful of gold, or killed once you figure you didn't get your money's worth and attempt another stab at it."

"An experienced guide, however," she continued. "They know the good deals, avoid the shabby roads, and will get you out of the shadows unscathed. Most of the time."

She let out another cackle, throwing her head back but stopped when none of us joined her. "Tough crowd, eh?"

Matilda just gave her a glare that could have killed if they were knives and spoke up. "Where would we be able to find this 'guide'?"

A sly smile tugged at the clerk's lips as she tapped her chin in mock thoughtfulness. "Well, I might just happen to know a certain guy around here who knows the markets like the back of his hand. Just maybe."

"So where is he?" Ken asked, finishing the soup with a loud belch that made us all cringe. "What? The soup's fantastic."

"Wel, clam chowder isn't our number one bestseller for no reason," she said. "Now, about that guide. I'll tell you where to find him... for the right price, of course."

Matilda's eyes narrowed, the orange flecks dancing frantically as she bore a look that would have made most people wet their pants and struggle to form coherent sentences. The clerk only gave her a crooked shrug, the sly smile morphing into a deceptively innocent expression and puppy eyes that threatened to tug at my heartstrings.

"What can I say? I'm a businesswoman." She said, slapping a wrinkled bill that listed a sickening amount of numbers. "Welcome to Wynnville."