Chapter VI | Strangers in Silver

THE SKY WAS GREY AND STUDDED WITH DARK RAIN CLOUDS WHEN ALYA LEFT HER HOUSE THAT MORNING. There was a heaviness to the air, like static before a thunderstorm, that made her skin feel damp as she walked to the Sanctuary, the base of operation for all the volunteers. Most mornings were the same. She would go to the Sanctuary, pick up her supply packs and go out onto the streets. There were always new faces amongst those she saw regularly. Many were children who had lost their parents to the stigma first, before they fell ill themselves, but others had been orphans since the fall of Midgar, and had come from the old city to find help elsewhere. Alya knew the measures they took were only temporary. It didn't cure these children. They were all going to die in the end.

Lost in her thoughts, Alya almost walked straight past the street that housed the Sanctuary. Realising her mistake, she was about to turn back when she noticed a grey truck parked haphazardly up the road. And sitting in the back wagon - at least a dozen children.

The sight stunned her for barely a second before she was walking, moving quickly towards them, her feet splashing through puddles of muddy rainwater, soaking through her shoes. As she got closer, she noticed a man stood at the lip of an alley, pulling a child by her arms as she struggled aggressively against him.

"Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Alya shouted, her voice sharp and dangerous. The man turned to her in surprise, and the child used his distraction to pull loose, running off down the alley. He jerked as if to chase after her, then thought the better of it and stepped towards Alya instead. She took in his cropped silver hair, his green eyes that were slitted like a cat's, and his tall, well-built stature. He towered over her by a couple of inches, and she had to lift her chin as she met his eyes cooly.

"Who are you?" He asked, his voice rough but curious.

She brought her teeth together with a loud click. "That doesn't matter. What do you think you're doing with these children?"

Another voice spoke then, soft and quiet, wrapping around her like an echo. "We're going to save them." Alya turned, her hair flying against her cheek as her eyes fell on another silver-haired man, with the same glistening green eyes as his companion. He was shorter and seemed more delicate somehow, but their appearances were strikingly similar. Brothers, perhaps?

"Oh? And how do you propose to do that?" She didn't believe for a moment that these men were 'saving' these children. They were loading them into their truck like cargo, and from the way the man had half-dragged that girl, it didn't appear as though they cared who got hurt in the process.

The smaller man smiled, sweeping an arm out in front of him. "We're going to cleanse the stigma from their body, and make them whole again. They're going to join our family."

Alya swallowed, a chill crawling along the back of her neck. "They're not going anywhere with you."

The man's smile thinned, and she couldn't help but think it resembled that of a wolf's, hungry and animalistic. "Yes," he said calmly, "they are." He moved past her easily, his hair fluttering behind him like threads of moonlight, and strode to the front of the truck. Alya went to move after him, but two strong hands grabbed her by the shoulders, yanking her back.

"You're not invited to the reunion," the big man told her, then threw her roughly back from the truck. She hit the ground hard, throwing out her arms to break the fall. Dust and grit bit into her skin and filled her nostrils, and her arms trembled as she pushed herself up. By the time she had climbed to her feet, the truck was pulling away, the silver-haired men grinning at her in the rearview.

Alya spat out a curse, cradling her arms to her chest as she watched them drive the children out of the city.

***

Alya spent the morning asking the other children what they knew about the strangers in silver. She felt a bitter resentment for not being able to stop them from driving away, but in the moment there was nothing she could have done. What troubled her the most was where they were taking the children, and what they were doing with them. Their promise of family and reunion was unsettling. They claimed to have a curse for the stigma, but she knew it must be a lie.

The children she spoke to knew little. They had heard about strangers around town, but their purpose here remained a mystery. Instead, she told as many children as she could to hide if they ever came back, and not go with them despite what they may promise.

If only she knew where to find Vincent. He would know what to do. She knew he had experience in battle, judging by the guns slung around his waist and the scars on his body and that dark, assessing gaze he so often adopted. She knew how the other cityfolk saw him too, had heard them whisper about him, a mysterious man in red sent to kill them. She also knew that they were lies, false rumours. He wasn't what they said he was. He wasn't a monster. Because she'd taken the time to know him. And she knew that, despite appearances, Vincent was kind. And he would help.

Then, like a lantern in the dark, she knew where he might be.

Back where it had all started.

The Graveyard had changed since the last time Alya visited. It seemed older somehow, as if it were fading deeper into the past. There was something untouched and forgotten about the place, as if there was no longer anyone left alive to care about the people buried here.

Alya moved silently between the tangles of stones and weeds and dead flowers, feeling like part of the past, full of sad memories and broken dreams. When she came to her parents grave, she knelt and touched her fingers to the rough stone, closing her eyes to whisper a quiet message, a prayer, a hope for the future.

Would she be buried here too, soon? Was this to be her final resting place, alone and forgotten? She had no family left, no friends. Her colleagues at the Sanctuary would miss her, perhaps, but only for a short while. They had their own sad, dark lives to lead. How many would come and whisper prayers to her?

Would he miss her? He barely knew her, really. But he'd been kind to her these past few weeks. He'd been a hand reaching out to her in the dark, pulling her back to her feet. Perhaps she would have given up a long time ago if she hadn't had met him in the graveyard that day.

"Alya?"

Her eyes flew open, and she moved quickly to her feet. "Vincent," she said softly, and smiled. Something shifted in his face when she met his eyes, surprise perhaps, or longing, or a long-lost memory surfacing suddenly, catching him off-guard.

"I was looking for you," she said, moving over to him.

He was quiet, waiting for her to explain.

"There are strangers in town. Men with silver hair," she told him, lowering her eyes, her voice tightening with anger. "They're taking the children away."

Vincent stiffened, and there was a grim set to his jawline. "I know. I followed them, to where they're hiding. A place called The Forgotten City."

"Can you take me there?"

Vincent frowned, looking at her curiously. "It's... not safe."

"Then it's not safe for the children. We have to help them," she continued, her hands clenched to her chest. "They said they have a cure but... but they must be lying."

"They are," he said, his voice low and bitter. "They're not going to cure the children. I've dealt with... their kind before. I will go alone."

"But-"

"The children who are still here need you more," he said quickly, but something about his voice was soft. He seemed closer to her than before, but she hadn't seen him move. "Stay and protect them."

He moved as if to leave, then stopped and looked at her. Really looked at her, as if he was seeing something new about her, something different. Then he sighed - a soft, almost resigned noise - and reached out a hand. Fingers, cool and soft, brushed her cheek.

Then he was gone.