“Ack!” Dust flew into Maya’s eyes, and a few fibres of hay, too. The horse cart in front of them had rickety wheels that made everything float about, forcing Maya to be on her guard for some more blinding experiences.

She cursed as she rubbed her watery eyes and watched as the scene of the valley change into a rocky pathway of hills and small forests. Everything on land looked redundant to Maya—an infinite expanse of greens and browns that pricked her ankles when she walked. Needless to say, it was a nice change from all the infinite expanse of blue she had seen all her life.

Zachary was sleeping on the cart, right beside the stack of loose hay. His arms were crossed behind his head, looking completely comfortable despite the hard wood and the hay drifting down to his face. He even had the audacity to snore and sleep-talk, often talking about ‘stars’ and ‘swords’ and a certain ‘Eva’.

Peacefulness encompassed his face, and Maya observed how different he looked without the blabbering mouth and the cynical smirks. No more anger, no more tension, and no more rebel. He was just a man, a boy.

His stolen horse whinnied beside Maya. It followed without complaint, without direction, as if it had nothing else to do anyway.

The afternoon sun had arrived an hour ago, but Maya was protected by the leaves of the trees and the passing lazy clouds. Birds chirped in the forest and the wind softly blew her hair. Tranquillity washed over her, something she had not felt for some time. She felt safe, she felt unburdened. She felt sleepy.

But then she remembered Mister Castel. That woke her up.

Her eyes were hurting and heavy, but her mind was active and restless. How could she sleep knowing that Mister Castel was somewhere in the Capital, probably hurt and in pain? Even if there was the small possibility that they let him go, where would he run to? He was in a strange city, and the Kingfisher was miles away. Then, there was Dirk to worry about. It was possible that he stowed the ship away, or even sold it for money.

Maya’s hand clenched with the thought.

She should have seen the signs. He’d throw a tantrum when he lost money on gambles. He pickpocketed and physically hurt people for their valuables. He had a criminal record, for gods’ sakes!

Maya regrets not having told Mister Castel all of those about Dirk. She was naïve to think that people like Dirk are the most pitiful and most in need. Maybe he was, but that was because he was a terrible person.

Zachary suddenly shifted. He groaned and sat up, rubbing his head in a manner of grogginess, making his bandana fell off. “Ah, damn,” he said as he picked it back up and tied it back around his head.

“Who’s Eva?” Maya asked him.

His sleepy eyes jolted awake and sped towards her. Frozen lips tried to talk, but only managed to stutter. “H…How do you know her?” he asked in a whisper.

Maya puffed her cheeks in an effort not to laugh, but her aching stomach made it hard to do so. She had never seen Zachary so flustered as he was right now! “And you’re asking me! She must be really important to make it to your dreams.”

A light red washed over his face and ears, and pursed lips made him look like he was about to faint from all the embarrassment and Maya’s knowing stare. Somehow though, he was saved from further death.

Maya heard the strong silent lullaby of the falling afternoon sun sing to her. On normal days, she could withstand sleep spells as it is never wise to sleep on the job, especially if that job required the raising of sails. However, after all she’s been through just a day ago, her eyelids refused to keep open.

Her muscles suddenly went slack from hours of tension and rigidness. She’d been on her highest guard while Zachary was asleep, she realized, and now that he was awake, her stubborn shelter collapsed and allowed relaxation to fall upon her and her tiny shoulders.

She was spooked by the idea of getting caught by the Military more than she thought.

“How long ‘til Mossmore?” she asked in near slurs.

“Pretty near,” Zachary said. He looked over the stack of hay to the front of the cart. “Actually… we’re here.”

A warm breeze of succulent fruits and harvested crops fanned Maya in the face, leaving her sleepy demeanour into nothing but renewed vigour. She inhaled deeply and watched Mossmore village unfold before her eyes. It revealed nothing of what she had expected from an unheard settlement.

Houses were quaint and made of cobblestone and hardwood, and each and every one had gardens protected by small fences. They all grew vegetables—tomatoes, lettuce, and a few more that Maya could not name. She rarely got to eat them since they perished so easily.

Alongside houses were plenty of trees as big as giants. The houses looked like ants next to those wonders of nature, and Maya wondered if she could actually carve a home out of the trunks. It puzzled her how those trees have gotten so big to actually make Mossmore village mostly sheltered from the outside.

“Acacia trees,” said Zachary. “The leaves are loose enough to let sunlight enter for their crops. This place gets the most beautiful rainfall, you know.” He smiled as he looked around, waving back at the few laidback people from the distance. It was the first time Maya saw him in a state of such pleasantry.

“No one knows how these trees got so big,” he continued. “A lot say that it’s magic.”

“Magic,” repeated Maya.

“What, you don’t think it’s possible? Don’t you know magic existed in Osreon a few hundred years ago?”

She twisted her mouth. “That myth? That’s what they use to sing children to sleep.”

“It’s true!” He feigned to be insulted, putting his hand to his chest. “Good gods, just wait ‘til Folke knocks some sense into you.”

“Until who knocks?”

There was no reply. Zachary instead peeked over the stack of hay once again and pointed down the dirt road. “See that house? We’ll get down there,” he told the old driver.

Maya couldn’t see past the hay stack, but she began to wonder about what was to come. Her whole body started to become anxious in fiddles and twitches. Maybe she got herself mixed up in something bad, something unwell for her. Or maybe Zachary was just tricking her the whole time, maybe Zachary was pure scum after all.

She didn’t let herself be drowned in her thoughts, though. Determination only came once in a while, and Maya did not intend to let it go.

In no time at all, the cart stopped and Zachary got down. He thanked the driver as the cart drove away, its creaky wheels leaving the two in heavy dust.

This time, the dust in the eyes did not bother Maya. The house standing tall in front of her took too much of her attention. “That’s a manor,” she said, questioning.

Rustic facades and thick vines covered the manor, however Maya still found the building exceptional and plainly enchanting to look at. Three stories of brown uneven stone made up the most of it, and the remaining was its black tiled roof patched in moss and ferns.

As if the manor wasn’t shocking enough, a garden behind rusted metal gates stood before the two of them. It was merely overgrown grass, smaller uncut fruit trees, and wilted remnants of once blooming flowers. No other traces of colors existed other than green and dark green, but despite that, Maya caught herself gazing at it admiringly.

“We’re staying here?” she asked.

“No, Folke’s letting us stay here.”

She blinked. “I’m guessing he’s Archanian.” The building screamed old riches and vintage glamour, and who else would fit the picture?

Zachary put his hands on his hips and gazed at the manor ahead. His golden eyes reminisced unknown memories to Maya. “You got that right.”

Maya didn’t feel excited. The Military may have given her a horrid impression of them time and again, but that did not change her views on Archanians. If she had to give this Folke man a curtsy or something of the like, she might just spit on his shoes.

The two of them passed under the gate and walked slowly through the garden. Grass tickled Maya’s legs, and the enchanting aura of the manor’s entrance took her eyes hostage. Double wooden doors greeted them, and just at the right moment, it opened.

An old man stepped out, not a limp in his youthful steps. Maya first noticed the greying hair, the tall nose, then the wrinkled face. An expensive-looking satin navy coat donned the man, and a golden cane adorned his bare hands. As if there weren’t enough things on him that could show off his wealth already, a glinting blue brooch was pinned to his collar.

He smiled.

“Ah, young Zachary. You’re late… and you brought a friend.” His voice was commanding, like that of a general, yet weathered by age. He nodded to Maya. “I am Folke. Folke Colenstein.”

Maya grimaced. She wasn’t sure what to do, but just assumed it was safe to nod back.

“And,” Folke continued. “You also brought trouble, I presume?”

A nervous laugh deemed to escape Zachary’s lips as he tried to turn his bloodied side away from the old man. “This is Malaya. I, er, owe her something and we need your help.”

Folke stared at him with those stoic blue eyes that screamed murder. “You always do, Zachary. Always.” He sighed then waved for them to follow into the house. “Come on, then. It’s getting cold.”

Maya and Zachary cast a glance at each other. They both agreed to the way they were feeling, which was shuddering fear. Nevertheless, they continued into the manor.

Maya held her breath as the dull light of a bronze and glass chandelier washed over her. The interior was far bigger than she had expected. The foyer was a mere small entryway with staircases leading to the second floor, but the living room next to the right was a complete opposite. The span was enough room for Maya to fit four captain’s quarters in, and maybe even have space to run around. Multiple shelves lined up against the wall and not a book was out of place. Carpets of varying patterns of brown and gold covered the floor, perfectly matching the harsh glow of the late afternoon sun that shone through the arched windows.

She released her breath.

“Beautiful, right?” asked Folke. “The carpets, most especially. They hold the whole thing together. Cost me a fortune, however.” He led them to the center of the room where dark green leather sofas and chairs encircled a single glass table.

Zachary went ahead to sit on one of the long sofas, and Maya chose to sit opposite of him.

Folke meanwhile chose the lone armchair. He lay his golden cane beside him and crossed his legs. “So? You need my help, young Zachary? Have you already blown your cover?”

No words were able to escape Zachary’s lips. It took him a good few seconds before he was able to say something comprehensible. “I…” he said, confident at first but then gradating to unsureness. “Perhaps.” He crossed his arms.

Folke rubbed the bridge of his nose, his forehead creasing. A terrible silence hung in the air, contrasting the warm glow inside the room. “Malaya, dear, what do you know?”

“Just Maya.” She scratched her arm. “Well, I know it was him behind the bombing of Oxford Bay… which sounds terribly wrong now that I said it aloud to someone else.”

“So… you know of the Youngblood Resistance?”

“Am I in trouble if I am? Because trust me, I didn’t even ask nor did I want to know that information. Zachary just has a bill to pay for me and for a whole lot of civilians.”

Folke didn’t look convinced, though. He leaned in. “You’re not in trouble, Maya dear. It’s just that… if we were to help you, it would risk the secrecy to the hideout of the Resistance.”

Maya could not believe what she was hearing. She raised her eyebrows at him. “Why are we even talking about this? You people owe me and several hundred people our lives back. In fact, you guys should even be paying for those lives that were lost.” She pointed out to an obscure direction. “Homes were destroyed into nothing, and you’re talking about blowing covers? If you really are here to help the people of Osreon, then that is not one way to do it. Take responsibility, for gods’ sakes!”

Folke said nothing at first. He was calm and contemplating, as if Maya never said what she did. Maya kept her eyes on him, waiting for a response that was slow to come.

Then, he huffed. “Maya dear,” he said, “I know we might look like sadists in your eyes, but the world is not just black or white. Doing one thing does not pursue for just one thing as well. It goes into several, and sometimes, a hundred.”

“What?” was all she could say.

“Let’s say the Resistance did go and take responsibility for the bombing. Where would we get the supplies? The support? The manpower? The Resistance’s population is barely a percent of what Oxford Bay’s. And, say that we did, and we went to help. Who would it jeopardize? Everyone, Maya dear.” He leaned in. “There is a reason the rebel groups of this country are in hiding. It is because they are killed once found, and when someone dies, that is the end of it. The Resistance will die, and that is the end of it. The Military will finally take place and act upon its citizens its great plan… which is, not to be exaggerated, to leave them to die anyway.”

Maya had to admit that she was intimidated, but that didn’t mean he was right. The man was too negative, too wordy, and he never even tried. The Resistance never even tried to do those things. Who could say what was to happen?

But he wasn’t finished. “And that’s not all the possibilities. What if the Resistance never bombed Oxford Bay in the first place? We don’t just bomb anything. There was a reason for it, and it was for that reason that we decided to take a risk. Oxford Bay was holding eighty percent of the Military’s gunpowder. Ever heard of that? It’s their new holy grail, and it is what powers their guns and their killing machines. The reason that explosion was so strong was because Zachary used up most of it.”

“Yes, but—” Maya was cut off by Folke’s abrupt movement. He suddenly bent down to reach underneath the glass table in front of them.

“And like I said,” continued Folke, straightening himself up again, “Zachary makes everything seem worse than it is.”

“Hey!”

He held out a newsletter in front of Maya. “He talks too much from his own emotions, you see. He doesn’t keep calm and comprehend. He just comprehends, and that sends him into a panic.”

Maya hesitated before letting herself take the newsletter. She gulped. “Oxford Bay rebel bombing,” she read aloud. “Multiple injured… no deaths.”