Atticus left the temple and made his way to the river. He scanned the bank, his eyes darting from one person to another. The people who had gathered at the river went about their own business, paying him no heed.
Some were swimming, letting the flow of the river take them and then darting away when they got too close to the Abyss. Others were washing their clothes and themselves. Even more sat by the river with cups in their hands, filling it and drinking as they talked amongst each other.
Atticus had passed the bridge when his eyes fell on the familiar figure of a woman. Her hair, although knotted, was long and dark. She was thin. Her clothing hung loosely from her body. Her skin, which used to be a radiant brown seemed somehow muted.
Although she sat on the opposite side of the river Atticus recognized her instantly.
Io
Atticus doubled back and crossed the bridge. As he approached Io his pace slowed. His feet unsure of where to go or what to do. His legs twitched and everything in his body screamed for him to run.
In the corner of his eye Atticus saw a small figure dip into view. He turned his attention away from Io to see the youngblood.
The youngblood was a little girl with wavy white hair and golden skin. Her pointed ears, exactly like his own, poked through her locks. Even the color of her eyes was his. Down to the very unnatural brightness in her eyes, of which only one other person possessed.
Him.
Her face was his, albeit a bit softer and more feminine. The way she moved were his gestures. Her mannerisms were his. And the crooked way she smiled.
It was all him.
It was as if the gods were mocking him for abandoning them by making the very reason he left look and be exactly like him.
The youngblood caught a glimpse of him. She froze. Lips pinched and eyebrows downturned. She leapt to her mother, her hands holding Io’s shoulder as she leaned to the side. Wearily eyeing Atticus.
Io faced the direction the youngblood was looking and her eyes widened at the sight of Atticus.
Io glanced at the youngblood then back to Atticus, mouth agape. She closed her mouth, replacing it with a soft smile that was both welcoming and cautious.
“Are you going to gawk like some pervert, or will you have a seat with us?” Io asked.
Heat rushed to Atticus’s cheeks as he quickly set himself down next to the two. The stone in his pocket pressed against his leg.
Neither said a word.
Atticus looked to the ground, tapping his fingers together. He turned to Io and opened his mouth to speak but the words were nowhere to be found. Io traced the ground as she stared intensely at her hand. Their youngblood stared at Atticus, slowly emerging from her hiding place.
“You look like death with all that blood on you.” Io said, breaking the silence.
Atticus looked down at his chest and arms. Dozens of tiny cuts were scattered across his body and the bandage on his leg was dark red. He was a mess.
“I look worse than I feel.” Atticus said.
Io stroked the top of their youngbloods head, avoiding any eye contact with Atticus. “What brings you to see us? The last time I saw you didn’t you swear you would have nothing to do with us?”
Atticus flinched then gave a reluctant nod. “I...I had acted a bit foolishly. I was young.”
Io’s hand froze. “I was too, you know. We were both very young. That doesn’t make our actions any less impactful.”
“You’re right.”
Silence sank between them once again. Their youngblood gained confidence. She abandoned her mother’s side and strode over to Atticus, extending both her hands to him.
Atticus smiled unsurely and placed his hand in hers. The youngblood stared at his fingers, her blue eyes glowing as she studied his hand. Then the youngblood’s skin changed. It went from golden brown to pale, matching his. Her white hair turned into a darker silver. A tiny scar appeared on the upper right corner of her lip. In the same location as his.
The youngblood had completely morphed into an exact image of him.
His stomach flipped. The food in his belly building until it reached the back of his throat. The corners of his mouth twitched as Atticus suppressed a frown. Sweat gathered at the back of his neck and his hands grew cold.
Atticus took his hand back and the energy that left his body returned. The youngblood turned back into herself but kept her hands out, waiting.
“Does she do this a lot?” Atticus asked as he reluctantly placed his hand back into the youngbloods.
“She has done it a lot more recently, but she gets very tired after a while.” Io replied.
“I remember getting tired too when I did that.”
“Is that why you stopped?”
Atticus paused. A tinge of envy crept into his heart as he watched the youngblood shift from her original form to his with ease. But an overwhelming sense of pride flooded his chest too. He smiled despite himself.
“I am far too weak to do it anymore. It takes too much out of me.” Atticus said.
Io nodded then in a soft voice said. “You still haven’t answered my first question.”
“What was that?”
“What brings you to see us?”
“I was told that you were having some troubles.” Atticus started, his voice barely above a whisper. “I heard you were no longer receiving food and that Edan had abandoned you.”
Io frowned. She looked over her shoulders, her eyes glancing all around them. The pattern of her breathing changed. Instead of relaxed it was quick and short. Her leg bounced and she chewed the inside of her lip.
Atticus leaned over to Io, but she wouldn’t face him. He leaned in closer and used both hands to gently turn her face toward his. He pressed his forehead against hers and whispered. “What’s wrong? Has Edan done something to you or the youngblood?”
Io sighed. Breaking free from his grasp she put some distance between them. “She has a name you know. She’s not just any youngblood no matter how much you want to believe it.” For the first time since they sat together, she met his gaze. It was strong and unwavering. As if she were challenging him to contradict her.
“Did Edan hurt you and Amara?” Atticus asked. His voice soft and low.
At the sound of her name the youngblood, Amara, looked at him and gave a bashful, crooked grin.
Io got to her feet and dusted off her skirt. She extended her arms to Amara and lifted her off the ground, placing the youngblood on her hip. Io looked over her shoulder to the left then to her right before extending her free hand to Atticus who accepted.
“I would prefer to speak somewhere more private. Would you be willing to come with us?” Io asked.
There was a certain edge to her voice. It was too light. Too happy. But there was a hint of fear mixed in.
Atticus stretched both of his arms, using the movement to look around them as discreetly as possible. There were a few people who had been looking their way. Were they watching them? How long had they been there? How many were there in total? From the looks of it, there were two at the very least. And they would not stop staring.
The muscles in Atticus’s body tensed. Adrenaline seeped into his veins. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at one of the men who made eye contact.
“It has been some time since I have been home.” Atticus answered. “I would like to visit again.”
Io’s face broke into a smile and her shoulders visibly relaxed. The two fell into step. Atticus kept a wary eye on the men that had stared at them. He watched in the corner of his eye as they left their spot to follow them.
The streets were scattered with citizens who loitered on the curb or sat leaning against a building wall. Some looked to be sleeping while others didn’t move. Atticus was sure they were dead; it wouldn’t be surprising to find someone who had dropped on the way to the river or the like. It was becoming too common of an occurrence.
In the corner of his eye Atticus could see the strangers trailing them from behind. They were not very good at their job. Nearly always out in the open and holding them in an unwavering stare. If this was Edan’s men, they were not well trained.
If they were random people who somehow knew that Atticus had food in his pocket that could be just as dangerous if not more.
Atticus turned his attention to the youngblood who kept looking at him. She neither spoke nor made much of a sound. This struck him as odd because from what he knew she was nearing three-years-old. He had never interacted with many three-year-old’s that were this quiet.
“Is she always this quiet?” Atticus finally asked.
The corners of Io’s mouth tugged upwards, but she suppressed a smile. “Only when she’s curious.”
“Why is she so curious about me? Has she not seen a man before?”
Io snorted out a laugh. “Of course! I can’t throw a stone in any direction without hitting one.”
“Well, why is she fixated on me?”
“Any child would be curious to see their father.”
Atticus stopped in his tracks; his blood ran cold. Io slowed to a halt and waited for him to regain his composer.
“She knows about me?” Atticus asked.
“It’s not like this city is very large. Why don’t you ask her yourself on what she knows about you?”
Atticus looked up to the trees, his eyes fixed on a forever light, placing a hand on the back of his neck. “What do you know about me, Amara?”
Amara curled into her mother’s chest with only half her face sticking out.
“You work in the mines.” Amara answered. “We see you walk to the river a lot. You’re tall.” Amara stopped; scrunched her nose then looked Atticus in the eye. “Why didn’t you come see me?”
Atticus looked downward. “That’s a long explanation.” He muttered to his feet. “And very uncalled for.” Atticus threw a look at Io.
Io shrugged. “I didn’t ask the question.”
The three approached a small, beaten down building. It once stood several stories tall but had crumbled, leaving only the first floor still intact. Io pulled out a rusty key from her pocket and unlocked the door. She stepped aside to let Atticus in first.
Atticus crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. Io grinned yet said nothing as she stepped into the building. Atticus followed, closing the door behind them.
As he closed the door, he could see the strangers from across the street. They were together now, standing side by side without saying a word to each other.
Atticus brought two fingers to his chin then pulled it away from his face. The strangers saw it and scowled, repeating the gesture. He closed the door before they could do anything else. He released his grip from the handle, his fingers tense. He turned to Io and dipped his head in a nod.
“Now,” Io said with a soft clap of her hands, “where to begin?”
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