DAY 50-1: SIGNAL

Not everyone in ‘Reca’ is dead.

At least, not yet.

When morning sunshine trickles through the thick, acrid smoke carrying from the raging fire quite the distance away, that’s when they slink out.

Grandparents, fathers, mothers—even toddlers who don’t look past the age of three. All have lost traces of vibrancy and joy, and have nothing but a thin layer of skin, incapable of masking their protruding bones and famished countenances.

They pick up discarded leftovers and even ruined plants and fruits. Leda and Orian’s attempts at approaching them for answers results in them barely mustering the energy to summon their voices to speak.

They can muster one thing, though: that the royal family has abandoned them.

The idea makes Leda sick to her stomach.

“I thought you said the royal family was kinder than anyone,” she grounds out, glaring at Orian through her blurry vision. “Those assholes left their citizens to die!”

He pries his attention from the dirtied water making up the creeks. They’d come here, adamant on acquiring remnants of fruits from the burnt trees from the fire, as well as salvageable water. But what they’ve collected can’t even amount to anything. And whatever hope they were clinging to before has vanished—buried beneath the burning air. Heading too deep into the forest is out of the question also; the possibility that the Northern Dragon will wreak more havoc than it already has is far too risky.

“The Land of Edaps is a beautiful place.” Orian clings to that belief despite the strain in his face indicating otherwise. “This area was probably engulfed in some kind of war—”

“A war?” Leda scoffs. “These people aren’t apart of the military; they’re innocent citizens who can’t even fend for themselves.”

“Then, there’s most likely a reasonable explanation—”

“Like what?” She chucks another rotten ‘elppa’ into the worn-down basket she’s secured back at Reca—its name Orian told her still hard to digest. “Seriously, Orian,” she continues. “Does it look like they’re involved in some kind of conflict? These people—these children—are dying of hunger and some kind of illness. Drinkable water, proper food, shelter—it’s all unattainable. The Northern Dragon’s rampages are keeping them from exploring the forest for potential rations as well. And their damn government has abandoned them despite that. There’s no way in hell they’re coming back for them either!”

Orian is mute—unable to get the words of rebuttal past his throat. Leda’s aches just the same, and she bites her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Another huff passes her lips as she collapses onto a nearby log, pressing her chin into her palms.

“Real life or even in this world—nothing has changed about petty rulers whose thoughts are only about greed and power; without a care for the people beneath them on the social ladder. The rich make a living off the poor only to repay them with undeserving deaths. They’ve never given a shit.” She can’t withhold a shaky intake of oxygen. “I... I don’t even have anything to help them myself. I’m so pathetic—”

“Master Leda.”

Orian kneels down on one knee. There isn’t an ounce of frailty mirroring his face. Instead, it’s a blindingly warm smile. He extends the bag of fairy meat Rhett had provided on their journey, and drops onto the space beside her.

His gentle gaze doesn’t waver for a moment. “We haven’t had a break since we left the Deck Tower,” he says. “You should rest.”

She bites the inside of her cheek. “I’m fine. The townspeople aside, we still haven’t gone back to figure out what caused that dragon’s riot, and—”

“I understand. That is why this is a personal request.” His words take her by surprise. She jerks her neck only to catch him elevate his arm and place his free hand on his bicep. “Leave the rest to me.”

Her eyelids rise. “Orian...”

“I’ve already decided to equally distribute this to every citizen I can,” he continues, gesturing to the crushed bag of meat in his hand. “You’ve already experienced what kind of mysterious healing this can bring. It isn’t a permanent remedy, but so long as they’re alive, even a tiny bite can help ease their pain for a short while. It even allows for humans or creatures not apart of this realm to live here regardless of Annadia’s atmospheric pressures.”

Leda reflects on his explanation, and bobs her head. It makes sense. She had assumed that was the case. It’s why Rhett was so incessant she have a bite every day, and why she couldn’t seem to get enough of it. It holds the same addictive features of an opioid drug—pain relief function as well.

She receives the tiny piece Orian offers her with much reluctance. The instant she tosses it into her mouth, exactly as it’s done since her arrival, she’s hit with newfound relief. The soreness of her body dissipates in the gust of wind, and the heaviness of her heart, lungs, and other organs lessen also. Promptly, her stomach rumbles from the relief pooling over her shoulders, as well as newfound sleepiness.

“Sorry,” she mumbles.

Orian shakes his head with a fond chuckle. “At first I hadn’t wanted to give this out. Master Rhett gave me strict orders to ration it until the end of our journey by presenting you at least a bite every day so you won’t near your deathbed. But, if being with you these last two days have taught me anything, it is that you possess a kind heart.”

Leda wearily grins. “Don’t hold me on that high a pedestal. Whenever someone’s hurt it’s obvious to not want to give up on them; do all that you can to help.” She cranes her neck back to the light of the sun, currently flickering through the grey clouds. Wryly, she continues, “So, if it’ll help bring them energy, even a little, distribute them. I came on this journey out of boredom, anyway—me alone being on my deathbed beats the population of an entire town.”

Her eyelids promptly droop shut. She leans against the tree behind her for support then groggily ruffles the top of his silky hair.

“Thanks, Orian. I’m relying on you.”

He brightens immediately—fluffy tail wagging back and forth, evidently pleased with the gesture.

Her palm slips and falls to her lap. It’s when her consciousness begins to fade she feels ginger pat atop her own head.

“I truly am glad to have met you, Master.” The whisper is gentle and quiet enough to skim her ear. However, it carries unbelievable warmth. “You’re compassionate, virtuous, and true to your morals no matter the circumstance. You may not see it, or you choose to brush it aside, but in comparison to me, you’re definitely far deserving of a high pedestal.”