Sylvester had retired to his room for the evening after an eventful first day in the Shadow District. He sat at his desk speed reading through a book he’d already read what felt like a million times. Despite this the information within never stung him any less.
His overuse of tempomancy in the last twenty-four hours had taken a real toll on his body; in the quiet of his personal washroom he’d continued to cough up clots of green blood, washing them down the sink and wondering exactly when his body would chose to stop punishing him for doing a good thing.
It was always the things that felt right that seemed to hurt the most. He’d hoped that moving away from home would break this trend, but it seemed instead his poor luck had followed him from Siyseursiel, then to Urthus and now to Novus. A curse he couldn’t break.
It wasn’t until he heard a knock on the door that he realised he’d been so deep in thought he’s stopped reading altogether. The knock came again, impatiently and louder this time.
“Yes, what is it?” He called back, irked.
“Uh…” he instantly knew it was Felix, “you have a letter.”
Sylvester froze, “A letter?”
“Yeah, like, handwritten with ink… letter,” Felix replied awkwardly through the door, “just come look.”
It took all the energy Sylvester had left to get himself out of his chair and slog over to the door. He swung it open a little more aggressively than he’d have liked and gazed tiredly down at Felix, almost forgetting just how much he towered over the dragorian.
And there it was, clasped between his clawed fingers, a pristine white envelope with a red wax seal. He took the letter off Felix and spun it round to inspect the name written on the reverse side: Mr Olivier Isham.
Felix leaned over curiously and hesitated, “I don’t know what that says… but it’s not your name.”
“We really ought to start on your literacy tutoring again,” Sylvester sighed, “This is my pseudonym, only a handful of people know it.”
“How did it end up here anyway? Novus doesn’t have a postal system, it’s all digital…” Felix asked, and he had a good point.
“It must’ve been…” Sylvester blinked in realisation, “specially delivered—excuse me Felix I really ought to read this alone… actually…”
His words rushed out as he stepped back inside his room and slammed the door shut, locking it behind him. His heart was suddenly racing, worsening his exhaustion.
He staggered over to his desk once more and procured his letter opener, which he hadn’t expected to actually need in Novus. How wrong he was.
Cutting through the top of the envelope, his stomach sank the closer he came to reading the words on the page. His hands shook as he unfolded the paper, which was delicately thin with a faint aroma of pine. It was distinctly Siyseurlian postage. The pool of potential senders suddenly became very small.
As he unfolded the paper for the final time, he looked up and ahead, not daring to let his eyes grace the letter just yet. He tried not to catastrophize the situation. A letter from home could still be a good thing…
“Okay…” he took a deep breath and then back out again, “just a letter.”
He let his eyes roll down and began to read;
Autumn, Week 7, Day 45, 3025
It is with regret that I intend to inform you that a bounty of ten million Siela has been placed upon you for your unharmed capture.
It is one of international interest. There’s no telling who will attempt to pursue you.
I only warn you as I care deeply for your happiness and safety. You have a right to know how your life is about to change.
Be strong, I do hope to one day share kind moments with you again,
beneath the willow.
He was barely able to hold the letter in his shaking hands, and realised that several tears had soaked through the paper. Carefully, he placed it upon the desk and took a deep breath, trying to pull himself together.
Beneath the willow. The words summoned a memory that had spent many years in hibernation. When he closed his eyes he could see it all so clearly: laying there in the dusty grass beneath a weeping willow on a late spring afternoon, gazing up at the greenish sunlight that broke through between the leaves in gentle rays.
He recalled looking closely at the crooked branches that spread out like old bony fingers beneath the tree’s surface and remarking, “They’re such a mess on the inside, aren’t they?”
The voice that came back was that of a young girl who was wise well beyond her years, “I think that makes the outside even more beautiful, don’t you brother?”
What struck him most about this moment, one of many that the two siblings spent beneath that tree escaping the ills that awaited at home, is that he never replied.
Because he couldn’t say, truthfully, that he agreed.
Through trembling lips he uttered her name as he collapsed into his desk chair, “Oh, Selin…”
He clutched his head between his hands and wept. How unfair. How cruel it was. The only contact he’d had from his sister in years was another caution, a warning of the consequences of his actions under the veil of secrecy, no names or sentimentality, only pseudonyms and clues.
A bounty? Had it really come to this? Ten million siela was nothing to be scoffed at, and he could only imagine the types of people who would go to extraordinary lengths to get their hands on him.
Wiping the tears from his face, he sighed, “I just arrived, you know. In Novus.”
He spoke as if someone were listening, but he knew this was a threat he’d have to face alone, at least for the time being.
Gazing up from his melancholic slump he caught the sullen veiny skin of his face in the mirror, the remnants of a green bloodstain still stuck at the corner of his lip.
“At the rate things are here, I can’t keep any promises for my well-being,” he muttered, looking back down and opening his book back up to a very specific page “I suppose I should at least be grateful you want me back, alive.”
Their eyes pinned him through the paper as he gazed upon the image of two royals, titled:
“Prince Erasmus and newly appointed Princess Meridia on the day of their wedding.”
They already looked so sickly, so dissatisfied with one another. Who knew this image would become such an omen of their lives to come. Even just the sight of their younger selves, the blatant complacency in their stances which had allowed the events of today to happen, made Sylvester’s blood boil.
He said his next words through gritted teeth, "How parental of you..."
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