WebNovels

Chapter 11 - Chapter 11

"Where are you taking me?"

Jean was silent, worry lines were etched deeply across his face as he pulled on my hand. We walked along the edges, in the shadows, as the streets around us bustled with people. The sound of their voices bounced off the stone walls of the buildings and hit loudly in my ears.

He yanked me suddenly toward the left, and we were on a street that was less crowded, where we didn't have to lurk on the edges of it.

"As close to Dampshaw. That is where they were last seen." His voice was tense, strained, and low, as if he were afraid someone might overhear us.

I pulled my hand out of his grasp and kept in step with him. The stalls on this street were not fully set up; the vendors were still pulling items off carts and placing them on their tables. They sold wares, decorative pieces that looked to be meticulously and beautifully crafted.

Each stall here also had the same blue banner with entwined roses.

"Is that the crest of the city?"

Jean didn't turn as he kept walking forward.

"It's the crest of House Aster, the Ducal family." He answered without turning to look at me, "The crest on a merchant's stall is a mark of authenticity and quality. It's a symbol of truth, especially for rare or exotic items."

The world builders for this place were very thorough, who even comes up with this stuff?

"But couldn't anyone just display the crest to attract more customers?" I challenged the rules.

Jean let out a small chuckle, finally turning to me, but his eyes held no humor, "No one would be dumb enough to try. Misrepresentation of the Ducal crest is a grave offense, and anyone caught doing it would face severe consequences."

"So the Duke is a fearsome man."

Jean glanced around to make sure no one was listening and leaned closer to me, "Duke Mikhail Aster is known for his strict sense of justice. He's fair, but he doesn't tolerate deceit or betrayal." The seriousness in Jean's tone sent a chill down my spine.

I had a dozen more questions, but I bit my tongue. I was already knee-deep in their fantasy game, and while I'd fake it if it meant getting home, I wasn't about to drink the Kool-Aid.

The stall seemed to be glowing completely. A soft, warm, golden hue surrounded it. When we got closer, I saw glass orbs floating languidly above a woven basket. I was drawn to them like a magnet.

How is this done? I wondered as I reached out to grab one.

"They're sunspheres." Jean informed me as he looked over his shoulder, "The Glassweavers of the Eastern Shore craft them."

My fingers wrapped around one of the orbs. It was a pleasant warmth, and it vibrated, hummed in my palm. I held it close to my eyes and tried to see inside, but couldn't find any wires or batteries.

"What is powering it?" I whispered, more to myself, but Jean answered.

"Magic," his golden eyes reflected the shimmering light of the orbs, and they looked like mini suns, "It's captured sunlight, tamed and harnessed within the special glass."

Magic, of course. I rolled my eyes at the simplistic answer, rather lazy in my opinion, but I wasn't in charge of the script.

"So everyone can do magic here?" I asked rather sarcastically.

Jean's expression dimmed slightly, a shadow of melancholy crossing his features, "No, only certain families in Lumicrestia. The magic used to make sunspheres is a heritage spell, which is why this stall can sell them, even if they're not nobles."

"That seems a bit classist. Only nobles wield magic then?" I asked, kicking myself internally for getting so caught up in the lore.

"The Mages, as well, but they usually come from the few noble families who can practice magic," Jean responded, his tone carrying a hint of resignation.

"That doesn't seem fair at all," I muttered, thinking aloud. Why was I getting drawn in over a small trinket?

Jean paused, his gaze distant as if recalling something from long ago, "The First King feared the widespread use of magic. He believed it was what had given Elirius his strength, and that unrestrited magical practice could lead to another Unending Night. He decreed that magic was to be a privilege, not a right, reserved only for those deemed worthy."

I rolled my eyes at his origin story—it struck a little too close to home. I'd worked in a lab long enough to see promising breakthroughs crushed under the weight of hypotheticals and "what-ifs." The potential consequences always seemed to matter more than the proven good. All it took was one man and his fear-driven beliefs to claim that science was dangerous, immoral, unnatural. 

Magic was just unexplainable science.

"Who is Elirius?" I asked, intrigued by the weight of the name.

Jean hesitated, his brow furrowed as he looked at me, "He is one of the First Gods," he paused as if waiting for me to understand. "Did they not go over this in your homeland?" His eyes became suspicious of me.

Crap. Was that part of the player handbook?

"We aren't taught about the other First God's back home, just our own." I lied. Why did I lie, and why did it make me so nervous?

Jean's face softened, "Elirius was the Dark God who ruled over these lands before the forming of Lumicrestia. The Unending Night was when they blotted out the sun, plunging the world into darkness and despair. It was a period of great suffering. I suppose it didn't extend to your lands." He took the sunsphere from my hand, "That's when these first came into existence."

He turned to the vendor and exchanged a few small coins.

"Something to light your darkest days should you ever face them," and handed me the sunsphere.

I placed it in the inner pocket of the cloak. I would figure out how it worked once I got back home.

We continued forward, and soon we were past the vendors and other small shops. This quarter was still busy with people shuffling by, many of them were also covered up in cloaks or hats pulled down to hide their faces, all avoiding their eyes, wanting to stay anonymous. The buildings were quickly becoming more dilapidated with every few steps, paint and plaster peeled away to expose rotting wood beneath. The cobblestone streets were uneven and scattered with potholes. The smell, though, was the worst. The area smelled of a roadside rest stop in the middle of summer. There were several wet, slick puddles in corners, as well as in the middle of the roads, that I tried not to think too much about. 

The level of authenticity seemed absurd.

"This is where they were last seen?" I asked, my voice slightly muffled as I covered my mouth and nose with the cloak. The sun was out and heating up quickly, and I was starting to sweat, but heat stroke seemed more pleasant than the smells that surrounded us.

"Yes," Jean nodded his head, "Dampshaw is …" he paused searching for the right words.

"Disgusting," I finished for him, "yes, I can see that." I gestured around us.

"This isn't Dampshaw."

"It's worse than this?"

Jean just turned to me and nodded, his face pinched in disgust. "We will be turning right on the next street," He pointed up ahead, where I saw the street turn by a house that was shuttered up. "From there, you will have to go by yourself."

He had mentioned that he would only lead me, but now that I had seen where I had to go searching, I did not want to go alone.

"Are you sure they haven't been seen somewhere else in town?" I asked, "Maybe somewhere that doesn't like like Murder Capital of your world?"

"They were seen there just last night." Jean answered, "You will be fine as long as you don't draw attention to yourself."

I looked around and didn't feel too assured by his answer. The answer was quieter than the other parts of the city we had traversed. Everyone was keeping to themselves; it even felt as if they were purposely trying to avoid one another, but that didn't make me feel safe.

As we rounded the street, my foot got caught on a pothole, which lurched me forward, colliding with a portly man dressed in a fine green suit that was a few sizes too small. His round, flushed face turned on me sharply, his expression twisting into a scowl.

My ankle throbbed as I stepped out of the pothole. I rotated it and sighed when it didn't feel like a sprain or twist.

"Watch where you are going, peasant!" he spat, his voice dripping with disdain as he brushed at his suit jacket as though my touch had sullied it.

The pain quickly turned to anger; whether he was still in character or not, I didn't care.

"No estoy de humor. Just get out of my way."

I didn't think his face could go redder, but it did.

Jean swiftly positioned himself protectively in front of me, bowing slightly.

"My sincerest apologies, Count Houndly," he said, his tone polite yet firm. I could feel the tension radiating from him, his eyes locked with the Count's. It was then that I recognized that the man in front of me was the one everyone had not just avoided, but pretended not to notice earlier that morning.

Count Houndly's lips curled disdainfully, "Apologies? Your clumsy friend has defiled my attire with her commoner filth!" His voice boomed across the plaza, drawing curious glances from passersby.

Just who was this man? He had to be more than just an actor. I squinted as I tried to recognize his face. Maybe he was a guest actor, an actual celebrity.

He reached out, his fingers snatching toward my hood, intent on exposing me to the growing crowd.

"No me toques!" Reacting quickly, I jerked away, causing the Count's face to contort with rage.

"Francis," the Count barked suddenly. Out of nowhere, a tall man with broad shoulders and a muscular build materialized. With a swift and rough grip, he seized my arm, his fingers pressing into my skin.

Jean's stance stiffened, his eyes flashing with anger and concern. The situation had escalated quickly.

"Let go of me!" I struggled against the grip, "I get that this is an immersive experience, but you can't just manhandle me like this."

The grip on my arm tightened painfully, a cruel reminder of just how weak I was, compared to Frankenstein's monster hovering over me.

Count Houndly loomed over me, his face twisted with contempt, "You will apologize properly."

Francis shoved me with such force that my knees crashed on the hard cobblestone, and I thought I felt them crack.

"Stop this at once," Jean's desperate and strained voice barely rose above the murmurs of the gathering crowd, their eyes wide with shock and curiosity. Moments before, they had moved as if they didn't want to be detected, but now they huddled close, trying to get the best view of what was going on. Would none of them intervene?

"Is there a problem here, Count Houndly?" A powerful voice sliced through the tension like a blade.

The crowd parted, revealing the source of the command — a striking figure with fiery red hair that seemed to burn like the setting sun.

My heart skipped a beat. My savior was exactly who I was running from. 

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