"Liron, wakey, wakey."
Liron groaned, Emma's finger poking him in his cheek. "Get your fucking finger out of my face, or I will bite it off."
"Well, if you have the manners of a dog, we should treat you like one, too. Would mean more bed for me."
"Please, you would only whine about being cold," Liron said, sitting up. "Fuck, my head."
Liron massaged his temples, his headache making him dizzy for a moment.
Emma studied her brother, frowning. "You're good? You're not sick or anything?"
"No," Liron sighed. "I'm good."
"Good. Because we can't afford for you to lose your job. They only look for an excuse to get rid of you or blame you for anything."
"Thanks for remindin' me. You have a way of lighting up my day before it has really started."
Emma gave a mocking curtsy. "I'm only doing my part. Now come on, we don't have much time. Mother and father are already gone."
Liron slapped himself lightly in the face, trying to wake up fully. Didn't help with his headaches, but they soon faded. Their parents had left them with some slices of bread and fresh water. They had run out of cheese and couldn't afford any more for the rest of the month, so they ate them without anything on them.
While Liron was forcing down his portion, Emma had already finished getting ready. She kept her long, blonde hair in a messy bun. Her winter coat was dusty and ripped in several sections; their mother had tried to fix it. Emma didn't like their mother's work, finding it too conventional. She wanted to do it herself, setting out to improve her clothes. All so she could better stand out. Both their parents were strictly against this.
As Liron was done eating, he got up, putting on his working clothes. "Liron," Emma said, "please get rid of that shitty hat."
Liron blinked. "Emma, that's a normal winter hat. Most people wear it."
"And they all look horrible. You don't need it. You look better without it."
Liron laughed at that. "No, I don't. They will start talking if they see my hair."
Emma rolled her eyes. "They will talk either way, Liron. Everybody here knows about your hair, so what's the point in hidin' it? And I like it. You have good, thick hair. You should keep it growing."
Liron only shook his head. Most people of Eisenrahm and the rest of the empire had pale skin and blonde hair. A lack of color was viewed as a sign of purity. Should someone have completely white skin and silver hair, blessed blood flowed through their veins. Nobility liked to keep these lucky few around them as servants or even lovers, hoping to gain some of Harras's goodwill from them.
Maria, a girl who had lived in the neighborhood, had hair of pure white and pale grey eyes. Some noblemen who had traveled through Eisenrahm had spotted her. It didn't take much convincing for her parents to give her away to him. The way he looked at her, he wasn't interested in another maid. Liron sometimes wondered how she was doing. She had once smiled at him.
Liron had similar pale skin to his sister, his only saving grace, but he had hair as black as the night. No sign of even the slightest silver. Among the people of Eisenrahm, he stood out like a sore thumb. He wanted to shave it off several times, but his father had advised him against it. The people would only think he was trying to hide the fact that he was a Ravenspawn. And nobody would forget what he was. Not if every misfortune plaguing Eisenrahm was apparently his fault.
Liron ran a hand through his messy hair, hanging up his hat. "Fine, have it your way then."
Emma threw an arm around her brother's shoulder, playing with a few of his strands. "Yes, that's what I want to hear. And, you know what, most of the people cursin' your name are older men with no hair of their own anymore. Jealousy. That's all it is, Liron."
Liron smiled. "Sure, that's the reason."
He put on his scarf and coat and followed Emma outside. Eisenrahm had switched to life since dawn. Dozens of people busy walking towards their shifts, repairing something on their houses, or in conversation with one another. The noise soothed Liron, a familiar companion greeting him. Though the chatter of the people gained an edge to it once he passed them. Glares followed him and his black hair wherever he went. He even heard someone whispering about him being a bad omen, Harras's disgrace.
Emma's look silenced them, daggers sharp enough to gouge out their tongues. "Bloody morons."
"Yeah, fucking assholes," Liron said, not wasting another glimpse at them.
Most people staying at home were either older men or new mothers. The cries of the newborns filled the air. Several younger children played alongside the gravel path, enjoying the bit of snow still lying around. Mrs. Schneider, a neighbor, leaned against the door of her house, taking a break. She had birthed quadruplets a week ago, her new children costing her whatever energy she had left after her first triplets. The older children were still too young to be of much help, only adding to the chaos in her home.
Liron's and Emma's family was one of the smallest inside Eisenrahm. It was expected to have at least five children before admitting defeat. But stopping after the first twins was rather rare. In their parents's circumstance, though, it made sense. They wouldn't risk another Ravenspawn. At least they weren't the only oddity in Eisenrahm. The Müllers, a family living a few blocks away, had given birth to a single child. A bad omen, too. Not as bad as carrying a piece of the night on one's head, though.
Emma talked to Liron the entire time, speaking out every thought that crossed her mind. Her attempts to cheer him up were, as usual, in vain. Liron only nodded, replying with half a sentence, if at all. Emma gave up after a minute. She played with her hair, her eyes downcast. Any other day, Liron's guilty consciousness would have forced him to pick up the conversation, but not today.
After a few moments of heavy silence, they arrived at the market. Eisenrahm didn't have much to offer. Nothing beyond plain food like bread or cheese, a few crude iron tools, or the same winter coat everybody was already wearing. If someone had to save some coins, they would only buy the fabric and sew the clothes themselves. Their mother preferred this way, not willing to waste money on work she could do herself. This caused their shirts and trousers to be covered in patches and slight unevenness in the finer details. Not that anyone really cared, as the one thing that united the people of Eisenrahm was their empty pockets. You wouldn't make fun of someone for their lack of money if you were piss-poor yourself.
Today, no one spent any time at the few stands haggling. While the procession hadn't arrived yet, the preparations for the midnight mass were already in full effect. Two dozen townsfolk built the platform under the watchful eye of the mayor. They had to replace it every few months, the gore seeping in the wood of the stage. The stench would not go away, no matter how often they cleaned the entire thing. And no Warpriest would enter a battered stage, expecting the best from Harras's followers.
A procession only showed up once a month. The people have waited long enough, excited for it. Except for Emma, the midnight mass was the highlight in their lives. Emma spat on the ground, glaring at the entire ordeal. If she could, she would unleash her venom without hesitation, but their parents had taught her how to keep her head on her shoulders. So, she would only share her opinion with Liron once they were back at home. Unlike her sister, Liron looked forward to the midnight mass. It was the only time something happened in Eisenrahm. And he would be lying if he didn't admit he looked forward to the Bliss.
Emma wanted to get away from the market as fast as possible, but Liron dragged her to the town's board. With every new procession, new war posters would arrive. Occasionally, they arrived before the procession itself. Liron's hope died a quick death, the old ones still hanging there. Liron couldn't read what was written on them, but he could easily tell they showed Suil, Harras's Blade. He had delivered the Qilesh a brutal defeat, his burning blade putting the Fleshdancer to the flames.
Liron didn't like the art style on these posters. They were too simplistic, veiling Suil in nothing but his yellow robes, only showing his blade. And the Qilesh looked not scary enough. They appeared like crudely drawn humans with four arms and grey skin. The posters from a few months ago were much better. The divine general Julius Kraft, the Mad Berserker, having defeated yet another Qa'an, ripping its head off with his bare hands. The remaining Qilesh could only watch, cowering, fearing being next.
In these, the Qilesh were monsters of fangs and bloody claws. Their hunger for more destruction and the flesh of the innocent radiated from their many eyes. But the best one Liron had ever seen was of Lance. The pride of the Empire and the Society of the Dragon, flying on the back of his dragon Illaxia, bringing the True Dawn. Only thinking about it made Liron excited. Hopefully, the next poster would depict a Draconist again. It hadn't had to be Lance, though Liron always preferred him.
"Fine, you Hatchling," Emma said, failing to keep the annoyance out of her voice. "We've got places to be."
Liron glared at his sister. "Don't call me that. You know I don't find that funny."
"Who says I'm joking? We all can dream big. Even about ridin' a monster into death."
As Liron's grimace didn't change, Emma raised her hands. "Fine, I'll stop. You have to stop being so thin-skinned about this. And now come, I don't want to be late."
Liron cursed under his breath, but he followed his sister.