For a street as beautiful as the polished, brilliant ones of Imperial City, where golden lanterns hung in the sky to illuminate its path and gilded towers stretched toward the heavens, a frail, tattered boy surely didn't belong.
Nevertheless, with slow but determined steps, Quinlan Drayton made his way towards the Eryndal Empire Tower.
He was dressed in his usual rags, grime clinging to his skin and his long, unkempt dark hair, his fingers filled with dirt from working in the mines.
His body functioned only by some sort of miracle. Either that, or it was simply because Quinlan had decided that he was going to risk it all today.
There was no other choice for him.
He arrived at the foot of the Eryndral Empire Tower, lifting his gaze at the tall building of reverence.
This tower was the heart of the realm, a place where nobles, high-ranking soldiers and members of the Rulership gathered to discuss, drink from crystal goblets and dine on platinum plates.
It was also where the Primarch, Magnus Voss lived. He was the most powerful man in the realm, and he was also the man Quinlan was here to see.
The two imperial guards flanking the entrance grimaced at his sight. They hoped the hideous beggar would just walk away, but grunted when they saw he was approaching.
They immediately blocked his path with their halberds.
"Move away, beggar," one of them sneered. "You're stinking up the air here."
"I need to see Magnus Voss," Quinlan said. He had a voice of smoke, like there was no life beyond who was speaking. Or maybe, he was simply starved. "He knows who I am."
The two guards glanced at each other, then erupted into a mad laughter.
Though he was numb to most of it, Quinlan's face still flushed a deep red from embarrassment. He understood the oddity of a beggar claiming that the Primarch knew who he was.
But mockery was far down the list of things that would stop him today from speaking to Primarch Voss.
"You?" the guard mused. "The Primarch knows you?!"
They erupted into another round of laughter.
Quinlan's jaw tightened. "If you could just let me see him—"
"Not in a million years are we letting you into the Empire Tower."
"Was this really your plan? To show up and ask, then we'd simply let you in?"
"By the Doomgates, you Forsakens are just as stupid as you stink."
They laughed more and more, causing Quinlan to lower his gaze to the ground, clenching his fists in anger that he could not afford to act on.
Then, his eyes caught a figure descending from the marble staircase. It was a young handsome man, clad in deep blue military robes lined with gold.
His stout head was framed with a mane of bright blond, his eyes blue and arrogant. Behind him was an entourage of other highborn sons and daughters, trailing him like loyal flies.
Quinlan knew immediately that he was Darius Voss, son of Magnus Voss. His heart dropped once he noticed Darius was quickly making his way to the door.
"What is this?" Darius demanded with distaste in his face and lips. He looked at Quinlan as though he was something rotting.
"This Forsaken says he wants to see your father, Prince Darius," one of the guards replied. "He hasn't become violent yet, so we've refrained from forceful actions."
Quinlan gazed at Darius as though he had seen an angel. It was hardly his fault— coming from the Dreglands, he wasn't used to seeing people so beautiful and clean.
But Darius seemed to be insulted by his continuous staring and stepped closer. Quinlan immediately lowered his head in a bow.
Darius stopped in front of him, the guards lifting their halberds out of the way.
His eyes raked Quinlan up and down with disdain.
"A worm slithering into a place it doesn't belong."
The others laughed.
Quinlan's fingers twitched as he took a step backward. However, he made sure to keep his voice steady. "Please, just let me see your father. I—"
A sudden backhand to the face sent him stumbling. His head snapped to the side, the taste of copper filling his mouth.
"That was for daring to speak to me," Darius said, shaking his hand as if touching Quinlan had soiled it. "Now, let's see… should I give you another for wasting my time?"
Quinlan's blood boiled. An instant flash of anger made him curl his fist to respond with a blow.
But he quickly regained control, remembering why he was doing this.
Suddenly, he fell to his knees. Not out of submission, but because this was the only way he had a chance of getting what he needed.
"Please, my prince" he said through gritted teeth, hands clasped together. "I only wish to speak to your father. I have worked tirelessly in the mines all day. What little strength I have left— I'm using it to beg you"
When Darius didn't say anything, Quinlan continued. "My sister. She has Veinrot, and if I do not treat her immediately, she will die. I'll work. I'll earn the money. I'll do anything."
Darius rolled his eyes and turned to his entourage. "Did you hear that? He'll do anything."
The nobles snickered.
Darius leaned down, gripping Quinlan's chin between his fingers. "You're Drayton blood. That name used to mean something before your father betrayed the empire."
He tilted his head, the smile on his face turning sharp. "Is that why you're here? You thought my father would have a little compassion for you? Because you're the son of his old friend?"
He laughed.
His laughter was shrill and irritating, like an iron spoon scraping the back of an iron pot.
"I should put you down. Do you want that, Drayton?"
Quinlan looked straight into Darius's eyes but said nothing.
"Tch. No fun," Darius muttered, standing upright. "But fine, I'll be generous. I'll give you a single silvermark."
It wasn't at all what he wanted, but a spark of hope still illuminated within him. A silvermark would at least be enough to get his sister a good meal.
But that hope vanished when Darius flicked the coin into the gutter channels.
"Fetch," he said.
Laughter roared around them.
Quinlan stared at the silver coin, watching as it followed the water current until it disappeared out of his vision.
A perfect plate of food. Wasted.
He could feel his anger rising. He might had told himself that mockery wouldn't stop him today, but it was becoming harder to hold back his emotions.
"Ah, why the hesitation?" Darius snickered. "You said you'd do anything, right?"
Quinlan wasn't even able to think of a response when he suddenly felt pain explode in his ribs.
Darius had driven his knee into his midsection.
Quinlan doubled over, gasping.
"You said you'd do anything and you let my money waste like that," Darius whispered mockingly. "My hard-earned money."
He drove his heel into Quinlan's hand, causing him to groan in pain as his fingers were crushed on the marble ground.
The sharp noise of his phalanges cracking rang inside his ears, and he jerked his hand away in pain.
Biting down a scream, Quinlan stared at his fingers, then shot his gaze up at the prince, his eyes bloodshot.
Darius met him there. His head low, a taunting smirk on his royal face. "Ah. It seems there's some fire in this wretched Forsaken, hmm?"
Quinlan felt his heart pounding angrily in his chest, tempting him to punch the pretty face of this hideous prince.
"What are you going to do?" Darius dared him. "Are you going to hit me, Drayton? It's just like a Forsaken to be violent, so come on. Let's see how hard you hit. Or if you can even manage to land a bl—"
"That's enough."
The spoken voice was a firm one. It wasn't necessarily loud, but it silenced everything and stole the attention of everyone present.
Quinlan's eyes moved coldly to the figure approaching from the same stairs.
He appeared to be a learned man, old and charcoal-skinned.
His long gray hair fell back in heavy locks, and his similarly colored beard rested on a face weathered by time.
He wore military robes similar to Darius's, but green and silver, both hands tucked into his sleeves as his aged eyes cut through the nobles like a blade.
Darius frowned. "Eshmur? What are you doing here?"
The name Eshmur sounded familiar in Quinlan's ears.
He was one of Magnus Voss's trusted advisors— a strategist and war scholar. But that was all Quinlan knew about him.
"Move along, Prince Darius," Eshmur said. "Your father wouldn't want a scene here."
Darius scoffed. "How about you mind your business, old timer? I am the scene. This trash thought he could buy my father's favor. I'm simply reminding him of his place."
Eshmur's expression didn't change. "And now you've made your point. Wouldn't you agree?"
For a moment, Darius seemed to weigh his options. Then he snorted. "Tch. Whatever."
He shot Quinlan a final insulting glare. "Don't let me see you again, Drayton. Next time, I'll make sure you can't walk back to the Dreglands."
And after that, with his eyes cold and silent, Quinlan watched Darius and his entourage stride away, their laughter fading into the distance.
He remained on his knees, holding his throbbing left hand, not even acknowledging the presence of Eshmur who was watching him.
"You should've fought back," Eshmur said, ignoring the guards.
Quinlan rasped disapprovingly. "And what? Gotten myself killed?"
"Maybe." Eshmur walked closer. "It's not like you hadn't decided that death was the only thing that would stop you today."
A frown formed on Quinlan's face. He gently raised his head, using the chance to get a better look at the learned man.
He had purple eyes.
Quinlan thought purple was a strange color for eyes.
Once he was done with the once-over, he lowered his gaze nonchalantly and said, "I don't suppose you have any silvermarks to spare? Perhaps gold? I can do labor."
Eshmur's unamused lavender eyes looked down at him. "Labor? You look like you could shatter at the slightest weight."
Quinlan side-eyed him, scoffed and got on his feet. "Take it I don't have any use for you, then. You old people do nothing but talk."
Eshmur pursed his lips. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind following me somewhere?"
Quinlan paused, his amber eyes flickering with suspicion as they caught Eshmur's face again. "Follow you where?"
"Does it matter?" Eshmur said. "If you're desperate enough to die, surely following an 'old person' like me is no issue."
Quinlan hesitated. This most certainly was how people got kidnapped and used for illegal soul taming experiments.
But the man did make a point about his measure of desperation.
Eshmur walked past him and began to leave the premises of the tower. After a few steps, he looked over his shoulder, his purple gaze sharp. "Unless you'd rather try your luck inside the tower. You'd be dead before the night is over."
Quinlan's eyes widened, then narrowed again, before his head fell in thought.
He would despise himself if he ended up missing an opportunity by not following this man. And even if something did happen to him, at least the person he took the risk for was worth it.
Quinlan let out a stubborn grunt. "It'd be wise not to try anything funny, old man."
Eshmur closed his eyes in a seemingly amicable manner as Quinlan stumbled towards him.
"Let's go," the boy groaned, walking past him.
Eshmur opened his eyes, now narrowed, now darkened and grave, as he watched the boy walk. His tattered hair and clothes danced in the wind.
Noticing the silence, Quinlan stopped and looked behind him. "Are you deaf old man? I said let's go."
Eshmur hid away his somber expression and nodded once. "Very well."