Act 1

Mar. 8, 2036

10:47 P.M.

The city of Fumo was small and basically unheard of for those who weren’t looking for it. It’s location was just east of a major city, which made it highly accessible, yet its lack of anything interesting to do let the small town to become a home for anyone unfortunate enough not to be able to afford city life. It was known solely for its grim, dirty appearance, a trait second only to its vibrant crimes.

The lack of any defined police made Fumo a breeding ground for petty thieves, wannabe gangsters, and other such criminals. The part of the public that wasn’t part of a crime ring or running a Ponzi scheme were all hiding in fear for most of the time from all of the evil around them. There wasn’t a single day that its residents could claim as a calm one; there was never a peaceful moment, a safe place. All that lived in the city were criminals and those who tried to ignore it.

Honest work was rarely heard of, as any existing businesses were in constant fear of robbery. It made much more sense for the inhabitants of the city to scavenge and steal to make ends meet. It was the only way of life many of the people there new. People did as much as they could to preserve their own lives at all possible costs. They fended for themselves and their families if they had them. If they had families, but they couldn’t support them, it wasn’t uncommon for children to be abandoned on the streets in hopes that someone might take them in, or at the doors of families outside of the cities.

Some children were not so lucky.

The weather had been particularly bad, the day Demetrius found the bundle of blankets behind the dumpsters. The pouring rain almost drowned out the wails of the baby, but not enough to let it go unnoticed by someone directly next to it.

He had been scavenging for food in the dumpsters of a small chain restaurant when he heard the soft, weak cries against the falling rain. Demetrius scuffled out of the trash heap as he registered the noise. At first he thought it was some little kid being beat by his mother or someone being mugged, but Demetrius quickly correcting himself as he noted the shrillness of the wails.

“What the hell?” he looked around the alleyway, hood draped over his greasy hair, “Who’s out there!” Demetrius stared down the dark alley toward the shrieks as he fumbled in his coat for a flashlight. Once he recovered the plastic device, he shone the light around to try a figure out where the noise was coming from.

A quick pass over of the area immediately in front of him turned up nothing, but upon further inspection, the hermit noticed a small movement amongst the debris next to the dumpster he had previously been in.

Demetrius hesitated. From experience, he was well aware that not everything he came across in alleyways were friendly, but by the small size, and the scared crying, he could easily guess what the small bundle of ripped blankets contained.

He slowly reached down and picked up it up, gently moving calloused hands to move some of the rags away. He bit his chapped lip as he looked the latest victim of fate’s cruel hand.

The baby couldn’t have been more than a few months old, and was very thin. Its skin was pale and dirty, little hands flailing as it shrieked.

Demetrius hesitated, looking down at the infant, before wrapping the blankets tighter around the child and holding him under the folds of his jacket. It wasn’t much of a coat as it was a few larger pieces of cloth roughly stitched together, but it made a good shelter from the rain for the infant, at the very least.

Demetrius wasn’t quite sure what he planned on doing with the child; the baby clearly was starved and sickly, but there were very few doctors in the city that he knew he could trust with what little money he had. The medical professionals in Fumo were known for doing minimal work for the maximum amount of money possible. Demetrius knew that he couldn’t afford much help for the child held snuggly under his coat, but he could certainly try.

“Shush,” he whispered to the baby as he started walking down the alley to seek better shelter from the rain, “Quiet now, I’m not going to hurt you. Please be quiet.”

Demetrius kept his head down as he reached the sidewalk and merged with the chaotic people on the streets.

He sighed in partial relief as the baby quieted down slightly and the crowds grew louder around him. The child let out a little, short fit every so often, but they were quiet enough that only Demetrius could hear them.

The people walking on the street were all rushing by, toned out to their surroundings. The hermit brushed past them, careful to avoid bumping the baby against them.

Demetrius chose to take a quick trip to a favorite hideaway of his for the sake of getting the child into a safer place as quickly as possible. It was an abandoned motel on the main street, filled with stray cats and the occasional miscreant, but for the most part, he had managed to save the majority of the building for his own devices. Its name had long since been forgotten, as had most of its exterior glory. From the inside, though its bright red wallpaper peeled, and its onyx black tiles had long lost their shine, the building still held a certain air of class that Demetrius found refreshing and much easier on the eyes as far as abandoned motels went. It wasn’t exactly the warmest place to call home, but it was enough for him.

He reached the building in record time, entering through the back entrance to avoid bringing any attention to himself. Demetrius managed to move the boards to open the door one handed and slipped inside. He sauntered through the boarded door and into the small, wreaked kitchen, and then made his way into the main lobby.

The lobby was small, but it was easily the largest in the motel. A few pieces of the original furniture had been left inside, though most of it had broken or was falling apart. Part of the floor on the far side of the room, by what had been the checkout counter, was sagging slightly downward. All in all, despite the buildings many issues, it made a better shelter then the streets did.

“All right, little guy,” Demetrius said to the baby, uncovering the infant from his coat, “Let’s get you settled, hmm?”

The man carried him through the building, avoiding broken floor panels as he went. Demetrius took the child to a pile of blankets and pillows he kept in the building for the winter. He kneeled down and laid the infant down. Once the child was settled into the blankets, he peered up at his savior, tired out from his previous fits.

“Now then, see?” Demetrius sighed to himself he moved to move some of the blankets to get a better look at what state of health the infant was in, “I’m not going to hurt you. Once I’m sure you’re all right you can take a little nap, okay?”

Demetrius sat down next to the blankets to take a better look at child he had rescued.

The baby was boy; a rather small one at that, his head only slightly larger than Demetrius’ hand. His skin was fair, but his face was red from his crying fits. A small fair amount of bright red hair stuck up on his head, more than Demetrius had ever seen on a baby, but he threw that thought aside for the much more pressing matter of his arm.

The little infant's right arm was a stark contrast to his fair complexion. If Demetrius didn’t know any better, he would have thought the dark skin was burnt to a crisp. But the arm was just as soft, if not softer, than a normal baby’s skin. The dark splotches were spread around the arm, the black blending in to his normal skin tone at his collar bone. The dark skin was more solidly patterned on his hand, normal skin basically nonexistent, the ratio being more so in favor of the dark splotches. The baby’s nails on that hand were dark and thick and his palm was rougher than the rest of the hand.

Demetrius was taken a back as he gazed at the abnormal appendage in disbelief. He was starting understand why someone had left the child behind a dumpster; whatever disgusting deformality this was, he was sure no resident of Fumo would be able to afford it. The few doctors that would be willing to even consider helping the poor and desolate of the city were either from charity based groups from out of the city with no expertise on such issues, or they were simply running a front for something or another.

He bit his hand as he looked at the child, who had finally calmed down enough and was sucking on his clawed thumb, “God…” he whispered to himself, “What have I gotten myself into? I can’t take care of this!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. Demetrius closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. He sat back and turned away from the baby, starting to think harder on the subject.

“Maybe I can take it across the river and out of state,” Demetrius mused, “Yeah, they have better orphanages over there, maybe they can get the thing some help.”

He didn’t have time to contemplate what to do with the deformed child anymore, as a loud crash sounded out.

Demetrius flinched at the sound before he tossed a blanket over the baby to hide it and jumped up, “Whose there?” he reached into his coat and grabbed his knife.

“Demetri!” a young woman, around her late thirties stepped out in to the lobby, “I’m back!”

“H-Helen?” Demetrius looked at ‘Helen’ in confusion, “What are you doing here? I thought you were in New York by now?” He put away his knife and walked over to her, forgetting about the strange baby for the moment.

Helen was never very good at living frugally as Demetrius had. Helen wore a short dress of a cheap yet gaudy blue fabric and black sandals. How she was surviving on the streets dressed in such cool clothing, he would never know, but he didn’t really want to question his friend on such minor details at that moment.

“I was just breezing through and I thought I’d leave you a present,” she offered a playful little smirk as she took his arm into hers.

He brushed her arm away and spun her on her toe for a moment, making his old friend laugh for a moment before he grabbed her by the shoulders. He looked her in the eye, “Cut to the chase, please,” he said, “What did Al do this time?”

Helen scoffed, “Oh, the just wreak things, as always,” she took her own turn to break away from him in favor of theatrically pacing about, “I was so close, Demetri! Inches away! I could almost feel it! I told the kid to just sit in the back and be quiet, but no! He just had to snoop around and shove his nose into other people’s business!”

“You got kicked out,” he said rather than asking for a redundant answer.

She turned to him on her heels, “No, we were politely escorted out.”

“That’s better than last time, if I recall correctly,” he snorted, “I do believe the police had a splendid time dragging you out of the hall,” Demetrius smiled as he put on his highest, frilliest voice, “Oh, Demetrius! Help me, help me!”

“Oh shut up,” Helen glared, “That would have never happened if you would have kept Alfons out of the way.”

“He tries very hard, you know,” Demetrius pointed out, “It isn’t his fault he takes after his big sister…”

“Haha, seriously, Demetrius. If you don’t shut up I will call your mommy,” Helen pouted, “I recall you used to be such a little tattle tale, maybe I should repay the favor!”

He rolled his eyes, “Oh calm down, you,” he said, turning away from her, “Why are you really here? Are you in trouble?”

“You mean I can’t come see my favorite little social outcast without needing a favor? Oh how you wound me so!” she faked hurt.

“Fess up, little girl,” Demetrius implored.

She stopped and put a hand on her hip, “I got an audition out in New Mexico for acting work some documentary on fossils. Boring, but their paying well.”

“And what, pray tell, does this have to do with me?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Would you watch Alfons for me?” Helen grabbed his hand, “I can barely put up with him as is; I couldn’t stand dragging the twerp cross-country! I refuse to go all that way just to be rejected.”

“Helen-“ Demetrius went to stop her but she ignored him and continued on.

“Don’t you ‘Helen’ me, Demetrius!” she said pointedly, “Al would hate going to New Mexico anyway, he complained New Jersey was too hot. He’d never make it down there, and you know it. I’ll do anything you want, Demetri! I’ll send money, I’ll do whatever you want, just please take him!”

The hermit raised his hand to silence her, “Helen, please, calm down,” he let her breathe for a brief moment before speaking, “Listen, I’d be delighted to take care of Al for a while, but I have another issue to take care of first.”

“What?” she looked at him, confused.

“Have a look,” he went over to the pile of blankets and the child beneath them. Helen was stunned as he gently lifted the now sleeping baby out from under the blankets and sat down on the lobby floor.

“Uh, where’d you get the kid?” Helen questioned, looking at the infant as she walked over and sat beside him.

“Found him behind a dumpster,” Demetrius explained, holding the baby, “Someone just left him there; I couldn’t just leave him alone. He would have frozen in this rain.”

Helen kept her eyes on the baby, “W-What’s up with his arm?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, hesitantly touching the arm, “I can’t tell what’s wrong with it, but I was planning on taking him to an orphanage out of state, so it doesn’t matter much.”

She looked from her old friend to the baby, then back to Demetrius, “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

“What do you mean?” he looked her in the eye.

“You know how rotten people can be, Demetri,” Helen smiled knowingly, “If you ask me, I think you should wait a little bit. I-It may not be serious, it could just be a skin defect.”

“I don’t know,” Demetrius sighed, looking at the baby sleeping in his arms, “I just don’t know.”

Helen sighed and stood, “Do whatever that crazy mind of yours thinks is right, Demetri. I know you’ll make the right choice.”

Demetrius nodded, almost to himself as he looked down at the infant, “Where are you keeping that brother of yours anyway? I hope you didn’t leave him outside, did you?”

“Of course not,” she brushed back her hair, quickly adjusting to the change in topic, “I booked a hotel room a block away from here.”

“You trust your two year old brother alone in a hotel room?” Demetrius chuckled, standing up with the baby dozing in his arms.

Helen snorted, “Of course not. I locked the door and told him to see how far he could count up to.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Alfons can count?”

“Up to twenty on a good day,” Helen rolled her eyes, “Though he normally messes up around twelve and starts over.”

“I’m sure,” Demetrius smiled, “I suppose I can watch him for a little while, but make sure you contact me once you can.”

She jumped up with a happy clap, “Oh thank you, Demetri! I know I’ll get the part this time, I just know it!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, “Just be careful. Bring Al here in the morning, kay?”

She nodded, “Thank you so much. What would I ever do without you?” She kissed his dirty cheek.

The hermit ignored the kiss and adjusted the child he held, “I know, I’m amazing, aren’t I?”

Helen laughed as she went for the door, “I better get going before Alfons burns down the hotel,” she started out the door, but turned around suddenly to face her old friend, “Oh, I almost forgot. What’s his name?”

“Huh?” Demetrius looked up at her.

“The baby,” she laughed, “What’s the baby’s name?”

Demetrius looked down at the boy he held in his arms. The disfigured arm rested against the sleeping child’s chest as he sucked the clawed thumb in his sleep. Demetrius hesitantly moved his hand to touch the infants red hair, only to be startled as the baby woke up, eyes opening. A quiet, small nature shone through the bluish gray orbs, breaking all possible thoughts of giving him in the hermit’s mind.

“How about my father’s name?” Demetrius replied not moving his gaze from the eyes looking back at him.

Helen smiled, “If that’s what you think is best, though I always thought it sounded too feminine,” she turned away and started out the door, “Good night Demetri,” she called, “Good night, Rowan.”

 

2: Jan 5, 2048: 11:32 A.M.

Jan. 5, 2048

11:32 A.M.

Demetrius

 

Demetrius couldn’t believe what he was hearing from the other line of the phone, “Helen,” he tried to control his rage, “You need to come and take your brother back now!”

“I can’t just pack up and go across the country, Demetri,” the voice of the other end of the pay phone replied.

“You said that the first time,” he pointed out, angrily, “And the next time, and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next, the next one too, and the next-“

“I get it! I’ve been putting it off, I know,” Helen sighed, “It’s just that I know he’s safe with you down there, and Al loves being with you!”

“His birthday was a few days ago, you know,” the scruffy hermit sighed, “He’s fourteen years old, living in an abandoned building, and skinny as a twig. You can’t just ignore the fact that he’s here, Helen! I can only do so much!”

“But you’re so good with kids,” she argued, “Listen, Demetri. I have to go. I have a shot in twenty minutes and I’ll be late if I don’t hurry. I’ll talk to you later, I promise!”

“Yeah, next year!” he retorted into the phone, slamming it down hard when he realized she had hung up.

It had been twelve years since he had found Rowan and Helen had forced Alfons into his care. Rowan wasn’t much of an issue; the boy ate less than a bird and did just about anything required of him. But Alfons, on the other hand, was a pain to live with.

Alfons wasn’t a bad kid in any form; he was kind, polite, and charming to boot. The boy’s only down fall was his abnormal sense pride in his fellow man. Demetrius just couldn’t get it into the kid’s thick skull that not all the people who gave him a little smile and some sickly sweet words were trust worthy. It wasn’t that bad when he was smaller, but now that Demetrius actually needed to rely on him once in a while, Al was simply impossible to deal with.

Despite all of this, Demetrius did care about the kid. He’d never let anything bad happen to him no matter how much of an idiot Al could be. He wanted the teen to be with his sister, in her cramped but warm apartment in New Mexico, with a full stomach, clean clothing, and a good education.

Demetrius ran a hand through his hair, staring at the payphone in front of him. He knew he wouldn’t be hearing from his old friend for a while, but there was little he could do for that. She had been very ‘busy’ with her new job out west, only able to send an occasional letter or phone call. He had yet to receive any money for the care of her brother (of course he would never ask for it), or anything of the kind.

The hermit forced himself to calm down and walk away from the phone. He started down the sidewalk, headed back for the hotel he had been calling home since the boys showed up in his life.

Demetrius walked briskly along, hands in his pocket, deeply breathing as he tried to control his inner rage, very slowly. It was a short walk between the hotel and the payphones, making his trip back to the dilapidated building very short and brief. It certainly made his life easier, arriving back in less than five minutes. Once Demetrius reached the building he shuffled to the back door and made it inside as quickly as he could.

“I’m back, boys!” he called out, to the two people on the other side of the room, huddled around a mess of playing cards.

“Demetrius, Ro’s being mean!” Alfons ran up to him the second he stepped into the room.

He sighed as the fourteen year old stood before him, in all his awkward, lanky glory.

Alfons was definitely a handsome little devil; gold blonde hair flowing and green eyes dancing with youth. He was only a few inches shorter than Demetrius, much to the hermit’s dismay. His olive skin was filthy as was most of his appearance. Al wore whatever Demetrius could offer gratefully, explaining the oversized gray sweater he wore along with his worn jeans and sneakers. He was a classy mess, as more than one lady had expressed, which was charming in its own sort of way.

 “I’m not being mean,” Rowan stated, staying seated on the floor, “He’s just a sore loser.”

“I am not!” Alfons argued, turning to his younger friend, “You’re a cheater!”

Demetrius couldn’t help but laugh at the two boys little squabbles. Though Rowan had always been rather small for his age, the flaming red head had learned to grow and learn upon his station in life and to increase his mentality more so than his strength. He was a bright young man, little older than twelve. He hadn’t changed much from when he was young; his hair was still a vibrant, fiery shade of red, his skin still fair with freckles. His abnormal right arm, much to Demetrius’ happiness, didn’t cause him any problems with his daily life. Rowan learned to function with his left hand naturally, and Demetrius’ fears of whatever that had caused the deformality coming back and hurting Rowan even further turned out to be misplaced, as the arm never showed any signs of injury, and even functioned as a normal arm if necessary. But, for sake of normality, Demetrius had taught the boy to bandage his arm in order to hide the black skin and to keep his hand fisted in order to hide the claw-like nails. By keeping the arm in a sling, no one knew could tell that there was anything particularly out of place with him.

“Stop it, you two,” Demetrius smiled, flicking Alfons on the forehead before sitting down beside Rowan, “What’s this all about?”

Alfons crossed his arms and went over to them, plopping down beside them, “I told you, he cheated!” He pointed at Rowan, who looked at him stoically.

“And what, pray tell, did he cheat at?” the hermit rolled his eyes.

Alfons glared at the Rowan, “He never plays cards fair.”

Demetrius chuckled, finally understanding the commotion, “Oh, for Pete sake’s, Al. You know you’re horrible at poker!”

“We weren’t playing poker!” Alfons argued.

Demetrius raised an eyebrow.

“He wanted to play blackjack,” Rowan explained, as he picked up the deck of cards on the floor and put a rubber band around them, “I can’t help it if he’s not a good gambler. That’s his problem, not mine.”

“You don’t have to indulge him, Rowan,” Demetrius pointed out, “Your just fueling the fire.”

Rowan brushed the comment off, “It isn’t my fault he can’t control himself. I’m not going to let him win if he’s the one who challenges me.”

“Right,” the hermit pinched the bridge of his nose, “Well, I really shouldn’t be letting either of you gamble at all, technically speaking. It may bring about bad habits and what not.”

Demetrius smiled to himself as he was met with a brief barrage of complaint by the two boys, “Of course, I’m not the one to talk to you about bad habits, so I think you two are safe for now,” both boys sighed gratefully before he continued, “But I think we’ve had enough gambling for one day. We have other things to do.”

“Oh, is it Saturday already?” Alfons asked, standing up.

“Do you know anything?” Rowan rolled his eyes, knocking him on the head, “Of course it’s Saturday.”

“Would you two calm down?” Demetrius grabbed each of them by the upper arm and dragged them out the door, Alfons on the left and Rowan on the right, “Why don’t we all agree that you are both idiots and go on with our lives.”

The two boys let their guardian drag them outside, “Do we have to go to the market?” Alfons whined, “That old hag at the meat stand always throws stuff at me when I go by.”

“She does that to just about everyone, Al,” Demetrius rolled his eyes, letting go of their arms, “But maybe if you stopped calling her an ‘old hag’ she would stop throwing things at you.”

“But she is an old hag,” Rowan pointed out.

“I never said she wasn’t,” the hermit agreed, “But she does have pretty reasonable prices.”

Alfons crossed his arms, “Well you two can enjoy her reasonable prices, because I am not going near that witch.”

“Well then,” Demetrius stuck up his nose with a smile, “I suppose you won’t want to enjoy dinner tonight, eh, Al?”

“…Heh?” Alfons stopped in place before running back up to the now laughing duo in front of him, “Hey! That’s not funny! You wouldn’t eat without me, would you?”

Demetrius laughed as the boy caught up, “Maybe,” he chuckled as the teen caught up to him, “If I feel generous.”

“I hate you, so much!” Alfons expressed as the small group started to the near the market.

The marketplace in Fumo was one of the few places in the city that had any bit of calm. Granted, there was thievery and other such crimes going on, but there was also a small sense of pride in the work of the vendors and the quiet of those making their purchases. It was a pleasant break from the normal chaos of the city. It was located in the middle of the city, in the square. It wasn’t a large market, but it was certainly enough to sustain the citizens who visited it. The vendors were mostly from nearby cities who were desperate enough to sell there or locals selling whatever they could find to sell. Their booths varied from makeshift tents to simple tarps tossed on the ground to protect their products from dirt and dust.

Demetrius herded his two young companions through the thickening crowd, “Alright you two,” he told them once he found a corner empty of people, “You know the rules, stay together, don’t leave the square, no stealing, and don’t cause any messes you don’t want to clean up, etcetera, etcetera. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alfons rolled his eyes, “We got it, right Ro?”

Rowan, who stood by his side, nodded with a grunt, “Of course I did, though I can’t guarantee anything about your half-witted mind.”

 “Hey!” Alfons whined, “That was mean!”

“The world is mean,” Rowan pointed out, brushing some hair from his face.

Demetrius ruffled the shorter boy’s hair with a smile, “Okay, that’s enough philosophy for one day,” he reached into his coat pocket and took out some change, “Here, go knock your selves out. Just don’t buy any stupid, this all the change I have for now.”

Alfons took the coins carefully in his palm. Rowan craned his neck to take a look at the precious money in his friend’s hand, quickly counting the silver and copper, “That’s… two dollars and seventy eight cents. Are you sure we can have this?”

“Positive!” Demetrius nodded, “I’ve done the math the best I can, and I have all that I need to get supplies for the week,” he took a look at Rowan’s old ratty sweatshirt and Alfons’ near-destroyed jeans, “I think the thrift store is open on Saturdays. See what you can find there. I heard somewhere that it’s supposed to get colder than normal, and I’d rather not deal with two sick children.”

“Fine, but we aren’t children!” Alfons huffed shoving the coins into his pocket.

“When you’re done, meet me at the diner,” Demetrius flicked his head before shoving his hands in his pockets and turning away from them to head off.

“Which diner?” Alfons called after him.

“That one with all the creepy teddy bear wall paper,” Demetrius looked over his shoulder, “With the cheese burger soup.”

“Oh, that place,” Alfons nodded to himself, “Okay, I know where that is!” he grabbed hold of Rowan’s shoulder, “We’ll be back, Demetri!” he called back with a laugh as he dragged the annoyed red head behind him, “See ya!”

Demetrius laughed as he watched his young charges travel off into the crowds, “What am I going to do with those two?” He mused to himself, shaking his head as he went off in the opposite direction, wondering what exactly he had done to deserve the chaos that was children.

3: Jan. 5, 2048 12:23 A.M.

Jan. 5, 2048

12:23 A.M.

Rowan

Rowan let Alfons drag him through the crowds of the marketplace, ignoring the gibberish his companion was spouting out.

The twelve year old was used to physical abuse from his older friend, mostly due to Alfons’ abundant energy. He eventually gained his footing enough to attempt to keep up with him, eventually managing to break off of Alfons’ grip altogether and run along side of him.

The red head was never much of normal kid; he would rather be inside playing cards than be outside running around. But growing up with Alfons had forced him to be a little more active then he would have liked. Rowan, despite his small size, could at least take a claim to his speed. Running away from the less-than-pleasant residents of Fumo had certainly taught him to go very quickly.

“Ro!” Alfons said, “Wait for me!”

Rowan slowed down his pace to a quick canter as Alfons did the same, “So to the thrift shop?” he asked, walking through the crowd alongside his friend.

“I suppose so,” Rowan nodded, “Though I really don’t understand why we need new clothes. Winter’s almost over, the weather should get warmer soon.”

“Yeah, it should,” Alfons agreed, peering up at the gray sky, “But it sure looks like it’s going to pour again. It could be snow, though, so I’m not complaining,” he slung an arm around Rowan’s shoulders, “Plus, I won’t argue against new clothes, and neither should you! Clothing does wear out after a while.”

Rowan rolled his eyes and brushed him off, adjusting his sling afterwards, “I am aware of the life span of clothing, but I think that the money could be put to be better use than for something that will just become useless again later!”

“Whatever,” Alfons laughed, “For a little kid you’ve always been way too cynical, Ro!”

“I am not cynical!” Rowan glared, “I’m just a realist! The money could go towards food or water or your allergy medication. Spring is coming up quickly after all. I just don’t believe that we need to replace our clothing this second.”

Alfons rolled his eyes with a smile as the twelve year beside him gave him an evil eye, “All right, all right, I get it,” he put up his hands in surrender, “Believe whatever you want, Mr. Cynical, but if we don’t do as told, Demetrius will have our heads.”

Rowan didn’t respond, but gave a begrudged nod.

The pair continued on through the crowd of people and tents. Alfons pointed out something every once in a while, occasionally gaining a small laugh or smile from his friend. They made their way to the very end of the market place, which was lined with small businesses, most of which were closed or boarded up. Of the few that were open, the boys headed towards a small, brick building.

Two worn out mannequins stood in the window, one displaying a drab gray dress, the other a pair of blue dress pants and a worn coat. A few other knickknacks sat on the window’s floor, varying from cheap perfumes to costume jewelry to a used pair of loafers. It was a rather depressing attempt at making the tiny building appear as anything worth visiting, but compared to most of Fumo’s small businesses, it wasn’t that bad.

Alfons pushed open the door, “After you,” he held the door open for Rowan, who in turn punched him in the shoulder before entering.

The inside of the store was no improvement on its exterior. The shelves and racks were sparsely filled with second hand clothing and ragged accessories. The counter was an unattractive shade of yellow, with small, oddly placed flowers dotting it. It had an ancient looking cash register and a small statue of a pit bull placed beside it. There wasn’t a door between the back room, letting the light from the back bleed into the front.

“Moretti?” the red head called into the store, “Are you in?”

A small thud was heard from the back room, followed by a small string of grumbles, “Yes, yes, I’m coming,” a dreary, moan-like voice sounded.

The voices owner stepped out from the doorway, carrying two boxes in his arms.

“Hello, Mr. Moretti!” Alfons smiled at the weary man standing behind the counter, “Nice day, isn’t it?”

Mr. Moretti was an older gentleman in his late fifties. His hair was a dark shade of gray, cruelly highlighting his pasty completion and wrinkled skin. Moretti’s clothes seemed like they had come from his shops own collection; a heavily worn tweed jacket, tan dress pants, and a light blue dress shirt. His eyes were like a vulture’s, carefully eyeing down the young intruders in his shop.

“Oh,” Moretti raised an eyebrow, “And what’s so nice about it?” he put the boxes down on the counter, “The sky is gray, my back is killing me, and it feels like hell has frozen over; everything is not ‘nice.’”

“It isn’t all bad out there,” Alfons pointed out, leaning on the counter.

“But it isn’t all that good, either,” Rowan spoke up, joining his friend by the counter, “Though I do like to think that a fair part of the world is better than that.”

“Stop talking like an adult, it makes you look like your trying too hard,” Moretti acknowledged, wiping a speck of dust from the counter, “Of course I would expect no less from the hermit’s little know it all. Now which one of you hoodlums would care to tell me why you’re polluting the air in my shop with your childishness?”

Rowan bit his lip to keep himself from snapping back at the old man with his own insult, instead forcing a calm face and letting an equally angered Alfons speak for him.

“Demetrius sent us to give you our hard earned money in exchange for whatever rags you might have,” Alfons spat out, “Of course, if our ‘childishness’ is interfering with your business, than I suppose we can leave.”

“No no!” he stopped them as Alfons turned to leave, “I’ve dealt with much worse than you too vagabonds,” he stepped out from behind the counter, “How much did that buffoon send you with this time?”

Alfons pulled the coins Demetrius had given him out of his tattered pocket, “Two seventy eight!” he showed the man.

 Moretti eyed him skeptically before snatching the pocket change and counting it quickly, “Hm, I’m sure I could manage something for you. What is it you need?”

“Ro needs a new coat,” Alfons smiled.

“He needs new clothes,” Rowan elbowed him in the chest.

Alfons faked a false face of hurt and pouted in his friend’s direction, ignoring the man glaring at them from behind the counter for a moment. In turn, Rowan smacked him on the shoulder.

“Eh hem!” Moretti cleared his voice to gain their attention, “If you would care to stop fighting in my shop, I might be inclined to help you.”

The two boys stopped fighting in a few moments, after a few more jabs and blows.

 Moretti took a deep breath, “Now, if I know you two and that disgusting vermin of a man you rely on for food, you have come to me, once again, to present me with the dregs of your scavenging, expecting me to give you my finest wares as a trade, right?”

“Yeah,” Alfons smiled, “That is how it works, after all.”

“Don’t you give me any lip young man,” Moretti scolded, shaking a finger at the boy with a glare, “I’m helping you out of the goodness of my heart.”

“You just want a few extra bucks in your pocket,” Rowan quickly retorted before Alfons could speak.

The shopkeeper stopped, “Why you little-“

“He doesn’t mean that,” the older boy rapidly jumped in, “He’s just a grouch, that’s all!”

“No, I meant what I said,” Rowan stated, “He’s a greedy old man with no sense of compassion for anything or anyone other than himself and I see no reason to sugar coat it.”

Moretti looked down at the small, scruffy kid, “You, little boy, are the most insufferable child I have ever met.”

“And you are rudest old man I have ever met,” Rowan responded.

He sighed, turning away from them, their change still in his hand, “Well I am sure you’ll meet much ruder men then me,” Moretti commented, “There should be a box of some miscellaneous items. Take what you like from it.”

Mr. Moretti left the two boys as he walked into the back of the shop.

Alfons turned to Rowan, “Well? Shall we?”

The red head to the lead and headed to the corner Mr. Moretti had mentioned. As he had mentioned, an open box sat on the ground, displaying its contents.

The boys shifted through the box, kneeling beside it. The cardboard box contained a mix of various items, ranging from a pair of blue wool socks to a rather ugly mustard colored sweater to a pink striped tie.

“Wow, Moretti must have robbed a circus,” Alfons joked, looking at a red flannel shirt, “See anything worth taking?”

Rowan looked through the box carefully, “Not much useful,” he threw a few garments aside, “Though I’m not really picky.”

“Neither am I,” Alfons brushed some hair out of his face, “But I’d rather not look like a human target running around town. Don’t want too much attention after all.”

“Oh?” Rowan laughed, “Since when do you not look for attention?”

Alfons huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and putting up his nose, “You wound me, my little friend!” Rowan glared for a moment before Alfons made a quick change of express as he flashed his friend a bright smile before digging back into the box, “Oh lighten up! You’re such a downer, Ro!”

The red-head held his glare for a few more moments before cracking a small smile and chuckling lightly, “You’re really stupid,” he expressed, flicking his friend on the head, “Let’s hurry up so we can meet Demetrius.”

They spent a few more minutes digging around through the box, before they each made their decisions on their clothing.

Rowan stood up and stretched, holding a well worn, green hoodie in his arms, “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Alfons said, gathering his meager clothing choice of a mustard colored sweat shirt and jeans into his arms, “Hey, you think Moretti would give us a bag? I don’t feel like carrying this stuff with us.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, slipping his old coat off and putting on the other. The hoodie was fairly large on him, but it would make do for the time being, “No harm in asking, anyway.”

Alfons nodded, throwing his clothes over his shoulders, “Right, I’ll go ask. Be right back!”

Rowan didn’t watch his friend as he ran into the back of the shop to call for Mr. Moretti, instead gazing out the shop window, past the sad looking mannequins and the few people wandering through the streets, staring at something that had caught his eye.

It was two strange boys, amongst the throngs of peddlers and wanders in the city. They stood a good distance away from the window, but Rowan could still make out the basics of their appearance.

They seemed to be around Alfons’ age, judging by their heights, though they let off a much different aura then the bubbly blond did. Their faces were hidden by the identical black hoods of their coats and they stood staring in the direction of the window, seemingly doing what Rowan was on the opposite side; gazing in. Rowan kept his eyes trained on the mysterious pair oblivious to the other two people with him.

“Boy,” Moretti grabbed his shoulder and shook him out of his thoughts, “What are you staring at? Boy?”

Rowan jumped at the wrinkled hand coming in contact on his shoulder, “Wha? Huh?” he said, turning away and breaking his gaze, “Oh, nothing I guess. I just saw something strange.”

“What?” Alfons popped up by his side, holding a plastic bag filled with clothing. He turned to look out the window, “What’d you see, Ro? Aliens? Monsters?”

Rowan hit him on the side on the head, calling him an overly obnoxious idiot. Mr. Moretti ignored the two, whom had quickly fallen into another argument. He instead turned his focus on what the youngest boy had been looking at through his window.

“Oh hell,” he uttered as he caught sight of the pair, “This again.” Suddenly, Alfons and Rowan were startled from their conversation as Moretti started to push them towards the back of the shop, “What are you doing?” Alfons questioned indignantly.

“Be quiet and stay back here,” the shopkeeper insisted, pulling the two back into private area of his shop.

The back area was cluttered and musty; boxes upon boxes of paperwork littered the room. A few chairs were scattered about haphazardly, most of them covered with books or boxes. Moretti pushed them behind one of the boxes and made them crouch down, “Don’t make a sound. Wait till they leave to try and get out, got it?”

“What the hell?” Rowan questioned, “Who are they?”

“No one you need to know, boy,” Moretti grumbled, turning away from them and grabbing something from behind one of the boxes, “Just stay put, and do not make a sound.”

Both boys looked to each other in shock as the older man attached a small knife sheath to his belt and walked out into the front of the shop.

4: Jan. 5, 2048: 1:16 P.M.

Jan. 5, 2048

1:16 P.M.

Alfons

Alfons watched Moretti walk into the other room in stunned silence. He wasn’t sure exactly what was going on; only that it couldn’t possibly be good.

“Ro, what’s going on? Who’s outside?” He whispered to the frowning red head beside him.

“There were two guys standing out there,” Rowan replied quietly, getting over the initial shock, “I don’t know what set him off though, they were just standing there staring.”

The blond was about to say something when they heard the front door open. Breaths were hushed as the sound of the shop’s front door and feet hitting the cool wood floors of the shop sounded out with a deafening echo.

Alfons nodded to himself and patted his friend on the back before standing silently and moving towards the front, “I’m going to get a better look,” he whispered as he stood quietly, “Wait here.”

“Are you mental?” Rowan grabbed the back of his shirt, “You can’t just run in there! Who knows who those guys are?”

“And you’d let an old man face them?” Alfons pointed out, shaking the boy’s hand off of his back, “Besides, I just want to see what’s going on. I won’t actually go out there.”

Rowan bit his lip as Alfons crept up to the door frame and peeked out. The red head hesitated before carefully slipping down beside him and peering in the other room.

The two figures that had been watching them from outside had made their way into the shop, and were currently in front of the shop counter, facing Moretti.

They were equal in height, to a perfect tee if Alfons judged correctly. The two were rather similar in appearance as far as he could see with their hooded jackets hiding their hair. Both of them had their hoods up, hiding most of their hair, though black bangs peeked out from beneath the identical hoods. The hoods themselves seemed oddly misshapen with large bumps not normal to the normal human head, but Alfons quickly dismissed it as one of them sauntered up to the counter, briskly followed by the other.

“Buona sera, signor Moretti!” one of them chimed with a thickly accented voice as he leaned against the counter, “Come stai?”

Moretti sighed, glaring at the new teens in his store, “I am just lovely. Now what is it you need? I sent out your father’s papers last week”

The boy laughed, “You are such a stick in the mud, Signor Moretti! We can’t come to see our favorite Konets?” He flipped some of his hair out of his face.

“Of course you can,” Moretti forced a grimaced smile, twitching slightly in annoyance, “It just happens that where ever you or your malicious kinsfolk happen to travel, trouble seems to follow you.”

The boy smiled, “I take it you plan on giving us trouble, then? I haven’t even made my request yet!”

“I don’t care,” Moretti spat, “Get out of my shop. I refuse to do business with children. If your father wants anything from me, he can either come here himself or send a proper messenger. Besides, what could he possibly want with me? I believe it was him who called me an old fashioned, worn out old coot, in fact. You can tell him that whatever he wants, I won’t be helping him. I’ve broken enough rules for you people.”

The boy snorted, “Lord! We haven’t even asked you anything yet and you’re all ready on our case. Yeesh!”

Alfons was having trouble summing up the two. The talkative one seemed rather occupied with his conversation with the elderly shopkeeper, and the other showed an obvious wish to be anywhere in the ratty old thrift shop. His shoulders were slightly hunched and his hands were shoved in his pockets as he stood silently by the others side.

“What’s with that guy?” Rowan commented quietly, looking in the same direction as his friend.

“I don’t know,” he whispered back, “And what in the world is a Konets? I don’t understand a word he’s saying.”

Alfons shrugged quietly in response before turning his attention back to the strange confrontation happening before them.

“If you just give us a few moments of your time, we will be on our way in a moment!” the boy insisted.

Anger was rising quickly through Mr. Moretti as he forced himself to calm slightly. He took a slow, deep breath, “You may state you business, but do so quickly and to the point.”

The boy smiled and laughed happily, “Grazie, signor! I am glad you could find it in your heart to find time to help us!” he turned to the boy next to him, “Fratello?”

The other boy sighed. Both Alfons and Rowan flinched as the boy made a rapid, sudden movement, jumping onto the countertop and grabbing Moretti the front of his shirt with both hands, hood flaring up and off of his head, revealing the cause of the deformed lump the black cloth had been hiding.

Alfons couldn’t help himself from taking a wide-eyed gasp as he stared at the smooth brown horns pointing out of the boy’s dark brown mane. They weren’t large horns, more so like a goat’s if anything; smallish, bent back slightly. The startling appendages were easily noticeable, though by far not the boy’s most notable feature. His left eye was covered with stark white bandages, the other, displayed vivid green eyes framed by deeply etched lines circling them. Perhaps the most menacing piece of information Alfons noted, was the boy distinct lack of emotion as he held the old man in his grip.

“Where is the Mixtus your hiding?” he said in a voice dripping with dreariness.

Moretti reacted to the death grip quickly, regaining his footing, “How dare you! Release me!”

“I would answer the question were I you, signor!” the other boy said in a sing-song tone.

“I don’t know anything about any Mixtus in the area,” he insisted, “As far as I know the entire city is stagnant of anyone, Mixtus or otherwise.”

“I say he’s lying, don’t you Seggy?” he laughed.

The boy gripping the shopkeepers shirt growled, “Do not call me ‘Seggy, Primo. And you are enjoying yourself far too much. Father will not be pleased.”

“Oh shut up, Segundo,” ‘Primo’ scoffed, shrugging off his hood as his brother had done, “

Just as Alfons thought that he had lost most of the initial shock upon discovering the first set of horns, he was taken a back once more. Primo’s horns, unlike his brothers, jutted out from just above his ear and abruptly stretched up, pointing to the ceiling. His hair and face was practically identical to Segundo’s, sans the bags under his eyes and the look of general distain. Though he bared the same pristine bandages on his face, their placement was reversed, instead covering his right eye.

“We know that you know that there is a Mixtus in the city of Fumo,” Primo pointed out each word into Moretti’s chest, “Mixtuses are vastly easy to spot as you well know, especially if they have no idea that they need to hide. Papa said that some of his correspondents picked up the trail of an unregistered, unranked, completely new Mixtus!” he twirled around laughing, “It’s so exciting! A brother of my own heart (I can’t argue against a pretty little sister either, though). All we want to do is find the poor lost soul and bring them into the world of the proper and civilized and out of this hell hole.”

Mr. Moretti grit his teeth, “All you will do is drag them off to your retched father to be brainwashed into becoming your personal mercenaries.”

Segundo glared, “So you know where they are,” he moved his head down so that his pointed horn press into the old man’s wrinkled forehead, “Spill, where can we find them, old man.”

“I am not afraid to die,” Moretti stated, looking him in the eye.

Alfons felt Rowan grab his arm, causing him to turn to his friend. “I think we need to get out of here now.”

“I think it’s too late for that, Ro,” Alfons swallowed.

“I think your both to loud!” a chipper voice snapped in between their conversation.

Primo quickly snatched their collars and tossed them both from their hiding place in the doorway, “Well, what do we have here? Eavesdropping is rude you know. Didn’t your mamma teach you any better?”

“Let them go!” Mr. Moretti spat, anger rising again, “They’re just children!”

“I don’t know,” Primo commented, grabbing a very angry Alfons by his hair and looking at his face, “They look around our age, Seggy! Perfect adults!” he proclaimed enthusiastically.

Alfons took none too kindly to being roughly handled, aiming for sloppy hit to Primo’s side. The horned teen quickly grabbed the blondes fist and threw it back hard, causing a resounding, sickening crack to fill the room.

“Gah…” Alfons bite his lip as he nursed the broken wrist.

“Alfons!” Rowan quickly jumped to his side, eyes never leaving Primo’s sickening smile-filled face, “What the hell are you, you freak?”

“Aw, that was mean!” Primo pouted, “Such a cute little boy shouldn’t be so-“ he caught eye of Rowan’s sling that was mangled in all the excitement, showing a bit of dark brown skin, “-interesting…”

Primo released his grasp on Alfons, only to rapidly retrieve Rowan by the arm and drag him up, “Tell me, little brother, do you know what a Mixtus is?”

“Release him now!” Moretti roared, a small trickle of blood falling down from Segundo’s horn cutting his face.

“No I don’t think I will,” Primo smirked before snapping off the fabric from Rowan’s arm and undoing the bandages.

Rowan, in the meanwhile, was petrified by the events happening around him, on able to struggle slightly against Primo’s stronger grip.

“Well, isn’t that beautiful!” Primo remarked once the bandages had fallen away, revealing Rowan’s blotched, dark, clawed arm, “No search necessary, the prey comes to me!” he laughed and switched his grip to the back of Rowan’s neck, “I am a genius, aren’t I?”

The red head panicked, fear sending a response to his arm without the brain's permission. His hand moved faster than he thought he had ever gone before, scratching at face of his captor with razor sharp claws, barely breaking skin with the fearful scratch, but drawing blood nonetheless.

Primo let out a sound of pain, dropping his grip on Rowan, “You. Little. Bastard!” he bite out, “You scratched me!”

“Ro, run!” Alfons cried out as Primo surged forward in blind rage, horns aimed for Rowan’s chest.

5: Jan. 5, 2048: 3:34 P.M.

Jan. 5, 2048

3:34 P.M.

Rowan

Rowan stopped as the raging teen came rushing foreword, straight on course for his chest. The red head had little chance to do anything as Primo rushed forward. He flinched as his horns came just a few inches away from his chest. Rowan braced himself for the impact, though, after a few moments, he was shocked to find that his chest was not impaled and that something had caused his attacker to stop in his tracks.

Primo stopped and gingerly turned to touch the knife that was currently sticking out of the back of his shoulder, “So the Prince of the Konets still has some fight in him after all?”

Mr. Moretti had pulled his knife out of its sheath and thrown it across the room before Segundo could stop him, successfully launching it into the horned boy’s shoulder blade. Rowan fell from Primo’s grasp once the boy’s attention was turned to the old man. The red head scrambled away from Primo on hands and knees, crawling over to Alfons’ side as Primo faced the old man his now enraged brother was holding in a near choke hold.

“Calm down, brother!” Primo laughed, pulling the knife out of his shoulder with a slight grimace, “You react so harshly sometimes,” he brushed a hand through his hair, “I lost my cool there for a moment, didn’t I? Yikes, I think we all learned a little lesson here, huh?” He shot a startled Rowan a harsh look, “As long as we don’t hurt others, we won’t be hurt in turn, no?”

Rowan backed away from him, staring in horror at the scene playing out before him. He bumped into Alfons, who had been fearfully nursing his broken wrist while ducking close to the wall. The older boy took quick notice of him approaching and quickly ushered him closer, “Stay the hell away from him, you monster!” Alfons spat, hoping to appear larger than he really was.

“Oh shut up, will you?” Primo rolled his eyes, “We didn’t come here to hurt you anyway, Mixtus or not.”

Rowan couldn’t handle the suspense anymore, “What in the world is a Mixtus?” he questioned, “Or a Jedar, or a Konets? What in the world is going on?”

The two horned boys looked at one another, turning their gaze from Rowan and Alfons to the old man in Segundo’s grasp, then back to each other, “I hate explaining things. Especially to snot nosed munchkins like you two,” Primo brushed off his shoulder and motioned to his brother to drop Moretti, “We have places to be anyway, right Seggy?”

Segundo dropped Mr. Moretti harshly to the ground, “We do. Now that father’s suspicions have been confirmed, we will be on our way.” He turned around swiftly on the balls of his feet, facing his brother, “Let’s go. Don’t forget what you promised Melanie.”

“Oh right!” Primo said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I forgot I promised her I help her make lunch today. Darn it,” he gave a small smirk and a bow to Mr. Moretti, who was stumbling to his feet, “We’ll be back, I’m sure. Father will be alerted of this…” he gave a quick nod in the direction of the boys, “…development.

“So long, signor Moretti!” Primo flipped his hood up and headed for the door, followed by his brother in a similar fashion, “Don’t go anywhere!”

The two left the shop without another word, leaving Rowan and Alfons alone with the old shopkeeper.

“What…” Rowan breathed, “What the hell just happen? Literally, what. The. Hell?”

“Watch your language,” Moretti brushed off his shoulder, “Even street urchins like you should try and keep a civil tongue.”

“Stop avoiding the question!” Alfons snapped, jumping to his feet, still gripping his wrist.

Moretti took a deep, shaky breath, “I suppose there is no reason not to explain things now. In fact, it’s probably better that I do tell you,” he paused for a moment, “Are you expected to be anywhere?”

“What time it?” Alfons inquired.

The shopkeeper sighed and glanced at his worn out watch,“4:53.”

“Demetrius is probably having a stroke right now,” Rowan commented, rubbing his arm uncomfortably.

“It would be wise if we prevented that,” Moretti nodded to himself, before looking back to them, “Do you know where he is?”

Alfons nodded hesitantly, “Yeah, he should be at the diner by now.”

“All right,” the old man went behind the counter quickly pulled open a drawer, “One of you, make yourself useful and hand me my seax.”

“You’re what?” Rowan questioned.

“The knife, boy, the knife,” Moretti glared, digging through the drawer, “Hurry, we don’t have all day.”

Rowan looked to Alfons briefly before he cautiously stepped forward and picked up the bloody knife from the ground and brought it to the counter.

Mr. Moretti picked up the knife and wiped off the blood on his pant sleeve before placing it down on the counter and pulling a box out from the drawer, “I suppose you both would like a detailed explanation of what exactly has just happened, but, due to our current situation,” he pulled the lid off the box, “This will have to do for now.”

He handed Alfons a small, black book, no bigger than the palm of his hand. It was bound by two strings holding the age worn paper to the black leather cover.

“A History?” Alfons questioned, examining silver lettering on the front of the book, “A history of what?”

The man sighed, “There are somethings that the world likes to pretend don’t exist. This book is a complete collection of most of those somethings.”

“But what does that have anything to do with me?” Rowan pushed, slamming his hands on the counter, his black claws scratching the linoleum.

“There are some people who are not what society considers to be ‘normal’,” He explained, “Those people are known as Jeders. We either are forced to seclude ourselves or to hide out abilities from the world.”

“We?” Alfons stepped back a little, “You’re one of them?” He looked his up and down briefly.

Moretti laughed briefly, “I am a Jeder, though I don’t have horns if that’s what you mean. I’m a Konets.”

“A what?” Rowan asked.

“The Konets are one of the five main Jeder divisions,” he explained, “A Konets is normally classified as an individual with true, natural ability with a weapon of any kind.”

“Such as a knife?” Alfons nodded to the blade in Moretti’s hands.

The shopkeeper smirked, “Indeed. I used to be much better with it back when I was much younger, though I like to believe I’m still rather handy,” he flipped it in his hand, “And it’s a seax, not a simple knife.”

“What’s the difference?” Alfons inquired.

“A big difference that is not what we’re talking about, now is it?” Moretti pointed out, glaring slightly at the blonde.

“Were those horned guys Jeders too?” Rowan asked, “What were they anyway?”

“You ask too many questions, boy,” Moretti answered tartly, “Those two idiots are both Mixti, a Jeder with half human, half non human genetics.”

“That would explain the horns…” Rowan nodded skeptically, “But… They called me one of those. I don’t have any horns.”

The man scoffed, “You don’t need to have horns to be a Mixtus. It depends on where their secondary genetic alignment falls. Some have horns, some have scales, some have tails, it all depends on the person. I know one or two Mixti who you wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference between them and a Median, in fact!”

“A Median?” Alfons raised an eyebrow.

“Non-Jeders,” Moretti shrugged him off, “Rather, those who don’t show any affiliation with Jeders. Most of the population has some natural ability in the classes, though the power might have been watered down a bit due to the wonders of the human gene pool. A true Median is rather hard to find, now a days, to be honest.”

“Pardon,” Rowan interrupted, “But can we get back to how any of this has to do with me?”

“Right, right,” Moretti rolled his eyes, “Mixti, I was talking about Mixti,” he point to Rowan’s arm, “Might I see that for a moment?”

Rowan turned the arm away from him, “Why would you-“ he stopped for a moment, “Wait you don’t really think that I’m-“

“That is exactly what I think, boy,” Moretti said, adjusting his collar, “You shouldn’t be afraid of being a Mixtus. Most Mixti I know are rather good fellows. Granted, I suppose it might be a rather odd change, but I can’t even classify whatever type you are to a tee myself, but I can certainly get you to people who can.”

“How could I not know if I was human or not?” Rowan insisted, backing away slowly, “I’m normal! I’m perfectly normal and you’re just a crazy old man with really crazy friends.”

“Oh, stop being such a drama queen, boy,” the shopkeeper rolled his eyes.

Rowan turned away from him and Alfons, “I am not being a drama queen! You’re trying to convince me that basically everything I know about myself is wrong, and that I’m some kind of freakish half man half… whatever it is your claiming that I am, and that those guys with horns on their heads are perfectly normal and that the rest of the world’s concept of normality is entirely wrong? I’m sorry but I refuse to buy any of this fairytale that you’re spitting out at me. What do you take me for? An idiot? You’d have to be an idiot to believe that.”

“Well, if that’s what you believe,” Moretti said with a sigh, “I suppose I can’t sway you. Though now that they know about you, I’m sure you’ll be hearing from them again soon.”

“What do they want with us anyway?” Alfons pressed.

“Those two nit-wits were Primo and Segundo Zunino,” the old man said.

Rowan interrupted him, “Wait, Zunino? As in the company?”

“Yes,” Moretti nodded, “Zachary Zunino founded a company twenty five years ago in order to supply the main Jeder base with funding. The Zunino Gold company has thrived ever since.”

“Don’t sell they sell… toys?” Rowan raised an eyebrow.

“Among other things, yes,” he affirmed.

Alfons cut in, “Those horned freaks sell toys? Like, dolls and stuff?”

“Yes, that is what a toy is,” Moretti commented, “And not all of the Zunino’s have horns.”

“How many are there exactly?” the blonde asked uncomfortably.

The old shop keeper bit his thumb in thought before responding, “Five or six, I believe. I lost track a while ago.”

“I don’t think that ceo guy has horns,” Alfons commented idly to his red headed friend, “At least not in the commercials.”

“I just said,” Moretti snapped, “They do not all have horns! If they did, I’m sure you would know about it,” he clicked his tongue, “Besides, we’re getting far off subject.”

“We were talking about how you seem to think that I’m one of those freaks,” Rowan agreed.

The man nodded, “Yes, we were, weren’t we?” He sighed a move to the front of the counter, startling the boys for a brief moment, “I understand that you don’t believe me at all. Is that what you plan on sticking to?”

Rowan hesitated for a moment before growing determined, “Yeah. I think I would know if I was some monster, which I’m not.”

“Very well,” Moretti sighed, “Then I suppose I can’t force you to see the truth. Though I do have one request of you both.”

“What?” Alfons was the first to question.

Mr. Moretti nodded to the book in Alfons’ hand, “On the first page of that book, there will be a publisher’s address. You are to find that worthless Demetrius and go there as soon as possible. Once Primo and Segundo report to their father, you both will be in grave danger.”

“I thought you said that the Zunino’s work with the Jeders?” Rowan inquired, confused.

“They do,” he nodded, “But that bunch is notorious for some nasty dealings, and I know them well enough to expect the worst from them. Any chance they get, they pick up new men as workers or soldiers.”

“Wait, why would a toy company need soldiers?” Rowan asked.

“Officially? To protect the funds of the Jeder population,” Moretti explained, “Though I find it highly unlikely that it’s all that there doing,” he shook his head, “But this isn’t what’s important right now,” he grabbed his knife from the counter, “Take this. When you get to that address, ask for a mister Alastor Mabuz. Tell them the Prince sent you. He’ll connect you with the main Jeder base. If there is any issue getting there, or if they doubt your honesty, show them the knife and they’ll let you by.”

Rowan shook his head, eyeing the book, “You want us to just drop everything and leave? You really are crazy aren’t you?”

“Ro,” Alfons spoke up, grabbing his black arm hesitantly, “Maybe we should listen to him.”

The red head turned rapidly to face him, “You don’t actually believe him? He’s insane.”

“But he obviously knows more about those horned dudes than we do,” Alfons pointed out, “I don’t see any reason not to believe him.”

“I’m glad to see someone has their head screwed on correctly,” Moretti commented.

“I say your both nuts,” Rowan shook Alfons off and started towards the door, letting his arm hang limp, “Demetrius will never agree to this. Just you wait.”

“Rowan!” Alfons called out, too late to stop him from leaving the shop.

6: Jan. 5, 2048 5:31 P.M.

Jan. 5, 2048

5:31 P.M.

Alfons

Moretti put a hand to his temple, “Idiot. He’s going to get himself killed,” he turned to Alfons, “Go after him quickly. Convince Demetrius to get to the Jeder base and you’ll be fine,” he motioned to the blonde’s wrist, “And get something done about that. You don’t want your first night in the base to be in the medical bay.”

Alfons nodded, going for the door, good hand shaking slightly, “Do you… do you really think he’s…”

“Yes,” Moretti nodded, “Even if I’m wrong and his arm isn’t the mark of a Mixtus, over seventy percent of the world has some form of Jeder blood in them, though most are either recessive and require training to unlock their potential or are too afraid to come forward with their power and hide it for their whole lives. It’s sickening, really, what our part of this fine race known as humanity has come to; hiding away from the rest of the world and staying in the shadows,” he shook his head and looked to the blonde standing by his door, “We aren’t monsters. Freaks, well maybe, but, tell me, who isn’t? We are just like everyone else, no different than another minority. You’ll see, but first you need to get to the base in one piece.”

Alfons was silent for a moment before turning to him, “What about you?” he asked, “You said they were probably coming back. What will they do to you?”

“I don’t know,” he answered with a shrug, “I can never tell with that lot. The only reason they left you was because of how much they fear and respect their father. They’re such a strange lot; I’ve never understood them. But, regardless, I can take care of myself. Don’t worry.”

“What am I supposed to do if Demetrius doesn’t believe me?” Alfons clutched the book, “He always listens to Rowan over me.”

“As long as you believe what you’re saying, he will too,” Moretti said, “Now go quickly and get out of this city; and don’t come back here either. I don’t know when they’ll come back, so you should get out as soon as you can. You aren’t safe as long as they know you exist. Once you leave, my door will be locked. You must get out of here immediately.”

Alfons looked at his feet, searching for the right words to say, “I-I… I don’t know if I can do this. None of this makes sense!”

“How so?” Moretti raised an eyebrow.

He threw his hands over his head in exasperation, “You’re trying to make me take a thousand pound pill in one swallow, Moretti. I-I do believe that you’re telling the truth, you have no reason to lie and no one with any sanity would come up with a story as crazy as this and expect it to be believable. But you’re telling me that my best friend is some kind of… some kind of hybrid creature, and that the world I’ve been living in and have taken as reality is inhabited by super humans with horns coming out of their heads. You have to admit, it’s a fair bit to just soak in all this information.”

“I understand,” Moretti nodded, “But you don’t have much time to ‘soak in’ the situation, as you so eloquently put it. You will have plenty of time to do so once you get to the base. It isn’t too far; you could most likely get there by morning if you take the Zipper train. I doubt Demetrius has enough money to buy three tickets to board, but I suppose I might be able to fund you, out of the kindness of my heart.”

“Demetrius is hates the Zipper train,” Alfons muttered, calming down a bit.

Moretti pressed a finger to his temple in annoyance, “Of course the idiot’s afraid of the train. Only he would be afraid of trains.”

“Everyone’s afraid of something,” Alfons glared in response.

“I’m aware, but most people are at least considerate enough to harbor more convenient fears,” he snapped, rubbing a hand over his head and turning away, “Regardless of his preferences in relation to travel, the Zipper is probably the safest way to get to the base.”

“Where is this base, anyway?” Alfons asked.

“You’ve heard of the New Liberty Islands, I trust?” Moretti responded. He wait for Alfons to nod before continuing, “Good. The base is located in the far right island. It shouldn’t be hard to find, there’s a picture of it in the book. I would suggest reading a bit of it on your way there. It might answer some more of your questions. Even if it doesn’t, I’m sure Isaac can answer everything.”

“Who?” the blonde questioned.

Moretti sighed, “Isaac is a very complicated person with a very complicated role, but for the sake of time, he is the head of the Remont branch of Jeder,” Alfons was about to ask another question before the shop keeper stopped him, “Remonts are able to manipulate the bodies of living things on a molecular level. Most are healers, a few focus on science or other things. But we’re getting off subject. You need to be on your way. Is there anything else you want to ask me?”

Alfons was silent for a moment, looking at his feet silently, “How long have you been involved with all this?”

“Hm?” the shop keeper looked at him, “What are you talking about?”

“Were you born into this?” Alfons went on, “Is there a way you’re supposed to respond to finding out about all this?”

Moretti paused, examining the boy before speaking, “I come from a family with mixed ties in the Konets and Mixtus lines. Everyone related to me is either half animal or obsessed with weaponry; it’s your world that has always confused me.”

“Really?” Alfons looked up at the old man.

“Of course, I am human, after all,” Moretti sighed thoughtfully, “I grew up with your fairytales as my reality. Journeying out in the Median world…” the old man shook his head, “Why must you keep moving us away from the important topics?” he picked up clothes that Alfons and Rowan had selected earlier and threw them to him, “Do any of you idiots have an form of self defense?

Alfons caught them clumsily with his good arm, putting the book under his armpit, “Demetrius has a hunting knife,” he quipped, “He’s horrible with it either.”

“I take it that means he isn’t good with it,” Moretti didn’t wait for a response. The man slipped his hand into the box that he had retrieved the book from, “Lucky for you, I have a few spares,” he pulled from the box a small knife with a wooden handle and leather covering its blade in a makeshift sheath, “I haven’t used this in years, it should do for you, though.”

“Too old to fight?” he smiled jokingly.

“Old enough to know it isn’t needed,” Moretti responded, bluntly, “There is a time and place for violence; age granted me the wisdom to know that.”

Alfons laughed quietly, “Thanks, old man.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he scolded, handing him the knife, “You still have a fair ways to go. And be careful with that thing. Like I said, there’s a time and place.”

“Got it,” Alfons sighed, taking the knife in one hand and hiding it in the pile of clothing he held.

Moretti watched him for a moment, “Alright, just one more thing,” he turned away and moved from the box to his cash register. He pulled out a small wad of cash and tossed it to him, “Whatever the hell that idiot decides to use as a form of transportation, this should cover it.”

Alfons caught the money sloppily in his free hand. He wasn’t able to really count the contents of it the due to the things he held in his arm, but by the sheer bulk of the bundle, he felt confident in assuming it contained more money than he had ever held in his short life time.

“This is… a lot of money,” he stuttered out, staring at the bills, “Are you sure you want to give this to me?”

“It should be enough to pay for zipper tickets for the three of you, if you convince Demetrius to go along with it,” Moretti explained, “If not, I’m sure you could find another way down with that much money.”

“I-I…” Alfons stopped himself for a moment, “Thank you, Mr. Moretti.”

“Don’t mention it,” he grunted, “Now get a move on. Split.”

The blonde nodded silently. “Will I see you again?” he wasn’t sure why he asked such a question, but he felt it slip from his lips nevertheless.

“Why in the world would you ask a stupid question like that?” Moretti made a face, “I can take care of myself; I told you that. Once you get to the base, they will be able to help you. After that, well, we do live in a small world, Jeders or no Jeders. We’ll meet again.”

Alfons bit his lip and sighed, “All right. I’ll take your word for it,” he turned to the door, “I guess I’ll get going. Wish me luck.”

“You won’t need luck,” Moretti shook his head, “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

 “I’ll try not to,” Alfons chuckled lightly, opening the door, “Thanks again for everything.”

“Yes yes, now get a move on,” the shop keeper glared.

The blonde sighed, “Right. See ya, Mr. Moretti.”

As Alfons walked out into what remained of the Fumoin crowd, he heard the old man call out a small farewell, though too many thoughts were flowing through his mind to hear what he said.

7: Jan. 5, 2048: 6:15 P.M.

Jan. 5, 2048

6:15 P.M.

Demetrius

In all the twenty eight years Demetrius had been alive, he couldn’t remember a single moment where his heart was beating any faster than it was now.

He’d been sitting at the counter of the Downtown Diner for the last four hours, waiting as calmly as he could for his young companions to appear. They did have a habit of being a little late sometimes, but after an hour passed, Demetrius decided the maybe it was time to worry. After four hours, he was perfectly prepared to go hunt down the brats and knock them upside the head.

“I just got off the phone with the police, hon,” a tall blond waitress named Barbara, “They said they haven’t seen hide nor hair of your boys.”

“Did they send any one out to look for them?” Demetrius questioned, impatiently.

She shook her head, “There was some robbery down on Main Street. Apparently all the peace keepers are too busy to look for two little boys.”

“That’s just fantastic,” the hermit groaned, standing from his seat at the empty counter, “That’s absolutely perfect. Those two idiots are missing and all the cops are busy chasing some poor sap who was trying to feed his family,” he started for the door, grabbing his coat off of his chair, “I’m going after them. They have to be here somewhere.”

“Demetrius, we called the police, we called all the stories nearby, we even tried calling Mr. Moretti,” Barbara stepped in front of him, “We can’t get a hold of Moretti and no one else has seen them in the last few hours. The best thing you can do right now is to stay where they know you will be.”

Demetrius sighed running a hand threw his hair. He had a horrible feeling about the whole situation. He knew that Alfons and Rowan could take care of themselves if needed, he himself made sure of that, but they were still kids and it wasn’t hard at all to get into trouble in Fumo. The two had gone off on their own little adventures alone in the city before, but never for this long, especially without making their guardian aware of their plans. Anything could have happened to them, and Demetrius was well aware that he could do very little about it.

The hermit offered Barbara a shrug in defeat, “You’re probably right.”

“I normally am, sugar,” she smirked, going behind the counter, “Let me get you a cuppa. Calm ya, down a bit.”

“I don’t have any money on me,” Demetrius muttered, sitting down again burying his face in his hands, “Left what I had at my place when I dropped off the supplies.”

She waved him off, “It’s on me. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re too good to me,” he smiled in thanks, “Make it a blonde half-calf with sand, if you would.”

“Don’t need to tell me, you always get the same thing,” Barbara rolled her eyes, deftly working the coffee machine, “Must you order like that? No one uses lingo like that anymore, it’s so stereotypical.”

“What’s wrong with keeping the past alive?” he sighed, peering out the window anxiously, “Besides, I can order my coffee any way I like. We live in a free country, last I checked.”

“Hardly feels like it,” the waitress shook her head, “Though it may just be Fumo getting to me.”

The hermit chuckled half-heartedly, “I don’t think there’s a city in America quite like Fumo, Barbara. Most places have some good qualities. I can’t think of a single benefit to living here.”

Barbara nodded with a sad smile, “I understand,” she placed a steaming mug in front of him, “Half regular, half decaf with milk and sugar, just how you like it.”

“Thanks,” Demetrius took the cup with one hand, not turning from the window.

 Barbara watched him and sighed, “Glaring out the window won’t make them show up any faster, you know.”

“I suppose not,” he shrugged, taking a sip of the coffee, “But what else would you like me to do?”

“Try and calm down, perhaps?” she commented, “Stressing out will do nothing for them.”

“My boys are missing and I have no way to find them,” Demetrius pointed out, “Why in the name of god would I be calm?”

Barbara shrugged, “Touché, I suppose. I’m just trying to be the logical one in this situation.”

The hermit sighed again, shaking his head. He had known Barbara since the first day he had come to Fumo, back when he was no older than Alfons. The woman had always offered wise advice in trying times and she made fantastic conversation. How she got stuck serving tables in a place like Fumo, he would never know.

“It’s almost closing time, Barb,” a scrawny looking bus boy popped up by Barbara’s side, “Boss says to start cleaning out.”

Demetrius looked over to the clock, “There’s still a half hour till six. You close at six thirty.”

“Boss wants to close early,” the kid shrugged, awkwardly.

“Tell him I’ll get on it in a little bit,” Barbara told him pointedly, “I have to take care of something first, I won’t be long.”

The boy nodded, and ran off into the back as the waitress stepped out from behind the counter and went to Demetrius’ side, “Would you mind waiting outside for a bit? When I’m done I’ll meet you outside.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he stood up and put down his mug, “Just let me know if anyone calls or if they show up. I’ve waited here long enough, I’m going to look for them myself.”

“I told you that isn’t a good idea,” Barbara insisted, “Waiting is the best way to go. I bet they’ll show up any minute.”

“And you’ll be here till six thirty, right?” Demetrius pointed out as he adjusted his coat, “If they show up, you know where to find me. If they don’t, well, that’s why I want to look around town. I can’t just sit by while they could be in danger. I humored you for long enough, I’m going to find my boys.”

He knew Barbara would try and talk him out of his plans, so he quickly stepped out of the mostly empty diner and out into the equally populated streets of Fumo.

Most Fumoin residence with any scrap of intelligence or common sense knew to get off the streets as early as they could. If the city was bad during the day, it only got worse at night. The small burst of crime that erupted on cue when the sun went down normally functioned as a curfew for Fumo’s citizens, leaving only the reckless and the homeless out on the streets.

Demetrius stepped briskly through the fairly quiet street, determination etched into his face. He heard the diner door open, though he didn’t bother to respond to the woman in the doorway. Barbara was very gifted with the ability to talk him out of his crazy ideas and he couldn’t let her stop him now.

He moved as quickly his feet would allow, hoping to put as much distance between him and Barbara. He wasn’t as fast as either of his younger companions, though it didn’t really matter as far he travelled as long he could get away from Barbara and her well intended advice.

Concrete crunched beneath his feet, as he walked. He thought he heard someone call out to him, but he dismissed it immediately. His boys were somewhere in the city, and he was going to find them no matter what.

He kept his eyes glued to every back alley and dark corner he knew of. Demetrius had been in Fumo long enough to know that most of the criminal ‘underworld’ in the city was less than intelligent and more than a little stereotypical. They were fond of gathering in the standard ‘criminal hot-stops’ one would find in any second rate paperback crime drama. He assumed that neither Rowan or Alfons were stupid enough to get lost in the city they lived in most of their lives, so that meant they either got stuck in some rough situation with one or two of Fumo’s worst or one of the few cops that bothered to patrol assumed two kids wandering the streets alone obliviously had to be up to no good and took them to the station. He’d go check there after he looked around himself; the louses probably wouldn’t let him file any kind of paperwork for a missing persons report, and even if they had gotten the kids, Demetrius knew he couldn’t pay any kind of bail even the boys hadn’t done anything wrong.

“I swear, I’m going to leave this stupid city,” the hermit mumbled under his breath.

He had been in Fumo since he was seventeen, a runaway looking for a fresh start. Back then, the crime rate in the city was just peeking above average and the homeless shelters weren’t empty, but weren’t crowded either. To an angry teenager looking to escape his problems, the city seemed like the perfect place to disappear and remake himself. Sadly, other people of all ages came to that conclusion as well, and within two years of Demetrius arrival in Fumo, the city plummeted from a cluster of rough neighborhoods to the earthly embodiment of hell. Gangs started to form, murders and homicides began to stack up, chaos started to rise. The government tried to intervene a few times during the beginning of the end, but even the all mighty American government saw it was a lost cause. He had contemplated leaving the city more than once as he saw the havoc rising, but by the time Demetrius was nineteen, he realized that the fighting and mayhem didn’t faze him much anymore. He found that the fear that had once filled his heart every time a gun went off had faded away, and a numb feeling replaced it. It was too easy to turn a deft ear to the blaring sirens all around him. That instinct worried him at first, but it also made most of his fears about the city fade to mere musing that would pop up every so often in hard times. His life wasn’t perfect, but he felt that he could take care of himself as long as he kept his cool and stayed out of trouble.

But then those little idiots came into Demetrius’ life. Nineteen was a terrible age to try playing father. His own father had always acted more like a brother than a dad, though there were benefits to such a relationship. As Rowan and Alfons grew up, Demetrius found himself falling into the same role his own father took with him; a laid back kind of guardian that functioned more so as a playmate and an ally than a father figure. He had tried to drill as much as he could into to them, but with the environment they were growing up in, he could only pray that the hastily explained lessons he struggled to teach were able to keep some hold on his kids.

Demetrius had never been an intimidating figure, making the role of harsh guardian a nearly impossible one. Everything about his appearance was soft and lean, though recently he found that the dirt and grime of his daily life along with the shadows that had begun to ghost under his eyes left the impression of a very depressed phantom. His long hair was a deep chocolate brown that was far curlier than he would prefer, and his eyes were a similar shade of brown. Paired with his tan skin and long, awkward limbs, he looked more like a teenager than anything. It didn’t help that Alfons was already monstrously tall for his age and was quickly growing taller every day. It was only a matter of time before he would be taller than his guardian, and Demetrius dreaded the day that would occur. Rowan, on the other hand, was much shorter than either of them, but he was still a smart, cunning little devil, a trait Demetrius was sure the red head hadn’t learned from him. Between the two of them, Demetrius knew that both of them would grow up to be three times the man he was, with or without his influence. They were good kids stuck in a bad situation. He wished he could do better for them, give them a real roof over their heads, good nutritious food to eat, and clean clothes to wear, but no one would hire a homeless guy with two kids to feed. Everyone was suspicious by nature, and no one would think a hermit like him would ever do honest work. All the money he had he got through odd jobs around the city or through the occasional pick pocket, though he hated resorting such a measure.

But Demetrius would do anything for his kids, which was exactly why he was wandering around Fumo, running head long into its criminal heart.

The hermit turned his eyes away from the area around him and looked to his beat up watch. He had the old beat up time piece for years. It was one of the first things he had bought for himself. Nothing special, just a clock with a leather strap on it, but it was never wrong yet and its cool metal lay on his wrist constantly like a loyal dog.

He bit his lip as he kept walking. He spent too much time in the diner. It was about seven o’clock. Around nine, the minor criminals would start showing up, the petty thieves, the bored teenagers. Then, by eleven o’clock, the more malicious bad guys would crawl out of their holes to cause mayhem, and by midnight, hell would break loose. Of course, everything would be cleaned up by morning, very little trace would be left. But regardless, he needed to accomplish his mission before that first wave of crime started, or he would never get them out in time.

Demetrius felt panic rising into his chest again. He was seriously considering spending what little money he had on a pair of child leashes when he caught a glimpse of red hair out of the corner of his eye.

“Rowan?” he snapped around to go after the running boy, managing to catch up to him.

The little red head tripped in his run once Demetrius’ voice hit him. The hermit easily caught and pulled him into a bone crushing hug.

“Oh God,” Demetrius held Rowan close to his chest, “Oh sweet Jesus, you’re okay,” he kissed the boy’s forehead, then looked at his face, “Where is Alfons? Are you hurt? What the hell happened?”

Rowan was silent, panting slightly from exhaustion.

“Come on, Ro. Talk to me, please,” he begged, shaking him a little for effect.

The red head looked down and mumbled something.

Demetrius put a hand under his chin and made Rowan look at him, “Repeat please.”

“I left him at Moretti’s, okay!” Rowan snapped, gritting his teeth.

“Why in the name of God would you do that?” the hermit questioned, surprised, “I told you to stick together!”

He shook his head, “They’re crazy, Demetrius!” he spit out, “They’re completely nuts.”

“Whose crazy, Ro?” Demetrius pressed, “Come on, talk to me.”

“They’re crazy,” Rowan just shook his head again, “Both of them.”

Demetrius sighed with a mix of relief and worry. He lifted Rowan up without a struggle from the red head and started walking again, the boy in his arms.

Just at a glance, he could tell that Rowan had been in some kind of a fight. The bandages and sling that normally concealed his disfigured arm were gone, leaving the limb open to the world. By the way he was stumbling about, Demetrius assumed that whatever happened had been traumatizing to him, which made the hermit wonder what exactly could shock Rowan so much.

As he walked down the street, he noticed Rowan’s thin, shaking arms wrap around his neck and felt the sharp sting of the boy’s sharp claw like nails digging into his back, “Is Al still at Moretti’s?” Demetrius ran a hand through Rowan’s hair, “Did he go to the diner alone?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled into his guardian’s shoulder, “I can walk.”

“I know,” Demetrius leaned his head against Rowan’s, “Never ever ever do this do me again, you hear me? Never again or I swear I’ll never let you leave my sight till you’re one hundred and eighty five years old. Understand?” he felt the head beside his move in affirmative, “Good. I’m still not letting you out of my sight for a very very long time. I’m going to lock you both away until you have wrinkles all over you.”

Rowan made a noise of disapproval, to which Demetrius chuckled, “We’re gonna find Alfons and get back to the hotel. I got the groceries from the market. I’ll make something to eat then we’ll talk about this. Sound like a plan?”

He didn’t get a response, though he felt the claws digging into his back strengthen their grip.

Demetrius sighed and adjusted his hold on Rowan and changed his paced to a faster saunter. He decided that going towards Moretti’s and traveling back down towards the diner would be a good place to start looking for Alfons. He couldn’t think of the blonde going anywhere else, except possibly the hotel, though Demetrius hoped that Alfons would have enough common sense to try and find him. He may not be as intelligent as Rowan, but Alfons was street savvy at the very least. The kid could handle his own for a while, the question was just how long.

 

 

8: Jan. 5, 2048: 7:16 P.M.

Jan. 5, 2048

7:16 P.M.

Alfons

Alfons sighed deeply as he walked through the streets, arms filled with Moretti’s ‘gifts’. He deeply appreciated what the man was doing for them, but all the goods he had been giving were making it very hard to hurry.

The sun was receding down as the moon rose up, adding to even more stress to Alfons mind. He knew about Fumo’s special kind of crime schedule very well, a skill he attributed to his guardian’s constant drillings on street survival. Any intelligent thief who happened to notice the strange boy carrying a bounty’s worth of goods in his arms would probably have some level of temptation to attack him. No one would hesitate to attack a child, and if they did, they would probably get over it quickly once they saw how much money he had one him.

The bills felt like they weighed a thousand pounds in his pocket. Alfons couldn’t believe Moretti had all this cash and still chose to live in Fumo. Not only did it ask for thieves to rob him, anyone with any common sense would be out of Fumo at the first chance they got. As he thought more about it, the more questions started to pop into his head. Why would someone with money, power, and a perfectly sane mind stay in a hell hole like Fumo?

Alfons shook his head; he had to focus. If he got off track of his goal, he might start to doubt his actions. The blonde was completely sure that Moretti told him the truth, but he knew that if he swayed himself from his goal, he’d never be able to build up his nerve as high as Moretti made it. Jeders, Konets, Mixti… everything was far too complicated for him to fully grasp, and Alfons figured it would be better not to try to pick apart the information with his currently muffled thought process. Moretti said the answers he wanted were in the New Liberty Islands, so to the New Liberty Islands he had to go. He wondered what he would do if Demetrius wouldn’t go with him. The man had been his guardian since he was a little boy, Alfons couldn’t imagine life without the constant warmth of the hermit’s presence hovering over his shoulder. Still, if it came down to it, Alfons knew that he would have to go in the end. He was tall enough, so if it came down to it, he could probably pass as an adult if he played his cards right. He’d leave most of the money Moretti gave him with Rowan and Demetrius, and use his share to get to New Liberty. The islands weren’t too far up north, close to New York City. It would be easy enough to get up there and, with the address Moretti gave him, he’d find the base on his own.

But that’s only a plan-b, he forced himself to remember, Demetrius will understand. Demetrius will come and drag Rowan with him, and everything will be perfectly fine.

That was what was trailing through his mind when he heard the familiar call of his understandably very worried guardian from down the road.

“Alfons!” Demetrius rushed over to him, Rowan in his arms. The blonde turned slowly as the hermit nearly sprinted to clear the distance in between them. Demetrius stopped just short of tackling his eldest charge, pulling Alfons close to his chest, barely taking notice of the things in the blonde’s arms.

“Where in the name of God have you been, Al?” the hermit implored, “I swear, both of you are going to be the death of me! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

Alfons didn’t respond at first, his eyes focusing on the red head in his guardian’s arms, “Why the hell did you leave?” he snapped, startling Demetrius, “Are you crazy?”

“You’re the crazy one!” Rowan didn’t turn to face him, only hid his face in Demetrius’ shoulder, “Moretti is a liar and you too gullible to see tha.”

“What are you going on about?” Demetrius released Alfons and Rowan on his feet beside him.

The two boys looked to one another for a second.

“One of you better tell me what’s going on right now or I swear you won’t see the light of day again for a year,” the hermit frowned.

“Some freaks tried to attack Mr. Moretti,” Rowan said before Alfons could get a word out, “Weirdos in costumes or something.”

“That isn’t true and you know it!” Alfons argued pointedly.

“Only you’re stupid enough to fall for Moretti’s story,” the red head spat, “It’s too crazy to believe!”

“It’s so crazy, it has to be true,” the blonde argued, “No sane man would come up with a story like that.”

“He isn’t sane, then!” Rowan growled, pointing a clawed finger at Alfons’ face.

“Okay, okay!” Demetrius stepped in between the two, “I want to know exactly what happened, from the beginning,” he grabbed both of their hands and started dragging them away, “But not here. It’s getting dark out. It isn’t safe to sit around here.”

Alfons flinched when Demetrius grabbed his injured hand. The adrenaline that had been drowning out the pain of his broken wrist was starting to fade. He dropped the things he was holding and tripped to the ground in pain.

Demetrius was quick to respond, realizing his grip on Rowan and spinning around quickly before kneeling at his side, “What is it?”

“Hurt my wrist before,” he bit his lip, “I’m fine. I just need to carry this stuff,” he motioned to goods on the ground with a cringe, “It’s really important.”

“Not as important as your health,” the hermit rolled his eyes, picking up the bundle of clothes Alfons had dropped, “What’s all this stuff, anyway? I just sent you two to get new clothes,” he eyed the knife warily, “Not build a weapon cache.”

“That’s Moretti’s isn’t it,” Rowan commented, eyeing the blade with contempt, “Why would he give it to you?”

“He was worried that those Italian guys might go back on their word and try to attack us,” he explained, nursing his wrist uncomfortably.

Demetrius’ frown deepened, “You said someone attacked Moretti’s, right? A robbery? I heard something about a break in on Main Street, was that it?”

“They didn’t take anything thing, it wasn’t a robbery,” Alfons shook his head.

“It was just some thugs,” Rowan stepped in, knowing where Alfons wanted to take the conversation, “Just some weird thugs. They had to be, just some freaks.”

“Stop calling them freaks, Ro,” the blonde glared, “We can’t judge what we barely know.”

Rowan growled and pushed the other boy’s chest, “Since when are you so open minded, huh? It’s because it wasn’t you, right? If they thought you were one of them, you’d be thinking the same thing as me.”

“That is enough!” Demetrius snapped, grabbing both of them by the back of their shirts and pulling them apart, “Are you two talking in code or something, because I honest to God have no idea what you’re going on about, but I know that you to will be kind enough to remedy my confusion as soon we’re in private. Until that time, I would kindly ask that both of you keep your heads and refrain from completely destroying one another. Do we have a deal?” when both boys nodded silently, Demetrius let a smile slip back onto his face, “Good. Glad we all can agree. Now, Alfons, would you kindly let me see your wrist?”

Alfons hesitated before gingerly reaching out his arm, “It’s not that bad. Just hurts a little.”

“Just hurts a little?” Demetrius sighed, “You’re definitely going to need a splint. Just be thankful it didn’t break skin, or I’d have to take you to the E.R.”

The blonde sub-consciously shivered. Fumo’s hospitals were absolutely horrid and monstrously expensive.  They had only ever visited the E.R. on two desperate occasions; once when he and Rowan were very young and a round of a particularly bad case of the flu was making its rounds around the city, and another time when Alfons was nine, a small gang of vagrants broke into their hideout and messed up Demetrius pretty harshly before the hermit stabbed one of them and sent them packing. Alfons didn’t remember when they were sick very well, but the image of his guardian vomiting blood on to the cold white hospital floor would forever be etched into his memory.

Demetrius broke his train of thought by ruffling his hair, “Don’t worry, Al. Let’s just get back to the hotel, then I’ll set it and we can figure this whole situation out. Trust me.”

“Okay,” Alfons nodded with a small smile.

The hermit returned with a grin, wrapping an arm around his charge as they stood. Demetrius gathered what Alfons had been carrying and motioned to Rowan to follow, “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Alfons turned to watch his red headed companion as they went towards home. Rowan fell into step close to Demetrius, practically hugging the man’s leg. Demetrius kept his arm around Alfons but leaned lightly towards the youngest boy. Alfons could tell Rowan wasn’t okay, but there was nothing he could say or do to help him out of this. Moretti was right, and no amount of wishful thinking could change that. Whatever Rowan turned out to be, Alfons knew he wasn’t a monster. He was Rowan. Nothing changed that, though Rowan didn’t seem to see it that way. Alfons knew that Rowan was a highly intelligent kid for one who grew up on the streets; he valued logic, fact, reason. Everything that was going on went against everything he had held as true. That fact must have been killing him inside, but there was nothing Alfons could do for him except to show him the truth and hope Rowan could figure the rest out on his own. Alfons just hoped that would be enough.

9: Jan. 5, 2048 7:45 P.M.

Jan. 5, 2048

7:45 P.M.

Rowan

The walk back to the hotel was one of the longest Rowan had ever taken in his entire life. In reality, it was only about fifteen minutes to get there, but it felt like eternity.

He could feel Alfons’ cool green eyes watching his every movement, but Rowan couldn’t tell for sure if his motives were good or bad. If he was any judge of character, Rowan assumed that the blonde was doing what was right, or at least what he believe was right. Alfons had always been the more spontaneous of the two, better able to adapt, better able to respond. There were benefits to such a personality, though Rowan just thought it made him more gullible than anything. Rowan, on the other hand, had known early on in his life that he was better fitted to stand as a logical, systematic person that functioned less on common sense and more on the side of definite facts and figures. Responding to a situation without gathering all the possible proof he could gather would ultimately result in something horrible happening.

Such a mistake as deciding he was in the improper race.

It was a strange, improbable thought, he decided, to not be completely human. Rowan had never thought what it would be like to be anything but human. He was a human; he had been human all his life. He had a rather strange arm with claws and dark skin, but that made him no less human than anyone else and no old men or weird horned boys could tell him any differently.

“You know, in all this havoc I almost forgot to ask,” Demetrius interrupted his train of thought, “Is Mr. Moretti all right?”

“He said he could take care of himself,” Alfons mumbled, sagging slightly as he walked, “I’m inclined to believe him too.”

Rowan rolled his eyes, “You’ll believe anything he says, won’t you?”

“No,” the blonde looked forward, down the road, “But I do believe Moretti can take care of himself. He did stop those two guys right?”

“They looked like they were around our age, and even then he got lucky,” he scoffed, “Can he handle someone his own size or can he only fight little kids?”

“You realize you just called yourself a little kid, right?” Demetrius chuckled.

The red-head scoffed, “I think with all this insanity going on, I think I’m becoming self-aware.”

“I’d hardly call you self-aware,” Alfons couldn’t help but comment with a light smile.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rowan glared, his clawed hand forming into a fist.

Alfons swallowed, quickly picking up on his error, “Nothing, sorry.”

“It certainly didn’t sound like nothing,” the red-head growled.

“That’s enough,” Demetrius scolded, turning a worried eye to his youngest, “Were almost there. Can you hold off your squabbling till we’re in private, please?” he looked around the darkening street, “Don’t want to attract too much attention now do we?”

The two boys agreed hesitantly. Causing too much of a ruckus might alert some of Fumo’s more unsavory residents, something which neither of them wanted. They had enough problems going on as it was; they didn’t need any random street thug to make it worse.

They let Demetrius lead them back to the hotel in a quiet but quick stride. Rowan kept his head down and stayed as close as he could to Demetrius’ side, practically hugging the man’s leg as they walked. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was clinging so much to his guardian, but the hermit didn’t seem to mind in the least, so Rowan decided to just let his instinct take over and stayed as close as humanly possible to him.

Demetrius himself was still carefully balancing the things Alfons had previously been carrying with one arm. He kept his other arm around Alfons’ shoulders, rubbing the teen’s arm gently. The hermit had always been protective of his younger companions, though he wasn’t as clingy as Rowan noticed most parents seemed to be. He’d found that generally anyone with children to care for in Fumo were either harsh, brutal dictators or too paranoid to let their kids out of their sight for more than a second. Demetrius, Rowan decided, was a breed of his own. He was a kind man who cared a lot about his charges, but he wasn’t afraid to put them in their place. Rowan supposed he should look to the man as a father figure, but the red-head found that Demetrius was often more than a father. He filled a lot of different roles; it was hard to define exactly which one held the most importance. Regardless, he never seemed to mind his undefined role in their lives.

They got to the hotel in record time. Demetrius wasted little effort in ushering them inside the back door and shutting the door behind him.

Rowan plopped down in the pile of blankets and rags they kept as a makeshift couch and buried himself in its familiarity. After the mess of a day he’d been forced threw, it felt fantastic to return to something he knew wouldn’t try to attack him or accuse his of being some hideous beast.

“Alright Al,” he heard Demetrius say, “Let’s take a better look at that wrist.”

The red head looked up and watched Alfons sit across from him on the floor.  Demetrius dropped off the things Alfons had given him and sat beside the blonde. He put his hand out for Alfons’ wrist, which the blonde gratefully obliged.

“Yikes,” Demetrius bit his lip as he gently held the injured appendage, “What did you do, slam it in a doorway.”

“It’s hard to explain,” Alfons sighed.

The hermit gave him a small smile, “Try me.”

Alfons shift uncomfortably where he said, unsure of what to say. “I was attacked by a bull,” he eventually shrugged.

Demetrius blinked in confusion, “What?”

“I said I was attacked by a bull,” he repeated.

“I told you he was nuts,” Rowan spoke up, leaning back in his pile of rags.

The blonde turned to look at him, “You can deny the facts all you want, Ro, but you can’t deny that they did have horns.”

“But I highly doubt they were actually bulls,” Rowan glared.

“The one kid’s horns were too small to be a bulls,” he shrugged, “He looked more like a goat than anything.”

“Can we stop for one moment,” Demetrius interrupted, “Can I just confirm that we’re talking about men with horns? Like, real animal horns?”

“We are,” Alfons nodded with an awkward laugh.

The hermit took a second to process the information. Rowan watched him in silence, wondering how he would react.

“So were these horns on their heads?” Demetrius asked after a bit, turning back to Alfons’ wrist.

 “Of course,” Alfons raised an eyebrow, “Where else would they be?”

“I don’t know. ‘Men with horns’ is not a very good description,” Demetrius pointed out, “Were they white or black or young or old? Details, would be very much appreciated.”

Alfons laughed, “So you believe us?”

“Even you aren’t stupid enough to make up a story like that,” the hermit ruffled his hair and released his grip on his arm, “What I’m curious to know is why such a person exists. Are you sure they weren’t fake, like a costume?”

“Pretty sure,” he nodded in return as Demetrius stood up, “They looked too real to be fake.”

Demetrius sighed, “I suppose I can’t argue with that logic. Let me get some things to fix up your wrist.”

“You actually believe him,” Rowan couldn’t help but gawk.

“Why not?” he smiled in return, “There are stranger things out there, I’m sure,” the hermit walked over to one of the piles they had lying about and pulled out a cloth rag, “Let’s see, I’ll need a stick or something, something to make a sling with too. Do we have any of the cloth we use for yours left, Ro?”

“I don’t think so,” the red head mumbled, sitting Indian style with his head resting on his hands. Rowan ignored his guardian’s small glance as he looked away, “You could use that old ratty blanket we have from last winter.”

“Good idea, little buddy,” Demetrius agreed when he had all the things he needed, “I’ll just patch him up then we can move on.”

He sat down next to Alfons again, dropping the supplies on to the floor and gently taking the boys injured wrist, “Okay, now tell me everything. Spare no details, either of you.”

As Demetrius repaired the damage done to Alfons wrist, the boys managed to explain their story to the man, from Primo and Segundo to Moretti’s blade. It took a bit of time to tell the tale in its entirety due to their obvious differences in opinion, but the hermit was patient as ever, calmly nodding when called for as he wrapped bandages around his charges wound. Between Rowan’s grumblings and Alfons’ excited explanations, both boys weren’t really sure if they were making much sense, but Demetrius didn’t show any signs of disbelief. He just listened silently, watching them argue about the details of their adventure while tending to Al’s arm.

“Alright, so let me make sure I got this,” Demetrius finished tying off the bandages, “Mr. Moretti is some kind of super knife-wielding weapons expert called a Konets, which is part of a bigger group of other super humans called Jedars. Some kids with horns named Primo and Segundo came in and attacked you because their father, the owner of Zunino Gold, wanted to check in on Moretti, but flipped when they saw Rowan’s arm. They went after you all but Moretti threw a knife at one of their shoulders, which sent them packing. When they were gone, Moretti tried to explain all this stuff to you two, but Rowan ran out when he started to talk about his arm. After that Moretti told Alfons everything he good and gave you all this stuff along with instructions to go to some secret base in the New Liberty Islands,” he took a deep breath, “Did I miss anything?”

“That about sums it up, yeah,” Alfons nodded lightly, examining Demetrius’ handiwork, “You don’t sound as surprised as I expected you to be.”

“I’ve spent the last twelve years raising you two idiots,” he explained, “Nothing short of heaven falling down to earth would surprise me at this point,” Demetrius laughed to himself and ruffled the blonde’s hair. The hermit made a face when his fingers got caught on a knot, “Scratch that. Nothing short of you brushing your hair properly would surprise me. Seriously, you can’t wear it this long and not take care of it!”

“Are you really trying to switch the topic of this conversation to his hair?” Rowan raised an eyebrow, glaring at his guardian, “He thinks he found a whole a new subspecies of humanity with freakish abilities and is claiming that I’m one of them, and you want to focus on his hair.”

“But it’s really, really knotted, Ro,” Demetrius pointed out, grabbing the arguing blonde’s head, and trying to separate some of the knots, “I told you we should have cut it a long time ago, but no you just had to be stubborn.”

Alfons pushed him off with his good hand, “I’ll brush it later, really! Can we just get back on topic, please?”

“I suppose we can,” he released Al’s head with a light smack, “Though, I don’t believe we have much else to discuss, though.”

“You aren’t wondering about anything else?” Rowan questioned, confused, “You really believe everything he said?”

“To be honest,” Demetrius shrugged, “I’m not completely convinced of everything, but I believe that is perfectly reasonable what with the situation being what it is.”

“If you don’t believe this all the way, why are you so calm about it?” Alfons asked.

The hermit stood up and stretched, “I didn’t raise either of you two to be liars and even you aren’t creative enough to come up with a crazy story like this one, so I trust there’s at least some reality to it. I think the best thing for us to do at the moment is too do what Moretti told us to do. Answers will come in due time.”

Rowan made a face, “You can’t be serious. You actually want us to leave for some place we know nothing about?”

“That’s exactly what I want to do,” Demetrius smiled, “And we do know a bit about this place. It’s some kind of a secret base filled with less than normal people doing less than normal things. There is also a resident by the name of Isaac and somebody called Alastor Mabuz we need to find to get to this place. When you think about it, we actually do know a fair bit about this place.”

“Not enough to just pack up and go!”

The hermit sighed wearily, “I don’t mean to burst you’re bubble, buddy, but what do we really have to lose? If anything, this is an excuse to get out of this stupid city. I get that you’re afraid, but you have to admit that there are much better places to be.”

Rowan stopped and looked up at Demetrius’ face. Oh no, the red head thought to himself, He’s determined to do this, isn’t he? It was very rare his guardian ever got worked up about anything, with the exceptions of the few calls he received from Al’s sister (Rowan honestly didn’t know why Demetrius thought she was coming back) so to see him so hell-bent on achieving his goal was troubling. Rowan realized that there was no way he could talk him out of going on with the plan, and worried about what would follow. He could tell that this plan was destined to fail. It was too improbable, too ridiculous, and most certainly too stupid to even consider; they would end up stuck in an unfamiliar place, no way to get back, and they’d starve to death. Or maybe some New York street thug would find them and put them out of their misery. The possibilities of failure were infinite! Billions of opportunities to die horribly painful deaths, all it would take is abandon their fairly happy home and attempt to carry out their plan. Death would hopefully be swift, if nothing else, but Rowan had very little hope. He knew he would never be able to get away from it.

“It’ll take a good while to get to this place,” Demetrius commented, pulling him away from his internal monologue, “Moretti gave us more than enough to get to NY by taxi, but even if I can’t find one in the morning we won’t get there for at least another three days.”

“Actually,” Alfons visibly flinched, turning his gaze to floor awkwardly, “Uh, Moretti had different mode of travel in mind…”

The hermit raised an eyebrow, “What else is there? Buses from out of state are afraid to drive by Fumo let alone pick any one up from here. The old subway is long dead and I don’t feel like hitchhiking all the way up to the Liberty Islands. That just leaves a taxi ride up.”

Rowan would have laughed if not for the circumstances of the situation. “I believe you left out the train,” he said pointedly, “Which I do see as a much better alternative to a hot, sweat taxi.”

“How would you know? Neither of you have ever been in a taxi,” he swore Demetrius’ head spun faster than a top.”

“And I highly doubt you were ever in a Zipper,” Alfons commented with a shrug.

Demetrius stood up quickly, “Oh yes I have been on one of those death traps and I have no wish to take a second voyage. The ‘future’ is fine and dandy, but there is nothing wrong with taking a little extra time on a good ol’ fashioned taxi. Besides, with all this money, we might even be able to con someone into going the whole way for us if we’re lucky.”

Rowan leaned back and sighed, “Why are you so afraid of that stupid train, anyway?”

“That isn’t important,” the hermit responded, walking away from them, “It doesn’t change anything, we are taking a cab and that’s final,” Demetrius went over to a pile of supplies they kept in a corner, “Pack some stuff to take, we’re leaving in the morning and we should travel light.”

Rowan looked at him for a moment before turning to face Alfons who just shrugged and stood, “I don’t think we can win this one, Ro,” he said quietly before going over to Demetrius.

“You make it sound like there is a ‘we’,” Rowan glared, “For there to be a ‘we’ I would have to agree with you and this harebrained scheme, which I most certainly do not.”

Alfons sighed shrugged again, “You can’t completely discredit me until we actually go to this place. Might as well stop being a huge sourpuss and lighten up a bit.”

“You’re trying to convince me that I’m not human,” he growled, “I believe I have a right to be a bit sour.”

“But it doesn’t give you a right to be a jerk to the people who are trying to help you,” Al commented, with a light smile, “And they are human, remember?”

Rowan only continued to glare as he went to join them, “I believe Moretti’s exact definition was ‘half-human, half-something else,’ hence, not completely human.”

“If you really want to get down to the nitty gritty I suppose you have a point,” the blonde agreed begrudgingly, “But they seem mostly human.”

“Mostly,” Rowan snorted, “For some odd reason, ‘mostly human’ isn’t a very reassuring set of words I’d like to associate with myself.”

Breaking up their petty squabble, Demetrius hefted up the bag he had filled onto his shoulder before hitting both off them upside the head, “Seriously, knock it off for now,” he scolded,  “This situation’s crazy enough without you two turning on me. Can we please just all calm down? Tomorrow morning is going to be the start of something insane, so can’t we just have one quiet night before that?”

The boys fell silent, exchanging a brief glance before Alfons spoke.

“Hey, is there any way we could get something to eat tonight?” the blonde rubbed his shoulder, “I am starving.”

“After you get some stuff together for tomorrow,” the hermit nodded, “I got the groceries like I said I would, so I might as well make something since we can’t carry all of it with us,” Demetrius tossed his bag by the door, “Pack, then clean up a little, and I’ll make something. All right?”

Rowan couldn’t help but frown, though he forced himself not to act on his indifference. He found it insulting that his companions had so quickly decided to push aside the topic for something so unimportant, yet Rowan knew that there was no point in arguing with them on it. He’d choose his battles for the moment; there was little need for any more tension.

He joined Alfons, who had grabbed one of the bags Demetrius kept around, began the long process of shoving his entire life into a grocery bag. Of all the crazy, horrible, both elementally and essentially wrong things that had happened, this had to take the cake. Rowan had put up with monstrous men, insane old geezers, and cryptic quests, but there was something about the finality that came with moving all of his possessions that rubbed him the wrong way. A few spare shirts, a tattered pair of jeans, the pack of playing card Demetrius gave him for his birthday the year before, the over-sized flannel shirt he used as a blanket on chilly nights, all the things that he had ever owned, packed tightly in a paper bag, ready for travel. He felt sick to his stomach just thinking about what it entitled, the things he’d have to leave behind. Logically, Rowan was convinced that this crazy plan would fail and they would be back home in a week at most, yet deep down, he had a horrible, sinking feeling that he was saying goodbye, that this trip would be indefinite, that they would never return home. The mere thought scared him more than any monster ever could.

It didn’t take the boys long to pack, despite Rowan’s brooding, and within a few minutes, they had everything they needed jammed into their bags. Rowan hefted his bag up and moved it next to Demetrius’ backpack with care while Alfons just tossed his over. The blonde slipped down onto the floor by his guardian and picked up the book Moretti had given him and started to flip through it.

“We should probably read this,” Alfons said, “Moretti said it was pretty important.”

“Tomorrow,” Demetrius turned to him with a small loaf of bread in his hand, “We’ll have plenty of time on the way there in the morning. I’d prefer to have you wide awake early in the morning, so I would advise sleep sooner than later,” he started to rip the bread into parts and threw a piece to each of the boys, “I picked up some beef jerky and chips from the corner store on West Blvd. The rest of the stuff I got should last a bit longer, so we should save that for the trip.”

“What kind of jerky did you get?” Rowan sighed as he settled down beside Demetrius.

The hermit smiled and dropped a paper bag in his lap, “Beef teriyaki,” he said, “It was on sale.”

“Thanks,” Rowan opened the bag and bit into a piece, “Least something good came of today.”

“Everything’s gonna be fine, Ro,” Demetrius assured, running a hand over the red head’s hair, “We’ll figure this out. Don’t worry.”

Rowan just took another bite, “Okay, Demetrius,” he mumbled insincerely, “I’ll try.”

“I told him not to worry about it,” Alfons said, mouth full of bread, “There’s no point in freaking out about something you have no power over.”

“That’s not exactly how I would word it,” Demetrius chuckled, grabbing the bag of barbeque potato chips, “But I suppose that it gets the point across. Besides,” he put his arm around his youngest’s shoulders, “Whatever happens, I’ll be there.”

Rowan felt compelled to shrug off Demetrius’ arm, but decided that it wasn’t worth the effort. He instead pulled a second piece out of the bag and leaned against him, “Where else would you go?” Rowan raised an eyebrow as he bit into the meat, “Not like you have anywhere else to be.”

Demetrius leaned back, “That’s a very good point, but I don’t think I’d be anywhere else even if I had the chance,” he handed his bag of chips to Alfons after grabbing a hand full, “You won’t get rid of me that easily, boys.”

Silence fell after that. They ate without another word, taking each bite slowly and carefully, like it would be their last. Rowan looked at Demetrius’ watch from where he was sitting. It was rare that Demetrius would ever let them stay up past nine thirty without a fight, but he didn’t seem to mind the time at the moment. He supposed he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but Rowan couldn’t help but wonder what exactly the man was thinking.

He knew Demetrius was a very laidback person, but this situation had to be a bit much, even for him. Nothing made sense, no matter how much Alfons tried to convince them. Rowan wasn’t sure if Demetrius actually bought the story as much as Al did, but he obviously was willing to invest something into it. Of course, Rowan’s fears couldn’t stop this train wreck from going into motion, but that didn’t stop him from worrying all the same.

It didn’t take long for them to finish eating. Demetrius let Rowan out of his grasp and picked up the few scrapes of food that were left to put them in a bag with the rest off their supplies. “Try and get some sleep, boys,” he said, “It’s a long ride to New Liberty after all.”

He sat back down and grabbed one of the blankets before lying back against the wall. The boys were quick to follow suit, settling themselves with their own blankets on the floor.

“I’m waking you both up a four so we can get a head start,” the hermit stretched out, closing his eyes, “We’re gonna have to walk out of the city and get a taxi somewhere.”

“Which way are we going out?” Alfons asked, tossing his jacket on the ground and using it as a pillow.

“It’s probably best to head out north. Go for a direct approach to this,” he said, “The faster we get there, the better.”

Both boys nodded silently in agreement, neither really feeling up to arguing. They simply decided that since there was no way to pull out the seed of their crazy idea out of their minds, they might as well cherish every second they had in the most companionable silence they could muster before they had to leave. It didn’t take long for each of them drift off into an empty kind of slumber as they waited for morning to come.