Chapter 1
Efran

Efran always loved the sweet musky scent of the papers, especially when freshly imbued with inks from his typewriter in Llouie's office. A stagnant life yet a stable one for a thrifty teen like him, whose only favorite luxury was a good nap and daydream, or sometimes writing his diaries or short stories, after finishing a job faster than a normal being.

Accounting, documents, editing, organizing–name all the paperworks. Efran was more pleased to take these kinds of jobs than to hold swords while being dried out from the sun, anxiously talking with people for marketing strategy, or a job to listen to his mother's voice–squalling how she regrets raising a talentless, useless, lazy son. I'm not lazy. I just don't like those jobs you are suggesting. He always defended.

But finally, he found a fluffy nest to stay in for the rest of his life as a clerk's assistant. But note that he's not a dog just waiting for commands, but an owl. He was learning, savoring each piece of information he never expected to know. Corruptions he called dark psychology. Fascinating minds. He has no intent of squealing it out someday but to nourish the greed of his curiosity. Sigh. A completely delusional.

How he wished this would never end. But today was about to push him in paths he always hated to face–the reality.

"No errors, just as always. Never waste a single paper and a brief time. A keen eye for small details. That's what I like about you."

The sunlight pierced from the white windows, shining the ink written on the papers, giving it a warm texture as Accountant Llouie lent those from his hands. The clerk had filed a leave for a week, and as an assistant, he had to fulfill all the jobs by himself in a short time. Yes, he succeeded, but that's to sacrifice his faithful hours of sleep, casting black shades around his dried eyes.

He tried his best to smile, releasing a thin soft voice with his small Adam's apple, "Thank you."

"So, what's the reward you wanted to ask? A raise? Promotion? or–"

"Just eight hours of sleep every night, please." He's already out of his mind.

Laughter roared throughout the corners of the white walls wearing gold curtains, furnished with indoor plants in ceramic vases over the marble tables leaning on golden legs. Efran peeked at the gray sofa, hypnotizing him to rest his back and shut his eyes. He could even hear the lullaby song he watched at the opera when he was a kid, singing the words Close your eyes, I'll be here when you wake up, take rest, my child, have fun in your dreams.

The accountant patted his shoulder. "Let me tell you a short story, kid–"

But three knocks from the wooden white door interrupted them.

"Who's there?"

"Mr. Lauvast's temporary secretary, Riri."

The door creaked open, revealing a petite woman in a white goldish piña dress holding mountains of papers. She has blue almond eyes, a short pointy nose, light tan skin, and a long curly black hair, like ocean waves crawling down her shoulders–a Rajir female.

It was not his first time seeing one. The Flostania Kingdom and Rajir Dynasty were allied countries. They were freely open for trading and migrating to each other, even though the sailing takes 10-15 days that far when not ambushed by Mzerlish pirates who could control the sea with their inborn supernatural talents called Razua. In Flostania, people with these kinds of talents had to be sent out to military camps to prevent undisciplined kids from ruining the country.

But this was Efran's first time seeing her. Lavaust's secretary should be a tall male with a muscular built body. Riri seemed to notice the confusion on his forehead, so she responded to his gaze.

"As I said, a temporary secretary," she chuckled and lifted her baggage, "Lots of papers on my first day! How unfortunate to me."

"Just put it on the table, dear. We'll handle those. Don't need to worry."

Efran watched the Rajir walk past them and put the documents over the table on the typewriter's side. The table was neat. He sighed in relief. Gladly it wasn't his.

"I mean, that table," Llouie pointed at the table almost looked like a dystopian sink–last night's plate was untouched, crumbled banana leaf with sticky rice cake remnants, a permanent ink splash to a month-old white wooden table, and a classic dusty bronze typewriter–Efran's signature table.

"The client wanted it to be done before the sun goes down," Riri said as she placed the documents on his table, then dusted her clothes and went through the doorway.

"No problem," Llouie said with a wink before she responded to him with a polite smile and closed the door.

"That Rajir is pretty, isn't she?" The boss said, reminiscing where he last saw her.

"Pretty enough to ruin my sleep," Efran complained like a kid and felt sorry for the couch, but he must spend more time on the office chair and typewriter.

"My sleep, too," Accountant moaned to himself before going back to work.

Efran looked at Llouie with disgust. Why did it sound lewd? I just meant the papers.

~

The sun was about to go down, yet he was dozing off over his table. Orange lights glinted on his pale freckled face and messy ginger hair. The door was knocked, and it creaked open.

"Are the papers done, Mister?" The voice was familiar. Riri had come back.

Llouie whirled around, "Of co–" he took down his glasses to confirm if Efran was really asleep. "Ferdin? You've done the papers, right?" Ferdin Micheal was his fake name written in his forged documents when he applied.

Efran squinted his green eyes, took the courage to open them as he fixed his sitting posture, and lent the documents to Rajir lady. "Of course."

"They were right. This office has the fastest service."

"I know," Llouie boasted.

"Care to check your clerk's work first before I submit it to my boss?"

"Not needed. No one ever complained to papers brewed through his typewriter." He winked once again.

"I'll see you, then."

"See you again, Riri."

Before the moment of silence invited Efran to sleep again, Lloui called him.

"As a reward, I'll pay you tomorrow to take a rest."

His eyes widened in excitement. The words made him awake. "Yes!"

"You may now go home sweet home. Thanks for your hard work."

~

The moon watched Efran walking like a limp man in the dark back of the street. There were no torches at this place but only rotten garbages. He wasn't drunk, only drunk with his own voice singing his favorite lullaby song:

"Close your eyes

I'll be here when you wake up

Take a rest, my child

Have fun in your dreams."

He sang it loudly as if it could deliver him from losing the weight in his chest he had tried ignoring for days.

He thought he finally found his dream world in Llouie's office–small salary but enough to pay small room rent and food, and except for ten hours of sleep, he also had free time to spend with his costless hobby of writing.

But the air now seemed to change. Overtime and overwork that has never been in his contract.

What's a reward you wanted to ask? A raise? A promotion?

"I don't care about your money. What about an assistant too to take over my job for my paid leave, Boss," he answered in the air, soft thin voice, like a minor-aged drunk kid even though he was already eighteen. This was one of the reasons why a lot of companies rejected him because they found it hard to believe his actual age.

"You're just lazy, Efran!" he mimicked his mother's voice and was offended by his own, "I told you, I'm not lazy!"

Now he tried to copy his father's deep voice with his immature tone, "Efran, you'll have a family someday, and you need a stable job to feed them–"

"Then I won't have a family," he countered himself again.

"You don't know when you fall in love."

"I won't! I can control my heart 'cause I use my brain, unlike you!"

"We can't afford college, and you're not even sure if you could find a job after. You only have one option–"

"I told you many times that I would never join the military!"

"Why?"

"Because I dislike everything you want! That just reminds me of you!"

"You don't understand the world, kid."

"And you don't understand the meaning of life, Father. It's not all about gold, fame, and power if you won't find your genuine happiness."

"Then what is genuine happiness?"

Efran stopped for a moment. Crickets rang in his ears, the breeze shivered through his skin, and his shadow was summoned by the moonlight in the middle of the dark alley.

He left his house to live on his own, to break from his father's prison ideas, and to chase what he called simple non-materialistic genuine happiness. But now what? Why has nothing changed? He could still hear his parents' voices slapping the truth on his face.

And worst, he sensed someone was following him tonight. He was about to run when the cold blade of a knife dipped into his neck.

"Genuine happiness can only be found in the Sacred Garden of the afterlife," a soft female voice.

Efran controlled his breath to avoid any sudden movement, so the blade won't slip into his skin to drip some blood.

"While you're in this world, you can only have short-term happiness. Gold, fame, and power," the woman continued, "and I can give them all to you."

Efran swallowed, stealing glances at the gloved hand holding the knife. "Speak your business."

"I need someone who can dry out mistaken ink and weave papers to look good as new, or not really needing a typewriter to paint words. A perfect forger."

He gently readied his fingers in silence. "Unfortunately, you can only find them in military camps and not straying in the dark alley. I didn't see your face, so you can let me go."

The blade rose up, tilting his chin up. "Typewrite a hundred pages in half a day–before the sun goes down? Isn't that some kind of magic trick?"

Efran flicked his wrist, controlling the fibers of the gloves to throw the knife away as he quickly pushed her, diving to pick up the knife and point it at her from a distance.

"I knew it! You're a fake secretary!"

The assassin's hands were in the air, leveled on her pointy bamboo hat, sighing within the veil covering her nose and lips. "I already told you that I'm temporary," she corrected, "and not fake."

"And why would Mr. Lavaust need to hire a temporary secretary to kidnap a forger? He's already one of the richest men in this city. He could just hire me by himself."

"Oh, dear, you're getting it wrong. I'm the one who hired him, so I can confirm if you really fit in my preferred description."

Efran chuckled. "Hire him? He doesn't need your money. He's already the richest man in this city."

"Of course, he doesn't. That's why he gave it for free. That's what friends are for."

"Stop wasting my time."

The Rajir assassin laughed, shoulders bouncing, as well as the two double glaives resting an x position on her back. "Lavaust isn't the only friend I have. Many richer people would gladly welcome me with tea across the Flostania. I'm an adventurous girl, kid. You're clueless 'cause you don't have any social skills."

Efran was offended. "I do have plenty of social skills too! I just don't like doing it because I'm contented with my life all alone! And if you wanted to hire me, you don't have to put a knife in my neck!" he then switched the topic.

The woman gently slipped her hands to free herself from the floating gloves. "Sorry, that's my new hiring strategy."

"I didn't tell you to move!" Efran warned and focused his fingers on the black fit clothes wrapped around her torso, dropping the gloves on the ground. She gave him a disgusting look.

"Shall I strip my whole body, too, just to get out from your weak powers? If you just give some time to polish your skills, then you won't be sweating by now."

His cheeks burned and eyes averted. "I'm not sweating!" he defended when he just wiped his wet forehead.

"Ten Civil Guards on their horses were right away." Efran jumped out when a boy in the hood suddenly appeared next to him. The voice was playfully raspy, "Do you want to get caught? 'Cause I don't."

"Why would they be here?" He looked back at the female assassin, and she was gone. And the boy had vanished too.

"They left me? After that whole talk show?" he said anxiously, biting his nails like a baby.

"Llouie talks too loud to the officer, and I just happened to eavesdrop, so I'm literally stealing his money tonight." The Rajir woman answered while wedging her knives to the cleaves of brick walls to climb and reach the window sill. "What are you waiting for? Climb your ass!"

"Who said I could climb?" he whispered in panic.

She sneered, "You just slack your ass all day and think you don't need to learn to climb someday?"

He clicked his tongue and flashed his feet away.

The alley began to glint by the torches. Ten horses were walking in their positions, with their riders in brown suits holding lamps beside bows and swords. Some of them wore brown scarves embroidered with a symbol of rock, hands clutching cuffs and chains.

The Rajir woman ran on the roofs while scouting Efran below. "For Jembahal's sake," she sighed. Even if the horses crawled instead, they would still catch his pace. His running was too slow, and his breath was already heavy.

"Pst! Faster!"

Efran gave her a tiring look. "O-Okay!"

She palmed her face. His okay just meant he heard her and not to give a little boost. She glanced at the two shadows running on other roofs, a sign to help him.

The girl holding a violin stopped for a second and scraped her bows against strings, screeching a soft beautiful melody as her hair blew out in the air against the moon. Then a snow fur dire wolf rose from the ground to the exact location where Efran was. The boy was surprised, but his mind picked it up and launched himself over its back.

Efran Fritz
The Forge Priest

MVCabusas | The Invisible King