✴

The man crawled across the floor, trailing red on the rotting wood. The wet, crimson line meandered on its way toward the door on the other side of the room—its playful shape eerily similar to that of a river Thia knew. The only one she knew, in fact.

She could not help but pity the man. His ragged shirt kept catching on the rusty nails which protruded from the floorboards beneath—forcing him to rip the garment as he made his slow but desperate escape. Lucky for him, the fabric was cheap: it didn't provide much resistance.

The room was dimly illuminated by a few candles on a nearby table. The only other pieces of furniture in the room was a worn chair, which had toppled over, and a thin bedroll in the corner. Even so, the place was more luxurious than most homes you'd be likely to find in the Boroughs.

A pang of guilt suddenly rushed through Thia, her heart racing and chilling beads of sweat appearing on her neck. She walked up to the man, following the trail of blood to his right leg, where her dagger waited patiently—its hilt swaying from side to side as the man crawled. A strangely calming motion, she thought, before pulling the blade free. The man screamed.

"You... you rotten—" he began, but she knocked him out using the pommel of her weapon before he could go on.

He would bleed out while unconscious, which was the most merciful death she could offer him at this point. Thia would have preferred not to kill him at all, but he had surprised her. He had caught her sneaking in through the window and tackled her to the ground—forcing her to improvise. Admittedly, improvising was not one of Thia's greatest strengths.

She glanced at the helpless figure lying on the ground, blood pooling around him and seeping in between the floorboards. She felt sick. Had the man earned this? She told herself that he had, but deep down she knew it wasn't quite true. He was just another Lowborn, she thought, desperate, like the rest of us. But if there was one thing Thia hated more than harming another person it was doing nothing while greater suffering could still be prevented. Yes, she had seen her fair share of suffering during her twenty years in the Boroughs, but it hadn't hardened her. If anything, she had only seemed to grow more receptive to it. And more resolute to do something about it.

She wiped the blade clean on her faded blue shirt, which—like every shirt she owned—fitted her poorly, and fastened it in the leather scabbard on her belt. She then leaned down and plucked something from the man's pocket. It was a small leather pouch. She inspected its contents and slipped it into her own pants pocket before bolting out though the door.

✴ ✴

Thia's feet pounded against the moonlit cobblestones as she raced down the street. Her hair—which was short, blonde and dirty—fluttered with each step. It was hard to keep anything clean in the Boroughs as a layer of silt covered the entire area. The outer wall, standing at nearly fifty meters tall, ensured that only the lightest dust particles were carried over by the wind and deposited within the city. Dew had mixed with the silt, forming a wet film on the cobblestones, and she had to take care not to slip. On this side of the wall there wasn't so much as a breeze, but the raging gusts outside made themselves known by their loud, unrelenting whine. The air was cool and droplets condensed on the windows of the ragged, half timbered houses distinguishing the Boroughs from the more well kept parts of Seoradel.

Home to the last remnants of human civilization, Seoradel was more fortress than city. The outer wall shielded it from the south while the city's northern side nestled up against the mountains, providing a natural barrier against the winds. The wall ran in a semicircle around the city, the Boroughs taking up most of the space within. Further in towards the mountains, raised above the Boroughs on a slight incline, lay the High Ward: home to Seoradel's social elite. Here, the decrepit wooden houses gave way to exquisite buildings reinforced with stone, and beyond them—the great castle of Seoradel.

Thia tried to focus on her breathing but her thoughts inevitably went to the poor boy. How old had he been? she wondered. Six? Five? He wasn't the first kid in the Boroughs to grow sick and he sure as dirt wouldn't be the last, but he was one of the younger ones she had seen in such a critical condition. If I don't hurry, he will almost certainly—

The vision came without warning, flashing through her mind like a storm out of clear skies. It felt to Thia like remembering something that, in spite of its vast importance, you had somehow managed to forget. Now the knife appears, she thought, stabbing me through the chest, as if it was just an obvious matter of fact. Her momentum was too great to slow down in time, but she was able to fall to the ground and slide on the cobblestones just as the weapon extended from around the corner in front of her. She barely passed below the knife and the arm that wielded it. As she slid past, she pulled on the leg of the man that had been waiting for her behind the corner, tripping him to the ground. He swore and tried to get up after her, but the slippery stones stalled him long enough for Thia to scramble around the next corner and disappear down an alleyway.

She kept running all the way to the young boy's house, ignoring the ache in her knees that had resulted from her brash evasive maneuver. Idiot! She hadn't scoped out the place properly before making her move for the pouch. If she had, she may have noticed that it was being watched by other speculators. Then again, there hadn't been much time for caution.

✴ ✴ ✴

Thia burst in through the door. The boy lay blanketed on a thin mattress in the middle of the room, his mother and father crouched beside him. He was barely conscious, prominent dark rings under his eyes and sweat protruding from his reddened skin. His parents looked to be in their early thirties and were obsessively tending to the boy while whispering something in his ear. Probably reassuring words, she thought, meant to soothe themselves as much as the kid. She was no longer aware of the pain in her knees; all she could feel was the agony of the poor child and the terror in his parents' eyes. It was overwhelming.

Amica stood near the huddled family, holding an oil lantern which illuminated the scene. She wore an elegant, green, embroidered suit which, though stained with dirt, made her look like she had emerged from an entirely different world than the one she now inhabited. Her black hair was tied up in a bun, revealing a strong, beautiful face. She looked concerned. That was the only thing about her that seemed appropriate.

"Thia! Finally!" she exclaimed. "Do you have it?"

"Yes," Thia responded and quickly handed over the pouch.

Amica produced a flask containing a clear liquid from her satchel and poured the grainy contents of the pouch inside. She then put her thumb on the opening and shook the flask carefully, mixing its contents until the liquid shifted to a light pinkish hue. She crouched down next to the boy and poured the medicine into his mouth. The boy coughed violently, but soon settled down—returning to his previous state of half-awakedness. His mother thanked Amica profusely, then resumed her attentiveness towards the boy. Amica walked over to Thia and led her out into the night.

"Thank you," she whispered, closing the door carefully behind them.

"Will he be alright?" Thia asked.

"Impossible to tell, but we have given him a chance at least," Amica responded solemnly. "How did it go on your end?"

"Not smoothly," Thia sighed.

"So the thief... is he?"

"Dead."

"Ah," Amica responded, "I'm sorry to hear that, Thia. I know how much it bothers you to—"

"It's nothing," Thia interrupted, "he had it coming."

Amica gave her a concerned look. "Yes... yes, perhaps so. Nonetheless, if I had been more careful about transporting my medical components—"

"It's not your fault," Thia said reassuringly. "People are getting more and more desperate. It seems like everyone and their uncle is sick nowadays. There's no safe way to do what you're doing."

"Perhaps," Amica said thoughtfully, "but I'm sure there are measures I can take to minimize the risks. I'll have to think further on this."

"I'm sure you will."

They turned from the residence and walked down the streets, making their way toward the innermost part of the Boroughs. Close to the inner wall, separating the Boroughs from the High Ward, the houses were in much better condition. While not reinforced with stone like the ones in the High Ward itself, these buildings belonged to the Seoran government and were being maintained using government resources. Most of these houses were children's homes. This was where Seoradel's social elite—the Ascendant—would send their children to join the rest of the Lowborn population, which were strictly resigned to the Boroughs. Your heritage didn't matter in Seoran culture: all Seorans were considered Lowborn until they ascended. That is the way things are—the way they have always been. Or so it was said.

✴ ✴ ✴ ✴

They arrived at Amica's residence: a small but sturdy half timbered house built against the inner wall. It was one of the houses offered to Ascendant who willingly took up residence in the Boroughs. This practice was nearly unheard of, but Amica was a researcher and had elected to move here for the purposes of her work—which had something to do with identifying causes for sickness. When it came to sickness, the Lowborn population was a prime subject for study.

Inside, the home was well furnished and had oil lamp fixtures which illuminated the whole room as Amica lit them. Shelves filled with books lined the walls and carpets lay strewn about, covering the entire floor. Due to the distance between the outer wall and this part of the Boroughs, the presence of silt was less palpable, though still present even inside the house. Thia shut the door behind her.

"It happened again today," she said, grabbing Amica's attention.

"Another vision?" Amica responded, her curiosity piqued. "Tell me."

"I was ambushed from around a corner when fleeing the thief's place. I somehow knew the attack was coming, even though I had no opportunity to see it."

Amica seemed a little sceptical. "Are you sure there wasn't anything to tip you off? Perhaps you heard your attacker's feet scraping against the stone, or the sound of his breathing?" she mused. "It's amazing how the human mind can pick up certain details subconsciously."

"It was nothing like that," Thia answered, slightly annoyed. "I knew what was going to happen then as certainly as I know it now, after the fact."

This gave Amica pause. She went over to a small table in the middle of the room and sat down, head bowed in contemplation. Thia joined her.

"It does sound a lot like the Sight, I'll give you that," she said, not sounding entirely convinced.

"This proves it," Thia said insistently. "If Lowborn can have the Sight, that means Seoran tradition is based on a lie!"

Amica retained her sceptical look. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Thia. I am only a Lower Ascendant, I do not possess the knowledge to verify or disprove your hypothesis. The only information I have regarding the Sight is from my own experiences, limited as they are." She paused and met Thia's eyes, reading her disappointment in them. "But what you have told me is concerning enough that I will break with tradition and tell you what little information I do have."

This prompted Thia to smile. It wasn't a big smile, or a particularly joyful one, but it was the first good smile she'd had in awhile. She had always sensed that there was something wrong with the ancient tradition that informed Seoradel's hierarchy. And her strange new ability just might be the key to revealing the truth.