2412, Iclis 02, Reshpe

The sun beat down on Malin's head as usual. Walking under the glare of the afternoon sun was expected to be scorching hot, with sweat dousing every inch of skin in his form. Even through the occasional breaks afforded by the shadows of the tall estates, heat climbed from the half-baked cobblestones, fanning his face with humid air.

He huffed, drawing his cloak tighter around his arms and his hood over his face lower. If he removed this smothering blanket, he would go back to the Temple fried to the bone. The peeling skin and the stinging burns that would follow the next few weeks was not a time Malin wanted to go back to.

Two more sets of footsteps joined him. Unlike him, not a cloak covered them. As if they're not afraid of the sun like he was. Pilqen, grateful to be out of Master Yarin's torturous lessons—his words, not Malin's—rubbed the back of his head. The sweat his palm caught glistened against the light. "I cannot believe I forgot how hot it was out here," he said, tone bordering on whining. Master Yarin had enough liturgy about complaining about one's circumstance, so Malin didn't want to add into it. "It is still a long way to the trading square, right?"

"As if you have not been there before, you lazy bum," Elazie snapped from Malin's right. The tail of her reddish-brown hair tied up slapped against her back as she walked with a slight bounce. They tackled the forest at the rim of the road, flanking the rest of the Nobility region and the major route through Cardina. "The trading square is due east, past the forest. If we see the line of snedil trees, it means we are close."

She tapped a hand against her chin in thought. "If it is closer to the dry season rather than the storms, it means the snedil would be alight with blue."

Pilqen must be questioning how and why on Umazure he was friends with two know-it-alls with the wince he threw Elazie's way. "Do you not stop yapping about trees, Ela?" he asked.

Malin tapped the back of his hand against the boy's shoulder. "Lay off, man."

"You are no better, doofus," Pilqen slapped Malin's hand away. "All you do is to lecture me about stars and the moons."

Malin stuck a lip out. "It is a great branch of study," he said. "I still have yet to pinpoint the course and picture of the sky over Umazure each night of the year since the tomes do not really do it justice. Who knows? Maybe I can discover more stars. I will make sure to name one after you."

It seemed to thaw the boy when a smirk tore his lips open. "Now, why would you do that for plain ol' me?" Pilqen scoffed. Then, he jabbed a finger into both Malin and Elazie's faces. "It still stands. No lecturing when I am with you two. Especially when I am with you two."

"This is also why Master Yarin is frustrated with you," Malin muttered under his breath. Pilqen heard it—that much Malin was sure of, but his friend never commented on nor acknowledged it. Time passed in silence after that, with all three of them lost inside their own heads.

In the moving stillness, Malin sneaked a glance at the plain silver band around his finger. He had thought of removing it, but after Ymbril informed him it was some sort of protection charm, he couldn't. It was one of the last things his father left him. Even if such a protection charm was nothing but a lie, he wouldn't put it past himself to imagine not having it and feeling sad about it.

Soon, the short reprieve of the forest has thinned, bearing the view of the manicured road between the gaps in the trunks. A different kind of excitement tore through Malin. The trips he took towards the Merchant's square were always rimmed with such. It's as if he couldn't stay in one place for long, and he developed this inexplicable desire to see everything, to try everything.

It's one of the reasons why Ymbril was reluctant to send Malin off retail missions. He would always spend more than what she told him to spend and would often convince her of the Temple's need for things he bought, even though she asserted beforehand it wasn't the case. Malin always won out in the end. He wasn't sure why. The merchants just kept bringing something better each time their paths crossed.

When they cleared the forest and stepped back into the cobblestones, it's clear how things changed since he received word of the change regarding the climate of Cardina's politics. He tucked himself into his cloak deeper, eyeing the blue-coated Civil Guards flitting about. Nobles were dressed in clothes becoming more similar to how the Commons were, starting from the number of embellishments and gilding on the hems of their tunics, skirts, and trousers. The carriages pulled by kephrasis and ashpedis have dwindled over the weeks. Even the dagrine-drawn ones could be counted by hand every hour.

The merchants also thinned out, and the effect could be felt when the three of them made it to the traders' square. The once-sprawling expanse of tents, wares, and crates was now replaced with a sort of ghost town he only saw in the Disfavoreds in the rare times his father brought him and his sister there. It was silent—deathly so—and without the merchants hollering and the shoppers haggling back and forth, Malin felt his excitement dry down to a vapid torrent.

"Let us just see this through," Malin stalked forward in a speed he didn't know he was capable of until he noticed Ela and Pil huffing beside him while doing their best to catch up. He only had to slow down when they reached the first stall and ducked under its striped awning. Rows of bulging fruits and other ingredients for fairy potions greeted them. Without checking the prices, he and his friends scooped everything they could carry into the baskets they bore on their backs. It's always the trip back that's challenging. Malin was most likely to end up with stiff shoulders the next day after hiking so much with that kind of weight on his shoulders.

When they finished, the crates were close to being obliterated and their baskets brimmed with produce. They might not be the freshest around, but if they're going to be turned into fairy potions, freshness wasn't the first to matter. Ela opened the purse she received from her superior before they left and passed a mid-sized kalta sigra to the merchant behind the desk. The merchant's eyes bulged, no doubt wondering how in Calaris these three children ended up with this much wealth. Malin let her wonder when he jerked his chin towards her. "Keep the change," he said.

Pilqen whirled to him to argue. They needed versallis too, but Malin supposed merchants needed it better. The Temple has a lot to spare inside its elaborate vaults. He knew, because he unwittingly read an inventory report from five decades ago. It still blew his mind—how a religious institution was able to amass such wealth just from donations, official rites fees, and a yearly cut from the Monarchs' approved budget.

Malin silenced his friend with a withering look and smiled at the merchant one last time. Then, with braced fingers, he turned around, slid his arms into the straps of his full basket, and hefted it up. It's manageable, but with the heat and drag combined, it's going to be hell in the near future. Pilqen and Elazie didn't seem to have problems with it. They overtook an array of travelers tackling the Magic Road easily, leaving Malin to puff and sputter behind them.

They were about to go back to the forest when a clamor on the other side caught his attention. "Wait a minute, guys," he called to his friends who were already fortweres ahead. "I have to check something out."

Before Elazie could lecture him about sticking together and the dangers of getting lost, or worse, purged on the road, Malin turned and dashed across the Magic Road. He had to go against the natural flow of traffic, muttering his excuses as he elbowed passers-by, stepped into the way of dagrine carts, and ducked his head at anyone who was scandalized by his arrival.

He reached the shade of the forest and scanned the crowd. Judging from the shape of the mass, it seemed like they're queuing up for something. Not a Civil Guard stood in the area, meaning this wasn't because of official business. The new King had yet to make a move that'd endanger or benefit Cardina. Selling their freedom away from Synketros wasn't that felt. Yet.

The line of people contained a mixture of disgruntled humans, disguised fairies, and agitated half-bloods. Were they...?

"Hi," Malin approached the first one on the line and held out a hand. "What is happening here?"

The man didn't look impressed. His rumpled features matched the creases in his tunic. "We're looking for a way inside the Nobility region," he said in flawless Keijula. It took a moment for Malin to realize he had to switch languages now. "The Disfavoreds and the Commons are doomed."

Malin's eyebrows knitted. On this periphery, he noticed Pil and Ela cross the road in pursuit of him. The annoyed looks on their faces couldn't compare to the otherwise cloudless sky above their heads. And Ela had been right. The snedil trees were really alight with blue. It's only a matter of time before those petals flutter to the ground in a calming show. Maybe it would have been a good attraction if not for the brewing war and the senseless restrictions and prejudice of humans in Cardina.

"All these people are from there?" Malin said. A few more heads turned in their direction and stayed there. "What happened back there?"

The man rolled his shoulders. "The Disfavored region is empty. A major purge swept those heathens off their rotting houses," he said. "The Commons are next. That's why we're out here. The Civil Guards won't touch anyone from the Nobility."

And the only one who could grant permits of residence was none other than the Temple. To fully assimilate to the terrain of the Nobility, there were two ways—one led to the Royalty region and appealed to the Crown, and the other being the most humane way, which was to request the famed permit from the Temple of Magic. Most people, especially the Disfavoreds, take the second one. It's far easier, and has better chances of being approved.

But all these people? No wonder Ymbril has been running around like a starved dagrine for the past week.

"Where do the purged go?" Malin asked, as if he hadn't been part of that population a month ago.

The man opened his mouth while uncertainty danced his eyes. Before he could open his mouth, a woman sauntered towards them. "I may not be the best at rumor mills," she said, dropping low as if delivering a conspiratorial whisper. "But I hear they are being fed to the private army the King employs."

Private army? Did they mean Synketros? Really—that's what they're masquerading themselves as? He gritted his teeth. "Do you have family or friends who were purged?" he asked.

A dark topic for someone he had just met, but it was what it was. The woman closed her eyes and muttered a quick prayer. "My daughter, Bertha," she said. "She was taken a few weeks ago. When they began clearing the Disfavored region, I was one of the lucky ones to escape to the Commons. But now..."

Now, even those who were Favored were being persecuted.

"Do you want to save them?" Malin said.

More eyes joined the act of watching their conversation. The woman balled her fists with such determination it wasn't a surprise she made it this far with the cards dealt to her. "If I have the means," she said. "I would."

And it was enough. A throne was built on people's wishes, and if there was enough, may heaven and hell conspire to weave them together to produce something more everlasting.

Hope.