The icy lake and snow reflected the suns intense morning glare, making people squint as they passed by. Men and women rushed outside the massive stone gates, ready for their day. Most were normal folk, others fishermen and hunters. Some were even Dreamers.
Most buildings near the gates were made of scrap and wood, scavenged from nearby ruins. At a glance, their exteriors looked like a run-down hovel. But reality couldn't have been more different.
The interiors of nearly all houses and shops, except those in the main streets, were made of wood. Stepping inside one of those hovels, one would be greeted by the warm, comfortable atmosphere of a wooden cabin.
In one such building, a cafe themed after a medieval tavern on the East backstreet, Elyas and Noah sat across from each other. The clamor of utensils against plates and the jukebox playing softly in the corner instead of a bard, blended into a pleasant mush of sound.
"Eat well. You haven't eaten much for months," Noah said, gesturing toward the fish soup on the table.
"I'll definitely repay you someday," Elyas said hurriedly as he soaked a loaf of bread in the soup and stuffed it into his mouth.
"Man! This tastes so good!" Elyas exclaimed, lifting the bowl and drinking straight from it. After a moment of gulping it all down, he added, "Can I have another?"
Noah was speechless, and currently reconsidering his hospitality. "You can… but no more. I don't want to go broke," he said, calling over the waiter.
Elyas looked puzzled. As his gaze followed the waiter carrying his order, he asked, "Aren't you part of the Protocol? How do you manage to go broke with the government backing you?" popping a piece of dry bread into his mouth, Elyas savoured and swallowed it before eating another piece.
"Oh, it seems good at first," Noah said bitterly. "But on top of having to play magical police, I get paid shit. We're paid per completed mission, not a fixed salary. On top of that, each mission takes several weeks to a few days." He spoke with a pained expression, subconsciously glancing at the soup being placed in front of Elyas.
"Oh… sorry. I didn't mean to make things harder for you," Elyas stared down at the bowl, but his mask of solemnity fell the moment his stomach growled. Noah smiled and shook his head. "No pressure. I'm doing this to repay someone's kindness, not to profit." After watching Elyas devour his soup for a while, Noah spoke again.
"…Although, if you joined the Protocol, my job of hunting rogue Dreamers would be much easier. Especially with the help of another Heartless who lived over a hundred years."
Between frantic chewing, Elyas managed, "You keep saying… "over a hundred years"… what's up with that?" Noah's expression stiffened. "Don't tell me…" he fell silent after that, making Elyas raise an eyebrow. "What's with that face?"
Noah forced a shaky smile. "It's just that… Vernis fell a hundred years ago. But the First Whispers…" He swallowed. "Those happened over three centuries before that." Elyas froze, the spoon halfway to his mouth dropping on the table. A sudden cold weight settled in his chest.
Four hundred years…
The tavern's noise faded into nothing. But Elyas drew a shallow, trembling breath. There's still a chance. Michael was alive, Elyas was certain. More than anything, he wanted to see his family again, but to do that, he first needed to stay alive. "Noah," he said, steadier than he felt, "do you know any places that can teach me to be a proper Dreamer?"
Noah's lips curved into a smile. "Yeah. I know a few. Let's go pay them a visit.
…
In west street every house was coated in a tint of twilight. Big brick apartments housing several floors worth of people stood in neat lines. The houses in the main streets looked luxurious and grand compared to the small hovels he had seen before. But right now, Elyas found himself sitting on his knees in a small building squished between two apartments. A building strongly resembling a dojo.
"Sorry Mister, but I can't let your friend in." A rough-looking man said, bearing a scar under his left eye. He was sitting behind a short desk on his knees. Noah tried to argue in Elyas' place, "Why? I'm sure he will be a good—"
"Mister, I'm certain someone of your occupation can understand our situation. Winter's end is only a week away. Spring is coming. Aspirants whose families can afford it, reserve their spot before the ceremony." He tugged at his blackbelt as he said with an apologetic tone. Then the man placed his hands on his lap and gave a short bow as a gesture of sincerity.
"...Can't you just empty a spot? Do you even have any left?" Noah asked, already expecting the answer.
"We are full. We just accepted our last disciple yesterday. Only if you came sooner…we don't have any room left. It's how things go, I'm sorry gentlemen." The man said as he gave them another short apologetic bow.
Elyas and Noah left dejectedly, that interaction and all the ones before it had left a bitter taste in their mouths. "Well I'm sure we'll find somewhere…" Elyas said, not fully believing his own words. Noah wanted to comfort him who looked rather down, instead, he just said, "Let's go home."
…
The night had come, and with it came the starving mists. Defenders lit bonfires both on the wall and near the open gates. They had to feed the fog something, and light was a great candidate.
The streets were vacant. Except in one of the many branches of East Gate District, in which a pair was walking side by side. The backstreets near the walls were lined with weathered down houses and hovels, broken up by the occasional alley or vendor.
Under the moons' colorful glow, snow-covered rooftops sparkled like diamonds. "Don't worry," Noah said with a sigh. "The city has plenty of good trainers. We'll try again tomorrow."
'Noah's right. We can try again tomorrow… there's no way everyone would refuse me.' They stopped in front of a particularly run-down house. "Is… this your home?" Elyas asked, surprise written all over his face.
A small house with dull gray walls stood before them. Its windows were clouded with grime and the walls riddled with holes. A faint creaking sound could be heard from inside. Noah stepped forward, pulled a key from his pocket and opened the door before turning back with a smile. "What do you think?"
He moved quickly, lighting candles and oil lamps inside the room. Elyas stepped through the foyer and into the guest room. Despite the room's shabby appearance, the spacious house didn't look that bad.
The holes in the walls were blocked with nailed planks, keeping the cold at bay. A set of rugged furniture was placed near the cold fireplace. The rest of the house was barren save for the kitchen. Despite its lackluster decor, It was a nice place.
"It's cozy," Elyas said, collapsing onto the large couch in front of the fireplace. Noah laughed. "Good. You seem to like the couch, since I live alone, you'll have to take it. I don't have a second bed."
Elyas chuckled. "You've already done enough for me. It wouldn't be right to take your bed too." Noah crouched by the fireplace and tossed in several pieces of firewood. The woods shimmered with a silver glow before igniting.
"Sleep well," Noah said as he headed upstairs. But Elyas stayed awake. Waiting until the house fell completely silent before pulling out his yellow calendar. Then he started writing.
Facts learned:
"I am four hundred years old. Noah mistook me for a Heartless because of it. He talked about half immortals and Heartless before, but I'm not one of them. I don't know how I survived this long… Is it because of the Void? There have apparently been multiple Whisper events since Noah keeps referring to that day as the "First Whispers."
He paused, then drew a line and wrote beneath it.
Questions to be answered:
"What are Heartless? Why did I get a second Wish? What is my cost? What did the Whisperer mean by thank your fathers and kin? How did I survived?"
Elyas hesitated for a while, but in the end, he wrote the final question.
"Is Michael alive?"
He reread the page multiple times before opening a window and tucking the calendar inside the void. Lying back on the couch, warmed by the fire's soft glow he tried to answer those questions. And without realizing it, he had fallen asleep.