The sun revealed itself from the horizon and made its presence felt across Ythan’s left side. He stood under an arch north of the isthmus. Alone.

  An island unto himself as the citizens kept themselves out of reach. They gave no warm greetings, just cold looks. He returned their gestures in kind.

  There was supposed to be a plan to leave, but from the beginning, issues had arrived. Up next to arrive was Conon who leapt from the overground structures above.

  He covered his yawned. “Mornin’ boss.”

  “You’re late,” Ythan grumbled with a surly frown.

  “I am? But I’m the only one here.”

  “That doesn’t change anything. Besides, only the Yerps have yet to arrive and they should be here soon.”

  Right after, Quin and Onyl emerged from the mass of wooden buildings that was the city’s poorer district. Ythan’s frown only deepened when he saw them dash up without said Yerps.

  “There better be a good reason why they’re not with you,” the blue cloak said sternly.

  “They have been stricken with some illness,” Onyl addressed. “They suspect it came from some meal they had the previous evening.”

  Ythan closed his eyes and fists as he took delayed breaths.

  “Unacceptable,” the Neraviv muttered. He went into his cloak behind him and procured two small glass containers with some kind of herb inside.

  His glare turned to Quin. “You. Go back, shove these down their throats and come back with ALL of them. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

  “Yes sir,” Quin answered tersely.

  “You two, come with me. Obviously we’re not on the same page.”

  Conon tucked his head down and sighed before he followed his boss and Onyl. Quin’s head laid low as well; once again he felt left out by his captain. He didn’t mope about it for too long, the blue cloak gave him a task that had to be done fast.

  He turned and bolted back to the poor district of town. The previous trip to the chroniclers and back took no time for him and Onyl. This new lap across the slums however gave him a different feel.

  A new day firmly underway, he saw more and more locals out from their abodes.

  Their faces all shifted his way. All the faces, all the eyes, all the attention. It bothered him. It gave him discomfort. He wanted them to look elsewhere, anywhere.

  Their cold, distant glares did nothing to help. Unlike the friendly folk he encountered upon his entrance, these people had no smiles for him. Only fear of failure to follow Ner. Fyful kept him focused.

  At the center of the isthmus, the center of the district, Quin reached the two chroniclers in front of a shambly wooden building.

  Lain on benches atop a low porch, Arty and Mier gathered whatever they had left to interact with an irate man in an apron. Half of his face covered in hair, his bared teeth served as a demarcation.

  “I don’t care how fast they show up, if you’re not checking in then crawl your asses out of here!” he bellowed. “These aren’t beds for you to sprawl!”

  “Please just give them a few minutes more,” Mier pleaded with a slow and low voice. “We don’t mean to loiter.”

  “I’m going to count to five, and if you two aren’t off these benches-”

  “Excuse me, sir,” Quin interjected. “They’re with me.”

  The angry patron turned to the lone Consondere and his face made a turn of its own. In a flash, he went from infuriated to placated.

  “Ah, well I see then,” he answered with eyes on the move. “People are going to be checking in soon, and we need these benches open for them to sit and wait.”

  Quin looked down to his pouch of coins. He didn’t want to pay to keep the chroniclers perched up but he also didn’t want to hold up the man’s affairs.

  As he mulled it over in his head, silence stepped in to aid him.

  The man wrinkled his face before he relented with a sigh. “...I’ll leave you to your business. Please excuse me.” He took quick and quiet steps back to his establishment.

  Quin shrugged off the meeting as he approached the chroniclers. “How bad are you guys feeling?” he asked.

  One eye opened, Arty stretched out his arms and gave a wide space between his hands.

  “That bad huh?” Quin went and retrieved the small containers. “Here, take this. It should help fix you up.”

  The chroniclers slowly ingested the medicine but the effects weren’t immediate. Quin wasn’t sure how long it would take before Ythan lost his patience, but every second felt more risky. That’s when he looked around for another risk.

  “Where’s Yach?” he inquired. “Did he show up?”

  “You would know if he did,” Mier responded. A good point.

  Anxiety and concern mixed together to make a bad brew in Quin’s head. “Okay, I’m going to see if I can find him. We don’t have much time, so the sooner you get better, the better.”

  Quin roamed around the area, his eyes scanned out for a mole on a face. All he saw were faces that looked right back.

  Some of the paths were very narrow. Two people would have to sidestep each other just to get by, all the more difficult for Quin to avoid the looks.

  The discomfort began to set in again and his line of sight lowered and lowered. The low glances actually helped as he spotted somebody slumped over and bruised beside the steps of another porch.

  There, he found his man.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Yach!” he exclaimed after a gasp. He hunched down and felt around behind him for anything in his cloak. “Hey. Say something. Oh nooo.”

  “Ah...kid can you not? So early.”

  Confusion took a hold of Quin. “Wh...what? Are you o-kay? What happened to you?”

  “Drinking happened to me.” The Yerp slowly rose up from his hole for some stretches. He winced in discomfort. “Better than the rainwater the others had. Rather have pain in my head than my gut, y’know?”

  “No. No I wouldn’t know. I don’t drink.”

  “Ehhh, good for you kid. Don’t rush to start.”

  The older man favored his leg as he ambled out onto the walkway. A bemused Quin wasn’t too far behind.

  “You don’t look good. Are you going to be okay?”

  “Not if you’re going to pour salt on my wounds about my appearance.”

  Quin remembered what Conon told him last night. How the Yerps wouldn’t put themselves in harm’s way without their escorts. The total opposite occurred.

  Arty and Mier woke up under some ailment while Yach looked like he was left for dead. It had him once again think about purpose of their mission and the extent it should be carried out.

  Then again, trouble seemed to attach itself to Yach as if he were some magnet.

  Whether it’s Sentar’i with short fuses like Ythan, or other Yerps, Yach couldn’t hold a conversation without some provocation. It left Quin with one question on the mind.

  “Why?” he started. “Most of the time I see you, you’re either beaten up or about to be beaten up. Why are you so quick to start trouble, especially with Sentar’i?”

  “Why is water wet?” Yach responded as he cracked his neck. “Why does the sun rise from the east? I have no clue, but I do know I wasn’t brought in this world to be afraid of some sap with powers.”

  “But what about the chroniclers? What about this mission? Wouldn’t those things be enough to look out for your health?”

  Yach halted his walk. He aimed an incredulous eye at Quin.

  “Kid, I have absolutely no affiliation whatsoever with those two. I’m just a wagon driver who got clumped up with them. So before you think we’re some sort of team, don’t.”

  Yach resumed his walk. Quin resumed his inquiries.

  “I don’t understand, you were the ones who requested we guard you right?”

  “I didn’t request a damned thing. Those two showed up with some lady, some Sentar’i.

  “They asked about any open ports and before I knew anything, she forced me to be their coachman or something. So here I am forced into this. Can you blame me for making the most of it?”

  “Hey! There you are!” shrieked a voice from a few feet away. “You’re the one who got us kicked out last night!”

  Quin turned to see three men. One was short, about as short as Baldy. Another like Baldy, featured no hair on his head, but by far had a bigger frame than the rest combined.

  The last guy possessed no discernible features although he was shirtless. The high pitched speech came from him.

  Yach groaned while he covered his ear and temple. “You sure it wasn’t your voice that drove you out? I’m surprised you can still pay for pretend friends after all your partying last night.”

  “Come on, cut it out,” Quin advised before he turned to the men. “Look, I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure we can work this out without anything rash.”

  The men drew cautious looks at the lone Tyroviv as if they expected him to be some passerby.

  “Here you are calling me a punk talking about paying for friends, but you’re the one who had to find a cloak to whine and cry to,” the shirtless man addressed. “I guess hiding behind your mole wasn’t enough.”

  “I don’t need no cloak to say to your face that you’re a muck dweller,” Yach declared as he walked in front of Quin. “But if I got any closer, your voice will turn me deaf. It’s painful from here, I get any closer and my ears will fall off.”

  Quin swooped in front of Yach and lightly pushed him back. “Seriously, just cool it,” he pleaded.

  When he turned back, he noticed the shorter one of the group disappeared. That wasn’t as urgent of a matter to deal with.

  “I’m sorry about all the inconvenience done, but we actually have somewhere to be,” Quin stressed.

  The man raised an eyebrow after he heard that. He stepped closer to Quin, his wary expression appeared to evaporate.

  “A lot of inconvenience was done. Honestly, I think some sort of compensation is in order here.”

  Yach tapped Quin’s arm. “You see what this asshole’s doing? Don’t take any of that from him.”

  He turned to the group. “Hey! You heard the man. We’re busy, so why don’t you get busy looking for a shirt and while you’re at it, find yourself a life too.”

  A crowd started to form and Quin noticed more glares directed at him. It became more apparent that this wouldn’t end quietly.

  The eyes, the conflict, and the pressure all teamed up to give Quin a bit of a struggle.

  Nonetheless, he continued to corral Yach away from the scene. The pressure he felt here was of a different nature from the pressure experienced earlier that morning.

  “All you cloaks do is inconvenience us,” stated the shirtless man as he and his partner walked closer. “I think you lot would do a lot of good if you stayed out of everyone’s business.”

  The words squeaky as they were, barely registered in Quin’s head. The public attention controlled his thoughts.

  He had no intention to harm anyone, but the crowd seemed keen to look on. Something had to give, it seemed like his mind would first.

  Out of the corner of his eye among the glares, he caught someone on the move. They approached closer and closer with a swiftness.

  It was the short one of the group and it looked like he planned to get a jump on Yach from behind.

  Quin had to act. He couldn’t become intangible like a ghost artist. He couldn’t freeze people in place the way a shadow artist could.

  What use would he have out of his wind arts, he asked himself. He thought about Fulira and his training when it clicked.

  Out of the crowd emerged the smaller assailant, ready to ambush Yach. He lunged at the wagon driver when Quin intervened.

  He never even stuck his arms out, yet the attacker still bounced off of him as if he were a wall. In particular, the small man bounced off of nothing but air.

  The aggressor spilled across the ground next to some startled onlookers. They felt a sudden breeze, it didn’t take long for them to realize where it came from.

  Perceptible air swirled across the lone Cosondere. With little movement of his arms, Quin shielded himself with the wind.

  The cramped area limited his wind arts to streaks of a zephyr, but it still proved sufficient against a Yerp.

  “You done being stupid over there?” Yach asked the half-sized individual. “Or do you want to try the man’s patience some more?”

  The exchange left Yach open to the other two men. The bigger one saw his chance.

  He charged as he planned to ram Yach with his full weight. He caught Yach off guard with his sudden rush but in a blink, Quin made his own surprise move.

  Just inches away from contact with the Tyroviv, the big guy was jolted back by the wind. He couldn’t catch himself as he too tumbled over.

  Quin stood tall with focused, controlled, and calm breaths. Again, he never raised a finger.

  At that point, most of the crowd dispersed in a hurry. They wanted nothing to do with an affronted Sentar’i. Fury filled the big man’s face, however.

  Unable to bear the blank mask, he charged again with a scream.

  Quin stood at the ready. He gathered his aura and with only the slightest of movements, jounced his bigger foe to the ground with ease.

  The rage the man displayed seconds ago washed away completely. The remaining two men froze in place, it appeared they finally sobered up to realize their futility.

  “Hey hey we mean no harm,” their bare-chested leader said with a subdued tone.

  “We were just getting our frustrations out from last night. Our problem’s not even with you, we appreciate all the Cosondera do for us, right boys?”

  The rest of his crew formed back up but their belligerence clearly left the scene. Quin finally had a chance to squash this whole episode. He leaped at the opportunity.

  “You up ‘n’ attack a Cosondere?” Quin raised with feigned offense. “Do you have any idea what this means?”

  “No no! We weren’t trying to attack you, we...wa…we don’t have a problem with you.”

  “You’re going to have a big problem if you don’t disappear this second.”

  The threat proved highly effective. Instantly the group scattered and the glares, while still in the background, weren’t as continuous. Quin finally had some reprieve.

  “Pheew. Nice going kid,” Yach praised. “I didn’t need the help, but I appreciate it all the-”

  “Stop moving your mouth and move your legs,” Quin ordered as he pointed away. He had enough with the antics.

  Very briefly, shock covered Yach’s face. It morphed back to his typical grumpy expression before he turned set out.

  “Still a cloak all the same,” he mumbled.

  Quin had no time to reflect on those words, Ner. Fyful could appear at any second with a mood far worse than what the young Tyroviv displayed.

  As he and Yach quietly made their way back to the chroniclers, Quin scanned around for any other signs of trouble.

  As his head swiveled and his eyes pierced the surroundings, he didn’t notice that the more he looked the fewer people there were who looked back.