When Senya left their apartment, she was still fuming with rage.

It had been a couple of hours since Nyu's departure, but hot anger was still rushing through her veins with the unstoppable force of a mudslide. There were so many things she was mad at, she couldn't even focus on any single cause. And not just today — frustration and despair had been brewing inside of her for a long time now, like a volcano waiting to erupt. She felt forsaken, abandoned by her sister, punished by fate, and left to rot in the hole that was their home. It was true that Senya did not share her sister's admiration for life on the surface. She had never desired to leave Morathen behind, in the pursuit of some promised land. She simply wanted to improve life here, by means of hard and honest work. During her childhood, Senya had always looked up to her older sister and marveled at the stories of her machinations. In hindsight, they were tales of a thief, a scoundrel, and she now saw them for what they were — just like with her sister, who had fallen from being her idol to becoming the blueprint of what Senya detested.

She marched down the muddy alley, hissing at every unfortunate neighbor who happened to stumble in her way. Most of them were too scared to say anything, as they quickly rushed to the side of the street to let her pass. Senya figured it was because of her sister's reputation. A reputation that would come to haunt them one of these days.

As the anger festered in her every fiber, she tried to think back to better times — only to realize there had been no better times. Life had always been a struggle. When their father was still alive, they might have looked like a solid family from the outside, but the internal decay had been as vicious as bark beetles on a fallen tree. Shortly after Senya's birth, their mother had started showing signs of mental deterioration, resistant to any cure the healers tried to concoct. In response, presumably as some sort of outlet for his frustration, their father had started gambling, wasting most of what his respectable job as a cobbler could yield. When he ran out of funds, he started betting things he couldn't afford to lose — and things he didn't even have to begin with. Needless to say, he soon owed half the city twice his worth, and when he couldn't pay his debt, they started coming to their house. First, they were just lurking in the streets, watching them, especially Senya and her sister, but they didn't stop there. They started harassing them, throwing sinister threats at two young girls, shoving them to the ground in front of their house. Their neighbors would just watch. Or worse yet, pretend they didn't see anything at all.

With what was left of his pride, their father tried to confront his creditors. It didn't go well. Beaten into a pulp, and with no money to pay a doctor, he would lie in their living room, incapacitated. Their mom would be oblivious to the whole situation, so it came down to Senya and her sister to take care of everyday life. They took on more jobs than she could count, most of them she didn't even want to remember. The mines had been the hardest, and Senya still shuddered when she thought back to that time. They did whatever was necessary to bring food to the table — but even so, they were too young to make a real living, too gullible, too easy to exploit.

And then their father died. His wounds were almost healed, at least on the surface, but his spirit had been broken. Nyu once said, he probably just lost the will to live. Seyna couldn't blame him. Their life had been in shambles, their doom imminent, and so he chose not to recover.

Failing to financially stabilize their family, the sisters and their mentally unstable mother had to move to the outskirts of town, to the frayed end of the social ladder, and that's where they still lived. Surrounded by poverty and disease, they had carved out a miserable existence, with Nyu trying to cheat her way through life, and Senya acting like her hard work in the local tavern, the exhausting night shifts, and the monotonous grind would get her anywhere. But no matter how much she wore herself down, no matter how many hours she carried kegs and mugs, Nyu had always earned more than her. She tried to see the positive side of it, but deep down she was disgusted by the injustice of the world. Here she was, doing honest work, trying to live a reputable life, and all she was getting were scraps that fell off the table — figuratively and literally.

She turned into a small alley flanked by narrow gray houses. The mud was squelching underneath her boots, and brown splashes were hitting the gray walls on either side as she stomped onwards. A child was playing in the street, but stopped and looked at her with big eyes when she approached. The boy wasn't scared of her, probably because he didn't know Senya or, more importantly, her sister, so he just stood there. There was a naive curiosity in his big blue eyes.

Senya was tempted to lecture the boy about how an interest in strangers was a failsafe way to get yourself killed in this part of town, but she didn't have the heart to do it. Instead, she weaved around the boy, mindfully keeping her distance, while at the same time avoiding his gaze. She felt his blooming eyes on her back, but didn't turn around. Part of her envied the seemingly careless child. Being careless was a sweet luxury she had never had the pleasure of tasting.

After another few minutes, she reached the tavern. It was a large building, looming over a pair of gray brick buildings on either side, its facade breaking the visual monotony of the neighborhood with a yellow tint the color of egg yolks. The windows in the upper floors were tall and skinny, but on the first floor, they offered an inviting view into a cozy-looking alehouse. Passers-by were lured by the orange light inside and the smell of hops and yeast wafting through the alley every time someone pushed open the heavy door. Senya could hear the familiar buzzing and babbling of many voices, seeping through the milky windows and into the cautious quiet of the surrounding streets. It was almost like the portal into a different world, where people forgot about their daily struggles over a pint of ale. Thieves stopped thieving, thugs rarely beat up anyone who didn't deserve it — lest they wanted to take it up with the grumpy owner of the tavern, Orm.

Senya sighed. The reprieve others felt when entering the well-lit building was not for her. Maybe because she worked here, or maybe because her struggles were too severe, clinging onto every thought like a parasite, and rarely allowing her to relax.

When she entered, a wave of stuffy heat blew in her face, and the thick air wrapped around her like a blanket, rich with scents and sounds of close quarters and hearty life. She pushed past a knot of people, most of them miners with meaty arms and prominent paunches, trying to blend out their biting odor. They were laughing and shouting exuberantly, lashing out with dripping mugs of ale, much to the dismay of other guests.

Shoving one of the taller miners out of the way using her pointy elbow, she reached the counter, where Orm was scrubbing a mug with a spotty towel. His demeanor was sour, as per usual, and his bloodshot eyes were scanning the room for dry throats. When he noticed Senya approach, he put down the mug he'd just dried, whipped the towel to the side like a leash, then casually tossed it over his shoulder.

"You're late," he grumbled, fixating her with darting eyes.

"I'm here now," Senya growled, joining him behind the counter, where she wordlessly picked up a handful of mugs and brought them over to the beer tap. She could tell Orm was watching her as she poured the first drink. Without stopping what she was doing, she looked over, her hands moving in a well-versed routine.

"What?" she barked, louder than intended.

A few drunks on bar stools as wobbly as they briefly glanced over with squinting eyes.

"What are you lot looking at?" Senya hissed at them, and they hastily focused on their drinks again.

"Bad mood is bad for business," Orm grumbled, grabbing the next mug to dry.

"How come you have any business at all, then?" Senya hissed, pouring another batch of ale. The barkeeper snorted but didn't reply. He was not the nicest man in town, but he was fair. The wages he paid were nothing to write home about, but he didn't exploit his workforce either. Senya probably could've asked for more if she ever found the old man in a decent mood.

"Oi," someone from the end of the bar shouted, "what's a man gotta do to get a refreshing drink around here?"

Any other customer asking stupid questions like that would have put Senya over the edge that day, but she recognized the familiar voice and her features brightened.

"Pay their tab, for starters," Orm snarled, but it did not put a damper on the other man's mood.

"Come on, now, Orm," he said innocently. "Don't be such a stick in the mud."

Senya and Nyu had known Kwan for most of their lives. He had been a former coworker of their father, and he, too, had fallen from grace by getting into gambling. Not to the same extent as their late father, but enough to force him out of the nicer parts of town and into the outskirts. His living conditions and financial situation weren't nearly as precarious as theirs, but they had still felt connected to him and, over the years, formed something one might call a friendship. Kwan kept asking about their lives, like he actually cared. When Senya began to emotionally distance herself from Nyu, she started to talk to Kwan about her problems and concerns. Not that it changed anything, but it still felt good to let off steam from time to time.

However, like her sister, Kwan was caught up in shady business, or so Seyna thought. In his case, however, she didn't take it personally. Now and then, she would see him talk to the sketchy part of their clientele, exchange messages, or ominous pouches. Sometimes, she caught a word or two as she delivered the next round of drinks, even though she tried her best not to overhear anything she was not supposed to, or didn't want to know. Kwan wouldn't care if she eavesdropped, but his associates might.

The only thing that actually bothered her about Kwan was the fact that he would occasionally meet with Nyu, and Nyu alone. They would sit in the far corner of the alehouse, at one of the more remote tables, drawing their heads together as they spoke. At first, Senya thought they were just talking about family matters Nyu didn't want her to know about, but as the meetings got more frequent, she figured that wasn't the case. It dawned on her that Kwan was brokering jobs for Nyu, and the thought upset her more than she let on.

"Greetings, Stranger," Senya said mockingly as she approached Kwan with a fresh pour of ale.

The man smiled at her, showing teeth that once would've been well-formed and white as marble. His gray hair was short and fuzzy, his white beard uncombed and yellowed at the tips. Kwan's skin, however, was surprisingly smooth, favorably framing his gentle eyes and bushy eyebrows.

"Good to see you, lass," he exclaimed, and reached for the mug.

He took a first sip and was left with white foam dripping from the messy moustache above his upper lip. Closing his eyes for a second, he embraced the taste of the ale as it wetted his throat, following it up with a relieved sigh. When he gently put his mug back on the counter, he looked happy.

"Don't enjoy it too much." She meant it as a joke, but there was a truth to it.

On the one hand, he probably couldn't afford all the ale he drank — on the other hand, it was starting to show that he'd had one too many, too many times. The dark circles underneath his eyes were starting to carve their way through his soft cheeks, and his nose had taken on a permanent red tint.

"You worry too much, my Dear," Kwan said and smiled at her.

"Tell me something I don't know," Senya replied bitterly, pulling up a bar stool to sit across from Kwan.

"Those drinks are not going to pour themselves," Orm grumbled behind her, but Senya knew he would cut her some slack.

Resting her chin on her fists, with her elbows braced against the wooden surface of the counter, she studied Kwan for a long moment. The man held her gaze with his soft eyes, sparking a glimpse of amusement within her.

"Where do you take your optimism from?" Senya asked with genuine curiosity.

Kwan chuckled. "Doesn't take much once you learn to see the good things in life."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"They seem to be hiding from me."

"Maybe they are hiding in plain sight, and you are just too blind to see them," he countered.

It was not meant as a jab, more as wisdom, passed down by an elder.

Senya considered the thought for a moment. She looked back at the past months and tried hard to come up with anything that had truly made her happy. Kwan was watching her eagerly. When Senya spoke, her voice was tired.

"I got nothing," she admitted.

Kwan frowned, but didn't press the issue further.

They fell silent for a moment, the old man drinking his ale, while Senya played with a coaster in front of her.

"Is Nyu already gone?" Kwan finally asked.

Senya narrowed her eyes. "How did you know she was going to?"

Kwan smiled and leaned forward.

"I had a chat with her yesterday. She stopped by to …," he hesitated briefly, "discuss something."

There it was again, the feeling of being left out, even here, with him.

"Well, then you probably know more than I," she snapped back and looked at the shredded remains of the coaster in her hands.

"Come, now," Kwan said with a gentle voice. "There is no need for hard feelings."

"I'm not mad at you," she deflected.

She was, in fact, a little mad at him, but more so at her sister and her schemes.

Kwan looked at her with pitying eyes.

"Your sister loves you, you know," he whispered softly, laying a warm hand on her arm.

"I know she thinks she does," Senya said with a hard voice. "If she really loved me, loved us, she would stop going off on these foolish adventures."

She hated how this chat had shifted so quickly to being about her sister — again.

"I'm sure she would, if she thought she could," Kwan offered, his forehead covered in wrinkles.

Senya scoffed. "That's an excuse, and you know it."

He considered her statement for a second, then nodded. "You are probably right," he said, following it up with another sip from his ale, swallowing loudly.

He brushed off the amber droplets in his beard and put the mug back on the counter with a thud.

"At the end of the day," he mused, "you can't choose family. They are who they are, and you are stuck with them. That's why most people eventually surround themselves with new acquaintances, friends, lovers, and form their own families. And when they have children, the cycle repeats."

"Too bad I don't have time for lovers or friends," Senya said bitterly.

"Hey now," Kwan roused jokingly, "we are friends, are we not?"

Senya gave him a weak smile. "Of course we are."

She chatted with Kwan for another few minutes before Orm made it clear that break time was over. For the next couple of hours, she focused on her usual chores of serving drinks, cleaning up spilled beer and other fluids, and carrying gurgling kegs from the storage room to the bar. It was tedious work, but the monotony was soothing in its own way. When her shift was finally over, and the last drunks slowly staggered out of the tavern, Senya felt empty, her mind devoid of any emotions. Her rage had slowly subsided, at least temporarily, but there was nothing to fill the void. She felt hollow, carved out like soft stone, a mental shell of a person. Was this a defense mechanism her brain had conjured? Or was she just emotionally drained? Either way, it didn't bother her. For the first time in a while, her mind was at peace - but a peace where both sides had lost to attrition, and there was no one left to fight on a barren and deserted battlefield.

Senya flipped the last of the worn chairs and put it on one of the tables. She rolled down her sleeves, opened her hair, and put the cleaning supplies back behind the counter, where Orm was counting the earnings of the night. The stained bills were flicking through his meaty fingers like playing cards, and he was quietly whispering numbers as he counted.

"I'm heading out," Senya murmured.

The muttered numbers got louder as Orm tried hard not to lose count. When he was done, he grabbed a fraction of the bills and handed them to Senya. Wordlessly, she accepted her payment. It was more than usual — they might be able to afford a proper meal one of these nights, she thought.

Orm studied her, rubbing his scrubby chin.

"Let me give you a piece of advice," he said calmly, and Seyna looked at him in surprise. "That friend of yours, Kwan, is trouble. I'd stay away from him if I were you."

He turned to the shelf behind him, indicating that he had said all he wanted to. But Seyna was not going to let him off the hook that easily.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she inquired, scowling at her employer.

Orm started casually rearranging the bottles of stronger alcohol in the cabinet above him.

"He runs with the wrong crowd, messes with people you don't want to mess with."

Senya had come to the same conclusion long ago, but she still felt obligated to defend her friend.

"Who doesn't down here?" she said and shrugged.

The barkeeper shook his head. "There is messing with the wrong people, and then there is messing with Malvorn and his henchmen."

"Wait … what?" she asked warily.

"I've said enough," Orm declared, and she knew she was not going to get more information than what he'd offered.

#

On the way home, Senya was brooding over Orm's words — was Kwan actually working against Malvorn? If so, that put him and everyone around him at even greater risk. She had always known that Kwan shared no fondness for Malvorn, but she could hardly imagine the jolly man plotting against their ruler. He seemed too carefree for that, too relaxed to follow an agenda that would likely get him killed. And to what end? Senya decided to confront him next time she saw him, which would likely be during her next shift — there was rarely a day when Kwan didn't seek out the warmth of Orm's tavern.

As she made her way through the streets of Morathen, deep in thought, she was paying little attention to her surroundings. Likely, because there was not much one could pay attention to. The houses all presented themselves in the same depressing gray, their inhabitants carrying gloomy faces wherever you looked. There was never any wind to speak of, and Senya only knew the concept from Nyu's stories. The temperature stayed the same year-round, always just slightly too cold for comfort, and the absence of natural light tinted everything in darkness — except for an eerie glow that filled the main cavern, radiating from the well-lid center of Morathen. Senya had gotten used to the unfavorable conditions — after all, it was all she knew. More often than not, they lacked the money to purchase coal or oil to heat their apartment, and so Seyna had accepted the constant chill, and her eyes had slowly learned to function in the never-ending night.

When the house they lived in came into view, Senya's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the scene that was playing out in front of it.

Armed with pikes and covered in armor, a handful of soldiers were standing in front of the entrance, their blue capes bearing the sigil of the city guard. Their leader, judging by the decorations on his helmet, was pointing at someone, and even though she could not hear what he was saying, his intonation sounded angry.

Senya squinted, trying to get a better view, and then it dawned on her that the person he was pointing at was, in fact, her mother. She was being held in place on both sides by guards way taller than her, their weapons menacingly towering above her.

"Mom," Senya gasped instinctively, just loud enough for one of the soldiers to hear.

"There she is," he barked, pointing at her with the tip of his weapon.

Their leader swung around, his angry eyes searching the darkness for Senya. Her heart was racing, her mind desperately trying to make sense of what she saw. But her body seemed paralyzed, her hands and feet numb — and so she just stood there, motionless and barely able to breathe.

"You there," the leader of the soldiers bellowed, "get over here!"

His voice was commanding, and Senya could tell he was a man with little patience.

When she didn't move, he ordered two of his soldiers to get her. Senya didn't run, nor did she resist, not even when they violently pulled her along, until she was standing only a few feet away from her mother. Alva smiled at her, once more oblivious to what was happening around her.

"Hi, sweetheart," she fluted, inclining her head.

Senya nodded stiffly in return. In a way, her mother's mental shield against reality comforted her, but it also meant she had to figure out this situation all by herself. Slowly, her terror turned into an all too familiar feeling — anger.

"Is that her?" the leader of the soldiers suddenly snapped, gesturing in her direction.

He was standing close to Senya now, and she could see his unpleasant features in the flickering light of his escort's torches. To her surprise, there was a hint of nervousness in his dark eyes. He must be new to this role, she thought, but that wasn't a good thing — insecure people tended to act irrationally.

After a moment, Senya realized who the question had been targeted at. A short, middle-aged woman came into view behind one of the soldiers. She had gray hair, and her clothes looked almost as poor as Senya's. She looked shy, trying to hide between the guards, but their leader grabbed her by the arm and pulled her closer.

"Is that her, I asked," he repeated with a shrill voice.

The woman was staring at her feet, and only slowly raised her head. Her fearful eyes looked at Senya, carefully studying her features.

After a moment, the woman frowned.

"I … I don't know," she whispered, and instinctively ducked.

Senya could tell the leader of the soldiers was fuming.

"What — do — you — mean?" he boomed, his words echoing through the alley.

There were no bystanders anymore. Everyone was hiding in their homes, hoping they wouldn't be drawn into whatever this was.

"I don't know," the short woman repeated, whimpering. "It was such a brief moment."

"I suggest you try harder," the leader of the soldiers rasped, slowly raising his weapon.

The woman sniveled and looked at Senya again, her eyes apologetic.

"Her hair is the same. And her eyes. She looks like the thief, but something is off."

Within an instance, the anger within Senya broke free of all chains. The heat of the sensation made her skin tingle, and tinted her vision. This was her sister's doing — again. And by the looks of it, this time she had gone too far. Senya clenched her teeth, the grinding sound resonating through her skull. She let the anger flow through her, accepting its comforting embrace.

The leader of the soldiers scoffed.

"Something?" he snarled, raising a hand as if to slap the woman across the face.

She flinched, covering her head.

He laughed. "Stupid woman," he whispered and lowered his fist, then turned his attention to Senya.

"Looks like we got our thief." The smile on his face was dripping with spite. "Malvorn figured it was you — we just needed confirmation."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather purse. He was about to hand it to the woman, then stopped and studied it with insidious eyes. After a brief moment, he opened it and took out a handful of coins, which he carefully slid back into his own pocket. Then, he tossed the open purse in the mud in front of the woman's feet. She immediately scrambled to collect the spilled coins.

"Your reward," he sneered, as he watched the woman crawl on the floor.

Senya tried to break free of the soldiers' firm grip, yanking and turning, but her efforts were in vain. Unlike her sister, she was not physically strong. She had never deemed it necessary to prepare for violence, and yet here she was. Her anger was strong, but she didn't know how to channel it into action.

"Let go of me," she hissed, but no one even paid attention to her.

"Take her to the castle. Make sure she doesn't pull any moves," the leader told his men.

"Sir," one of the soldiers addressed him, "what are we going to do with her?" He pointed at Alva, who was watching the woman on the floor with the curiosity of a child.

The leader of the soldiers looked at Alva, then at Senya. An ugly smile distorted his features.

"Kill her," he said very slowly.

Senya screamed in furious rage, her thoughts giving way to the most primal of emotions. Her throat started to burn from all the air she was pressing through it. She clenched her fists until droplets of blood ran down her palms, and her knuckles were pale as paper. Desperately, she tried freeing herself from the firm grip of the soldiers on both sides, but it was no use.

To her relief, the soldiers next to Alva seemed to hesitate.

"Sir," one of them said, "are you sure that is necessary?"

There it was again, the spark of insecurity. It flickered for a brief moment before the captain's features turned hard again.

"Are you questioning my orders?" he barked at the soldier, then, without waiting for a response, he stepped over and raised his weapon.

"Cowards," he hissed at the soldiers, before jamming the tip of his pike into Alva's stomach. The woman gasped, looked down at the weapon in utter confusion, then smiled, before her head dropped like falling fruit.

Senya's vision got blurry, and the distorted echoes of her disembodied screams reverberated through the alley. Rage, as pure as a crystal, throbbed through her with such force that her brain was starting to cramp. But none of that mattered.

The last and only thought that shot through her head was of her sister — and what she would do to her if she ever saw her again.

Then, everything went dark.

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