Endless - A Powerless Fanfic

Story 1, Chapter 1 - Paedyn

Author's note: I have not read the 11 preview chapters of Reckless, and prefer to read the whole book when it's released July 2nd. So just know none of what I've written includes anything from the released chapters. This collection of short stories/one-shots/whatever you want to call it are just some thoughts I can't get out of my head when it comes to Kai and Paedyn. This takes place after the events of Powerless.

Artwork is by me. I hope you like!

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My aching body suddenly feels like it's on fire, and it jolts me from sleep. If you could even call it that. I must have drifted off for a bit. Surprising, considering how anxious I am about getting caught. Sleep with one ear and eye open, and I should be fine. But going for days without much sleep has finally caught up to me.

Four days ago I completed my trek through the scorches to the city of Dor. Barely. It was hot and grueling, and there are parts of it I don't remember. A combination of the heat, sun exposure, and the fact that I was running low on food and water, made for an interesting set of circumstances.

I vaguely remember making it into town, but the next thing I remember, I was waking up in this attic hideout I apparently settled into. My spotty memory of it all really has me on edge, and being delirious from little sleep isn't helping.

It's not quite morning yet, but it's dark enough that the moon is still illuminating my surroundings. I slowly roll over to sit up, and swing my legs over the side of my makeshift bed made up of piled blankets atop some wooden pallets. I'm in the attic of a tall building. The town's inn. This room looks like it's been used for storage for years, but my little corner is comfortable, tucked away among the piles of boxes that occupy the vast majority of the space. It's empty and slightly drafty, but I feel safe. If someone came up here right now I'd be hidden enough that I wouldn't be immediately discovered. It comforts me even though I don't really know how I ended up here in the first place.

Next to my bed is a wooden crate, turned on its side to be used as a bedside table. And on top of it is the jar of salve that I've been using to tend to my wounds to keep infection at bay. Another detail I don't quite remember. Was it in the supplies I grabbed from my former home before it burst into flames?

That is a detail I remember clearly. Frantically climbing out of the chimney before the flames could touch me, and then running from the one person I should have stayed away from all along. The memories hurt, and grief tries to wash over me in another tidal wave. I take a deep breath and try to fight it.

I don't know how or what to feel right now. I'm angry, sad, all alone, worthless, and worst of all, guilty of something that will end my life swiftly if I'm caught: I killed the king. And it's only a matter of time before the newly appointed enforcer comes after me.

I also feel betrayed. How did everything go so wrong? I thought I was fighting for something good, but the more I think about it, the more I feel like I was used. And I fell for it too easily. Because of the choices I made, I'm now forced to run for my life, for the rest of my life. And I'll do it alone. I have no one.

With a heavy sigh I stand up and stretch my limbs, careful not to tear anything that's still bandaged and healing. I walk over to the small window in my cluttered attic and push it open to let in the cool night air. The smell of dust is overwhelming, and the fresh air is both intoxicating and freeing.

From way up here I can see over the market square, where shop owners are prepping for the day ahead. The market opens early, and if you are looking for something specific, you better get there when it opens.

That gives me an idea.

I walk over to my pack of supplies lying on the floor next to my bed, and rifle through it for my scarf. I pull my hair back and twist it into a low bun, then secure it with the scarf. The color of my hair makes me far too easy to spot, so I grab the shroud I used to cover myself from the sun in the scorches and pull it across my shoulders and over my head to hide under it before I make my way to one of the two doors in the attic. One leads down into the inn below, which I have blocked off with a stack of boxes. If someone really wanted to come in it wouldn't deter them for long, as I don't have the strength to pull over any of the heavier furniture tucked away on the other side of the room. Thankfully the other door leads to the outside, so I head out, making my way down the narrow stairs that descend from the back of the inn.

It's sunrise now, and there are more people milling about as another day begins. I walk the square, which is really a very long and wide alleyway full of shops, and not an actual square. I peer into each stall to see what they're selling. I have a few coins in my pocket in case I see what I need.

Many of the stalls are selling baked goods and all manner of sweets. It smells amazing and my mouth is watering. I spot someone selling the very familiar sticky buns, and my chest tightens. I keep walking.

I pass a few more shops, some selling jewelry, a collection of spices and herbs, and then I see it. There's a shop selling supplies and fibers to make fabric. I reach out and skim my fingers over some of the twisted threads and feel their softness. My eyes dart around and eventually meet the dark eyes of the shop owner.

She's an older woman, shorter than me, with a curious look on her face.

"Are you a fabric maker?" she asks.

I give her a small smile and shake my head. "No, but I knew someone once who was an amazing seamstress. She would have loved all of this." It's suddenly hard to breathe.

The woman eyes me for a moment, her expression softening a bit.

I step into her stall to look at the shelves of tools and baubles, but don't see anything that looks like what I need.

"Are you looking for something particular? A gift for your friend, perhaps?"

I spin around and ask, "Do you have any jars of dye? To color fabric?"

The woman smiles and moves to a shelf in the back of the stall. She waves me over and I follow.

"This shelf right here has a few options." She gestures to the shelf just below my eye level. "I have purple, blue, black, yellow and red."

The woman turns to go help another customer, but looks back over her shoulder at me, with a soft smile on her face. "Take what you want. It's on me." And then she's gone.

Blinking, I turn back to the shelf, unsure what I did to deserve the old woman's kindness. Could she sense my sadness over Adena? Is she just a nice person? I'm not sure, but I grab a jar and walk back up to the front. I'm not sure how much the dye is, but I leave a silver coin on the counter near the woman, and whisper, "Thank you." before I head back down the square.

What I'm about to do requires water, so I step into the main part of the inn where the tavern is, and locate a restroom down the hall. I close the door behind me and lock it, then stride over to the mirror and pull my hood down. I take a good look at myself in the mirror, my jaw and neck still covered in bandages, and I wince at my haggard reflection. I have definitely had better days.

I take the opportunity to give my face a good wash, and splash some cool water on myself. Then, I pull the scarf from my hair and let it tumble out of the bun down my back. I look at the jar of dye in my hand. There's not enough. I have way too much hair for this small jar of dye. Now's as good a time as any for a change, so why not make a big change. It'll help me blend in more anyway.

I pull my long hair over my shoulder and grab a dagger sheathed at my side. I look in the mirror then, holding my hair in one hand, and a dagger in the other, ready to hack it off at my shoulders, when a memory crashes into me.

Kai. Braiding my hair. And I'm suddenly angry. And frustrated. And sad. So very sad.

This is just pathetic. I pull my hair tight with my fist, and slice the dagger through with the other. I watch my hair fall to the floor, and see it for what it is: the end of one life and the start of a new one.

Then, I pick up the bottle of dye and steel myself for this next part. I'm about to dye my hair. Black.