Unity

Chapter 3 - The Thief

Trist's POV

We lived in what seemed like a utopia. Politics, anarchy and social disorder were limited; we lived in what some would call 'peace'. It was a life worth living. A life I'd gladly live. Of course, it wasn't a utopia. It wasn't perfect; I wasn't that blind. But it was close.

Safety never lasted. Nothing, not even the most permanent of things, lasted forever. It would've been nice to keep on living as I always had; a stagnant, busy life, just as every other citizen of this town did.

The once peaceful serenity of our settlement was diminished, creatures bringing destruction and calamity to all who crossed their path. They roamed the open fields, forcing us all into famine. With no room for crops or cattle, we lost all we lived for. The trade between this town, Sagacity, and the neighbouring town, Krell, had ceased. Trade routes were no longer safe to travel; bloodthirsty beasts now roamed the dense forest separating the two villages. Without trade, Sagacity lost access to oil and coal, Krell losing access to barley and wheat. Both towns, reliant of each other, fell into discord.

The foolish of the town, those who were desperate for peace and normality, began preaching for safety. Killing those who resembled these creatures, just as they had many millenniums ago. Women were pronounced witches, those too short pronounced dwarves. All creatures of myth and fantasy, brought to life and killed due to superstition. I hid in the darkness of the shadows, hiding my pointed ears from the gullible. It meant nothing. I had no abnormal heritage. I wasn't born from dragonkin, I wasn't elven. I was human.

So why did I have to hide?

The corridors were dark. Stone surrounded me front and behind, last night's rainfall leaking down the stone, encouraging moss and mould to grow. This was my hideaway, and although my lungs detested the fibres I was constantly inhaling, it was safer than anywhere else. I had been without guidance from parents from a very young age; it was survival of the fittest in these areas. However, to my evident surprise each morning, the sun rose, blinding and beautiful, and my eyes were still willing to see it. It never grew old, that sight. It brought hope.

Actually, to be honest, that's all a lie.

There is no bright, blindingly beautiful morning. Instead of the trill of the wild birds from our once thriving fruit orchards, I wake to the cackle of crows and ravens. The skies are a bright orange; lit with the flames of flickering wildfire, the clouds a dark, deathly grey. I'd do anything, anything at all, to awaken to a quiet, peaceful dawn. Like we used to.

Maybe I'm the fool. Desperate for peace, desperate for normality, yet too blind to admit it. How ironic.

o0o

Today was another day. Unfortunately, it was that time of the week.

I'd have to venture out of my solace, into the open, to scrounge for leftover supplies. My stocks were running low; I had to stock up on food, filtered water, and packets of cigarettes. Sadly, even in such dire times, tobacco was still an addiction of mine.

I ran a hand through my spiky, odd-coloured hair; a mossy, pond green, which didn't help hide my presence. The citizens of this town dyed their hair jet black; another superstition, that maybe these creatures of darkness would bypass their presence. If it worked or not, I didn't exactly care. My hair was one thing I'd manage to salvage from the life I once had; I wouldn't fall into the naïve majority, living under a roof of false, artificial safety. What was living, if you had to live in constant fear of being different?

Stepping into the dormant streets, I ran to the nearest building, being hyperaware of my current surrounds. From memory, the closest convenience shop was two streets down, near the edge of town. I took too many risks; the edges were cut off by dense forestation, and were barely visible past the thick layers of white fog. Creatures lived out there, and I'd only encountered one once; a tall, wolf-like hellhound, of sorts, with a long snout dripping with black, viscous liquid, lips pulled above its fangs in a predatory snarl. I had held a shaky butcher's knife in its direction, however I seemed to be out of its immediate line of sight, and it gave a loud bellow, retreating into the woods once again. I'd ran, ran for home, my breathing heavy and my limbs weak.