Tearha: The Number 139

Chapter Three: The Twin Stars

'The Watcher', like many that came before, was not a name he chose. It was a name thrust onto him with expectations, hopes, and to a certain extent, destiny. Destiny was what he felt was dragging him as he ran behind the green haired elf, jogging through a long, pipes-lined copper hallway. It had been a long time since he ran with the main cast of a story, and the feeling of being back in the thick of the action was exhilarating. For centuries, he had just been standing at the sidelines, watching events unfold.

He let out an, "Oh..."

Adelaide stopped at a junction and asked in hushed tones, "What?"

"I just figured out why I'm called 'The Watcher'," he replied with a chuckle, catching up to her.

"Is it important right now?"

He seriously considered the question, with Adelaide glancing back, looking progressively annoyed by the second.

Finally, he replied, "Nope."

"Then shut the gear up." She peeked out of the corner to scout ahead.

The level smelled of despair and alcohol. Hot steam wheezed out from the pipes at random intervals, though cooled quickly into mist so that he had no need to dodge them. Despite having just stepped out of prison, they had not run into a single guard throughout the entire floor, and aside from one of the cells they've passed being occupied by a single man, there were no signs of life.

The Watcher asked, "Where is everyone?"

"We're on the top floor of a thirty stories metal tower. It's a special prison for 'unique' individuals. Political prisoners, powerful mages, and beings with unique abilities," she explained. She held up her axes at the ready. "The walls here are thicker than a Titan, nothing gets through. Not even my teleportation."

He interrupted, "I'm sure you could if you tried."

She ignored him and continued, "So there's no need for guards in the cell area. They're all out at the entrance. It's easier to funnel prisoners out of one pathway than to chase around an open area."

"How do you know so much?"

She sighed and, knowing the coast was clear, stepped out of the corner boisterously. Axes still drawn, she walked down the last corridor that ended with a steel vault door.

Her tone raised with confidence. "When you live a life like mine, you need to learn of the places you might end up at. Preparation is the key to survival."

"Huh. You're smarter than you look."

"I will put an axe in your face."

The Watcher had a set idea of what elves were like. From all the movies he had watched and books he had read across all of time, they had almost always been depicted as wispy, eloquent, intellectual creatures. But Adelaide Wiltkins was rough, vulgar, and in the half an hour that they had spent navigating the prison labyrinth, she had told him to 'gear off' over a dozen times, which he assumed was the equivalent of being told to 'fuck off'.

They reached the door and Adelaide leaned against it with her ears. The Watcher asked, "What now?"

She turned her back to the door and twirled her axes. "Wait here," she commanded sternly.

Like before, she took a step backwards. But just before her feet touched the ground, her body seemed to vibrate, leaving clear after-images of three, before soundlessly disappearing in a thin puff of brown smoke.

He was mystified by the act. It had been hundreds of years since he had seen another person capable of teleportation, and the fact that the process seemed so vastly different than any he had witnessed before had his curiosity lighting up in joy. Wafting his hand through the smoke left behind, he determined it to not be aether. He brought his palm up and sniffed. Rust. The metallic tang touched his tongue and he made a face.