The Lost Voices (OLD VERSION - New Version to Come)

CHAPTER 8... SEEKERS (PART 1)

Sketch 48: Confidants 

8-21-1620 A.R. 

Location: Elios, Terrarin 

Elios's capital, Ollmor, was a sprawling web of paved jargons. Retraenon's brain was dumbfounded by how someone could discernibly follow these streets anywhere. 

The freshly towering architecture never ceased, steam coated the stained glass with holy dedication, bumbling cars revved past corners in brisk turns, ink soaked the air with news and gossip, chalky moisture tipped refracting spires as they pierced the sky, rounded legislative frames emitted the future of worldly politics, and venturous talkers roamed the streets as their new ideas sprouted in the misty bubbles of innovation. 

Yet, God only knew where it all connected.

Mariana led the way and Retraenon followed with Minimus atop his shoulder. Noon was creeping over the city and the grainy shadows dissipated to let the sun's cast render the land in a shimmering veneer. He had little notion of where Mariana's father lived, but it soon became apparent that his residence was a decent jaunt from the main roads. She guided the trio as if she was giving a tour, but never stopped moving long enough for any real questions to be asked.

"If you enjoy tea, you'll love Herbala," she said smiling as they passed a flagrant store with myriads of plants hoisted on hanging racks of wizened pottery. "Ever need to know what the government's doing next, you can grab a paper from just about anywhere." Suddenly, a stray fold of smudged papers rolled past them in the breeze. "See? You might even be attacked by one." Other sights passed them in the haze: overhead walkways looming between edifices, boats gushing steam in the channels, and corner shops with flashy letterings begging to be explored. Then she pointed toward an open market as they crossed a foaming waterway. "Almost everything congregates in those districts, if you get curious." Retraenon appreciated her help, but his focus trailed in and out as they traveled.

Being at another person's helm gave him time to think. Something he did more than most, but less than he wanted. The world churned at a pace unrecognizable to him. 

Every person walked on a track, paid the afforded dues, crossed similar milestones, and ended in stations cleverly resembling their journey's start. None of this came to him as a philosophical notion, he didn't portray himself in any higher light, and logic dictated the natural reasoning for this structure in a society built on the backs of developing cultures.

No, Retraenon was perplexed by how natural it seemed, by how uncomplicated it was for how intricate people were. To imagine that humans and gear-heads roamed a world less complex than afforded their time and attention, that they surpassed challenges below their truest abilities, and ultimately found themselves at a destination less than worthy of their trails and thought, was the most despairing belief imaginable. 

He wondered what all this bickering, hoping, and fighting was for if the world couldn't conceive of its own depth. 

Eventually Mariana tilted her head to the side with a frown. "Sorry. You've probably heard of all these places before. Not sure why I felt the need to point them out."

"Actually, it helps immensely. I'm not from a big city, or anything resembling one, so these are good tidbits to store away for later."

"Where are you from? If I may ask." Nothing in him felt the need to be overly vague about his answers as long as he didn't give anything away about The Watcher's Guild.

"Cabrinor." Her eyebrows shot up, but she kept listening. "Along Chiheisen's West."

"Along Chi's who?" Retraenon diagramed the massive length of Cabrinor's west coast using his hands.